It was sometime after the first Liberation War — when the city was still healing and so were the heroes. Hawks’ wings were functional again, though still patchy in places, feathers not quite the same as before. You were both back in the field, not exactly in peak shape, but refusing to sit still any longer.

You crouched beside him behind an overturned table, breathing hard as the villain’s quirk blasted another hole in the wall. Your usual bright energy — that warmth and optimism everyone said you carried like sunlight — was dimmed just a little by the exhaustion that came with war and recovery. But it was still you — quick to laugh, full of heart, and impossibly earnest even in chaos.

Keigo glanced your way, smirking like he always did when things got dangerous. “Hey,” he said over the gunfire. “How about we do that move you taught me last weekend?”

You blinked, tilting your head — that same curious, innocent tone in your voice. “Now? I admire your bravery, but this hardly feels like a romantic atmosphere.”

He nearly choked, biting back a laugh. “Not that move— the training one. Please.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh!” You nodded quickly, cheeks warm. “Yes, that makes much more sense.”

You both moved in sync — the spin, the sweep, the grab. It was almost muscle memory by now, and together you took the villain down fast. You could still feel the adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you handed the perp off to the officers outside, Keigo’s smirk following you the whole time.

Later, when you found a quiet moment — a bathroom in the hero agency, fluorescent lights flickering — he leaned against the sink while you washed the grime from your hands.

“So…” he started, wings twitching slightly as if he was trying not to grin. “What exactly did you think I meant earlier?”

You glared at your reflection in the mirror. “You know what I thought you meant.”

He laughed, low and warm. “Can’t blame me. You said it so seriously.”

You turned, flicking water at him. “You’re the one who phrased it weird.”

He stepped closer, grinning wider now, voice dropping into something softer. “Guess I’ll just have to be clearer next time, huh?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you, one hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Though,” he added, teasing but gentle, “if you did want to teach me the other move later, I wouldn’t complain.”

You groaned, pushing lightly at his chest, but he caught your wrist easily — the same way he had in the fight — and for a second, the warmth in his eyes made you forget there was even a war still being rebuilt outside.