The next day dawned clear and warm — one of those rare Musutafu afternoons where the sky seemed endless.
Aerith finished arranging her morning flowers, wiping her hands on her apron as the breeze played through her hair.
She didn't know that Hawks had been flying lazy circles above the city since sunrise, rehearsing what he'd say and laughing at himself for it.
> "Hero of the skies," he muttered, "and I'm nervous over a girl."
Still, he landed by her stand with that familiar grin.
> "You free today, flower girl?"
> "Depends," Aerith said, smiling. "Is this another one of your 'public hero duties'?"
> "Nope," he said simply. "This one's just mine."
Something in his voice made her pause — softer, steadier. She nodded.
> "Alright then. Lead the way."
---
They walked to the riverside café Kenta had arranged — small, quiet, and filled with the scent of fresh coffee and blossoms.
Hawks had pulled some strings: their table was on a small deck overlooking the water, a canopy of wisteria swaying overhead.
> "You really went all out," Aerith said as she sat down, eyes wide.
> "Blame my assistant," Hawks replied with a laugh. "He's got a dramatic streak."
> "Or maybe you do."
He smiled at that, but didn't argue.
---
The conversation flowed easily, as it always did.
They talked about little things — her flowers, his favorite flight routes, the people she met at the plaza.
But beneath the laughter, there was a quiet shift.
Every time their eyes met, it lingered a little longer.
Every smile carried something unspoken.
Aerith watched the sunlight dance across the river and said softly,
> "You know, you don't have to keep visiting me, Hawk. You're busy. You've got a whole world to look after."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand.
> "Maybe I just like the view."
She blushed, looking away.
> "You're impossible."
> "And you're too easy to talk to," he said. "That's dangerous for someone like me."
> "Dangerous how?"
He hesitated — a rare thing for him.
His wings shifted slightly, feathers rustling in the soft wind.
> "Because when I'm with you, I forget I'm supposed to be the hero. I just… get to be me."
Aerith's eyes softened.
> "Then maybe that's what you've needed all along."
He laughed quietly.
> "Yeah. Maybe so."
---
After lunch, they wandered along the river.
Aerith slipped off her shoes, walking barefoot in the grass.
Hawks followed, his boots crunching softly behind her.
> "You ever think about stopping?" she asked suddenly. "The hero work?"
> "Sometimes," he admitted. "But I don't think the world would let me."
> "Maybe the world doesn't need you every second," she said, turning to look at him. "Maybe it just needs you to live, too."
He stopped walking then — just long enough to memorize the way the sunlight caught her hair, the way her eyes glowed green against the water.
> "You really think that?"
> "I know it."
He smiled faintly.
> "You always make things sound so simple."
> "That's because they are, when you look at them with kindness."
---
They sat by the water until the sun began to dip, painting the sky gold and rose.
Aerith leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.
He didn't move — didn't breathe for a moment — then relaxed, folding one wing slightly to shield her from the cool evening breeze.
Neither spoke.
They didn't need to.
For once, there were no lies.
No missions.
No cover stories.
Just peace — fragile and real.
---
That night, Hawks flew back to his agency with a smile that even Kenta noticed immediately.
> "So," Kenta said, leaning in the doorway. "How was the big PR stunt?"
Hawks dropped into his chair, wings lazily unfurling.
> "It wasn't PR."
> "Oh? Then what was it?"
Hawks looked out the window toward the city lights, his voice quiet but sure.
> "It was real."