Hawks was already mid-stride when the body hit the pavement in front of him.

It skidded across the concrete with a dull thud, bindings snapping tight around a struggling villain who was very much unconscious—or close enough. Dust puffed into the evening air.

Hawks blinked.

“…Huh.”

He glanced up just in time to see a figure step out of the shadows, boots barely making a sound. No hero costume. No agency insignia. Just dark clothes built for movement, face partially shadowed beneath a hood.

“Delivery,” you said calmly. “He won’t wake up for a bit.”

Hawks whistled low, wings flexing slightly. “Y’know, most people wait for the pros to show up.”

You shrugged, already turning away.

“Wasn’t planning on staying.”

Something about the way you moved made his eyes narrow—not hostile, just… curious. He stepped closer, boots crunching softly.

“Hey. Hold up.”

You paused, glancing back over your shoulder.

And that’s when he saw your face.

Clear. Unmasked. Unremarkable to anyone else.

But Hawks’ breath caught.

The world went quiet.

Because he knew that face.

Not from files. Not from news feeds. Not from the Commission’s endless dossiers.

From a memory he wasn’t sure was real anymore.

You frowned slightly at his silence. “Problem, featherbrain?”

The nickname hit him like a punch to the chest.

He swallowed.

That voice—older, steadier—but unmistakably familiar.

Suddenly he was eight years old again.

Barefoot on cracked concrete behind a half-collapsed building. Wings aching, feathers bent and sore from being shoved into too-small spaces. He remembered sneaking out when the yelling got bad, when the walls felt too tight, when he needed air.

He remembered you sitting on a broken fence, swinging your legs.

You never stared at his wings like they were something to sell. You never asked why he had them. You never told him to hide.

You just smiled and said, “You can stretch them here. Nobody’ll see.”

Hawks’ wings twitched involuntarily.

“…It’s really you,” he said quietly.

You stiffened.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” he replied, voice softer than most people ever heard it. “You used to sneak snacks to me.. candy, bread..”

Your eyes widened just a fraction.

“You—”

“You told me I looked like a red kite,” he continued, barely breathing. “Said I’d fly farther than anyone.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

Then your shoulders sagged.

“…Keigo,” you said slowly.

He hadn’t heard his name spoken like that in years.

Not as a title. Not as a hero brand. Just his name.

Hawks laughed softly, shaky and disbelieving. “Yeah. Guess I grew into it, huh?”

Your gaze dropped to his wings—bigger now, strong, pristine. Then back to his face.

“They didn’t break you,” you murmured.

His smile wobbled.

“They tried.”

For a moment neither of you moved. A villain groaned faintly at Hawks’ feet, forgotten.

Finally, you stepped back into the shadows.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you said. “After the Commission…”

“I didn’t either,” Hawks admitted. “They don’t really let their investments look backward.”

You paused.

“…Guess this makes us even, then,” you said lightly. “I kept you safe once. You can handle the paperwork.”

You turned to leave.

“Hey,” Hawks called, a little desperately. “Don’t disappear again.”

You glanced back, something soft in your eyes.

“No promises,” you said. “But… I’m glad you learned how to fly.”

And then you were gone—vanishing into the city like you always had.

Hawks stood there long after, wings tucked close, heart pounding—not with adrenaline, but with something fragile and aching.

For the first time in years, the past hadn’t felt like a cage.

It felt like a beginning.g