Chapter Text
He is
He's the shining and the light without whom I cannot see
And he is
Insurrection, he is spite, he's the force that made me be
He is
Nostro dis pater, nostr' alma mater
He is
Keigo Takami is, bluntly put, a self-destructive addict with a pathological talent to get into deep shit.
And not in the romantic, faintly wistful way fans like to excuse their idols’ eccentricities, but in the most literal and frankly alarming sense of the word.
One of those people who somehow keep functioning, and no one’s quite figured out how they’re still standing without completely collapsing.
Or, more likely, no one has ever really cared to ask.
After all, he’s always been treated less like a person and more like a weapon.
“You know who comes to mind when I see you?” Miruko had told him the night before, in the bathroom of a Pro Heroes party.
“Lindsay Lohan,” she added, with the unnatural laugh of someone who’d smoked far too much weed.
But at the time, bent over his line of coke, one nostril pinched shut while he inhaled through the other, Keigo hadn’t really processed the comment. It slid off him like every other sound and thought in that room, his mind already fogged by at least a couple of other substances he can’t even name now.
Now, though, slumped in the back seat of an expensive government car, he curses himself and understands exactly what she meant.
Because yes, Hawks thinks, his life follows the same trajectory as every baby-star who became too much, too soon.
Like them, since his childhood he has been burdened with the unbearable weight of talent, laid upon his 5 years old’s shoulders - or, more accurately, his wings- along with an equally crushing load of expectations.
He was forced to embody perfection at all times, monitored in real time by the press and under the constant surveillance of the Hero Public Safety Commission, never allowed to fail or even exist outside the image of the ideal hero.
The cameras were always there, not waiting to celebrate him so much as to catch the inevitable stumble.
And when you live long enough under that kind of pressure, the question isn’t if you’ll break, but when and how.
And Keigo did break, exactly like all those celebs shaped to embody the public’s ideal of perfection.
Once he reached adulthood, he buckled under the weight, spiraling into self-destruction, drifting from party to party, substance to substance, bed to bed, with the same passivity as an object falling toward a precipice.
To be fair, most Pro Heroes dabble in drugs at parties from time to time (except for a few who still manage to keep a safe distance from that circus. The difference is that, in his case, it stopped being occasional a long time ago.
And then there’s the small complication of having been turned into a double agent, giving his own body for information at times, taking innocent lives.
Hero or hitman, as needed.
All things considered, you can hardly blame him for getting a line of cocaine now and then… or for lining his ass up with a stranger.
Right?
“Right!”
That’s what Hawks keeps telling himself to preserve some illusion of dignity as the car carries him inexorably toward an emergency meeting where, he’s certain, a monumental dressing-down awaits, along with what promises to be the biggest scandal of his short, chaotic, and reckless life.
Fortunately, the press can’t sink its claws into everything that happens behind closed doors, and the Hero Public Safety Commission is remarkably efficient at burying anything that might damage its image.
The minor scandals so far are nothing compared to the shitstorm that would erupt if everything behind the mask of Japan’s “golden boy” ever came out.
At least, that was true until a few hours ago.
Hawks’ apartment, Minato (Tokyo) — 7:16 a.m.
It isn’t unusual for Hawks’ phone to receive an absurd number of notifications. That’s what happens when you’re a Pro Hero, adored by the public and almost certainly on your way to becoming world rank No.2 hero.
That’s why he usually keeps it on full immersion mode, with a few exceptions for emergencies.
That morning, though, he must have forgotten to turn it on, because the phone won’t stop ringing.
Before he even attempts to open his eyes, a vicious pain hits around his head like it’s trying to split him in two.
Hawks groans and decides that opening them would be a terrible idea.
But damn Steve Jobs, that evil iPhone keeps ringing, and Hawks could swear it’s developed sentience and is raising the volume with every new notification.
So he forces his eyes open, this time bracing for the pain, lifts his head with effort, and grabs the devilish object.
The display is blinding against the dark room, shutters still drawn, and his skull feels like it might implode, but he squints at the screen anyway, if only to silence everything and go back to ignoring the world. Future Hawks can deal with it, thank you.
Except the notifications carry a sense of urgency impossible to ignore even though the dense fog in his brain, whatever cocktail he took in the last twelve hours.
[3 missed calls from Miruko.]
[5 new messages.]
Miruko: Keigo!!
Miruko: [img1.jpg] [img2.jpg] [img3.jpg]
Miruko: what the hell were you thinking?
Miruko: your photos are everywhere, this is a disaster
Miruko: wake the fuck up!!
Five missed calls from the Commission.
[3 new messages.]
Miruko: Wake uuuup 😩😩
Miruko: Answer your damn phone!!
Miruko: Call me as soon as you see this!!!
“What the hell…” he mutters, voice thick with sleep and chemicals.
[One new alert]
Hero Public Safety Commission — Emergency Meeting Notice.
> 9:00 a.m., Reception Hall for Heroes, Room 4.
Attachment from Yokumiru Mera:
“Hawks!! Answer your phone! You are required at the Commission at 9.
You really screwed up this time, it’s going to take work to contain this.
If you don’t respond within thirty minutes, we’re sending someone to pick you up.”
At that point, Hawks makes the unfortunate decision to open his social media accounts, and regrets it almost immediately.
“Shit.”
Notifications and headlines flood his timeline.
The very first post he sees is from an online newspaper:
FROM SKY-HIGH TO FREE FALL: HAWKS LEAK SCANDAL
Leaked intimate pictures and wild party snapshots show Japan’s golden hero spiraling through excess, substances, and promiscuous hookups.
He opens the article and bolts upright in bed.
Suddenly he’s wide awake and painfully functional.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
Scrolling down, the photos appear, and Hawks’ heart nearly stops.
Some are clearly pulled straight from his phone.
Others were obviously taken by the man he’d been with the night before, moments when he’d been far too out of it to notice.
Fucking bastard.
He remembers almost nothing from the previous night, but just as he tries to piece together the fragments and the answer begins to assemble itself in his mind like a slow, dreadful puzzle, the Commission calls again.
This time he answers, his wings tremble slightly.
“Heeey… I was just about to call you, actually. So uhh maybe last night I might’ve slightly over—”
“Save it for later, Hawks,” Yokumiru’s cold voice cuts in.
“We’ll discuss everything at the meeting. Get your feathered ass up and get here. A car is already on its way.”
He hangs up before Hawks can even say “I can fly there by myself” or “Go to hell.”
“Fuck you,” he says anyway, to no one.
Not exactly how he would’ve chosen to start the day, with a hangover like that.
Public Safety Commission Headquarters, Tokyo — 9:30 a.m.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Hawks says to the screen of his smartphone, nervously biting the black ring around his lower lip while lazily scrolling through social media without actually reading anything.
“With that whiny tone, I stopped listening about ten minutes ago” he adds, with a forced cocky confidence.
Then he looks up and meets the eyes of the Commission agent seated across the large circular table, surrounded by a dozen other agents and supervisors.
He has always hated HPSC meetings. Throughout his entire hero career, he has somehow managed to arrive late to every single one, usually on purpose, always in the most irritating way possible.
“See? This is exactly what I mean!” the woman -whose name he never bothers to remember - continues sharply, addressing the President.
“Unstable. Impulsive. Unreliable. He allowed explicit material to be distributed across the entire internet. At this moment, there’s practically no one who isn’t talking about it. We cannot promote him to the number 2 position and risk a public relations disaster.”
Hawks inhales, closes his eyes, gathers what remains of his patience, and exhales loudly. He rises slowly and stretches, trying to ease the lingering ache in his muscles (a little souvenir from last night’s substances).
“Karen,” he says, pointing at her. “Right?”
“Kyoko,” she snaps.
“I could be wrong, but it seems to me there’s one very small detail everyone in this room is choosing to ignore.” Hawks continues, meeting her gaze as his wings subtly flare behind him
“In this situation, I AM the victim!” he yells, slamming his hand down on the table hard enough to make poor Kyoko, and a few others, jolt in their seats.
Do they seriously intend to blame him for all of this just when his private photos were stolen and dumped online, dragging his reputation through the mud?
No. Not now. Not after everything he’s done for them.
“You think I enjoy seeing my ass all over the headlines?! Do you think I leaked those photos myself? You think any of this feels good, Katy?”
“Kyoko!”
He sits back down, ignoring the “Kyoko!” from the woman, resting his legs on the table in his usual cocky posture.
“What’s this, suddenly we’re all puritans? Oh no Hawks, don’t give your ass to strangers, don’t be a slut, don’t be a crackhead, you have to be chaste and pure and wear the purity ring” he mocks them, an hand dramatically pressed to his chest. But his eyes are far from amused.
“Fuck, I must be a complete idiot then, because I could’ve sworn you were pretty damn happy when I had to give my ass to deliver all those strategic infos, right?”
“We’re well aware of everything you’ve done for the Commission and for this Nation, Keigo, and we’ll always be grateful. Your sacrifice has been invaluable.”
This time, Madam President speaks.
Hawks lets out a dry, humorless laugh and folds his arms defensively.
“Grateful!” he repeats, as if to weigh the meaning of the word. “And what exactly did you think? That all the shit you made me do would just vanish without leaving a trace?!”
“If you need support, we have the best doctors and therapists in Japan at your disposal” Madam President says flatly, managing the situation with clinical detachment.
“Oh, please, cut the crap. You don’t give a fuck about my health.”
“You can keep doing what you’ve been doing, of course. It’s your choice, we won’t chain you. What we’re asking is discretion. Discretion, Keigo. So here’s what you’ll do,” she continues firmly. “And on this, there’s no room for refusal. We’ve scheduled a press conference for this afternoon. You’ll get yourself together, present yourself properly, and apologize to the citizens for your behavior. The speech has already been prepared.” She slides a folder across the table.
Keigo sighs again, exasperated, lacing his fingers under his chin and closing his eyes, suspiciously wet.
“Perfect,” Hawks says, bored and too tired to resist. “So what does this masterpiece say?”
“That you went through a significant emotional breakdown, that you’re deeply remorseful for what happened, that drugs were an isolated incident and don’t reflect your usual behavior, that the images were meant to stay private, and that nothing like this will happen again.”
The usual anti-shitstorm spiel from a communications expert, Hawks thinks, but he doesn’t voice it.
He just mutters a vaguely detached, “Got it.”
“If that’s all, I’ll be going,” he adds after a moment. “Gotta clean up and memorize a speech.”
He rises without hurry and leaves the meeting room with the same obedience he’s always displayed.