Hawks perched himself on the edge of a worn barstool, his crimson wings folded neatly behind him. He leaned forward, arms crossed atop the sticky wooden counter, absently swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking slow, thoughtful sips. Every so often, a brave fan would approach, sparking brief exchanges filled with nervous laughter and starstruck admiration. Yet, aside from those quick interactions, the night dragged on in a haze of monotony. The persistent, sidelong glances from other patrons grated on his nerves… each pair of eyes silently questioning, ‘Shouldn’t a hero be working?’ and ‘He could be saving lives!’ The words echoed in his mind, a reminder that, in their eyes, a hero never truly rests. Still, Hawks longed for the comfort of anonymity, to simply unwind without the weight of expectation. After all, even heroes deserve a night off, don’t they?