For weeks, peace had lingered like sunlight through glass.
Aerith's little church had become a haven — flowers blooming in impossible places, laughter echoing under the broken roof.
And Hawks?
He'd made that place his refuge too.
He stopped counting the days he spent there. He stopped pretending it was duty.
It was something softer.
Something real.
---
That afternoon in Musutafu Plaza, Aerith's flower stand was surrounded by her usual customers — workers on their breaks, children pointing at her blooms, and Hawks lounging nearby with his wings folded behind him.
Everything was ordinary.
Until it wasn't.
A sharp metallic crack tore through the air.
A crane cable snapped above the construction site across the street — and a steel beam plummeted toward the crowd.
People screamed.
Hawks was already in motion, feathers slicing through the air — but the beam was too large, too close.
He couldn't save everyone.
Aerith's basket fell from her hands.
Her breath caught.
And for a single heartbeat, her world slowed.
> "Not again," she whispered.
---
She ducked behind her flower cart — out of sight, hidden by the falling dust and chaos.
Her hands pressed together, her voice barely a breath.
> "Holy… protect them."
A faint light shimmered through her fingertips, soft and invisible under the cloud of debris.
It spread like wind — unseen, but felt.
The steel beam crashed into the street — but when the dust cleared, everyone nearby was safe.
The beam had landed just far enough to miss the crowd.
The injured worker who had fallen was bruised, but alive — no broken bones, no blood.
Aerith stepped out slowly, feigning surprise with the rest of them.
Her heart pounded.
No one noticed her trembling hands.
Only Hawks did.
---
He landed beside her, scanning the scene, eyes sharp.
> "You alright?"
> "Y-yeah," she said softly, clutching her apron. "Just scared."
He glanced at her for a long second — too long.
Something in her expression, that calm after fear, told him she'd done something.
But she didn't explain, and he didn't ask.
Instead, he smiled, placing a feather on her shoulder.
> "You've got good instincts, flower girl. Everyone's safe."
> "That's all that matters," she said.
---
Later, when the crowd cleared, Aerith knelt beside her fallen flowers and whispered a quiet prayer.
> "Sorry," she murmured. "I had to."
Her hands glowed faintly as she touched a crushed bloom — it straightened, petals soft and full again.
The magic faded before anyone could notice.
Hawks leaned against a nearby wall, watching her.
He didn't need proof anymore. He'd seen enough to understand that she was something beyond quirks — something sacred.
But she was hiding it.
And somehow, he understood why.
---
That night, as they walked back to the church, Hawks spoke quietly.
> "You ever think people don't deserve someone like you?"
Aerith looked at him, eyes gentle but sad.
> "It's not about what people deserve. It's about what they need."
> "Still," Hawks said, "you shouldn't have to hide who you are."
She smiled faintly.
> "If it keeps people safe — including me — then it's worth it."
He stopped walking, looking at her in the fading light.
> "You really are impossible," he murmured. "Always thinking about everyone else."
> "And you're always pretending you don't care," she replied softly. "We all have our roles, Hawk."
---
When he flew home that night, her words stayed with him.
The city lights glittered below, but they felt dull compared to her glow.
He realized then:
He didn't love her because of her power.
He loved her because, even when the world didn't see her light… she still shone anyway.