A Wilted Red Rose (Hawks x Reader)

An Unbound Heart

What the hell am I thinking? I shouldn't be out here in broad daylight. People might start to put a name to my face. Oh, shut the hell up, (y/n). You need to do this. After everything he's done for me, the least I can do is go support him, right?

Wedges of doubt persisted to invade your mind as the unfamiliar city folk bustled and hurried around you, until an electronic billboard bolted to a skyscraper drew your attention, its words clearly displaying in colorful words, 'HERO BILLBOARD CHART – TODAY! NEXT LEFT'

Bingo.

Your destination soon came into view.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

Patiently you waited at the entryway. There was no beginning and no end of the line. People funneled into the enclosed space like a clogged, endless bottleneck. As you waited, your mind wandered deep within the infinite oblivion that was your own thoughts.

"Hey, excuse me? Hey. Hey?"

You stared into the black void absentmindedly, entirely oblivious to the detail that someone other than Hawks was beginning to call for you directly from behind. An awkward silence then developed from the people surrounding you as they each wondered why the hell you were being so rude as to not respond. Finally sensing their judging stares, your consciousness caught up with your body and scanned each of their faces in puzzlement, totally ignorant of the conversation trying to take place. Twirling around, you were greeted by a younger man, buttoned up in a professional coat with a pencil between his head and the tip of his ear.

"Finally. Hi! How's it goin'?" he beamed enthusiastically. "I couldn't help but notice that you look pretty new here. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

You felt your head dip slightly to bury the lower half of your face into your burgundy-colored scarf in apprehension; your mouth was hidden from view, resembling a turtle receding into its shell.

It took you another moment to survey everyone's uncomfortable and flustered faces as they continued their silent judging. It felt as though everyone grew tall to look down over you. The art of peer pressure struck you like a freight train before your entire form exaggeratedly perked up and got in gear. "Hm? Oh! It's – I'm (l/n), hi!" you heard yourself say awkwardly.

"Uh, sup?" He replied less reassuringly this time while stretching out his fist toward you, all while you peered at him in puzzlement, clearly not understanding his cordial gesture.

"Well, anyway," he withdrew his hand, only to retrieve a notepad and pluck the pencil from behind his ear. "It's (l/n), right?" he confirmed while jotting something down. "You from around here?"

"No, I-I'm in the next town over."

"Oh, Fukuoka?"

"That's the one."

"North or South side?" he inquired while tapping the pen to his chin.

Weirded out by the increasingly personal specifics of his questions, you anxiously replied, "S-south...?"

By then the crowd had dissipated enough to allow your small form to wriggle inside. You used a thumb to point behind you to indicate that you were ready to get the hell out of there, but not before offering the man an uncomfortable bow as he scribbled fervently, all while pressing you with more questions, all of which you selectively ignored this time and opted to dart into your new safe haven instead.

It was a challenge, both physically and emotionally to squeeze through the crowd to get a good seat at the rally, but your struggles soon ceased upon spotting those unmistakable wings up on stage. Before you could register what was happening, a delighted, open-mouthed smile graced your lips upon spotting your friend. He was only expecting you to watch him live on your phone safely at home; what would he think if he actually saw you there, in the crowd, cheering him on? Ferocious giddiness overwhelmed you at the thought, enough for your hand to act on its own accord and shoot up in the air to try and garner the pro's attention from afar, but the lights in the stage switched off simultaneously, extinguishing your plans.