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Number two pro-hero Hawks who has always known fried chicken was his first love—and would likely be his only love given the bustle of his non-stop hero life and the expectations that even his parents hadn't loved him—but finds himself falling in love with the modest little Fukuoka street vendor that sells karaage on the go.
If there has ever been a constant in Hawks life of ups and downs it has always been his love for fried chicken. Fried chicken who carried him through the poorest and coldest of nights when he'd been on the streets, the flickering lanterns of a street vendor promising him light at the end of the tunnel. If he collected enough cans that day, he could afford a few pieces to warm his stomach and tie him over to his next meal. Fried chicken had stayed, when he’d finally debuted as the youngest pro-hero with his own agency to boot at eighteen and ended his day with the overwhelming luxury of knowing he'd be able to buy as much as he could stomach.
For the first time in his life, he’d thought then that hunger wouldn’t be his sole companion anymore and now he could afford to not only eat, but to eat his favorite meal.
So Hawks doesn't expect to love anyone more than fried chicken; there was no room in his life for more and he couldn’t be so selfish as to ask. He doesn't expect to want to date either—he's never had the desire, never felt like he needed that experience and the connection, the urges, none of that had ever come. He'd thought too perhaps, he just wasn't interested and wouldn't ever be.
And that was all very fine if it wasn’t meant to happen.
Until the blue of Touya—the name that he reads on the small white tag of the man's apron—strays across the gold of his own in the same moment he's handed his to-go order.
And…
Oh.
It’s like he has never known blue until that moment.
Is that what it means to want?
Is that what it feels like for his heart to beat and want…more?
There’s no preamble to the fall, no expectations, no familiarity of what he’s been taught. Nothing but the raw feelings that he’d only felt once before.
It's love at first sight again.
Blue flames crackle in the background as Hawks clutches against the to-go bag, the aroma of the karaage piping hot and promising of goodness that makes his mouth water and stomach stir, but it's not the fried chicken that he suddenly wants most anymore.
Touya shines, literally, with the number of piercings aligning his ears and adjoining his nose. He wonders briefly how the piercings are bearable next to the heat of the stove, but more than anything, he can't stop staring.
Hawks swallows as his heart races louder and a lot more irregularly, his smile wavering between the desire to form an excuse to stay and the logical need to drop it here and now, continuing on his way. This was just another—shiny—blue-eyed person walking past his life, it doesn’t matter and they’re nothing more than strangers.
But the words come out before Hawks has time to reconsider, "Would it be rude if I changed my mind and ask to eat here now?"
Street vendor Touya looks at him, a careless look on his features but there's recognition in his eyes. Of course, Hawks is still in his uniform and the red of his wings are hard to miss. Touya shrugs, a flash of silver against his tongue—because oh, his tongue is pierced too—catching Hawks' eyes as he answers.
"The seats’ yours if you want it, hero."
Hero.
Right. Because he didn't typically eat at little stands like this, not if he wanted a quiet dinner without a mob at his back. Top-ranking heroes rarely did; they preferred private rooms booked out in full scale restaurants.
But... it's fast approaching midnight and a quick flutter of his wings picks up that no one else is around or headed to this stall. He can't help it, something beats in his chest that wants to stare at Touya a little longer and get to know his fried chicken chef up close perhaps.
With a “Thanks” on his tongue, Hawks takes a seat on the wooden stool, pulls his boxes out of the to-go bag and digs in. With all things considered and his new…interest, he's still ravenous.
There's no holding back. The fried chicken is as inviting as it smells and Hawks has never been one to wait to eat, not when waiting meant he’d never get to eat growing up, the next chance of a meal never promised. The little stand is worth every detour he made to fly back and try. He'd spotted it on patrol a few days ago and even in the air, he had remembered its enticing scent drifting with the wind.
The thought of its fried goodness had been on his mind all day and Hawks had looked forward to it after his patrol, pleased that he’d finally had time to give it a try. It’s everything he could have wanted and more. Juicy, crisp, the splash of lemon drizzled over it complimenting in the best of ways. His stomach settles happily and he thinks yes, this is what he’s always loved most—that fried chicken never serves to disappoint him. No, it always welcomes him after a hard day of work.
The chirp he accidentally lets out after a few pieces would be embarrassing if Touya hadn't looked at him then with a teasing grin that has Hawks thinking instantly, he's pretty. So pretty, he forgets about his embarrassment.
"That good huh?" Touya chuckles out.
It’s the first words that Touya directs at him since he’d asked to sit down and there’s no edge to his tone, no mockery; it’s all amusement. Light pink dusts against Hawks’ cheeks along with the crumbs. Once he’s properly swallowed his bite, he declares, "The best I've tasted, if I dare be so bold.”
He never chirped in public, no matter how good the fried chicken. No one wants to hear birds around food after all, but Touya doesn't comment on his chirp.
He hums instead, "Flatterer. I'd think the number two hero's had miles better than my little stall."
It's true, Hawks has tried all the top restaurants in Fukuoka, the exclusive ones that required invitations or only accepted reservations half a year in advance. He’s dived into all the hidden gems, tried all the other known street vendors too, one after another. Eating was the one thing without fail that he knew how to do beyond being a hero after all. But this one? The one that only popped up recently off the beaten path, quieter than the rest, it's lanterns illuminating the pavements like the way it did back then—when he'd spotted the first fried chicken stand as five year old Keigo—tastes a lot like the nostalgia of fried chicken that had first captured his heart to begin with.
"I wouldn't," Hawks gasps in mock offense. "I take my food very seriously and I love them all. I could eat out 365 days a year at a different establishment and Fukuoka would still hardly have any bad choices. But I think too, even as a first impression," his eyes flicker up to meet Touya's, voice softer as he confesses, "I love yours more and differently."
Different, he thinks again, as he watches the blue of Touya’s eyes turn in amusement the same time his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. "That so?"
Touya turns away to mix more batter and fry up more of the delightful fried chicken, the silver of his piercings catching against the light of the lanterns with his movements and god, that's distracting.
All of it—the blue of his flames that crisps each piece and the way that the man works to coat them, fingers dusting the mix evenly between flour and potato starch before he tosses it into the oil is an art of its own as Hawks watches him between bites of his meal. The street is quiet save for the distant city noises blocks down and Touya's frying pot over the blue flames. Hawks has never seen anything like it.
So intrigued with watching him, he almost doesn't catch the words that come over the frying oil some time later, "I can get used to the number two hero enjoying my food."
Hawks beams, cheeks full of the chicken he’s devouring. Fried chicken has never tasted so good and he’s more than ecstatic to find a new favorite vendor to support, and yet still like a traitor to his first love, Hawks’ heart seems to beat on its own–wanting in a way that not even the fried chicken against his tongue is enough.
He thinks he gets it now when the saying goes: The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
. . . . .
“I’m going to start expanding my menu,” Touya declares on the third consecutive week when Hawks drops by again for the third time that week. “I’m certain your hero diet needs more than fried chicken this often.”
Hawks lets out a nervous laugh and pulls at the collar of his coat until it conceals the lower half of his face. "What makes you say that?"
After Hawks’ initial visit, he had returned two days later for dinner takeout (for real this time), the karaage over rice neatly packed up in a sizable disposable bento. It was then that he had gasped in delight in the bright lighting of his own office when he discovered the side of the bento box was stamped with a little blue flame. He's sure he missed it the first time because he'd been so distracted, but after discovering the boxes all came with the little blue flame stamp, honestly, how could he resist? It felt like such a personal touch, Hawks had smiled instantly.
The next day, Hawks had showed up for an evening snack—really, it was just a snack—and ordered just that, a snack portion of karaage. And to his further delight, the snack cups too came with the little blue flame stamp. Hawks had hid his smile all throughout patrol.
Two more days passed, before he'd brought his sidekicks along and ordered lunch to-go. It was Friday and they’d all put in so much overtime that week, it was a treat; Hawks deserved a treat. Naturally, he picked his new favorite spot.
Thus it had become a habit a few times a week, where Hawks would show up at different times of day to grab take out. Or when he had time to spare, typically in the late evenings or nearing the dead hours of the night, he'd take a seat and enjoy his meal in person, admiring Touya from behind the counter and conversing as he ate.
Now he's here, again. Of course Touya hasn't failed to notice.
What is he supposed to say?
That no, he’s sure most normal heroes didn’t eat the way that he did, but he has a particularly soft spot for fried chicken and it’s his comfort food. Luck has it, at the speed he goes, he burns off all the calories ridiculously fast anyways.
Or that really, he does love fried chicken but even normally he wouldn’t eat this much of it every week, but is it his fault if his wings fly him out of the way and above this little street vendor on its own when it's time for food as if it’s decided for him? He only goes where his wings go!
Or, Touya's fried chicken is to die for, but it's also everything else that’s charming–the care and quality Touya puts into running his stand, the intensity of a blue so beautiful, the goddamn piercings, and the way exchanging words with him feels so natural and comfortable, he can't explain why something inside of him can't let it go.
"You show up here more than the people living on this street, hero."
Hawks shifts his eyes to avoid Touya’s gaze and offers as casually as he can muster, “I’ve had a lot of business around here lately.”
Touya raises an eyebrow, chin propped up against his palm as his elbow rests on the wooden countertop and his fingers fiddles with the bits of metal at his ear. Hawks' eyes hone in on that action. "I can’t imagine we get a lot of major crimes, this is your jurisdiction. Everyone knows better than to really disrupt the number two hero's hometown.”
Touya has seen the statistics. For a large city like Fukuoka, it was well policed and had low crime rates to the point the general public often surveyed as feeling “very safe”. The city’s pride in their own hero Hawks was unmatched and there was a reason his popularity was higher than even the number one's. It’s almost spite that Touya chose exactly here to get away from his father.
Hawks puts on his most convincing grin with a nod, “Well, you know! Can’t ever be too sure. A petty crime here and there, a sighting or two to investigate, and there goes my day. Still here and haven’t gone very far."
Hawks continues nodding like he’s so sure of his logic, Touya wants to laugh. For the fastest hero, Touya knows it makes no sense. He'd seen the billboard charts and heard every news reporter that does a play by play of Hawks' heroics. Hawks is not only very good at what he does, he is also known to never stick around long enough either. His sidekicks were notorious for being seen running around town chasing after the hero.
“Sure, I believe you,” Touya replies, before masking his laugh with a cough. He doesn't believe him for a second, but he also doesn't wait any longer to slide Hawks' order over the counter. Touya had already begun preparing his meal the moment he’d spotted those red wings descending from the sky.
Hawks isn’t the only one who’s been paying attention.
. . . . .
True to his word and at an impressive pace, Touya adds grilled chicken yakitori, udon, agedashi tofu and daikon to the menu. A suspicious handful of healthier side dishes start appearing too–sliced cucumbers, cabbage salad, edamame, and an assortment of picked vegetables.
Once again, Hawks laughs it off, not allowing himself to believe for a moment that anyone would change their street stand menu for him, but Touya’s previous words ring in his mind.
The new additions appeal to him all the same and his heart does another tug when he eyes the yakitori on the menu. If Touya was trying to chase him away from showing up so often…
“You know, yakitori is actually another favorite of mine,” Hawks comments brightly.
“I should have known,” Touya sighs. “You really are a bird man.”
Hawks grins as he opts for five orders of chicken yakitori and a bowl of udon tonight. He’s not sure how Touya would react if he dares to put in another order of karaage this week.
“Thank you for the meal,” Hawks says graciously when his food slides across the counter.
The udon is so soft and fresh, Hawks hums around the comfort of its texture as it slides down his throat with the broth. He can tell right away that the item wasn’t hastily thrown on the menu, this is something Touya has tried and tested. The five glistening yakitori slides onto a plate next to him next, each chicken altered by a layer of onion. When he tears at the chicken between his teeth, the sweetness of the sauce hits his tongue instantly and god that’s delectable too. Hawks finishes his yakitoris at an embarrassingly fast pace.
He’s convinced then and there that there isn’t a dish Touya can touch and be anything short of perfection.
“The new menu is great,” Hawks sighs happily at the end of his meal. “I mean it.”
“Oh excellent,” Touya comments, his voice coming from behind the hanging lanterns, “Now that the number two hero’s approved it, I can put it on the regular menu.”
"Who's the flatterer now?" Hawks lets out another laugh, hoping that if he does so, Touya won’t see the pinks of his cheeks. He seems to be doing that quite often lately—laughing, because he doesn’t know how to respond.
It doesn’t mean what it sounds like, Hawks convinces himself, tries really even when his heart doesn't get the message. It doesn’t mean anything, he repeats.
Touya’s just one hell of a smooth talker.