I Wanna Be Happy; Could You Show Me How Its Done?

I highly recommend listening to Black Friday by Tom Odell while you read. It is what inspired this short story and I had it on repeat while I wrote. I'm not entirely sure why I imagined Hawks when I listened to this song a few days ago, but I did and I just couldn't get the idea out of my brain. And please bare with me. This is my first time ever writing Hawks, so I deeply apologize if my version isn't very canon (though this story isn't exactly canon really, so does it matter??). Enjoy, hopefully.

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As the light drifted into dark, the moon taking over the night shift; the air grew colder and fresher. Simply the perfect time to escape to the only place that felt freeing. With a heavy sigh that rested deep within his tired bones, Hawks took to the skies with a single beat of his wings; the shiny, ruffled feathers lifting him with minimal effort. His flight was lazy, slow, as if he had all the time in the world.

He didn't.

Patrol had left more than a few bumps on his overworked physique.  Missing primary feathers made his flight pattern slightly strained, blonde hair sticking out of place, bruises from being thrown against buildings littering his frame, hidden under his black and yellow flight suit. A pounding headache rattling away in his head, fuzzing the edges of his eyes just long enough to become barely concerning. His body ached, a familiar; yet distantly uncomfortable pain settling in his chest.

Finally, the journey was over and he definitely didn't nearly stumble over his feet on what was a less than perfect landing. His wings flexed and unflexed behind him, certain flights poking and twisting in abnormal directions; but Hawks was just too tired to care.

Taking a few unsteady steps forward, he stood at the edge of the Center Marks Tower; his escape.

For a moment, just the fraction of a thought; he wondered what it would be like to take a step out and forget to flap his wings. It was only there a second, before another image popped up; a person with icy turquoise pupils, a killer literally personality and shiny, sliver staples covering his body.

Dabi.

Dabi was at the frontline of his head lately, taking over the haunted thoughts and pushing them out. It was wrong, it just was. Heroes didn't think this way, and heroes certainly didn't need villains to pull them from these ways. Hawks was a hero, Dabi wasn't.

Staring down at the lights, the faint buzzing of the still ever active city below, Hawks leaned forward just the smallest bit; before stepping back and bending down to sit, his legs dangling over the ledge. The light wind swayed his booted feet back and forth softly. With his gaze now lifted to the sky, Hawks imagined a different life.

One where he wasn't a hero.

Maybe someone special was with him.

Maybe they weren't a villain.

Maybe there were no heroes, no villains.

Maybe he was happy; felt safe, sane, alive.

Shaking his head in a desperate attempt to clear it made the ringing in his ears sharper, the ache behind his forehead more intense; but those images creased, so win-win. He was talking, thinking, nonsense again.

He didn't need a special person by him. He was happy, maybe not all that safe, but he was sane and he was alive.

So why did his chest hurt like a broken rib pushing up into his heart?

A ding in his pocket pulled him from his head long enough for him to pull his phone out, the screen lighting up his fallen face in the darkness. It was a text, his screen showed.