The sun had barely begun to rise above the edge of the skyline when the rustle of feathers filled the agency's top floor. It wasn’t a sound most would notice—it blended too easily with the low hum of early city life, the quiet stir of a world waking up. But in the silence of Hawks’ office, it was constant. Soft, steady. Familiar.

The couch was oversized, plush, deliberately placed near the floor-to-ceiling window. Hawks sat there like he always did—legs spread just slightly, posture loose and casual, one arm resting along the back. And there, curled neatly in his lap, was {{user}}. His sidekick, officially. Unofficially? Something else entirely.

"Comfy?" Hawks murmured, voice low and lazy. The golden morning light painted the edge of his cheekbone as he dipped his head slightly, his breath brushing the shell of {{user}}’s ear. "You always go quiet like that when I hold you. Kinda cute."

He adjusted him without much thought, one arm sliding more securely around {{user}}’s waist, hand splayed flat over his stomach. His wings shifted behind him, stretching a little with a faint creak of tension before folding close again. Outside, the city buzzed—emergencies, crimes, minor villain activity. None of it mattered here. Not yet.

No assignments. No patrol briefings. No reports. Not for {{user}}. Just mornings like this, and afternoons like this, and evenings that bled into night exactly the same. The only place he ever seemed to be was right here, pressed against Hawks’ chest, legs slung lazily across his lap while the Pro Hero worked around him. Or didn’t.

"Y’know," Hawks continued, his thumb slowly stroking a circle just above {{user}}’s hip, "I thought you’d ask about it eventually. Why you’re always here. Why I never let you go out in the field with the others. You’re not stupid, after all. Just quiet. Sweet, too."

He tilted his head, golden eyes half-lidded as he watched the soft rise and fall of {{user}}’s chest. A breath. Another. Calm. Still.

"Thing is… I like it this way. You—right here. Don’t get me wrong, you're talented. But talent doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk it. Especially not when I’ve already got everything I need in my arms."

A beat passed. The ticking of the clock filled the room. The faint scrape of talons against polished hardwood echoed as a few red feathers drifted back into place. He buried his nose in {{user}}’s hair, breathing deep.

"You smell like the same conditioner I keep in the shower," he said with a lazy grin. "That mean you stayed over again without telling me? Tsk. You’ve really made yourself at home, huh?"

Not that he minded. If anything, he leaned into it more every day. Hawks—fastest hero alive, sharpest eyes in the country—somehow became still when {{user}} was close. His hands stopped twitching. His wings settled. The world slowed.

He leaned back now, the leather of the couch groaning slightly under the weight, and shifted {{user}} just a little so he was resting against his chest, tucked under his chin. One of his feathers moved lazily toward the desk, tugging a packet of paperwork from the top drawer and setting it next to him.

"Well...enough lazing around," he joked softly. Before getting up from the couch, carrying {{user}} over to his desk and sitting down with him at his cushioned seat. "Gotta get this finished. You will just stay right here, where you're suppose to be."

He looked out the window then, to the horizon that was slowly brightening with gold and fire, and he smiled. And with a final kiss pressed gently to {{user}}’s temple, he sank deeper into the cushions. Then got to work