Flea

Chapter Sixty Four (Part One)

Hawks' personal phone rang and part of him died inside. Just withered, there and then, probably never to recover.

"Hot as a fever, rattling bones

I could just taste it, taste it-"

He flashed a painful smile to the gorgeous woman sitting across from him and knew that if he picked up the mobile this may be his shortest first date on record. Which, the winged hero had to admit, was saying something. The painful irony of having just theatrically turned off his work phone as a show of engagement was not lost on him.

"If it's not forever, if it's just tonight

Oh, it's still the greatest, the greatest, the greatest-"

When Hawks made a move to turn the phone to silent the brunette held his hand back, raising not one, but two perfect eyebrows at him. They were so beautifully sculpted he wondered whether she'd been sponsored by Nike.

"And you, your sex is on fire-"

Well-groomed heads turned from every direction to locate the fuckwit who thought setting personalised ringtones was funny. Hawks finally muted the call, wings twitching behind him. Like usual, he'd kept the bulk of his feathers gathered on the restaurant's roof to give himself room to manoeuvre without knocking over tables and priceless statues. Even so, a marble cherub had been staring at the hero with a reproachful expression ever since he accidentally swept his extra limbs into it a couple of minutes ago arriving quarter of an hour late. He should've properly tipped it over when he had the chance, the creepy bugger wasn't doing the world one ounce of good.

The cooling systems in his bodysuit were working on overdrive and still weren't enough. Hawks hadn't even had time to ditch his hero costume after working late, so was sweltering in a fur jacket on one of the hottest nights of the year and attracting unwanted attention as the pro who wanted to show off their hero status to a 'future conquest.' It was that or strip down to a skin tight, halter necked body suit in one of the snobbiest restaurants in the city. Could put in a dance routine for good measure; he'd always considered working as a male stripper if the hero gig didn't work out.

Still better than the fucking ballet.

"Ringtone's a joke. Listen, I'm so sorry Megumi. I wouldn't normally take it, but this call is unexpectedly important," he admitted, shrinking down in his fur collar and wincing with anticipation for well deserved comeuppance. She was staring at him across the table with a neutral expression, which would've sparked true fear in his gizzard if he had one.

"Okay. I don't think this is going to work out, so I'm going to go... I'm sorry you made the effort to come," she replied, shaking back mahogany hair so glossy Hawks swore he'd seen his reflection in the back of her crown as he'd hurried to find their table. He ran a hand through wiry blonde chunks, acutely aware of other tables who had abandoned their own conversations to listen in, and the phone continuing to buzz on the table in front of him.

At least people had enough decency that they hadn't started filming yet.

"Megumi, I'm sorry, it will only be a minute and then I'll buy you the whole menu if you like-"

"No, thank you. I run my own multi-million dollar sustainable makeup line, I'm happy to pay for my own food. I just know that I need someone who puts me before their work, and Mirko made it sound like you wanted to step back from hero stuff, but that clearly isn't the case. For someone who claims to not give a damn, you cancel a lot of plans for your career. Or something else, but clearly you have places you'd rather be. We have different priorities at the moment, which is fine. Give yourself a few years to slow down and you'll get it," She shrugged, adjusting a strap on her elegant dress.