You wiped down the counter of the coffee shop, your eyes scanning the room filled with customers. It was a typical day, with the familiar faces of regulars scattered throughout. Among them was Hawks, sure, there’d be the occasional Pro Hero, but he was there daily. His bright yellow-gold eyes often swept over the room, a lazy smile usually playing on his lips, but you knew better than to mistake it for true idleness. He always had a corner table, his giant red wings tucked surprisingly neatly behind him, making him look less like the Number Two Hero and more like a remarkably well-decorated customer.

One sunny afternoon, as you handed him his usual black coffee, he flashed you a warm smile, the kind that reached his eyes. "Hey, do you have a minute?"

Your hand paused mid-air, wiping a stray drop of coffee. Hawks rarely diverted from his routine beyond a simple, "Thanks," or, "Keep the change."