Chapter Text
Hawks don’t want to be your hero anymore. He wants to be the villain you fear—because you’re the prettiest with tears.
Hawks is something akin to the sun. Not because he’s a brilliant, bright, young man. He reminds me of the sun simply because I can’t look at him.
Whether if it’s the coiling butterflies in my stomach, the dizziness washing languid waves in my head, or the scorching heat running through my blood—those are only trivial factors.
I’m only allowed to get a glimpse at him, and nothing ever good comes out of it. My heart pinches with apprehension when I see the wide grin on his handsome face, but there will always be the sensation of malevolence following closely.
He’s loved by everyone. He is everyone’s Hawks.
I’m… uncomfortable around him.
Maybe I’m just a skeptical person, but I don’t trust his empty smile. The seeping malice at the corners of his lips twist like a serpent killing its prey, and the beckoning gleam in his eyes yields a type of power that renders me speechless.
Hawks, a man of sunshine violence, stands before me with a red blade. It’s made from his Quirk, and it is stark crimson.
He flicks his strong wrist with one firm swing. The kneeling man’s head rolls onto the gravel ground, eyes gazing hollowly at me with the remnant of mercy fading out of existence.
His blade drops with lethargic blood, slow and teasing as the pulse in my neck skips at the smooth slide of his gaze onto me.
“Oh!” he says with a casual grin. “I’m sorry you had to see that, little dove.”
He takes a step forward, and I inch back impulsively. Hawks grins with predatory elation.
“Was that too gruesome for you?” he asks, but it feels like a test.
He waves his bloody weapon towards the headless body imperturbably. “Don’t look at him. You can just stare at me if you’re scared.”
I’m afraid he’ll be in front of me if I blink.
“This isn’t so bad,” he notes with a nod. “You saved me the trouble of looking for you.”
I grip the strap of my bag protectively. He’s not here for money; he wants something more. If he wanted money, there was no need to decapitate the man.
Hawks coo deliberately, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He just lied through his teeth without a hesitant blink.
“Don’t come closer,” I demand as my voice quivers at the end.
I wish my sore throat healed before tonight.
The alley to my workplace is too narrow for cars to go through, and there aren’t any busy intersections around here. I’ll be lucky to see a headlight from a distance.
“I never got a chance to talk to you,” he gripes with a pout. “You’re always running away. Am I that scary?”
More than he’ll ever know. Hawks terrifies me beyond the extent of weak knees and erratic heartbeats.
This is primitive fear with flight instinct breathing through my stiff legs and fight instinct encouraging self-preservation.
“Are you going to run?” he questions rather jitterily.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
My shoes crush the gravel underneath as I spin around. I don’t look back when my ears pick up a vexed sigh, I don’t slow down when his eyes strayed off my burning back, and I don’t hold my breath as I turn the corner.
I can’t outrun him, nor can I outsmart him. I can only hope someone is out on the streets at this time. It’s eight at night, but it’s summertime.
My bag hits my hip as I dart through another alley. The shortcut to the main road is a dangerous decision, but adrenaline muddles my assessments.
A skipped heartbeat rattles against my ribs as the streetlights come closer, but a shadow swallows the hope with a flawless soar.
I look up, unable to stop the impulsive act. Hawks drifts through the starry sky, his large shadow casting dread in my stomach as he descends inches from the alley’s exit.
The crimson feathers flutter contemptuously.
Wings of despair—of freedom’s last breath.
“I’ve been patient, little dove. I really have been, but a man can only hold on for so long.”
His long legs step closer, and his smile pulls to flash a spiteful white gleam at my involuntary flinch.
“You know that, right?”
His tongue clicks aggressively over the ringing silence. “Of course, you don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t ask me to be good to you.”
I’ve not spoken to him beyond one greeting.
This man is delusional. He’s crazy, and he’s strong.
A red feather skims playfully through my hair, but it’s the force that knocks me down.
The gravel digs into my palms as I press my back to the wall, putting centimeters between us as a final act of self-preservation until my instincts laugh in my ears.
Transferring the aching from my palms to my tongue, I bite down harshly. A burst of sharp stinging feeds into the stagnant adrenaline, I raise to my knees with every intention of running away from this madman.
Searing pain rips into my shoulder, cutting through muscles and nicking bone with ease as my spine collides harrowingly with the wall. Tears cloud my eyes, blurring the shape of his powerful stance.
“To the world, you’re dead.”
He hums with contemplation and shrugs indifferently. “That’s alright. Less competition for me.”
The diabolical decadence circling his golden irises are undefeatable.
“Your hero will give you something to cry about at home.”
He kneels with a hand curling tauntingly around my neck, and his soft lips press to mine to seal the promise of pain.