By the next week, word had spread — Hawks, the number two hero, seen spending time with a flower girl in Musutafu.
The tabloids called it charming.
The Hero Commission called it suspicious.
Hawks called it strategy.
---
He was summoned to headquarters early that morning.
The meeting room was all glass and steel — cold, polished, watching.
Three senior agents sat across from him, expressions unreadable.
> "Takami," one of them began, "you've been seen with a civilian on multiple occasions. Publicly. That's not exactly subtle."
> "I'm not subtle," Hawks replied with a grin, slouching in his chair. "That's kinda my thing."
> "You're making headlines," another added, sliding a tablet across the table. "Photos of you at a café. At the plaza. Near that old church. You're aware this looks unprofessional?"
Hawks tapped the tablet once, then leaned back.
> "Actually, it looks perfect."
That got their attention.
> "Excuse me?"
> "C'mon," Hawks said, his tone light but confident. "Heroes always seem distant to the public. Untouchable. People see us fight villains, sure — but they don't see us live."
He folded his wings neatly, eyes sharp despite the easy smile.
> "So, I thought — why not give them a story that makes us human? A hero with a normal life, talking to normal people. It's a good look. Makes heroes approachable again."
The agents exchanged glances.
He pressed on.
> "The girl? She's just part of the act. Flowers, kindness, simple life — it's the perfect image. You'd be amazed how much more the public smiles when they see their heroes smiling too."
There was a pause.
Then, finally, one of the agents sighed.
> "So this is… a public relations stunt?"
Hawks shrugged.
> "If that's what you want to call it. But it's working, right? People feel closer to heroes again. And your PR numbers? I bet they're climbing already."
The oldest of the three leaned back, studying him.
> "You always manage to twist things to your favor, Takami."
Hawks smirked.
> "That's why you keep me around."
---
By the end of the meeting, the Commission had officially dropped the inquiry.
The "flower girl" was no longer a problem — she was good PR.
Hawks walked out of the building, the weight in his chest finally easing.
He'd done it.
Aerith was safe.
---
Later that day, he found her by the river again, selling her flowers to passing couples and old ladies.
Her smile was as soft as ever, her eyes glowing with quiet joy.
> "Busy day?" she asked when he landed nearby.
> "You could say that," he replied, hands in his pockets.
> "Did you get in trouble for spending too much time with me?"
He chuckled.
> "Let's just say I convinced them it was all part of my 'hero duties.'"
> "Oh?" she teased. "And what kind of duty is that?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice with a grin.
> "Public engagement. Keeping smiles alive. Making sure people believe heroes are still human."
She laughed softly.
> "You're quite good at that."
> "What can I say? I've got the best teacher."
Aerith looked up, surprised.
> "Me?"
> "Yeah," he said simply. "You remind people to hope. I just fly around pretending it's my idea."
She smiled — that quiet, luminous smile that made his chest tighten every time.
> "Then we make a good team."
> "Yeah," Hawks murmured. "We really do."
---
That night, as he flew over the city, the wind rushing beneath his wings, Hawks thought about how easily the Commission had believed his lie.
A "public stunt."
A "humanizing story."
But deep down, he knew the truth.
This wasn't for PR.
This was for her.
And somewhere between the act and the truth…
he'd stopped knowing the difference.