It had been days. Weeks. Maybe even a month or two since Hawks began trailing her—not as a mission, not as surveillance, but as something far more personal. Something he hadn’t dared name.

Her name was {{user}}, and she wasn’t just another operative. She was a top-secret agent for the Hero Commission, two months younger than him, and carved from the same cold marble. A puppet, like him. A weapon dressed in skin.

But she was different.

She didn’t pretend to be free. She didn’t wear a smile for the public or flirt with the illusion of normalcy. She moved like a shadow—precise, silent, untouchable. And yet, Hawks couldn’t stop watching her. Not because she was beautiful, though she was. Not because she was dangerous, though she was that too. But because she understood.

She saw through him.

Through the grin that never quite reached his eyes. Through the charm, the breezy one-liners, the effortless charisma that made civilians swoon and heroes roll their eyes. She saw the boy who had been trained to smile while bleeding. The man who had learned to fly while carrying chains.

And she didn’t flinch.

She had sworn off love. Hawks knew that. Knew it from the way she never lingered in conversation, never let her gaze soften, never allowed anyone close enough to touch the bruises beneath her armor. She had been betrayed—deeply, cruelly—by someone who had promised safety and delivered pain. Since then, she had built walls so high even her own emotions couldn’t climb them.

But Hawks wasn’t trying to scale those walls.

He was trying to plant something at their base. Something small. Something warm.

He didn’t want to break her. He wanted to soften her. To show her that love didn’t have to be a battlefield. That maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

The weather was lovely today. The kind of morning that felt like a promise. The sky was a soft blue, streaked with gold, and the breeze carried the scent of sun-warmed concrete and distant ocean salt. Hawks soared through it like he belonged there—wings slicing the air with practiced ease, body relaxed, heart anything but.

Below, the usual chorus of fangirls erupted as he passed overhead. Squeals, cheers, camera flashes. He gave them his signature grin, a wink, and a lazy wave. But his attention was already elsewhere.

Then he saw her.

She was walking down the street, her pace steady, her gaze forward. No hesitation. No distraction. But to Hawks, she glowed—like a beacon in a sea of noise. His grin widened, and with a few powerful flaps, he descended, gliding just above her shoulder.

“Good morning, feathers,” he chirped, voice light, teasing.

She didn’t respond.

Not a glance. Not a twitch.

Unfazed, Hawks dipped lower, his shadow stretching beside hers on the pavement. He trailed her like a breeze that refused to leave.

“Yohoo, feathers. Dove. Baby bird. Lovey-dove-dove!”