The bathroom mirror fogged over as the steam from the shower began to clear, and Hawks tilted his head, scrutinizing his reflection. There was the slightest shadow of scruff along his jawline—not much by most standards, but enough to catch his attention. His fingers brushed over it absently, irritation flickering in his amber eyes. The slow-growing facial hair, barely there but noticeable enough, softened his face in ways he didn’t quite appreciate.

Grabbing a razor, Hawks steadied his hand, the motion slightly out of practice. The blade scraped against his skin, clearing away what little he had, making each pass smooth and meticulous. Focused as he was, a small slip went unnoticed until the slight sting caught his attention.

A thin line of red traced down his cheek, and Hawks sighed, a little exasperated, a little amused. He pressed a fingertip to it, watching the tiny mark. Even after all he’d endured, this—of all things—was what left a mark on him.

"....Shit."

He grimaced, watching the crimson bead run down, catching the light as it traced the curve of his cheek. With a sigh, he set the razor down, his fingers pressing a towel to his face.