Chapter Two

                                    

                                          
The early morning light filtered through the expansive window wall of Hawks's high-end apartment, casting golden rays across the sleek, minimalistic furnishings of his bedroom. The soft sunlight stirred the blond hero from his sleep, the warm rays harsh against his eyelids. He squinted, a soft groan escaping his lips as he turned away from the light and toward the ceiling. He raised his hand to his eyes, rubbing away the last remnants of sleep.
As the sleepiness slowly faded, a flood of memories from the previous night came crashing into his mind. His thoughts lingered on the uninvited guest—Dabi. The villain's unexpected friendliness unsettled him, raising questions that only added to his wariness. Was it all just an act? A clever mask to hide his true intentions? The uncertainty gnawed at Hawks, who couldn't afford any slip-ups. His mission—to infiltrate the League of Villains—was far from straightforward, and Dabi's behavior could complicate everything. Every move, every word had to be calculated. One wrong step could cost him not just his cover, but the safety of countless civilians. His goal remained clear, but the path ahead was murky, and Dabi's presence added a dangerous variable to the equation.
After a few more moments of contemplation, Hawks sighed, dismissing the thoughts for now. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath his feet. Moving toward the closet, he sifted through his collection of clothes before settling on his hero outfit. It was always a challenge to don his attire, particularly with his large red wings getting in the way. But after some shifting and stretching, he finally managed to get everything on and stood in front of the mirror, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. He couldn't afford to dwell on the previous night's events for long. There was still a mission to carry out, a job to do.
With a glance at his watch, he quickly assessed the time. He had just enough to grab a quick bite before heading out to his agency. Moving through his apartment with quiet efficiency, the weight of his thoughts remained heavy on his mind as he prepared for the busy day ahead.
The day passed in a blur of typical hero duties—villain encounters, rescues, and constant surveillance. But the moment of respite he had expected was abruptly interrupted when he received an unexpected summon to the Hero Public Safety Commission.
Sitting in the cold, sterile office, Hawks stood before the head of the Commission, his posture relaxed but his mind sharp. The woman seated behind the desk looked at him with a critical gaze, her fingers intertwined as she leaned forward slightly. "Pro Hero, Hawks," she began, her tone businesslike, "I called you here to discuss the progress of your mission."
Hawks wasn't surprised. He had suspected as much. "I figured as much," he replied, his voice echoing his thoughts. "Progress has been slower than expected. I'm currently in contact with one of the League's key players—Dabi."
The woman's lips curled slightly in displeasure as she examined her desk, clearly displeased with the slow pace of the operation. "I see," she muttered under her breath.
A tense silence lingered between them. The woman shuffled some papers, clearly frustrated by the lack of results. "I expected more after a week," she said at last, her tone implying disappointment.
Hawks's eyes narrowed slightly. More? What did they expect—results in a matter of days? He clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin. "The League, and Dabi in particular, are suspicious of my sudden involvement," he explained. "So, progress is slow. It's going to take time."
The woman's eyes hardened as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze turning icy. "Just try to speed it up. We can't afford to risk more civilian lives." Her words were carefully measured, though the implied threat was undeniable.
"I'll do my best, ma'am," Hawks replied flatly, the underlying tension in his words palpable.
The woman stood from her chair, her expression firm. "I look forward to our next meeting, number two." She gave him a curt bow before leaving him standing in the sterile room, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
With the meeting over, Hawks returned to his duties. His shift continued, and soon enough, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city into darkness. After finishing up his report concerning his hero work at his agency, Hawks finally headed home.
But as Hawks neared his apartment, a sudden, almost imperceptible noise broke through the rhythm of his thoughts—a faint buzz from his coat pocket. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as his hand instinctively reached for his phone. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number, a string of digits that sent an unsettling ripple through him. His heart skipped a beat, the familiar tension creeping up his spine. Who could it be? A fan? Someone from the Commission? He quickly discarded the thought; his number was supposed to be strictly business. No one should have it—certainly not someone who'd be calling at this hour. He hesitated, finger hovering over the screen, the temptation to answer gnawing at him. But he couldn't risk it. Not now. The last thing he needed was for his cover to be blown. With a sharp exhale, he slipped the phone back into his coat pocket, his pace quickening as unease settled deeper into his chest.
By the time he reached his apartment door, the unsettling feeling hadn't dissipated. His fingers brushed over the cold metal of the key, unlocking it with practiced ease, but a strange chill lingered in the air. He pushed open the door—and stopped dead in his tracks. The apartment was lit up, every light blazing as if someone had been waiting for him. His breath caught in his throat. He distinctly remembered turning everything off before leaving, a habit he'd honed over the years. But now, the living room was bathed in harsh, unforgiving light. The unsettling stillness that usually greeted him at the end of the day was replaced by an electric tension that hung thick in the air.
His heart rate quickened, a knot tightening in his gut. He stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, every piece of furniture for any signs of intrusion. His instincts were screaming at him, a gut-wrenching sense of something off, something wrong. The silence felt oppressive, suffocating even. He moved cautiously, each step deliberate, as if the air itself was charged with danger.
And then, as his eyes swept the room, they landed on the couch. There, sprawled carelessly in his living room, was a figure he never expected to see. The unmistakable, black-haired villain—Dabi—lounging on his couch as if he belonged there. The sudden realization hit Hawks like a punch to the gut. 
Hawks's breath caught. "What the hell...?" His mind scrambled for answers, the tension thickening around him. He didn't know how, didn't know why, but there was Dabi—looking far too comfortable for an uninvited guest.
"Oh hey, pigeon," Dabi's voice came, muffled and sluggish with the slur of intoxication, his smirk practically audible. The casualness of it sent a cold wave of dread through Hawks's veins.
His pulse raced, the earlier uncertainty and confusion now morphing into something far darker. What the hell had he walked into?
Word Count: 1,212