a long, slow inhale is his first response, idly listening to the man’s words of cynicism for the world they lived in; the life they were forced to walk. it’s refreshing to hear someone who so equally mirrors his own thoughts, though. so often he finds himself feeling isolated in his vision – the jaded numbness to which he views his profession; the perversion of the way heroes were treated. washed out caricatures of anything the populous demanded. just characters to be acted out in public; no real substance behind them. the fans didn’t want to really know them.
they didn’t want the reality behind being a hero – the gritty pain, the nightmares, the horrors they had to see day to day. they wanted to see the glory or the sex appeal; objectify the young attractive pros and fantasize about them, and admire the absent glory of the older ones. there was no substance behind the public. nighteye was right – they signed over their right to be human when they agreed to be heroes. something else; an object – a figment of their desires and projection of what goodness could be, nothing more. hawks hated it; every bit of every public appearance he had to make was a forced act that he was getting tired of. at least nighteye didn’t even bother with appearances anymore – not the way hawks’ agency insisted.
‘ i figured since we’re working together we might as well get along outside of work. besides, i like you. ’ he says honestly, letting smoke seep out of his lips and float slowly up around winged amber eyes, encompassing feathered blonde hair with its scent. he turns to meet his gaze, a soft smirk curving his lips and he takes another pointed hit off his cigarette, the embers blazing off the end lighting up and casting soft shadows on his features. ‘ i know you’re trying to be standoffish, but i think we could both use a break from this case. let me buy you a drink. ’ he offers, head canting to the side, a casual attempt to lighten the dense mood they’d created.
he had taught others to remain true to who they really were, like mirio---- but at the tipping point, there’s no reason to deny who ( and what ) they are. ❝ hmph, anyone who boldly trusts another solely on their word deserves to get betrayed—- ❞ once you’ve accepted yourself, there’s nothing event he public can do to tarnish your soul. his is a titanium, cold casket ; bolted down into the depth of his chest. immobile, undeterred---- above all else, he is aware of what he had suffered. both in the past, present, and the future----. foresight isn’t even required in some respect, but the quirk continued to plague him with visions. there’s times during sleep he can’t tell the boundary between divination or meager stress and nightmares. questioning one’s own sight ; the foundation of reality, it is enough to cause a man or woman to break down into fragments. tears had filled his vision for all might, but the man had taught him what it was like to feel loss: to lose, despite having the tools required to win. ‘ i can save you, ’ he had thought, ‘ foresight has shown me the future. we simply have to avoid it. ’ but it’s never that simple ; and he’d crushed those remnants of daichiro murakami in order to build-up sir nighteye.
the one good thing about all of this it that someone shall always know sir nighteye’s perspective ; there’s absolutely zero filter with him, and perhaps that is what is best when dealing with all these ‘ smoke and mirror tactics ’ in their profession. after all, he wouldn’t stand idle for the symbol’s bullshit, either---- even though he had believed in peace and stability for the public. he couldn’t stomach the grotesque insistence to play a fabricated role, to sacrifice the humanity within himself ( both beautiful and flawed ) for the sake of those that ripped asunder his flesh until only a skeleton remained. it is a human’s nature to devour ; to consume, and with their heroes, it is no different. people profit, and slowly everything starts to spiral out of control. a scoff comes from the prior administrator of all might industries as he shifts his hand. ❝ i’ll have a scotch on the rocks, then—- hurry up. ❞ but they’ve made one nuance quite clear. they don’t trust hawks, or---- maybe anyone for that matter. he’ll trust his team, on a professional level. because that’s all you truly can do ( unless you want to fail the mission before it even began ) but as companions----?
no, never again ; that crippling sense of vulnerability is not something they wish to relive. that wretched, frigid individual he’d fed to the media was good enough. but even his interns seem to comprehend that there’s more to him than what met the eye. mirio, specifically, has gotten a little too close for comfort---- yet, every time he tries to turn the boy aside or scold him ; there’s a similar, familiar smile that grows out of the mischievous child’s visage. there is only two people you’d die for: all might and---- anyone who had truly placed their trust in them. a sense of responsibility demanded it so. mirio ( and those who remained as allies of his office ) believed that foresight and sir nighteye could shelter them. for that reason, he has no choice but to deliver on that hefty promise. ❝ ----and hawks, ❞ he abruptly spoke. ❝ just so we’re crystalline. i don’t like you, nor do i trust you as far as i can throw you. in conclusion: you’re here to do your job, or you’ll get out of my way. understood----? ❞
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