I wake up to an unfamiliar ceiling and a very…furnished room. My watch buzzes an alarm, waking me. I turn it off. This is not my home. A full, persistent ache sits at the back of my skull. I squint, taking in my surroundings. Sunlight filters into the room, and I drape a hand over my face. It would be nice to go back to sleep, wouldn't it? My watch buzzes back to life. Ugh, I know myself so well, but I really don't want to get up.

Coffee. The rich, bitter scent fills the air like a promise of salvation, pulling me out of my head. I blink trying to piece together how I ended up here and whose home I am currently crashing in the living room of. Laughter, spilled drinks, and way too much alcohol haunt me.

I let out a groan, rubbing my eyes, and then instantly regretting doing so. Groaning again, I sit up, my joints creaking in protest. The faint sounds of clinking dishes drift in from what must be the kitchen, and I follow the smell of coffee and sounds of life, desperate for the comfort of a hot cup of coffee, even if I have to take it black.

"You alive in there?" The quiet voice that reaches me sends a flush of embarrassment through me. 'm at Aizawa's, of all places. This somehow feels like the most significant of all the places I could have ended up at last night. A mix of relief and a knot of something else in my chest hits me. I think…I think there might be a crush blooming in my chest right now. Fuck.

"I think so," I mumble. Making my way to the kitchen.

"You can go back to sleep if you want."

"Nah, I've got patrol. I gotta go." I don't say that the last thing I want to do is go patrol. The memory of last night is still fresh. Let alone the embarrassment of everything that I said. I remember pressing my finger against Hizashi's lips to shush him. That was a wild move on my part. I want nothing more than to curl back up under the warm blanket on Aizawa's couch.

"I see," he pauses, "about last night."

I wince, guilt stirring through me, "God, I'm so sorry, Aizawa."

"Shouta," his voice is quiet, but firm. "You're wearing my clothes right now. Just…Shouta."

I look down at the large shirt that hangs over me, the fabric spilling over my hands, and the sweats tied with a hair tie to fit me better. This is not my hair tie. Does he wear his hair up sometimes? Woah, hot.

"I am sorry if I upset you, when I called you kid," he says. The words hit harder than I expect, both now and then. I cringe again, remembering the sting of that moment. It's what pushed me to drink more, to try to drown out the feeling that I wasn't seen as an equal. A childish response, I know.

I look up at him, my gut twisting, unsure of how to continue. He catches my gaze, and for a moment, we just stand there, before he asks "Are we…good?" He sees me eying the coffee pot as I take another tentative step.

With a small smile, he pours a cup of coffee, adding some cream and sugar to it before holding it out to me. The simple act of preparing it makes my insides squirm. "We are more than good," I reply, sighing as he passes me the cup. A thought lingers–I could wake up to you making me coffee more. I swallow it down. I cannot say that. Instead, I sip at my coffee. It's perfect. I am so fucked.

I finish the coffee as quickly as I can, the warmth thaws my lingering hangover, and set the mug on the counter with a little more force than necessary. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, reading a text from Sonique: "Dude, I just broke into ur sad and empty apartment. Where are you?"

I curse under my breath, glancing at Aizawa, "Sorry, I have to go, like, right now," I say with haste, standing on my tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you so much. I will totally wash and return these to you as soon as possible. See you!"

Before he can respond, I dash toward the door, but I hear his voice, calm and amused. "It's the other way."

I stop mid-stride, heat rising in my cheeks, and turn the other way, exiting his house in a rush–only this time, in the right direction. My mind is whirling with thought, tangling together as I race home.

The journey home wasn't that far. We live sort of close to each other, I note. By the time I get home, I push open the door to find Sonique looking as if she's been waiting for an eternity.

"Woah, okay edgelord, what are you wearing?" Marina's question rings out, eyes narrowing at me as I walk past, clearly noticing the awful state of me.

I roll my eyes, already in the process of stripping the clothes off of me. I quickly start changing into my hero gear, attempting to ignore the blush that won't fade from my face. Marina follows me and hovers at the doorway to another unfurnished room in my sad home. "I got drunk and slept over at my coworker's house," I reply, trying to sound casual, but it doesn't quite work.

"No way!" Their voice rises, and I can hear the smirk on her face without looking. "Ha! That's so…wait, are they cute?"

I pause, feeling the heat on my face become even more intense. "So hot, oh my god," I mumble. "Hot and kinda quiet.

She giggles, enjoying this way too much. "At least it's not All Might."

"Come on, wifey," I grab her shoulders, steering us both out the door. "Time to hit the streets."

Patrol is mostly uneventful. We stroll the quiet streets, exchanging lighthearted chatter and the occasional scowl at a few less-than-ideal characters. At one point, I yell at a catcaller who makes an unsolicited comment at a person who by my guess could be no older than a high school-aged girl. It is a very brief interaction.

I feel the vibration of my phone . Slipping it out of the pocket in my utility belt, I look over a text from an unknown number: "It's Shouta. Hope you don't mind, I got your contact from Hizashi. Wanted to tell you to be safe."

Sonique peers at me, trying to look at my phone, "Who's got you smiling like that?"

I bite my lower lip, trying to subdue the goofy smile taking over my face. "This is my Hawks, okay."

I text back: "I don't mind at all. Careful though, might make me think you care." He types for a moment, then stops. I tuck my phone back away to return to the job.

It really is an uneventful patrol. Sonique challenges me to a run, and we play a few games to stay in shape and pass the time. Hawks picks up Sonique as our shift comes to an end, a strut in his step as he approaches us.

"Hey, you," he greets, giving me a smile. His attention shifts to Sonique for a moment,and they stiffen, matching his gaze, a slight smile tugging at her lips. She's affectionate, but her nature often leads people to misinterpret it as aloofness.

"You must be the one and only Aegis," Hawks says, each word dripping with charm. I guess that happens when you're number 2 in the hero rankings. He looks between us, trying to sort out our dynamic with some intrigue. His red wings shift at his back, a subtle movement that could betray a hint of nervousness or just adjusting himself–hard to say.

He gestures at me with a teasing grin. "I hope that you approve of me. I wouldn't want to step on your toes. I know you two are," he pauses, "partners?"

"Yeah, work wives," I reply in a dry tone, keeping the interaction light. "Where are you two off to?" I tilt my head crossing my arms. A date, perhaps?

"Three of us, I was hoping," Marina answers for them both. "I want your eyes on the photoshoot, Rory."

My voice raises a pitch, "Photoshoot?"

"Hawks is modeling some of the MachWear line for us." Marina adds with a half-smile, waiting for it hit me. She's always springing these surprises on me. Move to Japan. Work for me. Work for UA. Let's also design clothes like we always talked about.

Holy shit. We're putting the number 2 Pro-hero in some of our tech themed athletic wear? The idea is surreal. I try to picture it, mentally dressing him in sleek, form-fitting athleisure. I swallow my shock, trying to keep things calm, but it's clear he's already read the journey of emotions playing on my face.

He tilts his head and almost sings his next words, "It's nothing," he shrugs casually. "Just doing a fun gig to support my girlfriend."

At the photoshoot, Hawks is, of course, a natural. The lights shine down on him as if they are bending to his will, every angle just right. He poses effortlessly, fluidly, every slight motion intentional. He wears this outfit like it was designed for him. Now that I think about it, Sonique may have pushed this specific one for him when she was picking the color palette. The fabric clings to him, emphasizing his strength. His wings unfurl, casting dramatic shadows across his body. If he wasn't also a hero, he would make a solid model on his own.

The camera loves him, and he's kind of good at being the center of attention. I can't help but be impressed, even though there is a small, uncomfortable pang in my chest. If anything, this moment reinforces his persona in my mind: charming, untouchable, a hero you can't look away from. I find my stomach sinking. I am surrounded by such capable individuals, all with their own brand of brilliance. I doubt my own heroics sometimes.

I glance over at Marina, who watches the shoot too–eyes sharp–a pen in hand as she scribbles on a clipboard. She's probably already used to this kind of spectacle. There is something satisfying about seeing a hero like us excel at something that doesn't involve saving lives or fighting villains. A reminder of how multi-faceted people are.

"Any notes for me, teach?" Hawks asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. He's really charismatic. I'm debating if the lilting tease in his voice is just confidence or intentional.

I glance at Marina's clipboard. There are some notes about changing one of the fabric sections to be more flexible. I look between the notes already written and Hawks, motioning for him to spin with my finger. He complies with theatrics, red wings flaring as he does a smooth turn. I tap the clipboard.

"We should have a different stitch there for the wings," I suggest.

Marina hums eyes glued to the page, "Maybe, but it's not entirely made just for him, it's more general," she responds, tapping the pen against the clipboard.

"What do you think?" they ask Hawks themselves, brow raised. "How's it fit?"

Hawks rolls his shoulders back, stretching his wings out, the massive wings unfurling with a grace that is almost hypnotic. "I can see what you mean, Aegis, but I think it works. This is the first release of this one, right?" He gives a playful shrug, spinning on his heels again, "Not bad for a first draft."

"I got us Hawks," she says to me, "you should have Mic give us a shoutout," Marina is staring into my soul right now. Ugh, I'm going to shit my pants. I don't want to ask anyone for anything. The exposure could have us in the air so quickly.

The KissMach line is doing alright, but we've been getting some critiques about it being too form fitting for feminine figures. What was meant to be functional for acrobatic athleticism has been misunderstood by some, spiraling into conspiracies about old, gross men being the actual designers. We do have some fans, but the rumors aren't doing us any favors. A couple of items under the KissMach name hit the market a few months ago, but now I'm hearing feedback and it stings. The critiqued designs were mostly my idea–what I wanted in the first place. I thought the designs were perfect for aerial silks, acrobatics, and even running–functional and cute. I pushed the colors, patterns, and styles to match that vision, my vision. Hearing the feedback on my own preferences feels so personal.

The atmosphere in the room bustles to life as technicians usher Hawks out of the spotlight, and long black bags are carried in. They look suspiciously like they contain tripod to rig up an apparatus. Someone pulls me aside, the shift in energy throwing me off balance, "I'm just going to do your makeup really quick," they say in a rushed voice.

I turn to Marina, confused. I thought I was just watching. "Marina, what is going on!" My pulse quickens, first the interview with Yamada, now this. My heart can't take this.

"We need you in some KissMach photos to try to give it new life," she says in that calm tone, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Always surprises with you.

The person on my makeup shines a light over me, telling me to close my eyes and spraying something cool across my face. I am so unprepared for this. This is all happening so fast, and my brain is short-circuiting like an old desktop far too past its prime. I need a second to breathe, warm up and stretch before I do any aerial silks.

"Oh, I'll put on some music for you," Marina says, and suddenly one of the songs I had told Yamada to broadcast fills the studio.

"Just pretend nobody is here," the makeup artist offers, blending my makeup with practiced ease, gripping my shoulder gently to stop me from fidgeting. "The photographer will do the rest."

I nod, my eyes still closed. The artist grabs my chin and stops the movement, setting my makeup with haste, and releasing me. They look over me once more and flash me a smile. "See. We got you ready, so quickly! That wasn't so bad."

I swallow my racing nerves to the best of my ability as Hawks appears at my side holding out a hanger. "I hear you're changing into this. I'll go buy something for you and Marina to eat. You must be getting hungry about now. Just have her text me what you want."

I glance at the outfit–it's so cute. I should know because I made it. The unitard is a blend of soft pinks and blacks with a bold lipstick mark emblazoned across the chest. It's one of those designs I felt so proud of, but now that it's ready to be worn, my breath catches in my throat. It has a window at the back, which I added in because I wanted something that would frame my lower tattoo. Is it too bold? Too flashy? Too cutesy? It's functional, but it almost looks too delicate for the task. I have practiced in one of these fits before, but now I'm doubting myself.

I mumble a thanks to him and then race over to a changing curtain to switch into it. Might as well start getting warmed up. This will be happening no matter what. It is my design. I should wear it. This shoot might be good for those rumors. Ugh. I hate how sensible Marina is sometimes. I can't help but feel like she's better in the spotlight than me.

The fabric of it is comfortable, shifting over me well, a reminder that I designed this with myself in mind. There are some alternatives to it like the fire proofing and catch resistance, but it was always intended for this. I examine the expanse of space between the top of the tripod and the silk gathered over a crashmat. Stretching my arms over my head, I follow with some quick splits stretches that make me feel like a cat. The tension in my body loosens, but there are still butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I do a few quick jumps and start doing some quick jumping jacks to get warmed up. I still feel scattered, but I need to just focus on the task at hand.

Marina is nowhere in sight. I figure she is probably busy with something else, always ahead of me, always doing something. When do they sleep?

The photographer motions for my attention. I sigh. It's time to approach the silks. I focus on maintaining a calm exterior, but on the inside, I'm mentally trying to form a short sequence that will give good photo poses. I grasp the fabric of the split tails, beginning a climb to the top. Warming up with some climbs. The movements are practiced, and I reach the top easily. I windmill my legs into a hip key, and grasp the loose tails of the silks, spinning them and myself. I do love the feeling of being up in the air like this. The way the silks hug me is reassuring. I catch Marina striding over in my periphery, crocheting my leg around the tails, I begin a descent. They wear a different KissMach unitard. It is a sleek blend of white and gray with pink and gold accents. Her eyes are locked on me, her expression thoughtful.

"So, I was thinking a couple doubles shots of both of us might be exactly what this line needs." I raise an eyebrow, tangling my arms in the fabric, leaning forward on the tips of my toes on the ground, swinging around with no grace at all.

Smart. This is about us and those rumors. Why didn't I think of that? I hum. "Yeah, I can think of a few doubles poses for us."

She beams.

When the photographer finally calls the shoot a wrap, satisfied with the shots of Marina and me, along with solo pictures of us in a fresh set out outfits, we are finally released from our duties. Hawks, Marina, and I slip into a break room with the food he picked up.

I take the chance to check my phone. There's a message there from Shouta, sent hours ago. I must have missed the notification. It's a reply to the earlier conversation we had:

"Would it be so bad if I did?"

My stomach does a traitorous flip. I don't have time to plan a response quite yet because Hawks says through a mouthful of food, "You should text Mic while you're over there."

Ugh, fine. I roll my eyes at Hawks and Sonique, but I'm not about to argue. They've both been putting in work. I raise a finger to my lips and dial Yamada, pressing speaker. "Yo! What's up?" His voice comes through loud and clear, more so than necessary, of course.

I take a deep breath. "So like, I know that you already did me the favor of getting me absolutely sloshed last night, but I was wondering if–"

Yamada interjects, catching onto the favor on the tip of my tongue. "YES! What can I do for you, babe?"

Sonique sitting across from me and beside Hawks quirks an eyebrow at the term, mouthing "You're MY wife." The ghost of a laugh escapes me in amusement, and I blow her a kiss.

"I was hoping maybe you'd give the clothing brand Sonique and I have a shoutout sometime. We're trying to get some good publicity after some bad rumors and…"

"Oh, hell yeah! You know I've got your back! I will plug you on the next broadcast. Just send me pics and names, and we're golden!"

"Thank you so much! I really appreciate it, and I will totally buy you a drink next time."

He gasps dramatically, the sound like the piercing whistle of a boiling tea kettle, "Ah! You're already planning to grace us with your presence again. Sublime!"

Someone yells at him, and he lets out a loud, "Whaat?!" and then hangs up without a goodbye.

Across from me, Sonique is holding her hand out, waiting on a high five, I roll my eyes, and slap her hand as hard as I can, the smack echoes through the room.

Taking a bite of my food, I glance at the message from Shouta, deliberating on a response. Would it be so bad if I did?

It definitely wouldn't be. Do I say something back? A bit of time has already passed since he messaged me. It might seem like I deliberately left him hanging if I respond now, but I also don't want him to think I ignored him. Shh–be still my beating heart! Play it cool.

Send it. Send it. Oh my god, I can't send it. The words I have typed so painfully hover before my eyes: "Guess it depends on how you mean that."

A low whistle interrupts my inner turmoil, Sonique has sneaked up behind me, moving like a shadow with far too much energy, she swipes my phone out of my hands. "Sonique, wait–"

"Sent!" she chirps, relinquishing my phone back to me like a prize. Sonique's lip purse, and they offer me a sip of their drink. I sip at it begrudgingly, the cool drink doing nothing to settle the butterflies in my stomach. This is fine. This is good.

Right?