#hawks is all alone at the restaurant and drinking sadly

[incorrect-league-of-villains]

Dabi: Ah shit, I forgot.

Sako: Forgot what?

Dabi: How do you expect me to answer that?

[moonnightyoongi]

puzzle piece | jk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst, angst, ANGST

word count: 1.8k

description: you just seemed to fit like a puzzle piece

                                     ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You don’t really remember where or how it started. The desire to love, to be loved. Of course, it is simply human nature, the ancient thought that when you are made you are split in two and you spend your life searching for your other half. Except in this day and age that is a thing of the past for some, they simply spend their life by themselves and they enjoy it. But where does that desire go? Surely it just doesn’t disappear – perhaps theirs gets projected onto the one that comes after them. The double desire to find and be loved. The double desire that eats away at them all night and is quickly put on the back burner during the day when they find a measly distraction. If that’s the case, then you are the one that came after. Growing up you were not deprived of love; your parents loved every bone of you, and you had a fair share of friends who would do anything to see you smile. But it all started when you hit the age of dating, everyone seemed to have it so easy, but you always went for the wrong guy or the guy who loved another or you were simply left alone in the corner of the dance while everyone slowed danced and the teachers watched with hawk eyes to make sure they didn’t get too close. No really. 9th grade, the boy who had asked you conveniently got back with his ex while you went to the toilet, and worst of all you couldn’t go cry in the toilets because you had just come out of them!

All your friends say your time will come. But it’s easy for them to tell you all the cliché things when they had met the perfect partner for them. They were happy and content, living in a world where they don’t need to think about anyone else because they had each other. No dating apps, no more awkward first dates, no more unanswered texts, no late-night cries when you receive the ‘you’re great but…’ texts. Just blissfully unaware of the hell on earth that is dating for people who don’t have it as easy as they do.

Jealousy. It’s hard not to be jealous when you go to their house warmings, or their dinner parties or that one engagement party. It’s hard. Sure, you were happy for them, because at least they weren’t feeling the hell and the social pressure to not be alone for the rest of your life. They don’t get the judgemental looks from the bitchy aunt that definitely didn’t have a rushed marriage when she was your age because she was pregnant (definitely didn’t happen – your cousin was 100% premature).

You hear about love languages and how everyone has a specific one, everyone said they knew yours from a mile away – words of affirmation. ‘You constantly need to hear that someone loves you or that they’re proud or that they haven’t changed their mind. Isn’t it tiring?’. Yes, it was extremely tiring, tiring to be constantly trying to tell yourself that you’re being foolish, and they do still love you and they are proud - yet still having the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that it’s all a lie.

“Any dates lined up?” Yuki asks as she scrolls through her phone.

You sigh and put down your drink, “No. I’m done.”

“You said that year and then met that awful dude that thought he was better than you,” Anastasia chimed in.

“He was better than me,” you reply thinking of the doctor and all his PhD’s. Sure, he was an awful person who liked to bring up just how many he had but he had every right to, he had earnt them.

“Just because he had a few pieces of paper doesn’t mean he’s better than you. You have a personality, he didn’t.” Anastasia scoffs stirring her coffee.

You shrug your shoulders as you look out the window, “He’s engaged now.”

“Poor girl,” Yuki laughs putting down her phone, “Does she have any degrees?”

Yuki and Anastasia laugh at the memory of you introducing your ex and him straight away asking if they had any sort of degree between them. Looking back, it made you feel sick to your stomach, he was so rude, and you were so desperate.

“PhD.” You reply.

“Just the one?!” Yuki exclaims, “Disgusting!”

They both laugh once more as you sat silently staring at the half empty coffee expressionless. It was easy to joke about exes when they weren’t yours.

“Listen, a new guy started at my work and he is so much like you I wanna set you two up,” Anastasia says.

“I don’t know, remember the last set up?” you point out. He was a whole foot smaller than you and at one point you had to help him reach something from the second shelf in the supermarket. Ironically, he didn’t want to meet again because you were too small.

“That was my mistake, I didn’t realise he wanted a 6ft girl,” Anastasia tells you, “Come on! He’s lovely, he’s taller than me and the other day he split coffee down himself.”

“So that means he’s perfect for me?”

“A match made,” she smiles, “Please!”

“I’d just do it; how bad could it be?” Yuki points out as you fumbled with your jumper.

“Getting shouted at in aisle 5 because you couldn’t reach the top shelf bad,” you joke. They both burst out into laughter once more as you sighed and watched the rain fall to the ground outside the coffee shop.

“Fine,” you sigh, “What’s his name?”

“Jungkook,” Anastasia smiles.

~.♥ ~

The lead up to the date was the worst, Anastasia constantly went on about how clumsy he was and how perfect you would be together – her favourite story was him walking into the glass door and simply shaking it off before going into a meeting. With every new story it bought up a sense of hope – but even you knew this was dangerous. For what one thinks is cute and endearing another finds childish and immature. What if he wasn’t as cute and as clumsy as Anastasia constantly explained – what if it was because he saw someone cute in the office and got distracted and he was now using you to make her jealous.

“Stop overthinking,” Yuki demands snapping you out of your thoughts.

“How did you-?”

“I’ve known you far too long. You’re either overthinking or over romanticising.”

You smile sadly before looking back into the mirror and applying some more blush. Maybe it was all the fairy tales growing up that made you this way, or maybe it was the tv shows. Either way they had both set you up for failure.

“Jungkook is on his way to the restaurant. It’s under my name,” Anastasia smiles walking into the room with her phone in hand, “Tae said good luck!”

“So does Jae,” Yuki smiles.

“I need it,” you mutter standing up and fixing your dress, “What do I do if he doesn’t show?”

“He’s on his way,” Anastasia sighs.

“What if he goes to the wrong restaurant?”

“They won’t seat him because my name won’t be on the list of reservations.”

“What if they don’t do reservations?” you challenge.

“You’re annoying me. He’s on his way to the right restaurant where he will give in my name and will be seated waiting for you.”

“But-,”

“Stop! Get in the taxi,” Anastasia shouts cutting you off. You drop your head as you walk down the stairs sheepishly. Anything could happen, you could arrive before him and he could look at you and change his mind. He could arrive before you and when you walk in scream and run out the back entrance. Everything was a possibility.

“Anastasia,” you smile nervously to the hostess.

“This way, your party is waiting for you,” she smiles kindly. Party? How many where here? Did Anastasia set up a conveyer belt to give you your best shot? You don’t think you could handle multiple rejections in one night.

Walking into the dining room you spotted him straight away. He was staring out the window, his leg twitching under the table – so much so he knocked over the pepper. His red face made you flutter and as you got closer the butterflies became more and more active. He was as clumsy as Anastasia had described and a lot cuter than she had as well.

“Your table,” the hostess smiles placing the menu down and walking away.

“Y/N,” Jungkook smiles standing up quickly, “I’m Jungkook!”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you smile pulling the chair out.

“I should have pulled your chair out for you, shouldn’t I?” he wonders aloud.

“No, because if you couldn’t push it back in, I’d probably overheat with embarrassment,” you laugh pulling your chair in and hitting your hip on the table, “Fuck!”

The restaurant stares at you as you held back anymore swearing.

“Very hard table,” Jungkook jokes before they resume, “Are you okay?”

“I’ve got shivers.”

“You’ll have a bruise tomorrow,” he laughs as you finally sit down.

“I bruise so easily; my whole left side will be.”

“My friend is the same, he once caught his ankle on the door and couldn’t wear a shoe for weeks. The whole thing was swollen. He used all the ice in my freezer too,” Jungkook laughs.

“What about the ice in his freezer?”

“We live together so I guess he used all of his too,” he replied.

You laugh loudly as you opened the menu, all the anxiety had melted away when he smiled in your direction.

~.♥ ~

Days had turned into months and months had turned into a year. There was something about him that was so different from everyone you had met before. Nothing you did was ever childish or embarrassing and the same for him. You two just seemed to fit like a puzzle piece. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, he made sure you knew he loved you. Whether it was by sending you a midday message when you were in work, or whether it was a cheesy video of him kissing the screen. He would bring ramen when you were stressed, and alcohol when it was time to celebrate. You would attend parties together and would spend all night dancing, drinking and laughing. You finally felt happy when attending engagement parties, housewarming parties and everything else that used to fill your social calendar with dread.

It’s just a shame it was all a lie.

masterlist | tell me what you think

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Harvard Vs Netflix

Malcolm bright x reader

You were fussing over your hair for probably the tenth time this block, usually you didn’t care but you were going on a double date with your friend and her new fiance, plus it was the first time she’ll meet Malcolm, so you had to look your best.

“Love, you look fine, calm down.”

Malcolm says, gently pulling your hand away from your hair and onto his lap. It also didn’t help that he always wore a suit, and looked damn good in them. You never saw him an anything else until you moved in with him. Shooting the ex FBI agent an exasperated look.

“Surely you know that wasn’t the best thing to say right now, being a profiler and all?”

Chuckling he lifts your hand to place many soft kisses to the back in apology.

“You’re right, I should’ve told you how beautiful you always look, now being no exception.”

“Plus aren’t you excited?”

Smiling you slide closer, tucking yourself under his arm resting your head on his chest as you sigh. You were excited, but couldn’t get past this weird feeling in your chest.

“I am, it’s just...her fiancé Ty,”

Feeling him move to get a better look at your expression, trying to figure out what you meant so you didn’t have to say it if you didn’t want to. You know if he saw something he didn’t like on your face as you spoke of the other man he would tell the driver to turn around, he always wanted you to be comfortable even around his family, he never seemed to calm down until you both were alone.

“There’s something off, and I can’t ask her about it or she will think it’s payback for what she said about you when we started dating.”

“What did she say about me!”

Luckily before you had to answer the car stopped outside the restaurant.

Some restaurant in Manhattan that had a dark lit romantic theme but was still classy.

After Malcolm held the door open for you, you saw Natalie sitting alone and rushed to hug her.

“You’re here!”

She squeals when she sees you, Malcolm trailing behind, hands stuffed in his expensive suit pants pockets.

“Of course we are, but where’s Ty?”

You asked sitting in the seat Malcolm pulled out for you after you introduced them both.

Reading the sheepish look on her face you could figure out what was up.

“He’s running late, he will be here soon.”

That’s what she always said. You all spend the next thirty minutes catching up and explaining old stories of the trouble you both got into as kids to Malcolm, when Ty walks in. Giving you a quick awkward hug, he knew you didn’t like him you made it clear after the fifth time he stood her up. He shook Malcolms hand and gave Natalie a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry I’m late got caught up at work.”

Malcolm smirked at your eye roll, it was odd for him to see you like this, normally you were the nicest person clearly you didn’t like Ty, he just had to find out why, should be easy enough.

“What do you do?”

It was a simple question, if Malcolm wasn’t the one to ask but you knew he’d be looking for anything Ty would give up. You already had suspicions hopefully He will come to the same conclusion.

“Uh, real-estate, you?”

“I’m a consultant for the NYPD, a profiler to be exact.”

“He used to be FBI isn’t that cool!”

Natalie said squeezing Tys shoulder as she bragged to her fiancé about your boyfriends past career. At least he looked flustered knowing that Malcolm figures out serial killers thoughts for fun.

“Isn’t it a little late for real estate?”

“Y/n!”

“No Nat, it’s okay. Well Y/n in real estate I have to stage houses in order to sell them. That’s what I was doing.”

Giving an innocent shrug as she yells at you. That smug punk, he was testing you, seeing how far you would go you knew that but if you were going down so was he.

“Oh yeah did you use perfume to stage the house? because you smell absolutely floral.”

Before you could laugh at he wide eyes and the fact he choked on his drink, your boyfriends phone rang. He could feel your glare, one because you asked him to mute it during dinners, two because it ruined the moment you finally had of Ty for once not having some degrading come back.

Quietly speaking over the phone, judging by the annoyance all over his face it was his mother. Rather then third wheeling you followed him outside, when he was just hanging up.

“I’m sorry love,-“

You cut him off before he could finish, any other time you would be irritated but this time, it gave you an escape.

“Yeah yeah it’s fine. What did you think of Ty?”

“You don’t like it when I profile your friends.”

Raising his eyebrows, looking over your face as if it was a trick.

“Ty is not my friend! And I said I don’t like when you profile me! I know the guy is cheating do you agree?”

“He was acting odd and gave clear signals of deception and did smell very floral yes.”

“Well he wasn’t wearing his ring and there’s a pink lipstick mark behind his ear, did you see how nervous he got when he found out what you did!”

He’s only her fiancé but she wanted them both to have engagement rings. And of course he probably lost his ‘staging a house’

“How’d you catch that? I didn’t even see that!”

Malcolm asked, sounding astounded. Sure he went to some fancy school but you learned naturally, which is something he forgets. You could read people almost as well as he could and have made many jokes about it.

“Yeah, guess Netflix taught more than Harvard babe.”

You winked, leading him back to the restaurant.

The following week you were both having a game night with Ainsley and Mitch the new guy she was seeing. You started with monopoly, then charades which you and Malcolm killed at. Now it was 21, the boys either folded or busted, it was down to you and Ainsley,

“I’m all in.”

She says, her lip twitching. An untrained eye wouldn’t have caught it, but you call her bluff and go all in too. And you were right to do so. Yelling in excitement as you flip your cards.

“Dang it, it’s like playing with Malcolm!”

She shouted, a smile on both of your faces. The boys came to see who won, although Malcolm already knew. You were the only person he couldn’t beat at cards.

“She’s not exactly like me, she reads expressions and body language I read behaviors.”

Malcolm over explained. You found it cute but the other couple looked lost.

“Why don’t we make this fun? We all go against Y/n, two truths and a lie see if she can find the lies.”

Mitch suggest, leaning comfortably on the couch next to Ainsley. Malcolm sitting straight up next to you his hand resting on your hip. Looking mildly intrigued and quickly agreed. Mitch practically lunges to the ottoman in front of you.

“Okay! So..when I was sixteen I stole a car,

I secretly dated my best friends sister,

And I had a dog named Shakespeare.”

He quickly rattled off, the other two in the room watching us like hawks. I already knew about the car from when Malcolm made Gil run a background check. the second one looked like a truth but there was a hint of head tilt when he said ‘dated’

“You didn’t date her, you just slept together.”

It was crickets waiting for his response, he stares frozen until his eyes widen and jaw drops.

“Holy crap she’s good!”

“She was right?”

“Shakespeare, really?”

You and Malcolm shouted simultaneously.

He was equally surprised and impressed. He couldn’t figure out which was the lie. And yet you did and then some. He was proud but couldn’t stand you were that good at something you learned from a Netflix series.

“Move over, my turn!”

Ainsley now sat in Mitchs place. You noticed her foot tapping as she thought of what to say.

“I took ballet classes when I was 8, I wore a dress worth over a thousand dollars to prom and spilled punch all over it........and I over heard mom and dad talking about the girl in the box.”

Malcolms hand tightened on your thigh, you could feel his breath catch in his chest. She was trying to throw you off by playing with his emotions, it would’ve worked if she wasn’t so predictable. But it was a low blow that sadly didn’t surprise you.

“You didn’t spill the punch and you don’t know anything about the box.”

He relaxed once she nodded her head, And apologized to her brother. You could see the interest in her eyes as she asked question after question. One of them being what was beneficial with my little ‘gift’.

“Well I always know who’s lying before they open their mouth, plus knowing the signs of deception means you can manipulate them, which is why I can lie to your brother.”

Winking to your boyfriend during your last sentence. It was true you were amazing at lying, you never used it but no one ever knew about surprises you were planing.

“I’ll admit I’m impressed, but you definitely couldn’t lie to me I’d know.”

“Oh yeah? Looks like it my turn this time.”

Now facing Malcolm, you tucking you knee underneath you to appear more relaxed, you’d be more believable that way. He nodded for you to start. You grew up hearing the quote, don’t start a fight but once you’re in one win it. So if you had to pull a play from Ainsleys play book you would. You just won’t use something that traumatic. Keeping your shoulders loose and your breathing even.

“I used to own a classic car, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I do you, I cheated on you when you were in this hospital with the snake bite.”

Since you were telling the truth your expressions matched with the lie. But you knew Malcolm would be looking for forced reactions. Since you know what to look for in other people you could fake those same triggers, or hide them. He appeared calm as you spoke but the longer you stayed silent the more tense he got. While you were telling the lie you added extra detail, giving him more to analyze over the vague truths. Plus no one wants to believe someone they loved cheated on them.

“I don’t know.”

Malcolm sighed heavily, not only in defeat but confusion. He hated to think you did that to him, but he always thought that you deserved better, maybe you did too. Not being able to stand the pain in his eyes you explained.

“The car I had was a mustang, you’re the only man I’ve ever said I love you to, You mean to much to me I’d never cheat on you.”

Sliding closer with every sentence until you were practically in his lap as you finished. You could feel the stress leave his body, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and kissing your head.

Later that night you were curled up together in bed, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your arm staring at the ceiling.

“That was a stupid game.”

Softly laughing at his words, playing with the neckline of his grey shirt he sleeps in as you agreed.

“It was, but at least I got to show you my mad skills, I could take your job one day.”

You joke, successfully making him laugh and loosen up.

“It you, I’m always amazed by you. Showing off or not.

[randomrosewrites]

H. A. W. K. S.

“There’s a certain kind of pain that follows denying your pleasures in life.”

A brief abstract piece on Hawks as a character. 

Words: 2179

Rating: Mature 

Read it on ao3

// Possible manga spoilers. No events in the manga are mentioned outright, but some things and aspects of Hawk’s past are alluded to. 

Warnings: Blood + killing mention. 

Enjoy. 

                                                     H. A. W. K. S.

                                                    Act 1: Heights.

It’s raining tonight. 

He’s always liked the rain. Maybe it made sense, with his quirk and all, but something about water streaming from the heavens soothed him. 

He’s crouched on an arm of a crane, at the top right where the hook hangs 50 meters below him. His wings are hunched up, rain cascading down them like they’re made of glass, his coat and hair are lightly misted with a thin layer of water. Cupped between his gloved hands is a room-temperature can of instant coffee. He takes sips from it whenever he remembers to.

It’s a quiet night on patrol. The city has, graciously, decided it was going to be quiet for the night. He gazes out over the world, city lights flaring against the plastic of his visor. He pushes it up onto his hair. Rubs his eyes. Blinks. Drinks some coffee. 

Nights like these were what he - in theory - enjoyed. Quiet. Serene. No one around to disturb or ask him anything. Perched at the top of the world, weightless and free.

But every time those graveyard shifts rolled around, without fail, an extreme sense of disappointment settled in.  

He knows he should be happy. He should be savoring the precious moments of peace whenever he could, as they were such a rarity. But he couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness, a hole where he was expecting joy to fill it. Instead of feeling free, he just felt tethered to the ground, an invisible chain wrapped around his ankle. 

He stares up in the air, being met with pitch blackness. He can’t tell the difference between cloud and sky. 

Being alone meant there was...nothing. Nothing to do. No one to talk to. Nothing he had to be. He didn’t have to be anything - no one but himself.

Himself… who even is that person, if they even exist? The line between his hero persona and who he truly is blurs with every passing day that now he thinks - fears - there’s no difference. It’s just one blur, like the clouds in the night sky. 

After the curtains shut (if they ever shut at all…) and he takes his final bow as Hawks, who is he?

He gazes out over the city, burying the multitude of thoughts he doesn’t have answers for far away from his mind.

                                                    Act 2: Apathy.

He never wanted to be in the top ten. But as most things in his life, fate had a different plan for him. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s so popular. Ok, well, that’s a lie, he does partly. But he doesn’t understand what makes him good enough for the top of the pyramid. He’s not like All-might or Endeavor, who became famous for their pure strength. His wings are powerful, sure, but not that powerful. 

If he had to take a guess, he’d bet the appearance of his feathered appendages were a big contributor to his fame. That and a mix between his speech and his looks (don’t even ASK him what his fans see in him, he has no idea. ) But in the end, the why isn’t important, but how he handles that fame. 

He smiles politely at the people crowded around him. Sign this for him. Nod at that person. Take a photo with her. Thank this person. Laugh at this one’s joke. Let the kids tug on his wings.  It’s all standard stuff he’s been trained to know how to do. Simple. 

The hardest part is figuring out what people want. How much effort to invest in the conversations, how much he has to smile to make them satisfied, but not enough for them to get too confident. People and their emotions are easy things to figure out. It’s a formula.  A pattern. Once you know what they like, it’s just a matter of providing that euphoria again and again. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a person who wriggles through the crowd, coming close to him. They appear nervous, maybe hopeful, wringing their hands out in front of them. 

“Excuse me?” They ask. 

Hawks finishes up signing something for a kid and turns to them.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I…” As they pause, Hawk’s eyes trail lower. A red feathered charm hangs from a metal chain around their neck, resembling the feathers on his back. 

He recognizes it. It’s one of his merch products from the latest jewelry line that came out. He showed it off in a recent photo shoot he did. The necklaces have been very popular, from what he’s heard. 

The fan clears their throat and finds their voice. “I just wanted to say thank you for all that you do. I love you so much and I think you’re amazing.”

A confession? He feels like laughing. Wow. It’s not the first time he’s had one of those, and it certainly won’t be the last. 

He smiles good-naturedly at them. “Thanks! I’m grateful for all the support my fans give me.” 

They flush, just happy to be able to talk to him. He wishes he could feel bad. Or feel anything for all these people fawning over him.

But he doesn’t. He feels nothing.

You don’t love me, he thinks, you love the idea of me.

                                                      Act 3: Wings.

“What a great quirk you have! I bet you’ll be able to become a super-strong hero with it!”

“You’re so lucky to have a powerful quirk!”

“I’m so jealous of you!”

“Wow...look at them!”

...things like that were what people told him all the time as a kid. How lucky he was, how blessed he was, blah blah blah.

He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment. He’s shooed most of the feathers out of his wings, leaving just little whisps on his back. It’s still a bit uncomfortable and feels a tad annoying when they press against the sheets of his bed, but he doesn’t mind. Sometimes that ache is good. 

The rest of his feathers flit about the room. Some stick to the walls or ceilings, others hover around, suspended in midair. A few zoom around, disturbing the others, but most just kinda lay around. 

Mighty wings. That’s the name they gave his quirk. A more accurate term would be mighty feathers, but it’s not like he cares about the technicalities.  

He rubs a dead one between his fingers. The barbs are frayed and the edges are bunched together. 

It was always his quirk that got him attention. It was always the wings that people noticed and remembered - not the man who controlled them. Without them, would anyone even recognize him? Or was he just a pretty face that went along with them? 

He glares at the feather in hand, crushing it carelessly between his fingers. The crack of the stem as it breaks echoes through the room. 

So yes, what a great quirk he was born with! It was so good, they decided his life for him.

                                                      Act 4: Kill.

His wings always felt heavier when wet. Sadly, he found out it didn’t need to always be because of water. Blood also weighed them down. 

It was his first time in a mock battle. Back when he was...7...8? Something like that. 

Well, anyway, he’d been up against an opponent that was a lot stronger than he was in terms of physical strength. It wasn’t an important fight, it was just a casual sparing match. But they’d both fought like their lives were at stake. At the time, his feathers weren’t as strong or large as they are now, so he didn’t have much to work with. 

During some point in the fight, though, he remembers getting a nice cut on his opponent. Right along the arm on the meaty part of the tricep. The feather jerked through the skin, cutting a jagged, wobbly line into the muscle. 

When he felt it, he shivered.

Afterwards, he cleaned himself up in the bathroom, washing away his own blood from the cuts and scrapes he gained. When it came time to do his feathers, he’d thrown away the bloodied one, taking an hour to carefully preen and scrub the rest of his dirtied feathers. 

Back then, it felt easy to get the blood off of him.

Now, things are much different. 

How long do you have to wash your hands before the blood goes away entirely? He ponders to himself one night. Does it really ever go away? Or does some of it stay behind permanently in microscopic percentages?

He stands over his sink, shoulders hunched, head hanging. The faucet is on, sending a gush of water down the sink. Wasteful, he chastises himself. 

Blood trickles from his nose in slow, steady drops, twirling down the drain. He’d gotten careless, a bit too sloppy, and the consequence had been him landing face-first into the ground. It wasn’t broken, thankfully, it just hurt like hell. 

He stares at his hands, gripping the edges of the sink. They’re spotless - not a drop of blood or a spec of dirt on them. He’d worn gloves after all. It made cleanup easier. 

The wings on his back twitch. They’re red. Even though he can tell when there’s blood on them (it’s always just a bit darker) who knows for certain if they’re entirely clean? Maybe the blood just stains them, slowly changing the colour of them, layer by layer. 

He stands there for a minute, before pumping a few squirts of soap into his hands, and viciously scrubbing them together. 

No guilt. Just the need to be clean. Though he knows that it’s pointless to think he’ll ever be it.

                                                    Act 5: Sorrow. 

There’s a certain kind of pain that follows denying your pleasures in life. It’s not a sharp pain but a slow scrape, like someone is tearing your heart apart tissue by tissue, leaving behind nothing but a cold pit. It creeps up on you, seeping into your body, sucking the life out of you.

Most people hated Mondays. They're the first day of the business week, always the hardest to come back from after celebrating the weekend. For Hawks, it’s always the opposite. Fridays are the hardest for him.

All around him, he sees people living their lives. Excited students going for karaoke, exhausted business owners going for a relaxing night in, clusters of friend groups going out to eat at a restaurant.

Everyone is having fun, they’re existing, relishing in the pleasures of life.

But for Hawks, those weren’t things he could take part in. He’s always busy, tied up with one thing or another that the higher ups needed to be done. An endless, to-do-list that only lengthens the faster he tries to go. 

Sometimes he wants to scream. Or cry. Or slam his fists into the ground. Rip his throat raw until he can't speak. He felt the need to do something to ground himself, something to treasure himself that he was alive. Because half of the time, he feels like he’s not really living. 

Every day is the same. Different day, sure, and different tasks, but the same routine. Like a loop. He gets up, works, goes to bed exhausted, wakes up exhausted, and repeat.

Over and over and over. 

And what is the point of it all? He’s only...what, twenty-two? And yet, he feels like he’s lived enough for a lifetime and not long enough simultaneously. 

He wants to go out and see the world. He wants to curl back up in bed and sleep for a solid three months. How can two oxymorons both be true? 

He tears his gaze away from the window and the people walking in the streets of Tokyo, shutting the blinds and taking a seat at his desk. 

Even on his darkest days, even when he feels like he can’t handle being himself for another second, he always calms down. Without fail, he always picks himself back up, piece by broken piece, and looks forward to the future. 

It’s the only thing he can do. 

                                                      H. A. W. K. S.

He’s barreling forward in life, flying faster than his wings can take him. 

One of these days, he’s going to trip and fall. Maybe he’ll slip further than he can catch his mistakes, or maybe he’ll reach his nonexistent limit and throw in the towel, but inevitably, one of these days he’s going to come down.

“Hawks.” A woman in a plain black suit and dark sunglasses says to him. “The meeting is starting now. Are you fully prepared?”  

When that does happen, there’s no doubt it’ll be painful and ugly and hurt like all hell. He’ll fall through the sky, crashing and burning, hurtling towards the ground where he’ll collapse in a trembling, pathetic mess. 

But until that point, he’ll keep flying on. Because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

He smiles, ready to compromise himself over and over again.

“Yup.” 

Hawks. A man who’s too fast for his own good.