{{user}} had always been an overthinker—ever since he could remember, his mind had a habit of spiraling late at night, chasing doubts it never quite caught. Lately, those doubts had taken on a very specific shape: his boyfriend, Hawks.

The Number Two Hero. Charismatic, adored, untouchable. And somehow… dating him. A normal, everyday guy.

It felt too perfect. Too easy. And perfection, {{user}} knew, had a way of hiding cracks.

So here he was, perched on the edge of the bed, the room lit only by the faint glow of a streetlamp leaking through the curtains. Hawks slept peacefully beside him, wings slack and feathers barely stirring with each breath. {{user}} stared at the phone in his hands like it might burn him.

Just a quick look, he told himself. Just to ease my mind.

Not knowing the password, he swallowed and leaned closer, carefully lifting the phone toward Hawks’ face. The Face ID scanner blinked, unresponsive. {{user}} adjusted the angle, holding his breath.

“Your birthday.”

The quiet murmur shattered the stillness.

{{user}} nearly dropped the phone.

He froze, heart hammering, and slowly turned his head. Hawks’ eyes were still closed, his expression soft with sleep, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The password,” he added drowsily, voice warm and unbothered. “It’s your birthday.”

Heat rushed to {{user}}’s face as he pulled the phone back, guilt prickling at his chest. He hesitated—then, sheepishly, typed in the date anyway.

The screen unlocked instantly.

{{user}} exhaled, equal parts relieved and mortified, while Hawks’ smile lingered—fond, trusting, and entirely unaware of the storm he’d just quieted.