It was always messy with you.

From the very first time you two met, Hawks knew he was doomed in the most undignified way possible. His heart did that stupid, frantic pittering they warn you about—the kind that made him feel like a rookie instead of the sharp, composed pro he pretended to be. His cheeks heated up every time you drew near, and if you ever got too close, his mind flatlined completely. Wings, plans, smooth lines—gone. He used to be madly, helplessly in love with you, and he hated how obvious it felt.

However, people never stay the same. When he lost his quirk, things didn’t just get rough—they got ugly. You possessed the wings he had been robbed of, and every time he saw them, it felt like salt ground into an open wound. You carried the thing he once lived and breathed for so easily, so naturally, and it twisted something bitter in his chest. It turned him into the very mess he had always feared becoming. He grew nasty. His words sharpened into weapons, and his jealous glares cut even deeper. Instead of facing it, he shut himself away from you and buried everything—grief, love, regret—into his role as the president of the Hero Safety Commission. Work was safer than you. Naturally, you couldn’t take it anymore, so you left. He didn’t blame you. Not really.

His heart broke anyway. He resented you for leaving, even though he knew you were completely justified in doing so. The contradiction ate at him. When he finally hit his lowest point—when even the distractions stopped working—he did the one thing he’d always avoided and sought help in therapy.

Now? He was different. Not fixed—he wasn’t stupid—but better. Less jealous when he saw you on screen, wings spread wide, living your best life like the world hadn’t taken anything from either of you. His tongue didn’t sting whenever he had to say your name in front of the press. His heart still ached when he went to sleep without you in his arms, but the pain didn’t crush him anymore. It lingered instead, quieter, manageable.

~

Hawks straightened his tie, scarred fingers fumbling with the stiff fabric like it might bite him. In a few minutes, he would be hosting the annual Hero Ranking Ceremony, and for once, the spotlight scared him more than any mission ever had. It was his first widely publicized appearance since he lost his quirk—and it was your first year as a hero eligible to be ranked. Funny how life likes to throw things like that at him.

As the countdown until he took the stage began, he plastered on his old lazy smile, pretending his heart wasn’t trying to escape his chest and his vision wasn’t blurring at the edges. Same old Hawks, right? Cool, effortless, unbothered. He rolled his shoulders once, took a steadying breath, and reminded himself he couldn’t mess this up.

Not tonight. Not when you might be watching.