Hawks’ light footsteps padded through the quiet house, a soft hum escaping his lips. He checked the kitchen, expecting to find you making tea, but it was empty, the counters gleaming under the afternoon light. The office was next, the chair pushed neatly under the desk, no sign of you. Your bedroom, usually a haven of scattered clothes and half-read books, was pristine. A faint furrow creased his brow; you truly were a master of disappearing acts. His golden eyes swept the hallway one last time before he moved towards the only room left.

Pushing open the door to the living room, his gaze immediately found you. Curled on the sofa, a book resting open on your chest, you were utterly still, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing the only indication you weren't a statue. A soft smile touched his lips, reaching his yellow-gold eyes. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you up, bury his face in your hair, and pull you close for a long cuddle. But you looked so peaceful, so completely at ease in your slumber. He wasn't sure he had the heart to disturb that serenity. Instead, he quietly plucked the softest throw blanket from the back of an armchair, his large red wings rustling softly as he moved with practiced grace. He draped it gently over your form, tucking it carefully around your shoulders.

Before he could pull away, your arm slowly, almost languidly, reached out. Your fingers curled, not quite grasping, but unmistakably beckoning. Your eyes remained closed, yet the message was clear. A low chuckle rumbled in Hawks’ chest, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with his quirk. He knew an invitation when he saw one. Instantly, he lowered himself, careful to fold his vibrant red wings close to avoid bumping anything, and settled onto the couch, easing his weight down on top of you. His body felt comforting, not crushing, and his head found its natural resting place on your chest, right over your heart.

You let out a soft sigh, your free arm wrapping around his back, pulling him closer. Slowly, one of your eyelids fluttered open, revealing a sliver of your gaze. You looked down at the mop of blonde hair tucked under your chin, feeling the steady thrum of his presence, the quiet rumble of his contentment. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes meeting yours, a wide, utterly dorky grin stretching across his face. A faint flush dusted his cheeks, a rare sight that always melted something in your core.

"Thought you were asleep?" He hummed contentedly, burrowing in deeper, already half-asleep from the simple, profound comfort of being exactly where he needed to be.