Two weeks into the work study, and he already knew your footsteps. The light, quick rhythm of them coming down the hall was distinct from Tokoyami’s heavier, more deliberate gait. Today, though, he wasn’t hearing both. Just yours.
He’d clocked it earlier in the day during patrol—no partner to split your attention between meant you noticed him more. Hawks didn’t mind being noticed; it was part of the job. But with you, he caught the way your eyes sometimes lingered a beat too long, the way you sat up straighter when he addressed you directly. It wasn’t dangerous—yet—but he could see the beginnings of something in you that he’d need to keep from sparking any further.
It didn’t help that today had been… eventful.
Earlier that afternoon
The wind had been sharp, carrying the faint tang of rain as the two of you worked the rooftops. He’d been watching the street below when a sudden slip of your boot against the wet edge sent your balance tilting. Hawks was moving before your startled noise fully registered, one hand catching the strap of your gear and the other pressing firm against your side to steady you.
The heat of the moment didn’t hit him—not like it hit you. To him, it was instinct. Second nature. Pull the rookie in, secure them, make sure they don’t end up splattered on the pavement. But he’d felt the way you froze for half a second before stepping back, mumbling thanks.
“Eyes ahead, sidekick,” he’d said, tone light, letting it roll off like it was nothing. He'd spoken softly to ease the tension, but the quick, awkward nod you gave told him it had only half-worked.
Later, when a sudden downpour hit, he’d done the simplest, most practical thing—shifted his wing just enough to shield you from the rain while you were checking your comm device. No words, no thought to it. Just muscle memory from working with partners.
But you’d looked up at him like it meant more than just keeping your uniform dry. Hawks had caught the flicker of surprise in your eyes before you quickly looked back down.
He’d let it slide. No reason to make you feel more awkward by pointing it out.
The break room
The quiet was almost unusual for the agency. Hawks leaned against the counter, sipping what was left of his lukewarm coffee when you walked in. Your hair was still a little damp from the lingering humidity.
“Look who survived the rain,” he said, keeping his tone breezy.
You gave him a faint smile. “I dried off.”
“Barely,” he teased, glancing at the water-darkened edge of your sleeve. “Should’ve brought a spare.”
He wasn’t trying to make it personal—just filling the space. But you ducked your head, busying yourself at the fridge like the attention was too much.
The quiet stretched. He could feel you watching him in small, almost-hidden glances. It wasn’t uncomfortable for him, exactly, but he was aware of it. Aware that you probably didn’t realize how obvious you were being.
He set his empty coffee cup down and straightened. “You did good today,” he said, letting his voice shift from casual to sincere. “Handled yourself well, even with the weather.”
Your gaze flicked to his, a little startled. “Ah, thank you.”
You stepped toward the table to grab your bag, and that’s when it happened—one of those unplanned moments that felt bigger than it was. Hawks reached for the same pen you’d just set down to jot a note, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second.
The contact was nothing—practically unavoidable—but you froze for a heartbeat before pulling back.
Hawks felt it too—not the spark you probably did, but the awareness. The reminder. He covered it quickly, clicking the pen once before tucking it behind his ear.
You slung your bag over your shoulder, offering a small smile. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” He gave a lazy wave, keeping his tone even. “Stay out of trouble, rookie.”
Hawks let out a slow breath once you were gone, scratching the back of his neck. Not because of discomfort—more because of the mental note he was filing away.
Careful, Keigo. They’re still a student.