Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

***

Some luxuries never lose their novelty.

Parties get old, money loses value, but there’s nothing quite like a city skyline. Dark at night, but bright from human life, cars so tiny down below, they’re like tiny red dots flickering in a sea of black.

This party has an open bar, thank god. Enji has been talking business for most of the evening, and Hawks lost interest approximately sixty seconds after midnight.  

Everything is very… modern, up here. Gold lights and white walls and those glass staircases that are an accident waiting to happen. 

Hawks stands by the bar to grab another drink, and keeps a very close eye on their men stationed around the room. Negotiations haven’t gone south yet, but Hawks has learned not to have too much hope.

A body slides next to him, and Hawks knows on instinct alone that it isn’t one of his own.

“Hey beautiful. We’ve got the good shit upstairs if you’re looking.”

Ah, the wonderful world of drugs.

Hawks doesn’t even have to turn around. He rests his bottom lip against his glass, and watches the reflection in the skylight window.

“You’re a brave one.”

Said guy runs a hand through crunchy gelled hair, and grins, “Well shit, they don’t hire pirates to sit around and look pretty, now do they?”

Hawks finally shifts around to look at him, raising an eyebrow. This guy is young looking; brown haired and tan, with no physical quirks to be seen, besides the pupil-less white eyes. 

“Alright kid, where’s your captain?”

The guy scowls, but still tries to play it cool.

“It’s Kudou. And you damn well know she’s with your little daddy over there.”

Hawks crosses his arms, flexing the stitches in his suit.

“You know who I am and you’re still trying to flirt with me?”

Kudou takes a shot, wipes the back of his mouth, then huffs.

“Nobody is faithful in our line of work. Everyone’s got at least a dozen mistresses, and then some.”

Hawks hums. Enji is still seated at a rosewood table, leg crossed and a cigarette in hand, and he looks very elegant and in-place, like a barbie meant for a dreamhouse. He radiates danger and money, mortal sin and power. Hawks will never get tired of seeing him in such a well-tailored suit – count that as an eternal novelty.

“You should be praying your little ass off hoping this deal goes through.” Hawks uses his glass to gesture towards the high-ranking warlords seated at the roundtable. “Instead of sniffing coke and stealing men.”

Kudou wipes his nose with his sleeve and checks it. He then laughs, and squints in Hawks’ direction.

“Hmm, it’s you that should be praying, sweetie. I know you’re trying to steal Shigaraki’s contacts.”

Hawks stiffens. He clinks the glass on the counter and puffs out his wings.  

“How do you know that?”

“It ain’t rocket science. Every head in the east knows you two have been exchanging blows. Shit, they were talking about the powerplant for a long time.”

Hawks internally cringes. The fallout for that wasn’t great.

“Shigaraki is a bastard,” Hawks says, leaning back into the bar. His wings fall to his back, but don’t fully relax. “You should be ashamed for working with him.”

“I go where the money goes,” Kudou shrugs. “Just like anyone else.”

Hawks sips, and the whiskey burns his throat. He’s not a heavy drinker, but he’s grown tired of this situation all together.

“Cute. We call your kind scumbags.”

“And we call you gold-diggers,” Kudou grins. “Though, they’re always a good fuck.”

Hawks sighs from his nose. He really thought he left all this bullshit behind with his stripping career. It’s been a rude awakening.

Hawks glances across the room, back to Enji. He can read his expression better than most – better than any, Hawks is proud to say – and just from the clench of his jaw alone, Hawks can tell that Calabran is giving Enji a challenge. Hawks can appreciate a badass woman, but not when she’s holding up a whole fleet of ships down south.

Alright, time to get a move on.

Hawks shifts towards Kudou, not close, but enough to face him.

“Money only gets you so far, baby. A fat wallet is only half the fun of a fat cock.”

Kudou’s eyebrows raise, and he grins, showing off a few silver caps.

“I’ll give you something better to ride than that pretty red Bugatti downstairs.”

Hawks pets his finger along the carved lip of the granite bar.

“You saw that?”

Kudou is the one that steps closer, not Hawks.

“Who didn’t?”

Hawks knows the heat of blue eyes better than anyone. He knows when Enji’s attention is snapped on him – would know it in a crowd of hundreds, would know it if they were miles away, would know it through a screen, even.

Hawks doesn’t acknowledge it. He turns his head to look out the floor length window, then shakes his feathers and traces the rim of his whiskey glass with his black nail.

“You’re playing with fire, hon.”

The pirate grins, “I’ll show you fire.”

Hawks feels a hand slide to his hip.

Bait set.

Hawks looks to the man and smiles kindly, “You have two seconds to let go.”

Kudou doesn’t take him seriously.

“With an ass like that? Why would I?”

Fish caught. Now for the reel…

His hand slides downwards, gripping his ass tight, and Hawks doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to. Enji is across the room in a heartbeat – and it only takes a sharp breath and a drop of silence before Kudou’s wrist bone is snapped in Enji’s great palm.

Everything pops off at once. Kudou howls in pain, Enji tosses him to the floor, guns are pulled and it all comes to a standstill. Enji is absolutely fuming; uh, no, literally — smoke comes off him in riveting curls. He stands as a dragon of the east; as tall as the rumors make him out to be. His reputation is, while slightly exaggerated, not so full of rumors at all.

“You are a fool,” Enji says. It’s not overly loud, not a shout or howl – just a low, deadbeat snarl that stands your hair on end. Hawks smirks over the glass of his cup and takes a casual sip.

“Lower your weapons!” Burnin’ calls, pistol cocked and aimed.

“You first!”

“Fuck off, I’ll shoot!” 

A few red dots appear in the room. Yay snipers. They always have the coolest guns.

“Hey now,” Calabran crosses the room with her arms raised. The rim of her lace hat shades most of her face, but you can see her catlike-nails protruding through her gloves. “Let’s all relax for a moment. No need to get hasty.”

“You broke my fucking hand!” Kudou howls, clutching it on the floor. There’s no blood, but the joint is bruised and purple, and Hawks gets a very sick satisfaction from it.

Enji stands next to Hawks – not overly protective, but possessive all the same. He’s pissed.

“Calabran, I won’t tolerate disrespect. If this is the kind of behavior your crew represents, then I will have no part of it.”  

“Neither shall I,” Calabran says. Her dark hair spools down to her knees, and she pushes it behind an ear, revealing earrings that cost more than the car she drives. “The insubordination will be dealt with. Promptly.”

Guns are lowered, and Kudou looks on in betrayal as his own brothers lift him from the floor.

“But Boss –!”

“I would love to negotiate the rest of this pact with you, if you are so inclined,” Calabran gestures. Enji’s face doesn’t relay any emotion, but he sets his jaw and looks to Hawks.

“Give us a moment.”

“Of course. We shall take recess then.”

Kudou is dragged off kicking, and the tension starts to ease as Calabran meets with her crew across the room. Phew, that was a close one.

Enji doesn’t touch Hawks directly, but he crosses his arms and stares him down.

“You alright?”

The motion pulls the suit fabric around his arms. Makes him look even bigger like that – and it’s hot. Hawks smiles at him sweetly, and offers Enji a sip of his drink.

“I’m just wonderful. You?”

“A little peeved,” Enji answers honestly. Hawks snorts, and Enji sets his glass on the bar without drinking. “We'll talk later. Return to the hotel and I’ll meet you there.”

Hawks pouts. “You don’t trust me here anymore?”

“Stop that. You’re bored and causing trouble.” Enji places the hotel key into Hawks’ breast pocket. “Go straight there, I won’t be far behind.”

Hawks tries to hide his smirk, but fails miserably. As always, Enji is the only one capable of seeing right through him. Enji brushes his knuckles against his side, and Hawks snatches his fingers quickly, to squeeze once and let their rings clack.

“You think she’s going to give?”

“I think this will be over soon. Go.”

Enji is clammed shut – but they’re still in a room full of pirates, and the sound carries in here, so Hawks sighs and lets his hand go.

“Fine. Longer than an hour, and I’m coming back for you.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

***

The hotel room is beautiful, but the TV has nothing but porn channels, and his social media isn’t worth checking this late, so Hawks spends a good chunk of time in the shower. It’s got all those fancy rain jets, which is nice sometimes, but it usually fucks up his feathers, and he has to comb through them in the bathroom mirror.

He's long made peace with these useless things; clipped and red, and stuck to his back. They remind him of shitty club locker rooms and yellow mirrors; but it also reminds him of possessive fingers threading between each feather – of tattooed dragons slithering down his side – and it’s not so bad. It’s who he is.

The hotel maids turned down their bed already, so Hawks is laid across it, filing down his nails in a bathrobe. Okay, yeah, the wings are fine – but hybrid quirks are such a pain in the ass, be it the rapid nail growth or the seasonal molting. 

Hawks has just set down the nail file, when the lock on the door goes bada-beep!

Hawks rolls to his stomach to look up, and Enji shuts the door quietly, despite being the only suite on this floor.

“Six minutes to spare,” Hawks says, reading the clock on the nightstand. “You made it.”

“Might’ve run a light or two,” Enji hums. His soft tone makes Hawks smile. It must have gone well. 

“Did we get the deal?”

“Yes.” Enji undoes his cufflinks, plucks his tie tack and loosens the knot, and it’ll never stop being sexy. Never ever. “We’ll blockade some of the trafficking in India, thanks to you.”

Hawks sits up and bats his eyelashes innocently.

“Oh sir, by what do you mean?”

Enji rolls his eyes at his tone.

“That little stunt you pulled with Calabran’s gunner. You set that up.”

Hawks grins, watching his every move like a predator. Enji pops his watch and sets it on the side table. Sheds his suit coat, and hangs it in the closet.

“It was all moving a little…slow, for me.”

“You called out her bluff in front of everyone,” Enji huffs.

Hawks plays with the hem of the robe.

“Are you mad at me?”

Enji crosses towards him, and Hawks lifts his chin easily, like an eager dog. A hand settles at the back of his neck, and Hawks purrs happily.

“No. I’m angry that someone touched you.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” Hawks grins. He sits up on his knees. Enji pets up his throat, over his cheek, his lips and his ears and his jaw. He noses into his palm, and uses his own hand to tug at the drawstring of the robe. “I was prepared to apologize anyways.”

His robe falls open. Enji’s eyes jerk downwards, as if tied by a tether.

“I didn’t buy you that.”

“Technically, you did.” Hawks flops back on the bed, spreads his knees and rubs his socked feet against the sheets. “It was your card.”

Enji always gets strangely possessive when Hawks uses his money. He secretly loves it, so that’s why Hawks does it.

Enji pops a few buttons on his cuffs and his collar. He rolls up his sleeves and shows off ink, and Hawks plants his foot right on Enji’s thigh, rubbing the fabric together. It creates a shhk, shhk sound that makes his hair stand on end.

These socks are more hosiery than knit, and you can see his skin and tattoos through the sheer thigh-highs. Enji likes strappy bottoms and high collars, so Hawks is kind enough to entertain him. 

There’s a monster that lives in the back of his mind – one that sinks its claws into his brain and hisses look at me, and only me. Hawks will do horrible, awful things to feed that demon.

“Always up to no good,” Enji mumbles. “You wanted me to break that man’s wrist.” Enji doesn’t touch him yet, and Hawks hums in turn, pressing his foot into Enji’s crotch. He tenses, and Hawks is delighted to feel him throb hotly under his toes.

“ Desperately, ” Hawks sighs. Enji catches his foot in one hand. Pushes up a little so the knee bends, and kneads his thumb into the silky ankle bone. “You know it turns me on.”

“Many things turn you on.”

“I know. Aren’t you lucky?”

Hawks can feel Enji’s wedding ring press against his foot. Enji moves to kneel on the bed, but he doesn’t climb closer yet. He keeps Hawks’ foot prisoner, pushing into his arch and dragging down to his heel, and it makes Hawks squirm, his stomach growing tight.

“You don’t need to keep dressing up to convince me to fuck you.”

Hawks closes his eyes briefly, soaking in the arousal. He loves when Enji curses. His eyes flutter back open, and he pushes his toes into Enji’s grip, letting the sock catch on his dull nails. The sound gives him goosebumps all over again.

“Is it a crime that I want to?” Hawks spreads his other leg, trying to tempt Enji further. “Fine. Maybe we’ll doll you up next time.”

Enji looks unamused.

“Very funny.”

Hawks flashes his teeth in a smile, and ends up biting his lip when Enji drags his hands up his inner calf. The hosiery makes his skin soft, and Enji follows the inner seam of it, pushing his leg upwards so he can mouth over his knee. Hawks feels every ounce of him throb, head to fucking toe. He loves the reserved strength in Enji’s hands. Like a bowstring that could snap, but doesn’t.

“I like when you look at me,” Hawks admits, turning his head to the side. “I like when you look hungry.”

Enji’s mouth is hot. It’s always hot, and Hawks loves that about him. He has to spread so wide to accommodate the size of him, and it makes Hawks feel exposed, even still somewhat dressed in lingerie.

Enji reaches the top of the sock at his thigh, and kisses over the garter. Damn, his spine tingles. 

“That will not be stopping anytime soon.”

Hawks laughs, and digs his hand right into Enji’s hair. It’s spikey under his fingers, but shaved soft near his neck, and Hawks runs his nails through it as Enji finds bare skin on his inner thigh and sucks hard. It’ll bruise, and it’s awesome. Super, super awesome.

“Ah, I wish I could see the look on Shiggy’s face,” Hawks sighs. “When he finds out Calabran jumped ship. Metaphorically, and physically.”

Enji inhales against his skin. Hawks wiggles his fingers into the warm spot between his white collar and his neck.

“It will slow him down. I have a… colleague in America that says they’ve found more evidence of human experimentation.”

Hawks tugs at the collar enough to annoy Enji into throwing it off the side of the bed. Woo! Bare skin. 

“You mean Toshinori?”

“Don’t say his name in bed.”

Hawks snorts, and pushes his socked heels into Enji’s butt, urging him forwards. He doesn’t listen, of course – Hawks can only get away with so much.

“Ah, okay. He Who Shall Not Be Named – is he still working for the police?”

“Yes…” Enji spreads his thighs again, looking him over like a well-read book. “But he works above the law. Utter bastard. I can’t stand lawmen and their beloved moral high grounds.”

Hawks reaches between his thighs to push his fingers over Enji’s tattooed navel. He tugs on his belt, pets over his abs, and only lets go when Enji nudges his fingers aside.

“But you think the Indian trade extended to the Americas.”

“It had to.” Enji scowls. “So in time, I’ll hear from him if more hotspots arise.”

“I think it’s worth celebrating,” Hawks grins. “We’re kinda’ like the good guys.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” Enji mumbles. “We’re nothing of the sort.” Hawks shivers when large fingers crawl under his lingerie bottoms and tug at the strings. He rolls the fabric down slow, like unwrapping a present. It curls down both knees, then off his thin ankles. Enji shoots it across the room, and Hawks laughs outright.

“If that landed in the garbage, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Better than ripping it.”

“I think you learned your lesson last time.”

Enji scowls, and Hawks can see him run his tongue over his upper lip, where Hawks decked him in the face with his foot long ago. Hawks squeezes him lovingly with his thighs. Enji hums, and rubs the outside of them warmly.

“What do you want?”

“I didn’t spend fifteen minutes clipping these stupid socks on to not get fucked.”

Enji raises his eyebrows. Hawks’ bare cock gives a short twitch against his hip, and Enji leans down to kiss the top of it. It’s like a shockwave when his lips touch his piercing, and Hawks exhales hard, his wings slapping once against the sheets. He squeezes Enji’s cheeks with his thighs, and Enji reaches back to tug them down again.

“Do that again, and I will most definitely tear these.”  

Hawks hums happily, and traces the edge of his scar near his forehead.

“If you’re sneaky enough, I won’t get mad.”

Enji pulls the tip of his cock in his mouth, and Hawks tenses off the bed. His wings make noise against the sheets, and Hawks goes mm! when Enji licks flat and noses over his balls. Ugh, it’s sexy. 

Hawks loses focus when Enji pulls him fully into his mouth. He makes it look so easy, and Hawks stopped feeling self-conscious about it a long time ago. Enji doesn’t do this often, and Hawks keeps his eyes peeled wide open so he can watch Enji suck him all the way down to the root and pull back wet and flat. 

“Oh, god,” Hawks says hoarsely. 

Enji gets his arms under his ass and props him a little higher. Hawks twitches against his lower lip, and Enji traces the head once, effectively driving him fucking insane. Enji has the nerve to look amused. 

“Want to ride?”

“Mmm, if you help me.”

“Easy.”

It is easy, for the likes of Enji. Hawks prefers when he ‘helps’, because it means Enji will bounce him on his lap, and Hawks gets to wake up with handprints on his ass.

Red wings disturb still air, flapping uselessly and shivering with the rest of him. Hawks is free to roam over Enji’s shoulders, down the trail of hair at his navel and up to his nipples. He grips the dragons on his biceps. Digs his nails into the ink at his back. And in turn, Hawks gets Enji’s nose buried in his throat, breathing heavy and hard as stone. Hawks loves the vulnerability in these moments. Loves when he clutches to Hawks like he might really fly away.

“You are mine, ” Hawks purrs, close at his ear. His breath hitches and skin slaps skin, and Enji is so deep in him, Hawks feels his insides churn. “Mine, Enji.”

A free hand grips the back of his hair and tugs. Hawks’ head snaps back, and Enji finds his mouth hot and insistent. Hawks always kisses him back, always, always.

His weight is dropped fully on Enji’s cock, and Hawks gasps. A hand scratches over the tattoo on his ribs, and Enji lets him sit and squirm from the pressure. He speaks against his mouth.

“Then take what’s yours.”  

Hawks can’t breathe, but it’s incredible. His cock is leaking a river on Enji’s stomach, and Hawks is left clutching to him, trying to suck in air. He braces himself on Enji’s arms and sits upwards, and every inch is slick torture. Hawks rises up, but even then, Enji is still partly in him. He sits back down and cries out. Flicks the sweat from his bangs and whines.

“Shit, Enji.” 

Enji smiles for him. No teeth, but it’s gentle. He threads his left hand with Hawks’, and their wedding rings clink together.

“Don’t fold now. I’m calling your bluff.”

Hawks grinds back on him in slow, uneven circles.

“I’m not bluffing. I’ll – ah, ah, I’ll wear your dragons until the day I die.”

Something darker crosses into Enji’s eyes. He dips forwards and kisses his throat, his jaw and his cheek, and Hawks groans as he tries to fuck back onto him.

“You won’t die. You will never die.”

Hawks smiles from the absurdity of it. He misses the strange look in Enji’s eyes. The deep, far away expression, like Hawks might fade away in his very arms. If something is wrong, Hawks is too far in his own head to see it.

Enji’s right hand rubs up and down his thigh, and when Hawks squeezes down around him, the fabric rips from Enji’s nails. That’s it. 

Enji flips him, grips the headboard and fucks him stupid, and Hawks sheds feathers all over the bed, crying himself raw and begging until his throat hurts.

One sock survives, sort of. But then Enji comes all over it, so. Into the garbage it goes.

***

Hawks has accepted that he lives a two-showers-a-day lifestyle. It’s not like he needs to worry about water bills.

Enji used to be very…well, prickly isn’t the right word, except it is. It took a while to coax this massive man into being the little spoon, and even longer to convince him that Hawks loved it when Enji collapsed on top of him.

“Aren’t I crushing you?” Enji first asked.

Uh yes, Hawks had said.

But he loves it. Cradling Enji’s head in his arms, feeling over two-hundred pounds of muscle squishing him into the sheets. His weight doesn’t let his chest rise all the way. Hawks can feel a few of his bones pop, and it’s soooo fucking relaxing.

Enji’s breathing is soft and even. Hawks thought he would snore louder, but he doesn’t.

It’s fun to trace the tattoos on his shoulders. Hawks follows one with his finger tip, up and down and up and down, and Enji drifts between asleep and awake, and Hawks is grateful for all the hardship that led him here. Every terrible bit of it.

When Hawks imagined married life, this wasn’t it. Three different countries a week, hosting parties and shooting up baddies on the occasion (and sometimes even robbing them). The jewelry, the guns, the cars. The threat of death on his shoulder, and the moments like these – with his man purring in his arms. Hawks didn’t think any of it was possible.

Then again, Hawks never thought he’d live past twenty-three.

“Why are you still awake?” Enji mutters, unmoving. “It’s almost five in the morning.”

“Just thinking,” Hawks shrugs. He plays with the spikes of Enji’s red hair. It’s the same shade as some of his feathers, and that fact makes him happier than it should.

Enji turns his head to peep an eye at him, and the sleepy smell of him is so yummy and familiar.

“Want me to think with you?”

Hawks laughs under his breath, and pokes the bone in his neck.

“No. Go back to sleep.”

Enji harrumphs, closing his eyes again.

“We fly to Brunei tomorrow.”

“Technically today.”

“No, technically tomorrow. I changed the flight.”

“You did? When?”

“Just now,” Enji mutters. “When I decide not to board my plane.”

“Wait,” Hawks perks upright. “Does this mean you’ll sightsee with me?”

Pause. Then,

“We can’t. It’s a full schedule until we’re back in Europe.”

“Ugh,” Hawks pouts. “Not to complain, but it feels like forever since we’ve done something just for us. ”

Enji goes quiet. His breathing is steady, and Hawks watches his shoulders rise and fall three times before he says,

“Not this trip. But maybe after, I….”

Hawks pets through his hair again, one last time as he nods off.

“Mmm, ‘s fine. Came with the marriage certificate and the prenup, y’know?” From the moment Enji first kissed him, set his job on fire and ran away on a private jet, he knew what he was getting into. What lifestyle he was going to live. Financial stability comes at the price of no stability at all.

Enji’s voice falls into a deep deadpan.

“There was no prenup.”

Hawks falls asleep fast. He doesn’t know that Enji remains awake.

***

As Hawks dries his hair with a towel, and Enji shaves evenly in the mirror, Hawks gazes into the trashcan and sighs at the sight of his socks crumpled at the bottom.

“Maybe we should hold a funeral.”

“ Maybe I’ll just buy you another pair.”

“Hmm…this is acceptable. Can I get a matching gun?”

“I’ll think about it.”

***

The tarmac has been cleared of locals. Not a camera to be seen, not a commercial flight to be heard.

They have twenty minutes before boarding, so Enji smokes one last cigarette by the jet steps, stone-faced and engrossed in whatever the monarch’s delegate is telling him. He’s a squirmy little guy, and he looks eager to earn Enji’s favor, and it makes Hawks want to laugh.

Enji doesn’t play by the lone-wolf rules. He’s more like… a panther. Waiting for the alligators to make his kill, before snatching the prey and feeding his own. Violence when necessary, but willing to walk away. Enji has contacts in high places (not quite friends, not quite enemies), and by keeping the balance, he walks where no man can. The inbetween; where casinos thrive underground, and the money runs downstream, right into his pockets.

The ambassador’s security team is tall and broad, but they pale in comparison to Enji’s size. The blue-haired one is young looking, and Hawks is aware that he’s been checking him out for upwards of twenty minutes.

Enji blows smoke out against the breeze, keeping it out of the ambassador’s face. The smell of it has become something comforting, and familiar.

Hawks pops his gum, and leans up against the empty baggage car.

“Can I help you?”

The blue one straightens, blinks, and flushes from the snorted laughter of his friend.

“Um, n-no, sir.”

Hawks grins. It’s like a cat and a mouse, easy peasey.

“What, really? Is something on my face?”

The guard goes a deeper shade of red, and clears his throat.

“No. You’re – well. You’re very pretty.”

Hawks flattens his gum along his teeth. He pulls it through his tongue, and then snaps it, tipping his head towards Enji’s direction. Their conversation isn’t carried by the wind, unlike Enji’s cigarette.

“You know what they’re talkin’ about?”

“No, sir.”

“Sure you do. You spend twenty hours a day hooked to his elbow. What’s he want with us?”

The guards look to each other. The second guard is amphibian-looking, and he clears his throat.

“We don’t know, sir. It’s classified information – it outranks us.”

Ugh, they’re going to make him try.

Hawks pops his gum again, and plays with the hoop in his right ear. He looks up through his lashes, and frowns,

“Aw, what a shame. Endeavor never tells me anything – ” a lie, “— and it gets so lonely when they scurry off to gossip. Little old me, all by myself…”

They both look sheepish. Flirting is like a second language to Hawks; he drifts closer, hoping that if he pushes just a little more, they’ll spill something interesting – but a hand clasps around his wrist, and Hawks yips as he’s yanked tightly.

“Quit causing trouble,” Enji scolds. Hawks laughs, and allows himself to be ushered onto the plane. “And you two. Think before you lust after someone three times your rank.”

The guards straighten like tin soldiers, and Hawks nearly trips over the front of his wingtip as he’s nudged onto the jet aisle.

“Well, that was a little harsh…” Hawks teases. Enji doesn’t look to be in a joking mood, so Hawks recovers quickly, “What’s up?”

“Brunei is a trap,” Enji replies. He sits on his leather chair, and the stewardess begins to prepare the plane for takeoff. Hawks plops down in front of him, pulling his wings comfortably to the side. “They plan to double cross us.”

“Tch, it’s always a trap. Are we still going?”

“Yes. Because we’re going to double-cross them back.”

“Cheers,” Hawks grins, and accepts the champagne flute from the stewardess with a half nod. He waits for Enji to drink first, but his cold attention is drawn to the plane window. Curious, Hawks looks out the window too. There isn’t anything but blacktop out there – but Hawks can see the two guards following the ambassador into a van, and the look on Enji’s face is strange. “What, you don’t trust them?”

Enji doesn’t comment. When the plane is safely in the air, Hawks unclips his seatbelt, and takes his real seat right in his lap. Enji always accepts him, always lets him slide hip-first onto his thighs, and Hawks sleeps best that way. Breathing in the cologne still clinging to his shirt collar.

***

Hawks has taken a liking to London street shopping.

You can get a nice bespoke here, and the customer service is always good (maybe because they’re scared shitless of Enji’s daunting presence, but they’re perks, all perks).

The food is eh, but the views are pretty, and London makes good guns too, but you wouldn’t know it.

“Are you sure you want a new submachine?” Enji asks, hands tucked warm in his trench coat. “They make better sniper rifles.”

Enji is always dressed handsome, even for a simple day out. Maybe he just is handsome. Hmm, much to think about.

Hawks tugs his own fur collar around his throat, and watches his breath puff from the cold. England in winter wasn’t the smartest choice they’ve ever made, but you know how it is. A little murder here, a little revenge there, and oops, you’re on a boat running from la police française (ugh, and don’t even get him started on the disaster in Brunei).

But hey, after living like this for a handful of years, Hawks has learned to enjoy the journey rather than the destination. Or uh…the company.

They’re above grunt work anyways, so while their soldiers run off to snatch one of their targets and drown them at the bottom of the sea, Enji and Hawks are free to roam. It’s their first real date in a long while, and Hawks is going to make the most of it.

“I like the way SMGs look,” Hawks shrugs. He scuffs his shoe along the cobble sidewalk, and kicks a stone off the curb. “Besides, I heard there’s a manufacturer in Liverpool that makes gold tommies with custom bump stocks.”

Enji lifts a brow. It’s the half-brow cut by the scar, so it only does half the intimidation damage.

“For an SMG? Sounds dangerous.”

“Heh, I know, right!”

Enji shakes his head, his breath steaming from the cold, and Hawks shifts closer to his side to leech some of his heat. Fire quirks are like, so goddamn useful. Never bought a space heater, never gonna’ need one.

They’re being watched from every corner, because that’s the story of his life. Hawks knows exactly where their guys are, even if they try to be sneaky. The roof across the street, sitting in a taxi around the block, window shopping by the bus stop. Even on their ‘days off’, a mob head and his underboss are too high profile to simply walk around in open air. Not here, at least.

Enji is rarely threatened by anything, so he’s relaxed as they walk. His legs are longer, but he keeps his pace slow out of consideration. Hawks is tempted to grab his hand – if only Enji’s arm wasn’t already occupied with his shopping bags (ah, the damage). It’s a cute look for him. A little domestic.

“Here it is,” Enji gestures.

The sign says Hardy’s Florals . Enji opens the door for him, and Hawks steps in first. The chime jingles, and Hawks is greeted with the scent of fresh flowers and distilled water. It’s warm in here, and Hawks lowers his coat collar in relief.

“Welcome, welcome!” The florist greets. His accent is heavy English. “Good morning to you both.”

“Heya,” Hawks greets. “Cute place you’ve got.”

“Thank you, sir. Are you gentlemen looking for anything in particular?”

Hawks is easily distracted by the wall of roses, but Enji approaches the counter.

“Yes. We’re looking for lotos.”

The florist pauses. He looks Enji up, then down. Hawks watches protectively from the corner of his eye, like a real bird of prey. There are cameras in here, which is good to note, because Hawks is packing heat, as is Enji. He doesn’t always carry, but they’ve been busy lately ( and not in the sexy w– okay, well, kind of in the sexy way, but also in the Can We Have One Date Without Someone Trying to Kill Us kind of way).

“It is an honor to meet you sir,” the florist bows, and Hawks relaxes at his hospitality. “Follow me, if you will.” He flips the front sign from open to closed, wipes his hands on his apron and presses his palm to the front of a digital clock. Something unlocks in the wall, and the florist pushes on the secret entry. “After you.”

“Come on,” Enji gestures with his chin. Hawks sets one of the roses back in the bucket, hurrying around the counter after Enji.

The florist shuts the door behind them; the backroom lights up in white LEDs. The room is crisp and white and a vivid difference from the wooden, homey feel of the florist shop. Beautiful guns line the walls; grenade launchers and assault rifles and luxury, one-of-a-kind pistols. Hawks flies to the wall, grinning ear to ear.

“Wow, wow wow. Baby, look at these knives.”  

“You want one?”

“Heh, maybe.”

The florist flips a few switches, and some of the paintings turn into more displays.

“Welcome to the backroom. Feel free to shop at your leisure.”

Enji plucks a pistol off the wall, and inspects the magazine skeptically. It’s empty, but Hawks can see him checking for quality before setting it back on the wall.

“Hm.”

“We haven’t bought English guns in a while,” Hawks says, covering for Enji’s silence. “Do you have those gold tommies?”

“Only in rose gold,” the florist says. He pulls the cover on a case, and Hawks spins delightfully, pressing his hands to the glass.

“Wow! She’s gorgeous. Look at the engraving.”

“Let’s see her.” 

The florist doesn’t hesitate, but he warns, “This gun is an improved, reinvented design of the nineteen eighteen Thompson machine gun. It is the most expensive piece in our collection.”

“Good,” says Enji, and it makes Hawks grin like the devil.

“You’re so good to me,” Hawks sings. Enji doesn’t react, but he knows Enji likes buying him nice things, if the shopping bags and the new jewelry on his fingers didn’t say enough. Hawks has the rising suspicion that this is to make up for the last shitshow of a month, but he won’t voice that out loud.

Hawks ties the top part of his bangs back as the florist pulls the gun from the case. The tommy gun is beautiful, flashy and jeweled in some places. It is exquisite.

“Where do you source?” Enji asks.

Hawks makes grabby hands for the weapon, and the florist hands it over.

“Fiber optics and stainless steel are overseas, but the rest is assembled locally.”

Hawks starts to study the gun as they talk. He tunes them out (partially!), because he’s enraptured by the craftsmanship. It really is beautiful – filigree carved in the grip, and rose gold casing that catches in the fluorescent overheads.

Hawks flips it this way and that. He pops out the circular magazine – and it all looks beautiful – except for the tiny, peeling corner in the circle. Huh.

“Hakamada recommended your services,” Enji continues, arms crossed to appear intimidating, not that he needs to try. “How long have you done business?”

“Ah, Hakamada. Six or seven years, I’d say. I supply to his retail stores.”

Hawks frowns, and picks at the peeling paint inside the magazine. Paint?

The corner has a slight bump, like it was once engraved. Hawks feels over it with his finger – and it’s hard to read, except Hawks can recognize the Smith & Wesson logo anywhere.

“We visited his safehouse in Paris, but it was blown to bits.”

“Yes, very sad, I got word from an associate of mine. You lot must’ve made some right nasty enemies out there.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Oh, forgive me sir.”

Hawks clicks the gun shut with a flick of his wrist.

“Speaking of business. How long have you been committing entrapment for the American feds?”

The florist freezes, but Enji does not.

Ah, he figured it out too. So smart, his sexy partner.

The florist frowns, growing defensive, “Pardon me?”

“This is a replication,” Hawks points.

“I assure you, our guns are nothing but authentic – ”

“C’mon dude, why would an English weaponsmith carry a brand that makes American guns for the American police?”

Enji steps forwards, and the florist takes a worried step back. Enji’s voice is threat enough, deep like a pool; it fills you up so you drown .

“Delete your security footage, and we won’t kill you.”

“W-what? How dare you doubt the moral integrity of our – ”

A third voice cuts in, with the click of a door. It’s deep, but gentle.

“Give it up kid, we’re caught.”

The florist stops his groveling, and stands up straight. Like tugging the string on a doll. Like returning to – fuck. To military rest.

Enji sets out an arm to cover Hawks behind him, but he drops it as soon as he sees who it is.

The intruder is a very tall, gangly man dressed in a yellow tailored suit with the messy hair to match. He would be handsome, if he didn’t look a foot in the grave. 

Enji, for the first time maybe ever, sounds downright shocked.

“Toshinori?”

“Good to see you again, old friend.” Toshinori pats the agent on the shoulder with a friendly smile, and says, “Thanks for your help son. You can leave us.” 

The not-florist offers a short salute, and then he’s gone. Enji’s voice is deep and stiff and guarded.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Toshinori ignores his question, eyeing Hawks up and down with surprise. Hawks hovers over the weapon at his hip, but Toshinori doesn’t look threatened. His innocent attitude is annoying already.

“Huh. So, the rumors were true – you did remarry young.”

Enji’s eye twitches, and if Hawks didn’t know any better, he would say it was a flinch. 

“Answer my question, or this will get ugly.”

“Relax,” Toshinori waves. “I’m not trying to catch you.”

“Well, this wouldn’t be the way to do it,” Hawks says, gesturing to the room around them. Toshinori laughs.

“You would be right, my boy. I for one, am in no state to fight.” 

Okay, come on. Hawks isn’t that young.

Enji sneers, drawing up his lip and crossing his arms. 

“Jesus Toshi. You look like shit.”

Toshi?

“Thank you, friend.”

“Why are you in London?”

“I’m tracking a lead,” Toshinori says. “MI6 called us in as a resource.”

Hawks laughs, and leans up against the glass case.

“MI6 needed you?”

“The law can only achieve so much,” Toshinori sighs. “That’s why they phone in people like us.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Enji spits – and the emotion in his chest tugs something strange in the pit of Hawks’ stomach.

“Of course,” Toshinori smiles. “But I think we have similar goals. We’re tracking the serial trail of the League. Their human trafficking deflected from the US to the United Kingdom after your little agreement with those pirates.”  

Hawks’ eyes widen fractionally. So, Enji did tell him. Hawks was unaware they were in contact so recently.

Enji doesn’t look all that surprised.  

“Good luck with that.”

“I know you’re at war,” Toshinori says. “With the recent collateral, you’re on the VIP list of the government’s most wanted – in twenty-six countries, mind you.”

“Wow, we’re famous,” Hawks grins.

“There’s a kill-on-sight order for both your names.”

“What else is new?”

“I can out pay any bounty list,” Enji interrupts, grabbing Hawks by the wrist. “We’re leaving. Goodbye.”

“Wait,” Toshinori blurts, moving to stand in front of the door. Ha, like this bag of bones could even hold a candle to Enji’s strength. “I came to ask for your help.”

Enji’s brow twitches. Hawks feels just as blindsided.

“And why on god’s green earth would I help you?”

“Because we have a common enemy,” Toshinori says. “You have connections that we don’t. Ins that we don’t stand a chance on. We can help each other.”

“We’re faring just fine without you, thanks,” Hawks waves.

Enji, however, stops him.

“Wait. What are you offering in return?”

“Your name scraped off the CIA kill on sight list.” Toshinori pauses, and tucks his hands in his coat pockets. “And access to a few satellites.”

Enji looks…interested. Hawks doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“That’s incredibly illegal, mister perfect.”

“I haven’t been perfect for a long time,” Toshinori resides.

Hawks doesn’t like the way Enji is focused on Toshinori. All of his attention, all the cogs in his mind turning with interest.

He never heard much about this guy – besides snippets murmured under Enji’s breath, and whatever you can find on the internet. Hawks knows they went to school together in Japan, and that Enji saw Toshinori as his greatest rival. They split paths, and have been roadblocks in each other’s way ever since. Hawks always got the idea that he hated his guts – but Hawks has seen Enji’s hate, and it doesn’t look like this.

“We’re not afraid of any government,” Hawks says, standing his ground. “Enji, we don’t need him.”

Enji turns, and tugs him slightly aside. Hawks goes, albeit against his own will. Enji drops his voice, and Hawks strains to listen.

“We have many contracts. But the CIA is not one of them.”

“We could take the CIA,” Hawks snaps.

Enji frowns deeply. He cups Hawks by the jaw, and tips his head for his full attention. His hand is warm and sturdy, like hot iron.

“That doesn’t mean we should. Know your enemy.”

Apparently, Enji thinks this is worth his time, even despite his past grievances. Ugh, his maturity is sexy, albeit annoying sometimes.

Feeling reprimanded, Hawks turns his head away.

“Fine.”

Enji watches him a second longer, and then turns back to Toshinori.

“I’ll talk terms, but that’s all.”

Toshinori checks his watch, saying, “I can do dinner tomorrow. I’ll have the restaurant secured.”

Yeah, and so will they. 

“So be it.”

Enji and Toshinori shake on it, and Hawks doesn’t like how Toshinori squeezes his palm and taps his shoulder. No one, absolutely no one has ever touched Enji in such a familiar way, and it drops a stone in his stomach.

Hawks folds his wings right with his arms, and pretends to fake interest in the counterfeit knives on the wall. Toshinori does not shake his hand.

***

Security detail escorts them to their hotel room, and when they’re finally alone, Hawks lets go of the stress in his shoulders.

He flops face first on the downturned bed, and runs his hands across the expensive sheets. Enji flicks on a few lights, and loosens his tie with one hand. Hawks watches him from the corner of his eye.

“Sooooo. Did you know he was in London?”

Enji hangs his jacket, and slips off all his rings but one.

“I did not.”

“Hm.” Hawks rolls to his back and spreads out his feathers. The muscles are cramped, and Hawks sighs through his nose, flexing his toes in his oxfords. “Then do you want to explain what that was all about?”

Enji exhales. Hawks kicks off one shoe – clunk! Then the other – ca-clunk!

“He used to be a lot more annoying.”

Hawks’ eye twitches at the almost-fond tone of his voice. Almost, is the keyword, but it’s still too much.

“Is that so.”

“He lost weight from an injury,” Enji explains. “I used to…” he catches himself, and scowls. “I never looked up to him. He was a loudmouth, and a pretentious bastard. I only wanted to beat him fair and square in a fight.”

“Did you?”

“Never got the chance.”

Hawks can hear the resentment in his tone. He sits up, and the city skyline glimmers behind him through the half-curtained windows. It makes Enji glow, even as he comes to sit next to Hawks on the bed. Hawks makes room for him.

“Different paths, huh?”

“I followed in my father’s footsteps,” Enji explains. “He did not.”

The tired look on Enji’s face makes his heart soften. Hawks gets his knees beneath him, and helps to unbutton Enji’s shirt for him, one by one. The fabric is silky under his fingers, but warm from his body heat. This mogul drips luxury, but is peeled away into a man of muscle and dragons and ink and bullet holes.

Hawks has never asked how he got the scar on his face. Sometimes, he’s afraid to know.  

“Will you take his offer?”

“That depends on many things.” When Hawks reaches the last button, Enji steals his hand, and presses his lips to his ring finger. “Sorry I couldn’t buy you that gun.”

Hawks feels his face get hot. He smiles halfway, and cups Enji’s scruffy jaw.

“That’s okay. I had fun spending time with you anyways.”

Enji gives him a strange look, like he doesn’t quite believe him. Hawks pets over the stubble on his chin, and thinks of how few have gotten to be in his place. How he has one of the most powerful men in the world right here, in his hands.

It’s hard not to get possessive. To feel the word mine burned into the crevasses of his heart.

Enji pets over a red wing, and deflects the conversation.

“Your wings are a mess.”

“Yuck, I know, it was the damn wind.”

“Turn around.”

Hawks does, and he lulls to the feeling of Enji righting his feathers one by one. He doesn’t have as many as he should, but Enji never judges him for it. If he’s lucky enough – if he holds his breath and closes his eyes – he can feel Enji mutter sweet words against the skin on his right shoulder. It’s enough to loosen the knot in his chest, for now.

When Enji’s phone dings, it’s Onima informing them of the new body buried at the bottom of the Atlantic. It’s not so much a mood breaker, rather than another part of their routine. Like making coffee or brushing your teeth.

***

The chosen restaurant doesn’t have street access. To reach the entrance, you have to follow a stairway that descends underground, behind a bar and beneath an old antique shop. The signs glow neon, and the sidewalk is pebbly and uneven, and a bouncer takes their name at the door.

Said restaurant is filled with cigars and jazz music and girls on poles, and it’s home, but it’s far from it. The temperature is warm down here, and Hawks pops a few more buttons on his satin shirt. Enji leads him by a hand at his lower back, and it makes him even warmer.

Their booth is behind a curtain, guarded by men in suits with earpieces and batons. Enji’s soldiers standby just the same. The mood is tense, but it could be worse.

“My friend,” Toshinori greets, reaching out to shake Enji’s hand. “You came.”

“Hm.”

“Hi,” Hawks drawls flatly, at being ignored. Toshinori gives him a rushed greeting.

“Oh, hello young Hawks! Please sit, we’ll start on drinks – ”

“I’m not here to drink with you. Speak quickly or we’re leaving.”

Toshinori huffs at Enji’s tone, but sits back down.

“Always in a rush, you.”

Enji pulls out Hawks’ chair, and then his own.

“We have better places to be.”

Not necessarily, but Enji’s attention is valuable. It’s a currency that Hawks still doesn’t know how to spend.

This restaurant is dark and red; it’s hard to see clearly, besides the low chandelier lights and the candle on the table. Memorabilia line the walls; photographs with signatures from various celebrities. Hawks isn’t too impressed with any of the names.

“Why is MI6 involved in petty gang activity?” Enji asks.

Toshinori pushes his bangs back from his face. His hair is cut unevenly, and it looks like he tried to slick it back, but failed. His suit is an obscure yellow color – tacky and unfashionable.

“It’s not petty anymore. The trafficking, the drugs – sure, we’re all aware of it. The government turns a blind eye to what’s not worth their time.” Toshinori presses his long, knobby fingers together, and looks at Enji over the candle. “But when they start targeting government property, the higher-ups become concerned.”  

Enji stiffens. A waitress brings water by the table, but nobody touches it.

“He’s done what?”

“Tomura bombed an English embassy. It was on a need-to-know basis for the sake of the case. Lives were lost. English, and American.”  

Hawks frowns, and leans back in his chair. It’s not the most comfortable for his wings, and they twitch and drape over the edge, mimicking his frustration.

“What interest could Shigaraki have in world government?”  

Enji has gone very still. His voice comes out in an exasperated exhale, low beneath the music.

“Everything.”

His tone makes Hawks’ skin crawl over with a terrible chill. Uh oh.

“World domination, essentially,” Toshinori says curtly. “It’s ridiculous, but not entirely unfeasible. He doesn’t like anyone standing in his way – he’s made that abundantly clear, haha!”

“You met him?”

“Once. Barely lived to tell the tale.”

Enji exhales through his nose, and Hawks watches him dip into his coat pocket for a cigarette.

“What are you asking of me?”

Toshinori pauses. He watches Enji flick his finger over the edge of the cigarette – watches him raise the filter to his lips – and Hawks grows more and more possessive the longer they sit. He clenches his fingers against the fabric of his suit pants, and silently grinds his teeth.

Stop looking at him like that.

Stop it. Look away.

Toshinori smiles instead, a wobbly one, that doesn’t reach his hollowed eyes.

“You still smoke those things, huh?”

“Toshi. The point.”

“How’s your Italian?”

Enji grits through his teeth.

“Fine.”

“A family of high-profile Japanese politicians are holding a charity ball at the Belmond hotel –”

Hawks stares, “You mean the castle. ”

Toshinori nods hurriedly, “Yes – two weeks from now, in Rome. We have reason to believe that a man named Akaguro Chizome is going to attempt to assassinate one of the sons – Iida Tensei.”

“You’re talking of Stain, the Robinhood serial killer,” Enji mulls. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth, turns his head to huff and scrunches his eyebrows in thought. “What does he have to do with the League?”

“Well, that’s just the thing. Our intel shows that he’s been in contact with Tomura recently. We think he might’ve visited one of his warehouses.”

Hawks starts to understand where he’s going with this. Enji, however, chuffs once and rolls his eyes.

“And what – you want me to provide security? Stop a premeditated murder? We don’t do grunt work.”

“No.” Toshinori drags his fingers along the condensation on his glass, and looks at Enji fully. “That’s our job. I need you to speak with him.”

A silence hangs heavy. You can hear dish clatter, and the muffled sound of the jazz singer on stage.

“You want what?” Hawks blurts.

“You think Shigaraki is trying to convert him,” Enji clarifies.

“Yes. Or at the least, he’s seen Tomura’s safehouse. We need to know what’s going on in there. Why Tomura has taken a sudden interest into drugs and kidnapping – and why his little friend walked away from a pipe bomb explosion completely intact.”

“Smooth talk the serial killer, find out what Shigaraki is plotting, and try not to die,” Hawks summarizes.

Toshinori nods, “Exactly.” Enji exhales heavily, and rubs his fingers along his browbone. Toshinori looks to him, and gestures with one hand. “So? Can you get in?”

“Of course, we can get in,” Enji snaps. “We were invited.”

Hawks straightens in his chair.

“Don’t tell me that was the invitation you threw away.”

“The Iidas are… exasperating, in a handful of ways. Osomu insists on making business contracts that I have no interest in, and his sons are just as straight-backed and persistent.” Enji sighs. “Well mannered, but exhausting.”

“We’ll handle the assassination on our end,” Toshinori says. “The Iidas have heard no word of this, so they won’t be able to blow your cover. The only one that Akaguro might find more interesting than the Iidas, is – ”

“Us,” Hawks blurts.

Toshinori smiles sadly.

“Yes.”

So, it really is something the CIA can’t do alone. One foot in there, and Stain would be gone.

In their world, Hawks has heard the killer’s name. A few of Enji’s associates have been plucked off their chairman seats by such a guy. He’s mysterious, albeit dangerous, but Hawks doesn’t fear him. Not when he stands united with Enji.

“You’re insane,” Enji monotones.

Hawks crosses his arms, and looks at Enji from the corner of his eye. Enji looks back at him, and his cigarette smoke catches on the red lamplight.

“It’s a double op. Risky, but doable.”

“I’ll need you both in Rome by next week,” Toshinori agrees.

“This isn’t just a favor. It deserves further compensation than a few satellites.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Toshinori reaches to the chair next to him, and plops a folder on the table between them. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“The CIA’s entire file on the LOV, and Shie Hassaikai. Transaction records, potential hideouts, ship ports.”

Ugh, Overhaul. Just the name gives him flashbacks. 

Enji narrows his eyes, “We already know all of that.”

“You don’t know everything,” Toshinori challenges. “You’ll gain a blind eye from one of the world’s most powerful intelligence agencies.”

Enji rolls his eyes. Hawks gauges his reaction, looking at Toshinori for a sign of dejection. His easy smile hasn’t faltered yet, and it’s a little infuriating. Like he knows Enji will eventually give in.

The petty side of Hawks hopes he won’t. 

“Cross me, and I’ll kill you,” Enji says evenly.

Toshinori smiles too sweetly, too bright.

“Always a pleasure working with you, good pal.”

Hawks scoffs, and looks away.

***

As they climb back into their car at the dead of night, Burnin’ holds open the door with a hand to her ear, muting her com mic. The glow of her green hair shines off the slick surface of the car, illuminating the puddles gathered by the tires.

“Boss, are you sure you can trust him?”

She’s of the few capos that could pry and live to see the next day. Enji gets Hawks into his seat first, before turning to her and saying.

“No.”

He climbs into the adjacent seat, and Hawks watches him from the corner of his eye, turning his wedding ring in repeated circles.

***

As Hawks enjoys his actual, three-hour late meal at the suite dining room table, Enji stands by the window and talks on speakerphone. Shirt gone, only in socks and belted trousers, his back looks especially broad silhouetted against the glass. He holds more weight on those shoulders than anyone will ever know.

“I need you to take the jet back to Hong Kong.”

Shouto’s voice comes through staticky, due to the wiretap scrambler on the phone.

“Ugh. But we just landed in Seoul four hours ago.”

“Something came up. I need you to meet with Mao in my place.”

Shouto sighs again. Hawks can almost picture him shifting impatiently on his feet.

“I don’t like those guys.”

“Me neither. Take the brats with you. If it goes south, light them up.”

Shouto pauses on the other line. Hawks pushes his food around with a fork, and watches Enji out of curiosity. He’s unmoving, focused on the London cityscape below.

“…Bakugou will be happy to hear that. How long will you stay in Europe for?”

“At least another two weeks.”

Shouto muffles something to someone in the room, and you can hear bickering in the background. Shouto comes back to the receiver a little louder than before.

“Okay boss. Who’s got the debrief?”

“Onima.”

“Kay.”

They say their goodbyes, and when Enji turns around, Hawks looks back to his food.

His phone goes click against the glass table. A chair gets pulled out, and Hawks stuffs a mouthful of food in his face.

Enji sits. Hawks sips from a glass, and Enji stares him down.

“Alright, say it.”

Hawks swallows, and looks up through his eyelashes.

“Say what?”

“Whatever is bothering you.”

Hawks shifts slightly, rustling his feathers against the fabric of the fine dining chair.

“Do you really think this is worth the effort?”

Enji frowns. He sits back in his seat, and the chair creaks.

“I won’t allow Shigaraki to drive me to desperation. Nor will I let him make me look like a fool. I don’t chase information that holds no value – I’d hoped you knew that.”

Hawks chews on the side of his cheek, and flicks his tongue along the back of his teeth. They’re not sitting very far apart, but the small divide between them grows larger once more.

“I know. I just feel weird about this.”

Enji stares through him. It’s focused – not so soft, but demanding of his attention. It reminds him of days on a stage, spinning around in heels for those cold eyes that never warmed.

Hawks holds all the respect in the world for him, but he kind of wishes Enji didn’t have to be so stiff right now.

“Do you trust me?”

Even with the weird pit in his stomach, Hawks doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

“Then get ready. We fly out Tuesday.”

***

For all the traveling they do, the novelty of jumping time zones has very much worn off. Jet lag is a disease, and it only took a couple years to learn how to sleep on a plane. It’s not so bad when said plane is worth a quarter of a billion dollars.

Still, Hawks knows when he’s being carried somewhere. It’s hard not to wake when firm arms scoop him gently, gripped careful of the wings at his back. He’s stirred just enough to transfer into a car seat, and then Enji lets him sleep it off while the hotel room is swept for bugs and declared safe by security.

Hello, Italy. Hawks thinks he might need to do a little damage in the shopping malls. You know, as recompense.

***

Hawks doesn’t get to appreciate their room until he’s fully awake the next morning. 

He wakes slowly, stretching his arms to find Enji; but the bed is empty. Hawks peeks open an eye, and sits up sluggishly. The spot next to him is warm. Hawks stops to listen, and can hear the shower running.

A little disappointed, he rubs his eyes and looks around their room. He’s not sure which one of Enji’s assistants booked it, but he’ll have to thank them.

It’s beautiful – and a bit historic. The moldings are gold and the curtains velvet and red, and the carpets hold motifs and the ceilings are painted with art. As Hawks pads out into the living room, he sees a piano and a fireplace. The room has a stairway, and more rooms up north. It looks like a presidential suite, complete with a kitchen and all.

Stunning, but a bit lonely.

Breakfast is already sitting at the table. As nice as that is, Hawks wonders of a life where he could cook shitty pancakes and force Enji to cut the strawberries and pluck the stems.

Domestic life isn’t so much their thing; but it’s a nice dream, sometimes.

Enji emerges dressed already. He smells like cologne – like effort. Hawks lifts up a coffee cup, and Enji takes it on his way across the room.

“They left a tourist brochure at the door,” Hawks says, gesturing with a pamphlet. “I think we should visit the Pantheon. Last time we were here I barely got to see out the front door.”

“Tomorrow,” Enji says, knotting his tie. “We can do whatever you want.”

Hawks raises an eyebrow.

“And where are you off to?”

“Toshinori requested another meeting.”

Hawks feels his stomach drop. He squints his eyes in annoyance, and twists around in his chair to look at Enji.

“And when were you going to tell me this?”

“Just now.”

“Well shit, at least let me get ready –”

“He requested I come alone,” Enji says. 

Hell freezes over. Something in Hawks splinters, and cracks.

“Oh? And you just do anything he asks, huh?”

Enji glares at him, sipping his coffee and sliding his phone into his front pocket.

“Hawks, don’t do this right now.”

Hawks grits his teeth, exhaling through his nose. Annoyance bubbles like a sickness. Like a disease.

“How do you know it’s not a trap?”

“I have backup.”

“Yeah, me.”

“Hawks. Let it go.”

The tone of his voice gives him chills, but they’re not the fun kind. They don’t argue much – disagree, yes, but Enji never goes further than a few short words.

Rationally, Hawks knows it’s stupid to get mad. He meets up with Rumi all the time – hell, half the time he even flies her out just for breakfast. There’s just something about Toshinori that makes his stomach sick. Something about their history, and the way that he looks at Enji like he knows him.

You don’t know him, Hawks thinks hysterically. I know him! I know him better than anyone!

How do you describe this disgusting feeling? Like you want to stitch someone to your skin and never let them go? It’s terrible, but Hawks is terrible. He puts barrels in eye sockets. Steps on bone and scams people for worse than death. He’s all the shades of morality’s grey – every single one.

“I’ll be back by afternoon,” Enji says, with finality. He sets some cash on the table, and slides his coat on. “Go buy yourself something. Take Kido’s regime with you.”

It takes all of Hawks’ self-control not to scowl. What, like a few Euros will make it all better?

“Thanks,” he deadpans.   

Enji exhales through his nose, and leans down to peck the top of his head. Hawks closes his eyes briefly, and pretends the tar in his heart isn’t there right now.

“Be safe.”

Whatever.

“Don’t get kidnapped,” Hawks replies back. Enji waves him off, and when the door shuts, Hawks is left alone in a big, empty, Italian hotel room.

***

Time passes slowly.

The suspense is enough to drive him up a fucking wall. Hawks doesn’t have doubts of his safety, nor does he worry about his faithfulness. He just cannot, for all that is holy, stand the thought of someone looking at him so – so warmly. Ugh, puke puke and gross.

It’s irrational, it’s stupid, and it’s clingy. But Hawks threw away his good-boy pants the day he signed up to be a stripper.

Eventually, Enji comes back in one piece, and when he asks about his day, Hawks makes up some lie about walking around the hotel shops.

He won’t say how he sat in the bathtub for most of the day, wondering the ethics of asking Burnin’ to put a tap on their conversation. He didn’t, but he really thought about it.

Why wouldn’t Enji want him to come? Enji takes him everywhere. All over the world, every crevice of every island – most meetings, some poker games – but he tells Hawks all that he knows. Why is this so different?

The mood has been strange since meeting Toshinori in that fake gun shop.

Did he love me more before? When I wore heels and glitter and tiny skirts?

It’s a terrible thought. One that makes no sense, but Hawks has it anyways.

 “I wasn’t interested in any of their clothes,” Hawks lies, chewing through a filet. Enji nods, and says nothing of his lunch with Toshinori. Hawks’ heart aches.

Why do you feel so far away from me?

***

Enji has to work most of the morning. Hawks usually helps him take calls and delegate orders, but Enji tells him to go have fun, and it pisses him off even more. What is he, a dog? A pet? Whatever, screw you, Hawks dips for the evening.

The pantheon isn’t that great. Just a bunch of dumb old rocks. Hawks can name a couple of dumb old rocks he knows personally.

He watches a hare-quirk family take photos on the pantheon steps, and it makes him miss Rumi. It makes him miss a lot of things. Stuff he should, and stuff he shouldn't. Sticky floors and cracked mirrors and the smell of a dozen ashtrays. Hawks checks his watch, and counts the hours. 

Soon. 

***