The next few days passed quietly.
Aerith continued her routine — tending her flowers, chatting with people in the plaza, and watching sunlight stream through the church roof.
And though she still sensed eyes on her, she didn't let it weigh on her heart.
She'd learned long ago that fear only gave shadows more power.
So instead, she smiled.
She watered her flowers.
And when she felt that faint presence again — that subtle hum of wings above her — she whispered softly,
> "If you're still there… then maybe you need a little light, too."
---
High above, Hawks hovered, hidden by the clouds.
He'd reported back to the Commission, and they'd given him his next directive:
> "Keep watching. Stay close. Find out what she really is."
He'd smirked when he heard that.
Because this time, it wasn't an order he hated.
It was an opportunity.
> "Fine," he told them. "If you want me to 'get closer'… I'll do that."
Just not the way you think.
Now, as he glided down toward the plaza, he told himself this was part of the job — official hero work, nothing more.
But the moment he saw her — Aerith, laughing as she tied a flower crown for a group of kids — he knew he was lying to himself.
---
> "You again," Aerith said warmly when she spotted him. "Back for more flowers?"
> "You know me," Hawks said, landing lightly beside her stand. "Can't resist your marketing strategy."
> "Oh? Which part — the flowers or the smile?"
He blinked, surprised by her teasing tone, then laughed.
> "Careful, you're gonna make me think you're flirting with me, flower girl."
> "Maybe I am," she said, handing him a small bouquet. "You seem like someone who forgets to stop and appreciate beautiful things."
Hawks blinked. Her words were simple, but they landed harder than they should have.
> "I… yeah," he said softly, rubbing his neck. "You're not wrong about that."
---
They sat by her cart for a while as the crowd passed them by.
Aerith talked about her flowers — which ones symbolized hope, which ones stood for courage. Hawks listened, really listened, his usual playfulness fading to quiet curiosity.
> "You talk like you've lived a few lives," he said.
"Maybe I have," she replied gently, eyes on the sky. "Enough to know that people are born to protect… and to be protected."
Her gaze shifted toward him, and he felt something stir in his chest.
It wasn't the usual spark of attraction — it was something older, deeper.
> "You sound like you've been through a lot," he said carefully.
> "Everyone has," she answered. "Some people just hide it behind feathers."
He blinked, startled.
She smiled knowingly, then went back to tying ribbons around her flowers.
---
Hawks leaned back, watching her.
He'd been around countless people — heroes, villains, spies — but no one ever made him feel seen like she did.
He thought about his mission, about how the Commission expected him to dig up secrets, expose the truth.
But sitting here beside her, surrounded by flowers and sunlight, he realized he didn't want to uncover her secrets.
He just wanted to understand her.
> "You know," he said, smirking softly, "if the Commission saw how I'm spending my investigation time, they'd kill me."
> "Then don't call it an investigation," Aerith said calmly. "Call it… a chance."
> "A chance?"
> "To see people for who they really are."
---
He looked at her for a long moment.
For once, he didn't have a clever reply.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe this was his chance — to finally slow down, to stop pretending he had everything figured out, and to just be.
When he finally flew off again that evening, his usual speed felt slower, his wings lighter.
He glanced down once more, spotting her packing up her stand. She looked up — and even from that distance, he could swear she smiled right at him.
And Hawks couldn't help but smile back.
Because for the first time in a long time… being watched didn't feel like surveillance.
It felt like connection.