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Damned high heels.
You swear the devil himself crafted these shoes as you slowly make your way down, already debating on opting out of the gala despite not even having reached the actual event yet, trying to answer any questions you feel like answering by clamouring reporters and posing for photos.
Your silent prayer to make it to the gala without a fumble is lost as you balance is, and you wonder if the universe has cursed you with bad publicity and press coverage, but you feel yourself be steadied by a pair of hands.
"Red is a good colour on you." Hawks smiles, palms light on your waist as his own vermillion wings perk up slightly. "Some might think we're matching."
You're not surprised he's at the gala, anyone who's anyone should be here, but you are surprised that he's associating himself with you; it can't help but be wondered if he's doing it for the sake of public image, because you were there when he made that statement pertaining to it being an asset to heroes, and you've heard the conversations flying around online about you both, or if it was just a coincidence he was passing by on the carpet.
Cameras click and flash, the shouts of the photographers catch your attention before you can reply, and you shake your head with a laugh, starting to walk once more, this time along with Hawks, one hand resting on the small of your back.
"You realize, we're gonna be on the front page of tabloids for the next few days because of that, right?" It's a rhetorical question, and you're trying to gauge his reaction, but Hawks' smile is charming as always, glittering with mirth.
"My sordid love affair will be revealed along with it I'm sure."
"But Hawks, the secret lovechild we have!" You gasp, and Hawks feigns a mournful expression.
You're barely paying attention to his witty comeback, because you've finally reached the entrance of the building, some rich mansion someone had rented out, and the golden chandelier sends off light that bathes him in warmth, and makes giddiness rise up in you like the bubbles in the pale champagne being passed around.
"Want a drink?"
His voice snaps you out of your admiring reverie, and you decide you should definitely toss these heels in the trash once you get home because you're stumbling again, and Hawks' grin is bright.
"Maybe I should stick by you for the rest of the night. Can't have you falling. Could be dangerous."
"If the number two hero wants to waste his time by catching me whenever I fall on these stupid heels, I'd say be my guest."
"Then shall we?" Hawks offers his arm, and you wonder where the night will take you as you slip your arm through his.
It takes you to the bar first.
"People keep telling me we should work together." You're. twirling the small paper umbrella from your fruity drink between your fingers, dropping it when the point of the toothpick pricks you.
"Oh? Well, that's the first time I've heard of it." Hawks' gaze glimmers with sarcasm, as he pops an olive from his drink into his mouth, and you smile, ducking your head slightly as you exhale a chuckle.
He thinks it's beautiful.
"Can I ask you something?" Hawks muses as you both lapse into silence, listening to the clink of champagne flutes and haughty laughs of partygoers, his eyes studying you from over the rim of his glass.
"Go for it."
"What happened that day?"
He doesn't need to elaborate on what day, it was all you could see in the news in the following week, how Hawks had come to the rescue of you, a fellow pro hero, and a group of civilians, in a blazing inferno that had engulfed an apartment building. Hawks' popularity had skyrocketed after that incident, and yours had declined, your actions of not being able to handle the situation yourself, deemed as foolish and unnecessary as to why you were a pro in the first place.
"My emotions got the best of me." You're drumming your fingertips against the bar, and Hawks is pensive, eyes slightly narrowed as he recalls a tidbit he'd read in a passing glance of a newspaper.
"That was your hometown."
"And it was the same apartment building I lived in before I started working to become a pro." Your words are slow, trickling out in a burning bitterness. "I couldn't think straight, I just rushed in without a plan and almost got killed. Can you imagine that? A little girl, with not much money, wanting to become a pro in her small town, finally making it, only to have it come to a standstill because of her past."
You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, having taken the pins out, and Hawks notices your other hand smoothing down your already immaculate skirt in a nervous tic.
"If it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead."
"Probably." Hawks agrees, but it doesn't take you aback, for it's the truth, and it holds more weight than a slight jab, and you know that's why he said it.
You forget sometimes how smart Hawks really is, but the more you think about it, the more your thoughts get muddled, so you move on, trying to follow Hawks' new conversation topic, having pointed out some gaudy outfit someone was wearing as he chewed lightly on the wooden toothpick from his drink.
"Hawks."
"Yeah?"
You've cut him off mid sentence, but he doesn't seem to mind, head slightly tilted in curiosity. He looks dashing, like a secret agent in a spy movie that saves the damsel in distress, black suit jacket tossed to the stool beside him, his slightly rumpled dress shirt giving him a roguish look only he could pull off.
You want to kiss him, and little do you know, the exact thought is running through his own mind.
"Thank you."
You're unsure as to whether you're thanking him for catching you all those times tonight, for saving your life in the fire, or for keeping you company, but he actually looks taken aback before he smiles. It's not genuine in the sense of happiness, but you can't quite figure it out.
"You're welcome."
Conversation still flows smooth after, the banter in high spirits, and it's not until you're on your way home that you think about the dangling feather earring that caught so beautifully on the light when he laughed, and Hawks' thoughts are on the satin of your dress and rouge on your lips, burning red imprint in his mind.
They're lost in the whirl of city lights.
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