The smell of something cooking tugged me out of sleep, warm and inviting. For a moment, I just lay there, cocooned in the blanket, my brain foggy. I couldn't remember the last time I woke up like this—no sirens, no yelling, no fear gnawing at my chest. Just... quiet, and the smell of food.

My eyes cracked open, and I blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. I wasn't on the couch anymore. At some point, Hawks must've moved me to an actual bed. The room was small, barely furnished, but the sheets were clean, and for once, I didn't feel like I had to keep one eye open while I slept.

It didn't feel real.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up, the blanket pooling around my waist. My body still ached in places I hadn't even known could ache, but it wasn't unbearable. The air smelled like eggs and something sweet, and my stomach growled so loudly I winced. Right. I hadn't eaten since... yesterday? The day before? Honestly, I'd lost track.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood, wobbling a little before steadying myself. I followed the smell to the kitchen, half-expecting this all to be some weird dream.

But there he was.

Hawks stood at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a pan in the other, flipping what looked like pancakes. He was still wearing a loose shirt, his wings shifting slightly as he moved. The way the sunlight caught the red feathers made them look almost gold.

I stopped in the doorway, unsure what to say. It felt... strange. Intimate, almost. Like this was something that should've been normal, but wasn't.

"Morning, kid," Hawks said without turning around. His voice was easy, casual, like we hadn't just fought a villain together and had a life-changing conversation the night before. "I was starting to think you'd sleep all day."

I cleared my throat, stepping further into the room. "Didn't really mean to fall asleep like that."

"Don't sweat it. You needed the rest." He glanced over his shoulder, giving me one of those lazy grins that didn't quite hide the sharpness in his eyes. "Hungry?"

As if on cue, my stomach growled again, louder this time. Hawks chuckled, turning back to the stove.

"Figured. Sit down. Breakfast's almost ready."

I hesitated for a second before sliding into one of the chairs at the small table. There were already plates set out—eggs, toast, a little fruit. It was more than I'd seen in one place in a long time.

"You really didn't have to—"

"Stop." Hawks cut me off, his tone light but firm. "Don't even start with that. You're here now, and that means you eat. End of story."

I stared at the table, my throat tightening. I wasn't used to this. To someone just... caring like it was the most normal thing in the world.

A few minutes later, Hawks set a plate of pancakes in front of me, followed by a bottle of syrup. He took the seat across from me, his wings tucked neatly behind him, and for a while, we just ate in silence.

It was good. Too good. I tried to pace myself, but once I started, it was hard to stop. Hawks didn't say anything, just kept eating, but I could feel his eyes on me every now and then. Like he was taking stock, making sure I was okay.

When we were both finished, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright. Here's the plan. We've got a healer coming by in about an hour to check us out. Both of us," he added, giving me a pointed look. "Don't even try to argue."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

"Uh-uh. Not happening. You're getting looked at, end of discussion. After that, we're heading out to get you some essentials. Clothes, shoes, whatever else you need."

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "You don't have to—"

"Yeah, I do," he interrupted, his voice softer this time. "Look, kid, I know this is... a lot. For both of us. But I meant what I said last night. You're not alone in this anymore. So let me take care of you, alright?"

The words hit harder than I expected, and I had to look away, focusing on a scratch on the edge of the table. I didn't know how to respond to that. No one had ever said anything like that to me before.

Hawks sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I get it. You're not used to this. Hell, I'm not, either. But I'm gonna try. You deserve that much."

Something in his tone made me glance up, and I saw it—the guilt, the determination, the overwhelming need to make this right. Not just for me, but for himself, too.

"Thanks," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, small and genuine, and for the first time, I thought maybe this could work. Maybe, just maybe, I could let myself believe him.