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Getting to wake up next to Dabi is something Hawks doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, though a small part of him hopes he gets the chance to try anyway.
He has to leave soon, ever a prisoner to the early hours set forth by his Handlers.
Ignoring this for the time being, Hawks lets himself hold Dabi a little closer. Not that there was much space between them to begin with. Dabi really wasn’t kidding when he said the bed would be small.
Just a little longer. He tells himself.
Hiding away in the crook of Dabi’s neck, he breathes in the comforting scent of smoke and sweat.
Please, don’t take me from him just yet.
There’s a creak of bed springs then gentle fingers start to card through Hawks’ hair without a word. Hawks nuzzles closer, letting out a soft hum of contentment.
“Don’t know where you think I’m going this early.”
“Maybe I’m just holding on for dear life so I don’t fall off the bed,” Hawks mumbles back, ignoring the way his face burns from being read so easily.
Dabi huffs out a laugh.
The whole world seems to fall silent, wrapping them up in a blanket of comfort that Hawks isn’t sure he has the strength to push away. He still tries, pressing up onto his hands only to get stuck halfway, gaze caught on the sleep-heavy eyes that flutter open to look at him.
Unable to resist the pull of his gravity, Hawks leans in close, ignoring the smug grin that stretches across Dabi's lips as their mouths meet in a warm, unhurried kiss.
It takes every ounce of willpower Hawks has to pull away, face flushing at how pleased Dabi still looks as he settles back against his pillow.
Just as Hawks stands to leave, Dabi's half-asleep voice makes him pause. “Ever been to the mountains in Wakayama?”
Hawks turns back to him, smiling a little. “Why? They got a nice view you wanna show me?”
“Boss is having a rally there soon."
Hawks’ stomach lurches.
The invite should make him happy. It's another step in the right direction, right? A chance to see exactly what the heroes are up against.
But this hasn’t been about his mission for awhile now, has it?
"Yeah?"
"I think you should come. See it for yourself."
Theres something calculated—deliberate—about the way he says it that catches Hawks' attention. Before he can figure it out what hidden agenda he could possibly have, Dabi tugs the sheet back up to his chin and rolls over with a grumbled, "Don't know how you're upright."
Realizing he should probably answer, Hawks tries to sound like he's excited and not picking apart this entire interaction. "Sure. Just let me know when it is."
Dabi waves him off. "Yeah, yeah."
"Sweet dreams, Hot Stuff."
Dabi grunts noncommitally.
Stepping out into the hallway, Hawks turns Dabi's words over and over in his head as he makes his way to the living room, trying to remember where he left his bag of clothes last night.
He freezes when he registers somebody stepping out of the bathroom. A blue-haired, headphone-wearing somebody whose mouth twists into a shit-eating grin the moment he sees him.
Hawks face flushes hotly as he's suddenly forced to recall everything he and Dabi got up to last night, which only seems to make his smug expression grow.
"Sleep well?" Shigaraki asks and Hawks prays to whatever gods might be listening to have mercy and strike him down where he stands.
"Yeah, actually. You winning?" Hawks shoots back, indicating his headphones.
Shigaraki's blood-shot eyes narrow with contempt, making Hawks wince as he goes to squeeze past him.
Just as he thinks he's home free, Shigaraki takes a pointed step into his personal space so that his wings suddenly meet the wall behind him. The way he then uses his minuscule height advantage to leer intimidatingly down at him reads so much like something Dabi would do that he wonders, mildly amused, who learned it from who.
There's an undeniable undercurrent of danger radiating off of him that makes Hawks quickly school his features, hands half-raised in surrender.
Shigaraki scrutinizes him. Then, just as the silence starts to become uncomfortable, he gives him a once-over that brings back Hawks' blush with how invasive it feels. For a mortifying moment, Hawks genuinely has no clue if Shigaraki is trying to intimidate him or come onto him.
Thankfully, Shigaraki is quick to clear up any confusion with a derisive, "I don't get what he sees in you."
Hawks starts to respond but Shigaraki doesn't let him.
"Don't waste my time playing coy like it's some kind of secret. That shit pisses me off. And just because that moron seems to have taking a liking to you doesn't mean I have," Shigaraki says bluntly.
Hawks initially assumes jealousy, but that doesn't seem to fully explain what's in front of him. There's nothing in his behavior that reads as him being possessive of Dabi, he just seems to think he could do better. (If he wasn't actively insulting him it would almost be endearing.)
"Aww, what happened to me being your new favorite?"
Apparently this is the wrong thing to say as it earns him four fingers around the throat with a fifth inching dangerously close.
"I'm only going to say this once, Hawks. Step out of line and it's game over for you."
Finally it clicks and he has to fight to keep a smile off his face.
"Understood?" Shigaraki sneers.
Break his heart and I'll kill you.
"Loud and clear, Handyman."
Shigaraki glowers at him in a way that says 'it's too damn early to be dealing with your bullshit' and then shoves him away.
Hawks is embarrassed to admit he does stumble a little, not expecting so much force from such a seemingly scrawny frame. Granted, he's never seen the guy in anything but baggy loungewear. Shigaraki could be ripped under there for all he knows.
Frantically waving away mental images that are far from work appropriate, he can't help throwing out one last teasing, "Tell Iguchi I say hi!" before making his escape.
Shigaraki's answering irritated growl makes Hawks laugh.
__________
Hawks gets through his day of patrols mostly on autopilot, thoughts a million miles away as they so often seem to be these days. By the time he checks in at his agency to dismiss his sidekicks for the day, he feels wired and antsy, failing so far to shake the uneasy feeling of unwelcome eyes watching him from the shadows.
Against his better judgement, Hawks sits down at his desk instead of heading home. He hasn’t been able to get the case from yesterday out of his head and it’s slowly driving him insane.
It’s not just the violation of his privacy and that of countless others that leaves him unable to leave it alone. It’s that, despite being committed practically in broad daylight, the police don’t have a single suspect yet. Not to mention the high likelihood of the perpetrator having some kind of fire-related quirk.
He really shouldn’t make assumptions, but it’s easy to wonder…
It takes some digging but he eventually finds a transcript of someone calling the local fire department about blue smoke rising from the building. Heart thudding in his throat, he goes back and finds the original news broadcast about it, needing more proof before he gets any more ahead of himself.
He watches it again. Then again. Pulling up and scrutinizing the before and after videos of the memorabilia room until his eyes start to sting from all the visual stimuli.
As far as he and the reports can tell, the fire was started from the right-hand wall, where a frankly obscene amount of collector Endeavor merchandise once stood. It then spread throughout the room into the hidden closet where Kasuto’s corpse was found, leaving the rest of the house mysteriously unscathed.
It strikes him as odd that he wouldn’t have lit the side with the window or door first in order to cut off any of Kasuto’s escape routes. Which leads him to wonder if maybe the placement was intentional.
Is it some kind of joke? Because of Endeavor’s flame quirk? Did it stem from a particular distaste for him specifically? Or heroes in general?
But then why take the feather? Why not burn it all, the rest of the house included?
He watches it again, unconsciously starting to murmur the presenter’s words along with her. “…some have speculated it to be the work of an elusive vigilante…”
Hawks’ eyebrows furrow, pull tab snapping off of the empty coffee can he started to fidget with sometime during the second watch through. “Huh.” Kicking his restless feet off his desk, he scoots his chair back in close, chewing on his lip now as he scrolls down to look at the comments posted underneath the video.
wildflower57: Old creep got what was coming to him.
anitabettername: Did you guys see those photos? Yikes. Gonna be looking over my shoulder fr.
best jeanist’s left thread spool: have I renewed my disaster insurance this year………..
Finally, a comment catches his eye if only because of how many replies the thread has.
xXshad0wlordXx: Think it’s him again?
eatinggpizaa: super cryptic 3dgel0rd
69and420haha: lol who?
account1two3four5: well come on don’t leave us hanging
xXshad0wlordXx: You Know
gigglygooglygoober: Did you get bullied in school?
trollolololo: quit stealing my job lololol
He has to scroll past quite a few more comments before he spots another one from xXshad0wlordXx.
xXshad0wlordXx: The Cremator <3
69and420haha: Cremator? I hardly know ‘er!!!
dancemonkeydance: Ugh. Not this shit again. You people scare me. Please touch grass.
“Huh.” Hawks frowns, having never heard of this person until now.
A quick check through the databases he has access to (and a few he definitely isn’t supposed to) for ‘The Cremator’ reveals nothing. Still determined, he goes to the internet instead and has far better results, eventually finding a dedicated forum hosted on some kind of unsolved true crime website.
He’s a little wary of trusting such an unofficial source, but if being a spy has taught him anything it’s that word of mouth can be a very powerful tool.
The page claims that there’s been a string of unsolved murder cases spanning across the last several months, all reporting burnt corpses at the scene. Most of them have remained unidentified, with no friends or family reaching out and no missing persons reports filed.
He’s able to confirm as much with a few quick searches, though he can’t help wondering why something like this hasn’t wound up on his radar yet (granted he has been a little distracted as of late).
Then there’s the issue of the one outlier. An incident that seems to be causing quite a bit of contention among those following the crimes of this supposed ‘Cremator’. Every time it’s mentioned it sparks some kind of debate on the forum. Though, with this latest crime, the consensus seems to be more in favor of everything being connected somehow.
This one at least Hawks has some vague memory of, despite the investigation being carried out by police, not heroes.
An exorbitantly rich American CEO living in Japan goes missing and is eventually found burnt to an almost unrecognizable crisp in the remains of a club ten miles away from his home. Later proven to be his property, police discovered a secret bunker underneath where illicit meetings had been held for years.
It mostly caught his eye at the time because it was also revealed that the CEO was the head of some kind of Quirk Elitist Group. One which praised heroes like Endeavor for their aggressive displays of power, while violently shunning those both with and without quirks that they deemed weak or of no use to society.
Tabbing back to the reports of unidentified bodies, his stomach twists as with each new case comes fewer and fewer details. As if whoever wrote the reports stopped giving a shit after the first two and just started chucking them on top of the pile to be scanned and forgotten.
It’s not until he notices where the crimes have been taking place that his face heats with indignation.
Run down towns. Seedy cities. Low income areas. The kind of places people more well off like to pretend don’t exist.
The kind of place a man on the run might hide with his wife and son.
Where people go to be forgotten.
To disappear.
Hawks’ body feels hot and clammy.
He tries to go back to reading but the characters dance around the page, making that unreachable place behind his eyes throb in a way that’s almost comfortingly familiar. Lying his head miserably down on his desk for a moment, Hawks shoves away memories of uneven floorboards and exposed electrical sockets, nose stinging with the phantom stench of garbage bags and cheap booze.
Dabi is the League’s recruiter. He thinks with another lurch to his stomach.
He lets his brain get halfway through an imagined scenario where, instead of the Commission finding him as a kid, Dabi and the League found him instead before he yanks his thoughts elsewhere.
It’s not a comparison he particularly wants to make, and there’s no use dwelling on ‘what if’s anyway.
Still.
He wraps his arms around his head, curling in on himself.
It is different. Isn’t it?
Dabi, Toga, Jin, Iguchi, at least they joined the League of their own free will. They still believe in the cause they’re fighting for. Right?
But what about Hawks?
He still wants to help people.
He still wants to be a hero.
Doesn’t he?
What was any of this for otherwise?
The years of training, of working himself to collapse, of telling himself again and again that he’s doing the right thing and it’s for the greater good as he stained his hands with someone else’s blood.
What was any of it for?
The soft patter of tears against hardwood startles him so badly that he jerks into a sitting position, hands frantically wiping away any evidence of his crumbling composure.
Then he opens his eyes to an empty room.
An empty office. At his empty agency. Because everyone else already went home.
He’s alone.
Right.
So then, why does he still feel so foolish?
They know. They always know.
They have eyes everywhere. Who do you think trained you to do the same?
Eyes—feathers—everywhere.
Not everywhere. You didn’t see him when he took all those—
Hawks slams his laptop shut and makes a break for the roof, taking off the moment he feels wind against his face.
Stop it! Stop! Stop looking at me!
When shoving his headphones on does nothing to stop the crisscrossing voices shouting in his head, he takes them off instead, letting the rush of wind against his ears buzz in his head.
He’s home in record time, screen door flung open and then haphazardly shut behind him as he claws his suffocating flight suit away from his skin.
“Get off, get off! Fuck!”
A panicked sob is wrenched from his chest.
His ears ring and his vision goes spotty.
He claws at it again until the fabric tears under talons he’s due to have pulled any day now.
Something is his brain tries to tell him he’s in pain but he doesn’t care. He can’t think beyond the need to Hide! Escape! Disappear!
His closet door slides shut behind him and then he’s cowering in the farthest back corner, feathers pulling at loose floorboards until they finally give way and he can tug out the pile of blankets and pillows he keeps shamefully stashed underneath.
They smell like wood and dust, stale from disuse, but he doesn’t care. The moment they encase him the alarm bells finally dull and he’s able to float away into the inky abyss where no monsters can get him.
He lets his body tremble, pillow clutched in his arms and blanket wrapped as tight as possible around wings that feel too big for his body.
He lets himself cry, heaving thick tears that stream hotly down his cheeks.
He thinks about bright blue eyes softened by the early morning sun and hopes for a hero to come and save him.
__________
He jolts awake to the muffled sound of heavy footsteps and instinctively shrinks away, trying with all his might to disappear among the pile of blankets and pillows.
A door opens followed by an angry-sounding voice that makes him whimper.
“Birdie, I swear if you’re not here either and I have to suck it up and ask your stupid bunny girl—“
The angry person pauses for a moment.
Let’s out a rough breath.
“The hell?”
The person stomps around the room. Opens another door. And all he can do is hope he doesn’t check the closet this time. Please don’t check the closet.
The closet door slides open with a whack and he jumps, quickly burrowing back under the blankets before he can be seen.
“The hell?”
There’s a tense moment of silence.
He doesn’t dare move.
“I can see you, Hawks.”
He holds his breath.
I’m not here. I’m not here.
There’s another pause, then the voice speaks again and for some reason it doesn’t sound angry this time. “You fall asleep doing laundry, Bird Brain?”
He doesn’t drop his guard, body tensed for the moment he’ll be dragged out and berated for being such a useless kid.
The man comes closer and he squeezes his eyes shut, not that it makes much difference in the dark closet.
“Hawks?”
A hand nudges the blankets and he cowers, hoping that maybe if he just doesn’t show his back this time he’ll be—
The hand retreats, making his head spin with confusion. “Hey. Woah. Just me, Birdie.”
The voice. Something about it doesn’t sound right.
Screwing up his courage, he peeks out from a gap in the blankets and sees…
His mind blanks.
That’s not right.
Where’s—
The scarred man seems relieved when he spots him and squats back down to eye level with a soft grunt. “Didn’t think you were actually asleep in there. What, are you hibernating for the winter or some shit?” Something in his voice changes again the longer they look at each other, sounding less sure than before. “Coulda warned me, you weirdo.”
A scarred hand reaches out again but stops midair the moment he shies away from it.
“Hawks?”
He continues to stare at him, hardly daring to blink and risk letting the strange man out of his sight.
The voice softens.
“Birdie. Hey. It’s me.”
Holding the pillow tighter to his chest, he lets the blankets slide off a little more, wanting to get a better view as something like familiarity prickles in the back of his head.
“You’re alright, Hawks. Don’t need to hide.”
Hawks. Why does he keep calling him Hawks?
“I’m the scariest monster in this closet. Promise.”
He gives the man a look that makes him laugh.
“Not helping? Yeah fair enough.” He stands back up with a stretch and another sigh. “Want some apple sauce? I’d kill for some right about now. Even your shitty kind.”
How did he know I like—
The man turns to leave and he finds his body following after, albeit much more cautiously. By the time he emerges from the closet, still gripping the small pillow and blanket around his shoulders, the man has returned with two cups of applesauce in his hand.
“Well, good morning to you too.”
He shoots a confused look at the window that tells him it’s still dark outside before directing it at the man that’s starting to feel more familiar.
“Being a smartass already. That’s a good sign.”
The man gives him a once over and then goes deathly still, causing panic to spike in his chest.
“What—“ He goes to take a step closer then seems to reconsider it. “What the hell happened to you?”
He lets out a small trill of confusion before following his concerned blue gaze, flinching away from himself when he sees bloodstains on the blanket he’s pretty sure weren’t there before. Letting out a distressed noise, he starts to peel the blanket away from his skin only to hiss in pain as it scrapes against something that hurts, hurts, hurts.
“Hey, hey. It’s alright, Birdie. I’ve got you.”
He goes to pull at the blanket again but is intercepted with an already open cup of applesauce and a spoon.
“Eat that, dumb bird. Let me take care of the rest, alright?”
His throat loosens just enough for him to manage a quiet, “‘kay.” that earns him a brief look of relief.
By the time he’s finished with his applesauce, he’s been gently prodded towards a bright, clean bathroom and made to sit on the countertop. Head feeling a little clearer than before, he’s able to respond affirmatively when asked if he’s okay being touched.
“This is probably gonna sting like a bitch.” is all the further warning he gets before he turns on the faucet, wets a clean cloth, and starts dabbing at the sticky-with-blood skin he slowly peels the blanket away from.
Long gashes line his arms and chest, but he doesn't let himself squirm or whine, even as a particularly nasty section is unveiled and starts bleeding again.
"Jeez, Birdie. You try to fist fight a bear or what? That Commission of yours not have a doc?"
He remains silent.
They don't like when he talks back.
"Other than your fight with Hood, I don't think I've ever seen you with more than a scratch on you. It was kinda hot then but now it's just freaking me out."
The man goes abruptly silent, body tensing even further like he's said more than he meant to. He doesn't seem to notice he's tightened his grip on his patient's arm until he lets out a small noise of discomfort.
The pressure immediately disappears, replaced after a moment by the careful brush of fingertips. "Sorry." They lock eyes for a moment and there's a sad sort of intensity there that feels achingly familiar. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"
He manages the slightest shake of his head, hoping to clear some of the fog clouding his thoughts while he's at it. He's certain now that this man isn't going to hurt him. That he's important to him. That it's safe to come out of hiding.
"Just gonna sit there and let me keep making a total idiot of myself, huh?" He sighs, squatting down to take a first-aid kit out from under the sink. "I know you're not ignoring me but, fuck, this sucks. Thought you'd at least be making fun of me by now for being worried about you." Standing with a pained huff, he falls quiet again, like he's not used to being the one to fill silences between them.
The urge to respond is overwhelming but he can't get his throat to cooperate. Even as his brain finally supplies Dabi! Dabi, Dabi, Dabi. and Right, Hawks is my name, isn't it?
After a moment's hesitation, Dabi places a hand over the ones Hawks has clenched around the edge of the counter.
He seems to brace himself before speaking. "A lot of these are gonna need stitches, sweetheart. I've got plenty of practice, but if you'd rather I drag your sorry ass to a real doctor—"
Hawks seizes his arm and shakes his head more vehemently this time, squeezing out a frantic, "No."
"No doctors?"
Still fighting against his mind and body, Hawks manages a stilted, "Just you." He grips Dabi's hand as tight as he can muster, desperately seeking out his comforting blue gaze. "Just. Dabi."
Dabi squeezes back at the sound of his name and Hawks is confused to note his eyes look slightly red and irritated as they snap to his. Searching Hawks' face, he seems to physically deflate at what he finds.
"Won't squirm. Promise." Hawks insists, just in case it's something other than relief that makes Dabi let out a long, shaky breath.
"I know, baby." Dabi lifts his free hand to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone with so much tenderness it makes Hawks' stomach pool with warmth. "Sometimes you're a little too well behaved."
Before Hawks can work out if that's a good or bad thing, Dabi's hand suddenly drops back down to the counter like he's lost his balance. Hawks instinctively reaches out to steady him, terrified for a moment that he was about to pass out.
Dabi squeezes his eyes shut but allows the contact, sounding as miserable as he looks when he eventually mutters, "Damn it. Gimme a minute."
Hawks lets out a distressed noise, concern only growing as Dabi pulls away to collapse down into a seated position on the closed toilet, head dropping into his hands with a quiet groan.
Dabi takes another uneven breath and Hawks wonders if he really was about to pass out just now. "Sorry, Birdie. Might need you on the bath so I can do this shit sitting down."
Sliding off the counter, Hawks unfurls his wings and listens with his feathers. He struggles to make sense of anything at first, but the frantic, uneven thudding of Dabi's heart is unmistakable and has him rushing to press a hand against his chest with another noise of deep concern.
"Yeah, it does that," Dabi offers as if trying to comfort him, taking another conscious breath.
Huffing in distress, Hawks climbs into his lap and presses his nose into the crook of his neck, hand pressing more firmly against his chest as his wings do their best to encircle them in the cramped space.
Dabi grunts in surprise but doesn't move to push him away, hands eventually dropping to grip his thighs where they strain to keep most of his weight off of him. "I'm alright, Birdie. I'm alright."
Hawks presses closer, breathing in the comforting smell of sweat and cigarette smoke that clings to his shirt.
"Probably just wore myself out more than I realized. I'm not dying, dumb bird. Not anymore than usual, anyway."
Dabi earns an upset headbutt for his poor attempt to lighten the mood. Sighing, he relents to Hawks' affections, lifting a hand to stroke comfortingly through his hair.
Hawks hums contentedly, pressing a kiss to the curve of his neck. "Care about you. Dabi."
Dabi's lets out a harsh breath, arms squeezing him briefly in return. His voice is strained, like something's caught in his throat, when he quietly replies, "Let's finish getting you patched up, okay?"
Hawks fades in and out of awareness for the next hour as Dabi hones in on his injuries, only taking a break to finally eat his cup of applesauce.
About halfway through Hawks finally remembers how they got there, and he spends the other half trying not to get lost in memories of what caused him to tear at his own flesh in the first place.
By the time he's done, they're both exhausted, barely managing to stay upright in their respective hardly-count-as-seats.
It takes a few tries for Dabi to get his attention.
"Bed?"
Hawks nods, limbs feeling heavy and useless.
Judging by the grimace on Dabi's face as he stretches out his back, he seems to share the sentiment. Bracing one arm on the counter, Dabi pushes himself up to standing with a wince. "You owe me a bath for this shit."
Hawks nods again in vague agreement, forcing his legs into motion towards the door.
Dabi stops to wash his hands which only catches his attention when he swears under his breath. Whipping around, he's confused at first until he sees him press at a part of his arm that was covered in blood, only for more to appear.
Seeming just as confused, Dabi scrutinizes his scarred skin. "The hell did you come from?"
Reaching out towards him, Hawks catches sight of his blood-stained fingernails and blanches, understanding hitting him and making his face flush with shame. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Not your fault, dumb bird."
Hawks makes a distressed noise as he jerks away, hands balled into fists against his chest. "I'm so sorry— I didn't—"
"You're fine, I probably just…"Dabi starts to reassure him but trails off when he sees how guilty Hawks looks in the mirror. Turning to face him, he takes a cautious step towards him. "You're okay, Bird Brain."
"I hurt you," Hawks croaks, feeling tears well up in his eyes as his wings meet the wall behind him with a harsh thump. "They told me, they told me—"
"Hawks. Sweetheart. Look at me."
Knowing better than to disobey a command, Hawks forces his eyes back up to meet his, even as a tear slips down his cheek.
"I don't know what's going on in your head. I need you to talk to me."
Dabi goes to hold his hand and Hawks flinches away.
"Don't—"
"Hawks—"
They both fall still, their heavy breathing and the dull buzz of the fluorescent lights the only noise left in the room.
Frustration radiates from Dabi in waves that make Hawks feel like he's suffocating, until he seems to consciously make the effort to reel the feeling back in.
Dabi takes a shuddering breath.
Then another.
He steps closer and grabs Hawks' hands, failing at first to coax them away from each other. "Please. Just. Talk to me."
Hawks can't bear to watch as he finally pries one hand off of the other, talons leaving welts that aren't quite deep enough to bleed.
"What—" Dabi's hands are unbearably kind as they flip his over, giving them a closer inspection. Squeezing them gently, he lets out a quiet sound of understanding. "Oh. Huh." He runs a finger along Hawks' fingertip where a sharp talon is now protruding from the pressure. "You always had fuckin' cat claws?"
"Talons," Hawks can't help correcting, face burning with shame.
"Why the fuck do you wear gloves then? Isn't that uncomfortable?"
"Public isn't supposed to know I have them."
"Of course," Dabi scoffs derisively, letting his hands drop as he turns back to the sink.
"I'm due to get them pulled any day now," Hawks mutters, shrinking away from the anger now burning in Dabi's eyes as he tends to his small wounds. "I'll be more careful."
"When you say pulled…" Dabi prompts, only sounding angrier.
Hawks can't meet his gaze, words starting to escape him.
The faucet is turned on, water making a quiet fizzling sound as it slides down Dabi's blood-stained arms and into the porcelain sink. Some of the strain on his face clears as he lets out a long breath, but not all of it.
"Suppressing your quirk isn't good for you, y'know."
Hawks can't even point out the current hypocrisy of the statement because his throat is so tight, head starting to cloud again.
"It's a part of who you are. They have no right to take that from you."
They stand in tense silence as Dabi finishes up and he hates that his body won't move. Hates that it won't even let him offer to wrap the gauze around his arm to pay him back, even just a little.
More than that, he just wants to take care of him. To ease the burdens pressing down on his shoulders. To show Dabi the same kindness he's been treating him with all night.
He wants his head to stop feeling like a vacant chasm. He wants things to start making sense. He wants to be in control. To be himself again.
"C'mon, Birdie."
His wrist is taken in a warm hand, grip tight but not unkind.
"Let's get you to bed."
Hawks huffs, eyes threatening tears. "No," he pleads.
Because then I'll wake up and you'll be gone.
I don't want to feel like this.
I don't know what to do.
Please don't leave.
Hawks clings onto Dabi, hiding his face in his chest as he wraps his arms as tightly as possible around his waist. He keeps his hands balled up in fists just in case, forcing out a broken, "Scared."
It's quiet for a moment and then warm fingers thread into his hair. The chest under his cheek rises and falls as Dabi sighs. "Shit, Birdie. You're still really far out, huh?" His hand makes another pass as a fleeting kiss is pressed to the top of his head. "Alright. Come on. Wash your hands and I'll go put on one of those shitty rom-com movies you love so much."
Hawks lets out a happy trill, affectionately butting his head against Dabi's arm.
"I'm right here, sweetheart," Dabi soothes.
His head swims a little as he starts to scrub his hands with soap, watching the way the suds turn red with a morbid sort of fascination. Soon enough, the water washes it all down the drain and he feels a little more like himself again.
When they get to the living room, Dabi starts to tug at the couch cushions and Hawks looks at him uncomprehendingly. Then, a scarred hand wraps around what looks like a handle and—as if by some act of magic—the couch transforms into a bed right before his eyes.
Hawks blinks. And then blinks again. But the scene before him remains unchanged.
"You gonna help me or not?" Dabi complains, turning back to him and then stopping short. "What? Figured we might want the extra space."
"How did you…" Hawks trails off, absently scratching at some of the gauze wrapped around his arm. "It's a bed?"
Dabi's face pinches with equal amounts of confusion. "You do know this is a pullout couch. Right?"
Hawks stares at him.
Dabi stares back. "You didn't know this was a pullout couch."
He shakes his head.
"What? Have you been making your bunny girl sleep on a couch this whole time?"
It takes a moment for his brain to supply the correct information as it tries to figure out who he's referring to. "Rumi? I usually go to hers."
"You baffle me, Birdie." Dabi lets out a laugh in disbelief. "Leave that alone. You got any more secret blankets or pillows we can use? My back's killing me."
Not trusting his feathers to obey just yet, Hawks nods and wanders off to his room, digging in his closet for anything left that isn't already covered in blood. Adding the sad pillow and blanket from his bed to his pile, he dumps his findings on the newly discovered couch-bed with a proud smile.
A few minutes later, they've managed to build a cozy little nest of pillows, blankets, and cushions that Hawks happily burrows into. Dabi lets out a soft laugh as he presses buttons on Hawks' DVD player, popping in one of the movies from his measly stack.
The second Dabi joins him Hawks puts a pillow on his lap and settles his head on top, wings stretching out for a moment before pooling around him in a warm, feathery heap. Dabi gives his own limbs a stretch then drops an arm onto the back of the couch, letting the other hand fall to card through Hawks' hair.
Hawks hums contentedly and a tension finally seems to release from Dabi's body as they both fall quiet. Peeking up at him a moment later, he sees that Dabi has lain his head back and shut his eyes, though his hand continues to absently play with his hair.
"Still in the stratosphere?" Dabi asks after a moment
Hawks hums in contemplation, not entirely sure how to answer. Eventually, he settles on, "Floaty…but…feel safe."
Dabi smiles a little. "I'll take it."
Another few minutes pass and then fingers brush questioningly against his feathers. "Here okay?"
"Please."
It takes a moment for his body to register the touch as not a threat, but when his hackles do lower it's pure bliss. Finally, he can feel himself coming down from his previous panic, seemingly for good this time.
His head starts to swim as it recalls everything that happened before he completely shut down.
"Happened again," Hawks says, quietly. "Ran away. Floated too far. Lost control." He hides his face in the pillow as his eyes brim with sudden frustrated tears. "I hate feeling like this."
Dabi drops his hand to Hawks' lower back, rubbing soothing circles as he raises the temperature of his palm just enough to be comforting.
A small whine bubbles up the back of his throat as he buries his face further into Dabi's lap, tears starting to flow silently down his cheeks.
"I've got you, sweetheart."
His other hand slips around the back of Hawks' neck, grip firm but gentle.
"You're safe, Pretty Bird."
He says the last one like he's telling it to himself as well and Hawks recalls something he said earlier.
"You said you were worried about me," Hawks comments, hoping he can hear the pleased smile tugging at his lips. His chest tightens back up when Dabi remains quiet, guilt easily squeezing its way back inside. "Sorry."
Dabi holds him tighter but Hawks speaks again before he can respond, already desperate to shift the attention away from himself. "Are you okay?"
"Body hurts like a bitch but that's nothing new."
"I can get you some pain meds?"
Dabi lets out a wry laugh. "Probably have to take the whole bottle before it did anything. I'm fine. You should probably take some for the inflammation though."
"Haven't eaten enough. Would just throw them right back up," Hawks mutters miserably.
"Think I saw some leftovers in there."
When Hawks makes no moves to get said leftovers from the fridge, Dabi thinks and then tries again. "I'm not picky, long as it isn't fish."
Quickly understanding what Dabi is saying, he scrounges up enough motivation to tiredly sends some feathers to the kitchen. When, a few minutes later, there's a steaming box of two-day-old Chinese takeout between them, Dabi gives him a coy little smile that tells him he's been outsmarted somehow.
"Always the hero," Dabi mumbles around a bite of food, though he sounds more endeared than anything.
When Dabi offers the chopsticks to him, Hawks relents, something about the late hour and the domesticity of sharing food on his couch making his heart ache. It makes him long for a life he knows he'll never get to have (not that it ever seems to stop him from longing all the same).
"Someday I'll teach you it's good to do shit for yourself too."
"Think this bird might be too old to learn new tricks."
"If you're old, I'm ancient."
"Eleven months, drama queen." A smile makes yet another valiant effort to lift his spirits, but falls away all too soon. "I probably shouldn't complain though. I mean, I didn't always think…" Words getting caught in his throat, he fiddles with the chopsticks for a moment before setting them back in the to-go container.
"Didn't always think what?" Dabi prompts when it becomes clear he isn't planning to finish his thought of his own accord.
Hawks can't bring himself to answer so he picks at the bandaging around his arm instead, hoping he'll take the hint and just drop it already.
Some song starts playing from the TV but he can't process any of the words, only that the jaunty tune feels jarring against the suddenly heavy air of the room.
Dabi pokes at the food that's already starting to cool and then falls still, making a quiet sound of understanding. "You didn't think you'd live this long."
Based on the sympathetic tone of his voice, it's a feeling Dabi seems to know all too well.
There's no judgement in the blue eyes that watch him now, sifting through the crumbling remains of what used to be some of Hawks' most fortified walls. For once, the attention is reassuring not suffocating, even as the dam behind Hawks' eyes breaks again and his chest feels like it's splintering.
"When I was a kid it felt impossible to have the kind of life I hoped for. And once I became a hero…" Hawks stares blearily off into the distance, eyes not focused on anything in particular as his body starts to tremble. "You're trained to put your life on the line. To prioritize the safety of others before your own. The mission above all else."
"I don't know when I started—" Hawks' breath catches painfully in his chest. "—thinking about which fight might be my last. Or when I stopped— When I stopped picturing a future for myself at all."
Pressing his hands to his eyes, he sobs once, mind and body rebelling against his commands to stop trying to fight it and let go.
"And saying all of this feels terrible but not saying it feels so much worse and sometimes it scares me how much you seem to understand me— to see me— but—"
A warm hand presses firmly against his chest, reminding him that he needs to breathe just as he starts to feel nauseatingly lightheaded.
"I don't know. I don't know where I'm going with this. I'm sorry. You keep having to put up with me and—" Hawks places a hand over Dabi's as he sobs, curling in on himself. "I'm sorry."
But I'm not.
He doesn't say. Can't say.
I'm not sorry. I'm selfish. I want to keep you right here. To eat shitty leftovers together forever on my couch that I didn't even know was a pullout. To fall asleep next to you. To wake up next to you. To make breakfast for you in the morning. And I'll probably burn the bacon and you'll grumble but still eat it because you also hate wasting food and maybe you'll smile at me across the table and I'll reach out and take your hand and no one will take you away from me and we'll live a long happy life together.
It's a cruel fantasy. Even more so in the way he can't escape it, no matter how hard he tries to get it through his thick skull that nothing good ever lasts.
When Dabi finally speaks, he doesn't offer empty platitudes or tell him how to feel. His words are simple yet honest, seeming intent on driving themselves directly into Hawks' heart.
"You can be sorry all you want, doesn't mean I have to be."
It's enough to make Hawks pause, spiraling thoughts slowing to a near standstill as he digests the unexpectedly kind statement.
Dabi lets out a harsh breath, giving the hand on top of his a squeeze as if to steady them both. "I know what it's like to be sorry for existing. Believe me. It's a hard habit to kick."
Hawks jerks upright to stare at him, heart hammering in his chest as hot tears continue to stream down his cheeks.
Not backing down from the intense eye contact, Dabi continues. "It's real nice when someone hands you a purpose on a shiny silver platter, right? But what do you do when it's taken away?"
Bile rises in Hawks' throat but he doesn't hide, letting Dabi's understanding wash over him as he drowns in piercing blue eyes.
"Find a reason to exist anyway. Carve out meaning for yourself where you can find it." Dabi swallows thickly, gaze briefly dropping away as he forces a laugh. "Still not sure I've got the hang of it either, but…" His fingers shift along Hawks' chest before settling once more.
A dormant anger seems to rise then fall away again as it's replaced with something softer but no less intense. "I'm not sorry I came looking for you. I mean, you've seen the company I keep. We're all pretty fucked in the head. Why should that mean we have to suffer existence alone?"
Hawks' heart squeezes unbearably tight as Dabi reaches out to swipe away his tears with his thumb. Seeming to grow self-conscious, he quickly drops the hand back down but Hawks intercepts him, bringing it up and pressing it against his cheek.
Closing his eyes, Hawks take a trembling breath, then another, the buzzing under his skin finally starting to subside. Turning his head, he presses long kisses to Dabi's knuckles until he feels brave enough to face the world again.
Having Dabi by his side makes it easier.
He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know where to even begin with thanking him.
"Can I…" Hawks starts, face growing warm from how silly he feels for the request he wants to make.
Dabi brushes the backs of his fingers against Hawks' cheek and he has no idea where he finds the patience for him.
"Can I have a hug?" Hawks sounds so small as he says it but Dabi doesn't make fun of him. He doesn't tell him to grow up.
"C'mere, Pretty Bird."
Two arms slip around his waist and tug him close until he's practically sitting in his lap. Wrapping his arms around Dabi's shoulders, Hawks buries his nose (and a quiet trill) in the crook of his neck and melts under his warmth.
"Things are better when you're here," Hawks finds himself saying, a quiet confession he almost hopes Dabi doesn't hear.
A hand comes up to hold the back of his neck as a warm kiss is pressed to his hair. Seeming to have run out of words, Dabi kisses him again, sending pleasant tingles dancing across his scalp.
"Thank you—" Hawks continues with a small hiccuping sob. "—for looking for me. For being here. For—" His breath hitches painfully. "For caring."
"Yeah. Well. Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble," Dabi murmurs back, voice rough despite his efforts to disguise it.
Hawks smothers a smile in Dabi's shirt. "And show me that this couch has been a pullout this whole time, apparently."
Dabi huffs in amusement, making Hawks' heart squeeze.
"You sure you didn't sneak a new one in here when I wasn't looking?"
"I'm flattered you think I could lug a couch up here in the first place."
"Listen, you've got your ways. Could have a secret second quirk for all I know."
Dabi laughs at that, though something about it sounds a little strained. "As if." He hums in thought and Hawks pulls back in time to see him get lost his head for a moment. "Nah. I'm good with just the one."
"It is a pretty cool quirk," Hawks says, seeming to catch Dabi off guard with the genuine compliment. Then a thought occurs to him and he can't help asking. "Hey, has your fire always been blue?"
Dabi's face shutters a little and Hawks immediately wishes he could take the question back, not wanting to ruin the nice moment they've been having with his probing.
To what seems to be the surprise of them both, Dabi does eventually answer honestly. "Nah." He hesitates again before elaborating. "I trained a lot as a kid. Turned blue when I hit puberty."
"The fact you can control flames that hot at all is crazy. Guess all that hard work paid off, huh?"
He's graced with a small pleased smirk before Dabi breaks eye contact, looking almost nauseated in a way that tells Hawks he really needs to change the subject.
"Puberty was the worst. My wings were totally different sizes for the longest time after I finally hit my growth spurt."
"Did you?"
"Shut up! You're only taller than me cause you wear those stupid boots."
"You like me in those stupid boots."
"Shut up," Hawks whines, flopping back against him with a pout.
"Bet I'm still taller."
"Only cause you've had an extra eleven months to grow."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
They both fall quiet and Hawks can't quite tell what sort of mood Dabi is in. Whether he's still lost in memories presumably of his childhood or if he's managed to escape their grasp and is just worn out.
"Speaking of sleep." Hawks tilts his head so he can see Dabi's face but doesn't move from his spot cuddled against his chest. "Guess we should get some at some point."
Dabi gives him a mildly suggestive look and Hawks rolls his eyes, making him huff out a quiet laugh.
Stomach flipping, Hawks waits until their eyes meet before he asks, "You staying?"
"Think you'd have to pry me off of this mattress otherwise."
"Good," Hawks says, smothering another smile in his shoulder as relief washes over him.
He wonders if someday he won't have to ask.
Working by the minuscule light the TV gives off, Hawks sets about rearranging the blankets and pillows into a more sleep friendly position as Dabi disappears to his balcony.
Concern for him tugs in the pit of Hawks' stomach. His fear that any attempts to ask Dabi about it at this point would result in a total shut out ultimately keeps him from saying anything when he returns a cigarette or two later. Though he does poke a little fun at the fact that clearly Dabi is perfectly capable of getting out of bed and that maybe he just doesn't want to leave.
Dabi doesn't argue, but he doesn't agree either, simply shooting him a half-hearted glare as he collapses back onto the mattress with a noticeable wince.
"I can run you a bath in the morning."
"Sure, if you want me to fall asleep and drown."
"Another night then. I've got face masks. Could give you the whole spa treatment."
Even in the dim light from the movie neither of them bothered turning off, Hawks can see that Dabi is watching him now with an unreadable expression, though he doesn't seem fully aware of it. His heart rate is a little elevated too, though that could just be from the nicotine and being on his feet a few seconds ago.
He doesn't seem upset or angry, just lost in thought.
Hawks' stomach churns.
He knows he shouldn't draw attention to it, but there's an uncertainty that's creeping into Dabi's body language that makes Hawks want to shake him by the shoulders and demand an explanation. Or at the very least, make sure he's okay—that he knows he's safe.
The moment is broken as Dabi glances away, massaging at the joint of his left wrist with another small wince.
Deciding to risk it, Hawks scooches closer until he can reach over and gently take his arm in his hands. "Here. Can I…?"
Blue eyes find him in the darkness, flickering at first with too many emotions for Hawks to keep track of. Eventually, he's able to make out a genuine sort of confusion. Like this isn't something anyone's ever offered to do for him before.
Hawks' chest aches at the thought.
Clearly resistant to the help at first, exhaustion seems to win out and he accept Hawks' offer with a quiet, "Sure."
"Tell me if I'm hurting you."
Dabi doesn't respond.
Starting with his fingers, Hawks meticulously massages along each pad and joint before moving on to his palm. Doing his best to be careful of the staples holding him together, he works from the inside out until he makes it to his wrist.
The change in texture is a little strange in the darkness, but Hawks doesn't mind. Even as the scar tissue proves to be far less pliant. More determined than ever, Hawks makes sure to take his time gently rolling his wrist in the joint, not sure whether to be proud or concerned when it gives an unexpected crack.
Based on the low noise Dabi makes in response, it was the good kind.
Carefully stretching his hand forward and back, Hawks gives it a squeeze before moving on to his forearm. Apparently Dabi doesn't expect him to keep going because he starts to pull away, only stopping when Hawks doesn't let go.
"You don't—"
"I want to."
Dabi gives him another look like before, confusion and something else mixed with exhaustion.
"I want to," Hawks repeats, quieter this time.
Dabi doesn't respond.
He takes an unsteady breath and Hawks can feel the vibrations of his heart hammering in his chest.
Swallowing, Dabi presents his arm again, like a rabbit offering its neck to a fox and trusting it not to bite.
Recognizing the importance of what he's being trusted with, Hawks takes his arm back in reverent hands, entwining their fingers for a brief moment as he plants a kiss on the inside of his wrist. Leaving a few more along his forearm, Hawks quietly goes back to work.
Little by little, Hawks makes his way up the length of his arm, taking special care around his elbow. Carefully moving it back and forth, he watches the way the surrounding scar tissue pulls tight and wonders just how uncomfortable it is for Dabi to move his body at all.
Just how much pain is he in on a daily basis? Even when he's not using his quirk?
When he makes it up to where sleeve meets staples, he hesitates, unsure how much Dabi is willing to let him touch. Dabi makes no moves to pull away, though, so Hawks takes that as permission to slip his hand underneath, kneading at the smooth skin of his upper bicep before settling on his shoulder.
Entwining their fingers once more, Hawks maneuvers his entire arm in its socket until something finally seems to shift back into place with another sharp crack.
Dabi makes another low noise and Hawks is mildly embarrassed to find his body rapidly heating up at the sound. Yanking his thoughts back to the task at hand, he massages at the shoulder a little more before carefully letting his arm drop back to his side.
"Fuck," Dabi sighs, flexing his fingers and then testing out the rest of the arm's range of motion with clear relief.
Before he can protest, Hawks climbs over him to sit on his other side, taking his right hand now with an insistent, "I want to."
Dabi relents much quicker this time. "Not gonna stop you."
Working the same way as before, he's concerned to note that the scar tissue seems even tighter on this arm. In the few times he's seen him fight, he's noticed Dabi tends to favor his left arm and now wonders if this is the reason why. The scar tissue doesn't stop at his sleeve this time either, instead continuing on to where he knows it spreads over his shoulder before swallowing his entire neck and lower jaw.
When Hawks arrives at his shoulder, he hesitates again, wanting to do a thorough job but unable to with the shirt in the way. Face heating, he figures the worse he'll do is say no and lowers his hand to push questioningly at the hem of his shirt, making Dabi gasp at the unexpected contact.
Hawks keeps his hand still, needing permission first. "Can I…?"
Dabi is quiet for a moment and then nods.
A shiver runs through his body as Hawks takes the shirt more firmly, slowly sliding it up and off of him and miraculously managing to not catch any staples on the way.
With the garment removed, Hawks allows himself a moment's distraction and runs his hands appreciatively along his shoulders and back. Realistically, he knows it'a nothing he hasn't seen before. But there's something about being with him like this—seeing him laid bare in the dark—that feels dizzyingly intimate and leaves a lump in his throat.
He can't help thinking that Dabi really is a wonder to behold, the fact he's still alive and kicking nothing short of a miracle. Leaning forward, he kisses the dip of his shoulder as if in thanks to the body that refuses to give up, then slides his hands back into place and resumes his work. (The soft noise Dabi makes in response has Hawks resisting the urge to bite him there too. )
This shoulder takes a bit more work, but soon enough he gets it to crack, albeit in multiple smaller places this time. With a bit more prodding he finds a particularly gnarly knot sitting right under his shoulder blade too, but he decides to leave that for another day, when his hands aren't already sore and he can dunk him in a hot bath first.
"I'll be back for you," Hawks warns the knot before moving on to his upper chest. He doesn't expect to be able to do much here, but he still takes his time, dragging another groan out of Dabi when he digs his fingers into a tight spot in the nook under his collarbone.
Dabi's breaths grow noticeably more shallow as he continues up to his neck and Hawks can't help thinking about bathroom mirrors and the mouthwatering scent of adrenaline as he'd wrapped a hand around his throat.
Determined to behave himself for the time being, he massages either side of his neck with firm circular motions. He's concerned at first when he notices Dabi's eyes have fallen shut, but there's no accompanying tension that would imply discomfort so he moves higher still.
The second his fingers meet Dabi's jaw his expression pinches and his hand twitches up like it wants to stop him.
Hawks stills, listening as Dabi takes a breath as if to speak and then falters.
"I can stop here," Hawks offers quietly, only causing him to look frustrated with himself.
"Just—" Dabi takes another shallow breath and then lifts his hand to indicate a specific section of his jaw. "Be careful here."
"Sure thing."
They fall quiet again as Hawks continues, gently massaging at the hinge of his jaw until some of the tension drains back out of Dabi's face. When he gets to the indicated spot, he doesn't fully understand why he brought it up until he feels along the opposite side and notices a discrepancy, like some of the bone is missing entirely.
Dabi preemptively cuts off any questions with a strained, "Don't."
"Okay," Hawks replies, barely above a whisper.
Hawks works as gently as he can but even just touching the surrounding muscle seems to cause him discomfort so he searches for reassurance. "Good ouch or bad ouch?"
When he doesn't get a response, he moves on from the area entirely, not wanting to press the issue and risk upsetting him any further.
Running his fingers along the underside of his jaw instead, Hawks' body flushes warmly at the way Dabi obediently tilts his head ever-so-slightly back. The next time Dabi swallows Hawks feels it against his fingers and he can't help the reverent, "Look at you." that slips out unbidden.
Dabi makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as Hawks slides his fingers back to work out more of the tension in the hinge of his jaw. This time, Dabi lets it go completely slack and Hawks' mouth starts to feel a little dry at the soft noises of contentment that more easily escape from his parted lips.
He desperately wants to kiss him—to sink his teeth into the warm expanse of his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He wants to be the one to show his body kindness. To worship him like he deserves.
Sliding his hands up, Hawks rubs circles into the scarred skin of his ears, fingers bumping against the heavy cuff piercings that encase the outer shell. Finally, he strokes his fingers through Dabi's hair, scraping his scalp with his talon-free nails. On his second pass he grabs a fistful of hair and gives it a purposeful tug, delighting in the needy moan Dabi barely tries to hide this time.
It takes a moment for Hawks to reel himself back in, cursing himself for getting distracted again. He's not exactly sure why but some part of him is certain that bringing sex into the night they're having is the wrong move.
Trailing his fingers along the healthy skin of his forehead and cheeks, his stomach flips when Dabi opens his eyes to meet his. They stare at each other for a long moment, breaths bated. Dabi almost looks overwhelmed but he doesn't shrink under Hawks' gaze, instead seeming to bask in it like usual.
"That help at all?" Hawks prompts, hands dropping back to his arms with a squeeze.
They both watch as he slowly flexes and curls his fingers, twisting his hands this way and that. "A little. Yeah."
Gaze getting caught on the scarred portions of his torso he hasn't gotten to yet, Hawks can't help reaching out to splay his fingers across the purpled skin above his stomach. "I'll keep us here all night if you don't tell me to stop," He comments with a bashful smile, starting to massage at his waist.
Hawks glances back up only to find Dabi is giving him that look again, something almost longing in his flushed gaze. He seems like he can barely keep his eyes open and Hawks wonders just how fuzzy his brain has gone, hoping he hasn't tipped past the point of it being enjoyable.
"Just sayin', I'm sure the rest of you could use some TLC too." Hawks yawns, mind and body finally starting to give in to exhaustion.
He doesn't realize what he's accidentally implied until Dabi snorts at him, gaze becoming more purposefully heavy lidded. "Yeah, Birdie?"
"Shut up. I meant your back and legs, asshole."
Dabi raises his eyebrows.
Hawks groans. "Oh my god, you're the worst."
Amusement dances in Dabi's eyes as he pushes himself more upright, closing the small distance between them. Gaze falling to Hawks' mouth for a moment, he takes a breath and then speaks. "You didn't have to do all that."
"Yeah. Well. I wanted to, so…" Hawks' stomach floods with warmth, ability to think coherently rapidly dwindling under the inescapable intensity of Dabi's gaze. Dabi's hand wraps around the back of his neck and it's all Hawks can do not to whimper at the heated touch. "You didn't have to sit and give me stitches for an hour either."
"Yeah. Well." Dabi's grip tightens then he's leaning in, lips brushing against Hawks' in invitation.
"I'm really not trying to seduce you," Hawks insists, desperate to keep Dabi from getting the wrong idea.
"Don't have to for me to want to kiss you."
Hawks' face flushes even hotter, not expecting such forward honesty from him.
Pulling back a little, Dabi grazes his thumb along Hawks' jaw. "I want to," He insists earnestly, echoing Hawks' tone from before. His eyes burn like he's trying desperately to get him to understand something without having to say it and Hawks starts to think that maybe he already does.
I want to.
He understands because it's the same reason he said those words in the first place.
I want to.
I want to thank you but I don't know how to put it into words because no one has ever treated me like this, like something precious and worth being taken care of. So take my weakness. My vulnerability. Let me take care of you. Let me show you kindness. Let me keep you safe from harm. Let me ease your pain. Let me understand you. Let me, let me, let me.
So Hawks leans in and lets Dabi kiss him. For all the words he can't say, or maybe doesn't know how to just yet.
Because Hawks wants to and Dabi wants to and that's reason enough.
Dabi kisses Hawks like he would devour him whole if he could. Like the world could be crumbling around them and he would still be exactly where he is, fingers twisting in Hawks' hair, always pulling him just that little bit closer.
Hawks' heart races. His head spins. Heat simmers low in his stomach but he pushes it aside. The possessive touch of Dabi's hands, the familiar press of his mouth, it's all he needs tonight.
When Dabi grabs him by the waist and coaxes him onto his back, Hawks goes willingly, the extra bedding helping cushion his wings. Rolling half on top of him, Dabi doesn't miss a beat and leans down to kiss him again, deepening it into something slick, and warm, and perfect.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that, mapping each other out in the dark until they're both too exhausted to continue. Even as they collapse onto their stomachs to sleep, hands stray to the other as if unable to bear being apart.
Dabi slings an arm around his lower back.
Hawks tangles their legs together, blanketing him with a wing.
By the time he swallows the rapid thump of his heart far enough down to wish him a good night, Dabi is already out cold.
He says it anyway, a secret offered to the darkness that shelters them from the rest of the world in exchange for the gift of getting to see Dabi look so at peace.
Committing the sight to memory, Hawks brushes black hair (which now that he's looking, he could swear has the barest sliver of white peeking out at the roots) out of his face and holds onto the precious moment for a little longer.
Just a little bit longer.