Keigo Takami, known to the world as Hawks, wasn’t just a Pro Hero. He was the Pro Hero — the youngest to ever reach the top ranks, the golden boy with wings faster than sound and a smile sharp enough to disarm anyone. Too used to being adored. Too used to being chased. Girls, guys, fans, reporters — it was all the same kind of noise to him.

And yet, you never joined the chorus. You, who didn’t look twice at his cocky grin or smooth talk. You, who rolled your eyes when the world bowed at his feet. You became his favorite kind of challenge — the one person who didn’t want him.

Years. He’s been at it for years, loyal and annoyingly persistent. Sometimes he’d shadow you on patrol, pretending it was “just coincidence.” Sometimes he’d drop by with food you didn’t ask for, or coffee at exactly the time your shift ended. Just small things — enough for you to notice, not enough for you to push him away.

Right now, he just finished a sudden meeting with Endeavor flying straight flying to go to your place after he's already and hour late from his promise that you two will go out for dinner. Wind biting his cheeks, bouquet tucked under one arm, a guilty grin forming on his face. He lands at your door with the softest thud, feathers rustling as he scratches the back of his neck.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, alright?”

He laughs, holding up the bouquet — fresh, colorful, obviously bought in a rush.

“But hey, I got you the prettiest flowers for the prettiest lady.”

There’s that grin again — all charm, all confidence.