A/N: Alcohol TW just to start. S/o dies, and what happens after

After you were found dead, Hawks didn't seem to be affected. He still did his job after recovering at the hospital from the burns he'd gotten while fighting Dabi. Everyone around him knew that you had been killed in retaliation for the part he played in the hospital raid and the attack on the Paranormal Liberation Front. Burned to death, the rumor was.

Endeavor, Jeanist, everyone around him kept asking him if he was alright. He assured them he was focusing on his job, and keeping it together. Endeavor was especially apologetic, but Hawks assured him he had no reason to feel like any of it was his fault.

And at first Hawks tried to convince himself he was fine, that it didn't affect him beyond the incredible amount of self hatred he was feeling. He didn't even notice the little reckless decisions he was making. He didn't notice how reckless he was being when capturing villains. He didn't notice the bruises, cuts and injuries that were starting to pile up. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't care. He had no doubt in his mind that he deserved everything that was coming to him.

One night, about a week after your body had been discovered, he found himself heading to your place. He didn't fight it, he just let his feet take him to your apartment. The key you'd given him felt cold and heavy in his hand as he opened the front door. He stepped in and flicked on the lights to your living room.

The room looked so normal, like you had just left for work and would return any time now. Your tablet was on the coffee table with a pen and some paper you'd doodled on. You'd drawn feathers, hearts and some other small things. Hawks had to suppress a sob that was about to escape his lips, he had to turn away. If you knew what loving him was going to get you, you wouldn't surely have never associated with him.

He walked into the kitchen next. Your favorite tea cup was still in the sink, waiting to be washed. You always left it there on your busy mornings, and he'd washed it more times than he could count. So he did it again, he was sure you wouldn't want it to remain dirty in the sink. He washed the cup, dried it and placed it in the cabinet where you always kept it. His fingers lingered on the cup for a moment, before he closed the cabinet door.

Next he headed to your bedroom, or at least he tried to. He grabbed the door handle, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door, because he knew you wouldn't be there.

He marched out of the apartment and slammed the door shut after himself. He walked to the nearest liquor store and bought the biggest bottle of vodka they had. After he got out of the store, he gulped down one fourth of the bottle. Hawks never was much of a drinker, and he was most definitely a lightweight, but he didn't care, he just wanted to numb the pain with something, and the alcohol seemed like a good option.

"Goddammit" he muttered as he tottered his way back to your apartment.

The alcohol was going to his head, fast. He hadn't eaten anything the whole day so that didn't really help the situation either.

Hawks cursed again when he dropped the keys in front of your door. He picked them back up and fumbled with them for a good while, before he got the key into the lock. When he did, he hesitated for a moment. Did he really want to go back in there, into that empty apartment? He wasn't sure but he did it anyway, he had to at least turn off the lights he'd forgotten on. You always lectured him when he left the lights on when leaving.

Hawks stepped back into the apartment, but he didn't flick the lights off, he just stood there. He took another sip of the vodka and walked back to your bedroom door. This time he opened the door, slowly. He flicked on the lights there too and stepped inside. Your bed was unmade, and your pajamas were on the floor next to the bed. Your ever growing collection of empty cups was sitting on your table.

Everything was like it always had been, you just weren't there. The cups were on your table, the table was full of all the little things you liked to collect. The clothes that weren't dirty enough for the hamper were piled up on a chair next to your table. Everything was the same, but at the same time, nothing was. There was no warmth in any of it anymore, there was no life left.

Hawks sat down on your bed, placing the bottle of vodka on your nightstand. He grabbed your night shirt from the floor and pressed it against his face, taking in the faint scent that was left on it from you wearing it.

He could feel himself tearing up.

"Damn" he muttered.

The alcohol didn't seem to be of any help in numbing the pain he was feeling. He just sobbed into your shirt as he fell apart. This was all that was left of you. Your possessions, the things you loved, the things you found to be fun and that brought you joy, and now it was all just a painful reminder of what he'd lost. He laid down on the bed, clutching your shirt to his chest and sobbing inconsolably.

Even though Hawks couldn't feel it now, you had left him something he would never lose. You had left him love, you had left him joy and memories, good and bad ones, but memories all the same. Even though he was in so much pain he couldn't even think of any of that right now, he would eventually remember what it felt like to love and to be loved. That's what you'd left him. Love, always love, and some day when he was ready, he would remember that.