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____
The first time they meet, it rains.
Hawks is soaked through his shirt and his wings are folded tight– wet and heavy against his back. He takes cover under a tall metal bridge that leads a highway over from one raised bit of land to another– almost thirty meters above where Hawks himself stands. The long, thick beams holding up the construction are made of an ugly grey cement that looks worn and old. When looked up at, perspective warps the thick pillars, making them thin upwards before darkness swallows them whole. The only reason the bridge itself is seen being due to the streetlight running along the top of it, painting the upper edges of it in an off white– lighting up the way for the few lone cars that drone by even in the dead of night.
It’s two in the morning on a Wednesday, the rain is positively pissing and Hawks has patrol in a few hours. Despite this, Hawks stands alone and cold under a highway and waits. He’s in the middle of an industrial area on the outskirts of town; large machinery, blocky factories and never-ending metal fences form the space. It’s distinctly unwelcoming for late-night promenades, any wandering homeless or other stragglers; therefore it is empty.
There’s a camera attached to one of the bulky buildings closest to the bridge, aimed down onto a fence enclosed courtyard in a way that captures the edge of the space to Hawks’ right. He’s out of frame, for now, but if things were to go south he’d only need to take a few steps in that direction to make sure it catches on film– so information is gathered one way or another.
Hawks’ wings flutter a bit. He’s uneasy– though he’d never admit it. The nerves tingle in his guts, causing a finger to twitch by his side. He takes a deep breath to will away the sensations, his body stills with the oxygen.
A bit off stands a lone streetlight, blinking weak yellow light onto cracked pavement. A fuzzy figure becomes apparent underneath, formed by the edges of the glow. A second one follows behind it. Hawks is tense as they near, though he breathes through it easily, to not let it show. The first one hurries forward towards the cover– arms over their head like they could shield from the unforgiving pour. The approach of the second figure is languid and disinterested, they keep their head down and walk slow.
The first man reaches the canopy and stops his brisk pace, making discontented sounds as he waves his limbs around to shake off the rain. “Hey.” Hawks offers a smile and greets him with casual familiarity as the two of them grasp each other's hands in brotherly shake. “It really is fucking pouring. It’s drier than a desert” The man speaks, the second sentence attaches itself almost like punctuation for the first. Neither comment on it.
Hawks instead looks to the second figure, the stranger, approaching.
They're wearing some sort of black hoodie that covers most of their face even once directly under the blinking light. The pouring rain doesn’t make observation easy either but Hawks still narrows his eyes to attempt it.
The first thing Hawks realises is that it’s a man walking toward him. Twice had said nothing about the person he was bringing. All Hawks knew was what he suspected– another member. The second thing, odd as it was, was that the man seemed tall even with his head bent. Hawks raises his chin a little higher, preparing for intimidation– should it be needed. The third thing is the way the wet hoodie clings to the man, maps him out. Long lanky limbs telling of his physique. Skinny. Most likely quirk-dependent for fights, then.
Once the man is only a few steps away he looks up and stops immediately at the sight of the Nr. 3. Hawks can’t make out too much of his face in the darkness but he catches striking blue eyes as they widen. The color almost glows from how saturated it is, a cool cyan, distinctly like sapphires. Sort of familiar. Just below the eyes something else glints. Metal, maybe, but the placement is odd enough for a piercing that Hawks can’t be sure.
Just like how Hawks wasn’t informed on the identity of the man before him, it seems the man didn’t know just who he’d be meeting, either. He’s not fond of the surprise– that much becomes clear when a hot wall of blue fire suddenly swallows the space where Hawks stands. He’s quick on his feet and out of there before the heat can even singe but he feels worry prick at his skin all the same– this wasn't a good start.
“Whoa!” Twice yells out, arms raising to placate as he moves to stand between the two. “Calm down, dude!”
“Twice.” The man speaks coolly. His voice is rough and harsh. There’s anger there– laced under a thick pool of surly indifference. “Move.” He grunt before firing out a second wave of the hellish blue blaze. Twice lunges to the side to avoid it, jacket catching on the flames. The man desperately tugs it off and whips it on the ground before stomping at it aggressively.
Hawks’ wings carry him away from the flames fast– if a bit sloppy from their wetness. Still he lands gracefully several meters away before poor Twice even gets his burning coat off. He turns towards the stranger just as their eyes catch. Sapphire blue meets clear gold.
“You’re Dabi, right?” Hawks says, because he knows now; the blue fire was a dead give-away for his opponent. The stranger's eyes narrow but he says nothing before raising his palm and shooting out a third attack. Hawks dodges as easily as the first.
“Dabi!” Twice calls from where he's finally managed to put out the flames. “Dabi you ass! Don’t fry him up! I want cooked chicken!”
Dabi doesn’t even react at the words– too focused on the task at hand. He’s spinning in place, jaw locked tightly as he chases the winged man with his blazing palms. Wave after wave of deadly heat flies forth. Hawks ducks mid-air, dives and swirls as he avoids them. The two find themselves in a stalemate; Dabi unable to catch Hawks and Hawks too heat sensitive to immobilized Dabi with any feathers.
A particularly big blaze forces him out in the rain again. The water against his wings is not any issue for his flight but the stark difference between the fierce heat of Dabi’s flames and the ice cold pour has a shiver rushing dripping down his spine joining in the rain.
Dabi smiles at his discomfort.
The following attack doesn’t come as quick, the pause gives Hawks time to properly observe. He sees smoke pouring out from what looks like a crack in the skin of Dabi’s hand and his eyes catch on glinting metal that looks almost burrowed in the flesh below his knuckle.
There’s a patch of grass stuck out from a large crack in the pavement that lit somewhere during Dabi’s barrage. It burns bright now and the light it exudes catches on the lower side of his face.
What Hawks had previously thought as just a strange trick of the light now revealed itself to be a wide expanse of scars. The skin is purple, almost brown, and wrinkles in on itself– looking more like a discolored bit of fabric draped over his face than actual flesh. The scars seem almost rubbery where they sit on his face; under his eyes and over his chin– wrapping around his neck. Hawks think they look painful.
His attention is interrupted as flames rush at him, he tips towards the side– dives away in a curve behind Dabi until he ends up back under the shielding bridge. Twice close enough that he can look at him without growing ignorant to Dabi’s own turning movement.
Twice sees his glance for the question it is and quickly puffs up his chest, nods towards Hawks like a man on a mission. He turns towards Dabi and stomps forwards, grabbing hold of him just as Dabi’s eyes lock on Hawks.
Twice is shorter but he is also wider, definitely stronger. His wide build easily swallows Dabi’s lanky frame as he grabs hold of the others shoulders tightly. Dabi’s eyes flash away from Hawks to drag onto Twice instead, an irked frown clear as he glares downwards.
“Twice.” he hisses for the second time that evening, hands moving forward to push the man off himself aggressively though only succeeding in shaking their joint weight. "Let. me. go.” Dabi spits, pausing between every word to let the venom seep. Twice doesn’t move, his grip remains firm. “I will when you stop trying to burn him alive!” He whisper-yells, clearly wanting the words to be more private but unable to keep his frustration at bay.
Dabi scoffs in disgust and his lips pull back to bear a few teeth. “Fucking-” He starts before being interrupted. “-Just give the guy a chance to speak. Rip out his tongue!”
Dabi’s face stays locked in disgust and offence for a moment after being interrupted before his eyes are flicking back up at Hawks. Hawks raises his eyebrows and throws out a blasé wave– he doesn’t smile but still holds the eye contact without sign of discomfort. The annoyance slips off, Dabi takes him in with a guarded front. The danger doesn’t disappear as much as shift with the expression.
“Alright.” Dabi caves, eyes still locked on Hawks. Twice’s hands fall from Dabi’s shoulders and then he turns. Two pairs of eyes watch him.
Hawks doesn't let the attention hurry him. He tilts his head back and looks towards Twice, scans his frame and masked face before moving onto Dabi. They both wait for him to speak.
“I believe I can be a valuable asset for your boss.” he decides to start, voice calm if a bit blunt. Dabi’s right eyebrow quirks up in mock question– skepticism clear. Twice remains the same.
“With my rank and my reach I can get a hold of information you’d otherwise find hard to grasp.” Hawks stretches his wings out slightly behind him, wills them to dry faster- he knows they don’t appear as impressive when wet.
Dabi’s eyes catch on the movement all the same. Twice gaze– Hawks doesn’t know, but wherever he’s looking he seems focused. “I’m very popular, can easily push for an agenda if you’d want me to.”
That gets a dry chuckle out of Dabi, eyes hard and unimpressed. “And why, pray tell, would you want that?” Hawks head straightens and he meets the question head on, uncaring for its mocking nature.
“I’m tired of how hero society is run.” He breaks eye contact and looks out behind the pair towards where the rain still drums against pavement. He runs a hand through his hair as he voices his response.
“And I want to help you.” A scoff echoes in response.
“I want the system changed.” Hawks continues “ I want no more lives lost and ruined for its great cause.”
Hawks had always found that the best lies are not lies at all.
____
Hawks gives his sobs story. His frustration leaks through in all the right spots, just like he’d been taught. His eyes shine with justification as he preaches the cause.
Twices faith grows stronger. Dabi just stares.
____
The second time, Twice is preoccupied.
It’s a little past midnight. A sunday.
The streets fill with ravenous youth, most drunk and amused as they stumble home for their early job the next morning. A few linger behind all the same, prepared to dance in loud rooms until night becomes day.
Dabi arrives late, a hunched figure at the edge of the alley Hawks waits in. They’re both dressed to disguise. Hawks with a jacket over his wing stubs, a ratty backpack full of feathers and some sunglasses. Dabi with a facemask and a cap on his head.
They greet without words. It’s more glare than gesture but the eyecontact solidifies enough.
Hawks sticks a hand in his pocket, grabs the USB, holds it out. He’s wearing the black gloves from his hero suit, it contrasts starkly against the white plastic of the USB. Dabi’s eyes catch on it, he reaches for it but before can grab hold Hawks pulls it back.
“When am I gonna meet the others?” His eyes glint with muddy gold as he peers at the man before him. Dabi looks unimpressed at the pullback.
“Twice has had me running pointless errands for weeks and everytime I ask him why he tells me you’re the one barring me from anything further.” Hawks speaks with the steady confidence he always does. It’s the media man that never quite leaves, that’s always ready for a hidden camera or fan. Dabi thinks he would be a lot less despicable, if he just dropped the act.
In the resulting silence Hawks eyes sharpen, the pupils grow pointy and accusing. He’s mad. Riled up, but his face remains a perfect calm. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and all that.
Dabi grabs hold of the bird's wrist- the one with the USB. He holds it up between the two of them, the skin is soft against his rough scarring. Hawks tenses but doesn’t fight– just glares harder.
Dabi ignores him. Uses his free hand to reach up and take the small flashdrive. Hawks is faster, flicks it sideways before Dabi can reach and catches it with a stray feather. The red thing carries it until it hangs beside Hawks’ head, the man himself raises an eyebrow.
It takes a beat too long for Dabi to release the wrist. When he does he backs up and leans against the stone wall behind him- he’s got no interest in chasing after metal scraps.
Hawks grabs the drive from the feather and mirrors Dabi’s move against the opposite building, so they’re both leaning back facing one another. Dabi crosses his arms– it’s an impasse.
“What’s your issue?” Hawks asks, dragging a considering glance over the other’s features.
Still no words from Dabi, he just shrugs. Purses his lips like he’s truthfully considering it. His mocking gaze tattles on any possible sincerity.
Hawks tilts his head to peer upwards at the other’s face, he’d always found looking down a lot more freeing– it’s why he enjoyed keeping his feet off the ground so much. “What can I do to make you trust me?” he questions, genuine in his inquiry.
“Kill yourself.” Dabi gruffs, serious. A second later a wide grin betrays his mystique as he sniggers along to Hawks’ offended frown.
“Funny.” Hawks responds dryly, trying to wipe away his unintended expression quickly. Swipes at it until something cool and indifferent appears. Dabi rolls his eyes and holds out his hand- palm upward.
“Just give me the drive so I can get out of here already.” Hawks shakes his head. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Give me the drive and maybe I will” Dabi coaxes. “You’re a shit liar.” Hawks responds.
“Wasn’t a lie,” Dabi huffs “I said maybe.”
Hawks frowns and says nothing. Dabi’s patience quickly reveals itself as a thin thing.
“Hand it over now or end up a melting pool on the concrete along with it.” The threat is spoken along a mean sneer. They size each other up for a moment- both too proud to give.
Eventually Hawks sighs, shakes his head– like he’s too good for interactions like these, and pushes off the wall. Dabi remains where he is. Content to let the state-dog walk.
Hawks stops a respectable distance away and holds the thing up. Dabi snatches it quick this time, too tired for any further games. When he then moves to step away, Hawks crowds in close- blocking his way. His eyes are expectant, he wants something. Favor for a favor.
Dabi stares down at the golden gaze for a moment– takes in the symmetrical lines of black framing his eyes, the way they swoop and curl along the edge of his lid before pitching back and sharpening into a pointy end. He really is disgustingly perfect, isn’t he? Dabi leans down close to the hero, mouth breathing down just above the shell of his ear.
“Text you with another meetup soon” He mumbles into their proximity. Dabis eyes catch on the little bit of skin at his throat that isn’t covered by clothing– even like this Hawks walks around with his body suit. The soft color of skin is raised with goose-bumps.
Dabi raises and shoulders past Hawks. Content to leave the hero to the darkness and shouts.
____
Third night comes a week after the second, Twice is with them for this one.
They meet in a construction site, on the rooftop of an empty apartment building still being hooked up with sewer pipes and electrical cords. It’s three in the morning, the workers come at six.
“Hawks!” Like the first time, Twice greets him gladly. They share a familiar hand shake and Twice uses the hold to haul Hawks in for a hug. Hawks goes willingly, smile spread wide yet feeling more plastic by the second. Something coils tight in his chest. He ignores it.
“Twice!” Hawks mirrors with a laugh. They pat heartily at one another’s back. A second figure emerges from the shadowy staircase.
“Twice.” Dabi calls with his arms crossed, glare pointed and sharp as it stabs through Hawks’ turned profile. Twice lets up the contact with the call, gives a last light slap to the thick meat of Hawks’ shoulder before backing up and taking Dabi’s side.
Hawks reconstructs his face at the sight of the other, he leaves a slight smile to appease Twice but keeps anything thicker far away to avoid offence with Dabi.
“Dabi.” he greets with a slow nod, professional and respectful, hoping to start off on a better foot than last time. Dabi just sneers and tears his eyes away. He offers no response.
Hawks looks to Twice instead, finds camaraderie much easier there– even if it is as fake as his smile. They talk, share tidbits of information and hash out how to best utilize Hawks’ position to steal commission data. A plan is hatched and formed, the purpose for the meeting quickly reached. Dabi stands silently at the side and watches the whole encounter. He looks moody, like he’d much rather be anywhere else but something keeps him grounded here.
“yeah and hopefully the PLF willl-”
“Hey.” Dabi cuts in at Twice words, meaningfully. “I’m tired, let’s head out already.”
Hawks turns his face slowly from Twice and onto Dabi. There's a small smile at his lips from the conversation before Dabi interrupted. He is very, very careful to not let it slip even a fraction now. Dabi meets his eye with typical indifference. Then, after a moment of consideration, he fucking grins.
Hawks wants to strangle him.
Hawks can, however, do nothing but simper and wave as the two take their leave, heart beating a mile a minute behind his facade as his brain chants a reckless mantra of the PLF, the PLF, the PLF.
What the fuck was the PLF?
____
The encounters punctuate Hawks’ weeks like a blot of ink on a printed document– a stark contrast to his usual day to day of training, commission report, patrol, commission meeting, paperwork, PR stunt, sleep, handler meeting, training, patrol, training, commission report, sleep, patrol–
League meetup.
Dabi is a tricky one. He keeps him barred from any further connections. Constantly forced at a balancing act between gaining trust and cheating his morals. Hawks haven't figured him out just yet, he needs a little more time.
His mission operatives grow frustrated– impatient. Anything– they tell him. Anything you can do to reach him, anything for an in.
Even violence, even lies. Manipulation. The means and the ends and the justification at the end of it all. The excuse of standing on the other side a hero. The knowledge doesn’t make it feel better.
The third, fourth and fifth night for meetings arrive and pass like a broken record. Same old, same old. They bicker with useless insults when alone, glare silent when Twice comes along. Two months pass in that span. They don’t trust each other.
The sixth night is a Thursday, the plan is to meetup at around ten in the afternoon but Dabi never shows. Hawks sticks it out for an hour before flying off- cold and pissed at the wasted time.
At one thirty in the night Hawks’ burner lights up with a notification. A message. Twice always calls.
He pauses in his filing work to glare at the thing til the screen finally shuts off. Five minutes later a second notification goes off. Hawks doesn’t even spare it a glance, finding the childish vengeance satisfying. If his operatives ever find out they’ll have him run endurance trials for days, probably. He indulges anyways, enjoys this little freedom of choice that his adulthood has gained him.
Fifteen minutes and then it goes off again.
Two more and it goes off.
A few seconds and then a pling-
Hawks grabs the phone.
-Unknown
(01:30) hey
(01:35) chicken
(01:50) you fucking sleeping?
(01:52) wake up twat.
(01:52) meeting.
Hawks sets the phone down on the table in front of him, just below the laptop he’d been writing on. He leans back slowly in his chair and closes his eyes. Counts to ten, then twenty. The darkness is heavenly for his overworked mind. Rest is a rare thing these days.
The exhaustion lulls him deeper but he pries his eyes open and forces them to stare directly into the artificial whiteness glowing from his computer. It helps a little.
The phone vibrates against the wooden desk. Dabi must’ve seen he read the messages.
-Unknown
(01:54) meeting now or I’m cutting you off.
Hawks rolls his eyes, scoffs quietly.
-You
(01:55) We said ten.-Unknown
(01:55) I was busy. now I’m not.
_
Dabi stands at the top of a closed off parking garage and plays with a small blaze of blue, letting the flame roll in a circular motion across his palm and looking almost entranced at its animated state. He’s leaned against a big stone fence that feels lovely against his flushed skin. He’s also itching for a smoke but the pack’s all out.
The date is October 12th. A perfectly plain and regular day. The number on his phone changed a little over two hours ago, it’s a relief to see the eleven change into a twelve– it makes him feel like he can breathe a little deeper. October 12th was a throwaway day as forgettable and purposeless as the rest of them, October 11th was decidedly not.
“Mom” Touya had yelled, tugging on thin limbs with an over-excited buoyancy that had been seeped in his youth. “C’mon Mom, walk faster! I have to show you, mom!” His mother had tumbled along, a small smile on her lips. Her stomach was swollen– filled with a life not yet here. A fourth sibling, another boy. The impending birth like a threat to Touya’s function.
Touya led them to the training room, forced his mother to watch as he kicked and punched and beat at an invisible foe– just like his father taught.
She nodded, clapped and praised. “Well done, Touya.” She would utter with a smile but there would always be something strained by her eye as she did. Disapproval, worry, whatever.
She didn’t understand. How could she? She was just a woman. Not a hero like dad, like Touya.
Touya crouched down low, hands poised by his side as he prepared for a lunge. He jumped, flying forth clumsily into yet another stance. A child’s mimicry of battle. His hand raised with the palm open wide. Heat gathered there; shot forward with a wild unpredictability. The flames were orange, large and hot.
“Touya!” His mother had shrieked, seizing his arm– ice cold digits digging into skin and forbidding his fire. “Touya we talked about this!” She cried, distress clear at her tongue. Touya ignored her, staring down at her touch with a frown. His arm stung lightly, he was angry. She just didn’t get it.
“Baby.” She whispered, settling a soft palm against his chin, he tried to turn away but she held him fast. They stood in silence for a moment. “It’s not fair.” He hissed eventually, tone dipping into something mean. His mother only sighed, pulled him close.
“I know, sweetie.” She murmured to his hair, one hand rubbing at his shoulder soothingly. “But your power-” She stopped herself, quiet. Thoughtful. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, Touya.” Touya felt something like tears sting at his eye, he did his best to hold them in– what if dad saw?
“It’s not fair.” He repeated again, lower this time. His mother only shushed him, smoothed his hair against his skull. Despite the cool of her touch, she was the warmest Touya had ever known.
Within his calendar, October 11th wasn’t marked with anything special. Despite this, every year it stayed imprinted in his mind like a memory dug too deep. His mother’s birthday. How old was she now? Thirty-nine? Forty?
He preferred not to think about it.
It takes Dabi longer than it usually would to pick up on the powerful beats of Hawks’ wings. He’s too preoccupied and his mind is a little too muddled. He’s had a rough night, god forbid.
Eventually even his tipsy self sees them– the wings– and what a sight they are indeed. Highlighted by the shine of the moon. Large, powerful and red. All those things Dabi never quite managed himself. The saliva in his mouth tastes bitter, he swallows it. It tastes even worse going down.
Hawks lands with a practiced surety, body lithe enough to take to the air yet clearly toned and shaped. He looks cool as all hell strutting down the white lines of parking towards Dabi, wings folding up behind him in a way that seems casual but somehow still feels threatening.
Hawks is a smudge of purple, slowly closing in as he nears. It’s too dark to see properly– the lights of the garage long since busted and electricity probably cut anyway. The moonlight bathes him in its bright sheen, pointed white strokes framing his hair, shoulders and wings. It makes him look sharp. A strange deviation from his typical heroic softness.
Dabi tips his head at Hawks arrival, once they’re close enough to speak. Hawks’ face holds signature calm, that assured note he wears as a second skin. Dabi spends most of his time with Hawks just looking for cracks he can dig his fingers into, wet spots he can press at til Hawks finally drops the act– if only just for a moment. There's a dark color underneath his eye and a strain by his brow, it’s telling in his real mood. It makes Dabi’s day a little better– knowing that he’s made the other’s worse.
“So, what’s up?” Hawks says, indifference so faked it almost makes Dabi laugh. He settles for a smile instead, head tipping to his right with a carelessness that betrays sobriety. Kurogiri’s gonna be pissed when he discovers the half-drunk whiskey spilled all over his floor.
Hawks eyes fix instantly on the movement, his pupils thin with sharp intelligence. Observant fuck. The attention makes a shiver run up his crooked scarred spine, he finds it thrilling.
Dabi’s in a good mood, despite it all. He’s drunk himself just to the perfect line– tipsy and loose but importantly not slurring. Lost in a hopeless nihilistic world-view that makes him almost giddy because nothing fucking matters. His shit father and his shit dreams and all the shit things he’s been through. None of it matters. They’ll all look the same dead anyway.
“How’s your little data scrape going?” Dabi asks conversationally, pushed by the buzz in his blood. He’s still got that smile on his face, too. This is probably the longest he has showed the hero since their first encounter.
Hawks takes a second to reply, silent enough that Dabi can hear him shuffling his feathers. “It’s going well.” he settles on “like I said I can scrape up to third level security without triggering any alarm but after that it’s gonna be tricky” Hawks’ face is blank enough for Dabi to feel like he’s hiding something, then again Dabi always feels like Hawks is hiding something.
Dabi hums with the answer, absentmindedly picking at his nailband. He’s not totally interested in the words, they had this conversation last meet-up. Silence lingers with a sluggishness that probably would’ve been awkward– had Dabi not been just on the right side of drunk.
“What about your end of the bargain?” Hawks questions, Dabi thinks he catches a hint of steel bleeding into the winged man's posture but it quickly disappears as Hawks shifts. More a whispered concept than concrete memory.
“You know I don’t intend on working for free, right?” Hawks, for all his ass-licking, actually had the gull to be demanding. It both intrigued and annoyed that he wasn’t a complete pushover. At least not in the face of Dabi. “I came to you because I wanted to join your cause, not play messenger bird for minor data details.”
“Well, tough luck.” Dabi croons, eyeing the man in front. “This time around you’re gonna have to work your way up the ladder, like the rest of us mortals.” Dabi laughs with the words, his blinks feel a little sluggish but they just heighten his glee. Hawks doesn’t twitch but there’s something in his eye that hardens with rage. Dabi realises he’s struck a nerve. His blood sings at the thought.
It takes a second or two but soon Hawks speaks again, any note of actual humanity quickly replaced. A businessman takes its place, placating and cool yet somehow just as ruthless. Hawks is always switching between these states; business man, media man, hero. He’s more amalgamation of traits, gestures and skills than actual person. Sometimes Dabi wonders whether there even is anything underneath that sterile, test-tube perfection.
“I understand.” He says, calm and so clearly unbothered that it brings any previous observation of anger into question. “But you must know that my presence is being severely underutilized.” Hawks stretches out his wings, as if in demonstration. “I’m a powerful ally.” A feather detaches and skirts its way through the air in playful loops, Dabi watches it. “I would be much more useful for you somewhere central, somewhere I can put my skill to proper use.” The feather slows to a gentle crawl, falling down to brush along the edge of Dabi’s shoulder. It probably would’ve tickled, had Dabi’s nerves not been frayed to ash, hidden away by thick scarring.
Dabi remembers himself and looks up, finds glinting gold staring back. Hawks watching him watch the feather. “You could have me run schemes much more effectively if I was allowed just a little more leeway and trust, a little more information.”
The feather twirls circularly around Dabi’s hanging arm. It doesn’t touch him but Dabi can feel the wind sweeping alongside it. He stretches out his hand, palm up, slowly grabbing a hold of it– the feather doesn’t flee him.
Dabi brings the thing up to his face, squeezes at the quill experimentally before running his thumb up higher and grazing the brilliant red vanes. They’re soft to his touch. Pretty, he thinks absentmindedly before quickly catching up with the thought and discarding it.
He runs his finger along its edge once more before the small thing suddenly gains life and tries to fly off. Dabi holds it tight for a second but the tugging only amplifies and soon it soars away from his grip, finding its home in Hawks’ wing.
Dabi looks up towards Hawks, sour at having the feather snatched away and ready to voice a loud complaint, when he spots the expression on the hero’s face. Fundamentally, it’s exactly the same as before– eyebrows loose and smile in place– but his eyes are pointed down at the floor and there’s an odd color at his cheek.
It disappears as quick as it came with Hawks snapping his eyes back up to observe, but Dabi feels his interest flare like an oil fire. Something in his stomach tickles. He stares forth at the other.
Hawks sighs at his silence, at his lack of response, and shakes his head slowly. “Dabi, what did you even call me here for-”
“Hey.” Dabi interrupts, uncaring for whatever words were spoken. He points a finger forward, at Hawks’ face, and mutters a disbelieveing “Was that a fucking blush?” His head feels thick from the alcohol.
Hawks eyes him with irritation, blinks twice. “What? No. Dabi you-”
“It fucking was, I just saw it.” Hawks’ eyebrows furrow, it’s the first plain showcasing of emotion all night.
“No it was just-.”
“Why the fuck would you blush?” Dabi questions, genuinely curious. “Embarrassed your little speech sucked ass?”
“Dabi-” Hawks tries for the third time,
“Was it because-” Dabi cuts off once more.
“Dabi.” Hawks emphasizes, lips thin and eyebrows pulled tight.
“Hawks.” Dabi mocks right back, arms coming up to fold across his chest and head falling sideways a bit more forcefully than intended.
Hawks stares silently. He’s sporting a frown and some tired eyes. “You’re drunk.” He argues after a short stare-off where Dabi has to fight his own eyes to not slip.
“Really? Shocker.” Dabi mulls, finally dragging his eyes from the other– bored with his presence– and turning to stare out at the city in front of him. The night fights to paint it black but lit windows, streetlights and glowing signs all combat it valiantly.
Hawks joins him by his side. Dabi realises, belatedly, that Hawks is probably trying to use his inebriated state to tilt the situation in his favor. The thought only makes him grin, fucking figures that he was being so pushy.
“So what’s the occasion?” Hawks questions as he pushes his chest out over the stone fence, elbows resting over the top of it. Cool guy act worn thick.
Dabi glances sideways towards him, sees his profile framed by the white of the moon. His nose, fastened in a shallow bow that swoops out and ends in a bumpy tip, rounding down towards the nostrils with a soft curve. Dabi had always despised the seemingly defectless state of being, Hawks’ appearance was just yet another extension of that.
Hawks’ face turns and a heady gold lit cool by the light of the night finds him. Their eyes meet. A dangerously sharp look that catches his. They linger there for a moment.
“None of your business.” Dabi huffs. When he glances back at the other a moment later he finds Hawks’ golden gaze still glued to him, there’s something secret in his eyes– something heated. It’s as intoxicating as it is delightful.
Dabi loved it when Hawks looked at him like this, most would probably find the stare unnerving– razor sharp as it was, but Dabi only felt powerful. Hawks observed him because he knew Dabi was powerful, dangerous. To Hawks, Dabi was someone you kept an eye on.
Dabi was someone you needed to watch. The acknowledgement made his blood pound almost as much as the whiskey.
____
They remain strangers, through it all.
Despite all the meetings, all the time together, they never really talk. Words are exchanged– yes– but it’s all a game of wit and snark. See who can outplay the other first, who can unwind the other’s twisting web best.
Christmas comes and goes, spring peeks out from underneath its melting snow. The third day of march marks out eight months since their first encounter, that rainy night underneath the bridge.
Something changes, fundamentally, in that span. Hawks feels Dabi linger. It’s probably bad for his health, the way that piercing blue leaves his heart to patter so quick, constantly. It makes his palms clammy, his throat clogged. He’s quick to get over it, every time his management grows faster. He learns and adapts, soon the sensation is as easy to ignore as wind in his hair. It becomes just another fact of nature; Where the sun shines, it warms. When Dabi lingers, Hawks’ stomach tingles.
And Linger Dabi does.
Whether it be for the distrust or something else, electric blue always seems to follow him.
Once, Hawks brushes past Dabi at the end of a debrief. He lets a few feathers drag at the other’s shoulder, not even touching skin, just a tickle on the leather clad pads of his jacket. It’s purposeful, he wants to see the reaction.
Dabi bristles, shoves him back, Hawks’ ass hits a fence post.
Hawks straightens himself, stares forth at the other, still stood several steps back. Dabi wears a mean scowl, colder than even the ruthless January wind whipping by their hair, coloring their cheeks and ears a muted red.
“Next time you try that shit I am fucking burning you to cinders.” Dabi threatens, a pointed flame rippling by his fingers for the briefest of moments. He’s more pissed than usual, had been in a bad mood all day.
“I wasn’t doing anything.” Hawks reasons, careful. “ And I don’t think Twice would be too pleased with that.” His hands crawl behind himself, finding purchase on the railings there.
Dabi scoffs loudly. When he speaks he does so with a wide sneer that shows off his teeth. “Twice can get over it.” Hawks leans forward slightly, casually. Gloved hands gliding over the cool metal behind him. He peers up at Dabi with a mirthfilled knowing. He smiles. Small, purposeful.
At first, Hawks had flirted for the sake of his mission, on order from his operatives. A stab in the dark to try and worm his way close– a filthy practice, but a functioning one. It was designed to be ambiguous enough to play off. In the form of smiles, looks, touching; small and insignificant, barely there. A hand on his shoulder, a thumbing at his sleeve. He would let his media grin slip at the sides, hide thick intent there. Dabi was always easy to rile up, quick to anger, irritation and scowls no matter how much he tried to hide behind his indifference.
The fish circled his line but it never bit down. After a few weeks, Hawks gave it up. Only pulling at it now whenever he wanted to fuck with the other a little; It was a sure method to spark a reaction.
Dabi spits on the ground between them, turns on his heel and leaves. Stomping steps slowly descending further and further away. Hawks is left with a wet patch of phlegm on the ground and a sky filled with stars.
He sighs, turns around to face the railing and looks out at the night from yet another nameless rooftop. Hawks’ wings flutter at his back and the exhaustion must really be getting the better of him because it’s only then that he realises Dabi hasn’t actually left. Just stumbled through the door and slammed it. His heart still beats steady, just on the other side.
Hawks sends off a feather without looking. The small red thing lodges itself underneath the door, only the barest of string visible on the other side. He finds Dabi’s breathing closer to the ground than it should be, rougher and more rugged than Hawks had expected. He must be crouched against the door.
A sharp breath is picked up next, it’s disturbing– how vulnerable it sounds. It makes Hawks turn and look towards the door, even though he knows it’s closed.
A second, shaky intake echoes before a small and quiet “fuck.” is muttered into the space. Dabi’s voice almost cracked with the weight of it. There’s a shuffling, a rustle of clothes and then what sounds like a palm slapping flat against stone. “Stupid fucking- god” Dabi curses again, at nothing. More sounds reign in a cacophony that makes it difficult to decipher which is which. Soon heels click against the floor and Hawks knows Dabi has stood up.
Something rustles, something sounds. The low fizz of paper igniting in flames. Dabi smoking a cigarette. He takes a deep breath in, inhaling the nicotine, and then a low exhale out, releasing. Hawks can imagine the way his eyes must shine now, behind that door. Sinfully blue as they gleam behind the light of his smoke.
Hawks’ hands grow clammy at the thought, something tickles in his gut.
The recognition of the sensation registers and Hawks blanches, physically stunned at the knowledge. His feathers pick up a last sigh, much more collected and resigned.
He hears Dabi’s feet face towards the door and he quickly turns back towards the night, his feather flies back and snugs itself rightfully in the nest of Hawks’ wing. For half a second he debates flying off but the door opens before he can decide. The clicking heel stops abruptly, the moment Dabi sees Hawks still leaning against the railing– with his back towards him.
Hawks feins oblivion and stares out at the city whilst Dabi’s gaze burns into his back. For a while, not a single sound can be heard. Then, a slow shuffling of shoes as they creep up behind him. Hawks turns his head and looks, once the sound is within earshot. Dabi elects to ignore him, keeping distance with several meters as he clampers over the railings before dangling his feet over the edge of the building. The fall is high enough to kill him.
Hawks stares blankly out for a few moments more before turning to look at Dabi. His eyes stick on a speck of light as it bounces off his stapled chin– glinting sharp even at a distance. Dabi takes another puff from his cigarette. He breathes it in, holds for long enough to seem uncomfortable before sighing it out in a cloud of toxins more deadly now than it was on entry.
It’s a dragon’s-breath that leaves him; grey smoke pooling– slipping out slow and daunting. A few wisps of smog pour from the faulty stitchwork separating skin from scar on his cheeks. It leaks out like steam between a pot and its lid. It feels like a warning– a physical reminder that Dabi, with his deteriorating health and half-gone mind, is malfunctioning. Faulty. The word sits strange in Hawks’ mind. For himself, it’s not even a registered possibility.
Dabi’s eyelids hang low as he stares down at the thin white stick pressed between his crossed pointer and middle finger. The electric blue of his eyes seem duller than usual– deader.
“Hey.” Hawks says to him, he clambers over the railing himself to join Dabi in his wallowing. “You had a rough night or something?”
Dabi ignores his words. Takes another puff from his smoke. "Hm." Hawks sounds, undeterred “I’ll take that as a ‘yes asshole, shut the fuck up’.” Dabi rolls his eyes.
They sit in silence for a while. Most moments between them were spent like that. Hawks has his knees pulled up, balancing his heels on the angle where the building wall meets the roof. “Yo.” he tries again after a while “Why did you join the league?” He disguises the question with a casual curiosity. The easy wonders of a coworker seeking to fill a silence.
“Don’t you have any asswipes to suck up to? Any boots to lick?” Dabi shoots back, completely ignoring Hawks’ words, just as usual. “Nope.” Hawks replies, popping the ‘p’. “I’m free for the next five hours, then it’s morning patrol and boot-licking as usual.” Hawks replies, a little cheeky. Dabi scoffs.
“Whatever.” Dabi mumbles, mouthing absentmindedly at the butt end of his smoke. Hawks slides up a little closer. His wings could touch Dabi from here but he keeps them tucked, better to avoid another blow-up. “Could I have a puff?” He asks, hand held out.
Hawks doesn’t actually enjoy smoking, or drinking, or anything that involved substances dulling his senses really– It brings too many memories of filthy needles, shaky hands and floating eyes. But he figured maybe Dabi would respect him more if he indulged in something like it. If they could share, find a common ground.
Dabi finally lifts his gaze to look towards the other, their eyes meet. Dabi’s wearing a disbelieving frown. “No. Fuck off.” he says. Then, a moment later, “You don’t smoke.”
“And how would you know that?” Hawks replies, letting his palm stretch out a little more, request still plain between them. Dabi’s focus lingers at the gloved appendage.
Something flickers within his eyes. He’s sniffing at Hawks' bait– considering, despite the earlier words. Hawks knows he’s got him when Dabi’s posture shifts, when he turns to face the hero fully.
“Fine, then.” He says holding out the thin white tube, the orange bit still pressed by his fingers. There’s a gleam in Dabi’s eye that’s telling in his intention; not as a friendly gesture but as a challenge or trap. He wants Hawks to choke, probably.
Hawks gives a triumphant grin as he takes the thing from Dabi, he’s careful to avoid any touch, lest he risk anger. The thing feels slightly clumsy in his grip, unfamiliar. He doesn’t let the thought play at his expression. Dabi’s sharp attention rests like a cocked gun at his temple.
He raises the thing to his mouth, it’s slightly damp already– where Dabi’s lips had folded over it. Hawks presses it up just to the edge of his teeth, lets his own lips mold around it. He meets Dabi’s gaze just as he breathes it in, peers up at the man from where he sits slightly hunched over the cigarette to shield it from the cold winter wind. Dabi seems almost frozen, poised and still as he waits and stares.
Hawks expects the itch as the smoke pours down his throat, down to his lungs. He’s prepared for the foul, bitter taste. He holds it within himself and slowly counts to three– then five when he really registers the intensity with which Dabi is observing. As he breathes out his throat tightens, convulses. His mind is filled with an intense need to cough, he smiles past it and exhales the smoke in a slow cloud of victorious grey.
Hawks’ grin widens, lips pressing more firmly against the cigarette still held there. Dabi’s blank stare wavers slightly, they raise from Hawks’ mouth to his glittering eyes. Dabi’s pupils widen before quickly shrinking with recognition, a ‘tsk’ slips off his tongue as he quickly rips the smoke back from Hawks’ mouth. Dabi puts it back within his own, turning away with an aggressive haste and proceeding to ignore Hawks completely.
With Dabi’s eyes off him, Hawks’ grin slips slightly. He licks at his lips once and swallows heavily, his throat still itches, he doesn’t relieve it. Somewhere in the exchange Hawks’ palms grew damp. He wants to take off his gloves and wipe the clamminess away on the side of his pants.
He deignes not to.
____
Dabi stands outside of Tateba subway station, just south of Osaka central.
He’s leaned against beige tiling, at the foot of the station entrance, staring up at a calm night with both hands in his pockets. A plain, dark-blue hood pulled up over his head. There’s a glowing white sign with Tatebas kanji written out in soft neat lines that showers the space in sterile light, a convenience store sits empty across the street.
A stranger approaches, from his right. A secure stride carries them forth. The soft thuds hit the pavement in a pattern not unfamiliar. An odd bump at their back is covered by a ragged trench coat. They carry a gym bag over their shoulder. Their golden gaze meets Dabi’s for a split moment before they’re staring forward once more, the steps don’t falter.
After a few more moments of squinting up at the clouded moon Dabi slinks after the figure. They follow a winding path along the city streets, progressing out from the still-alive corners by diners and bars out towards the silent, sleeping state of the suburbs. Eventually, they settle at a bench in a lonesome park. The stranger Dabi followed shrugs off their jacket once seated, letting their powerful wings stretch out momentarily at the freedome. They drop the bag at their feet. Dabi joins them at their side.
“Fucking finally.” he complains, feet aching from the strung-out walk. “Any longer and I would have ditched.”
The man beside him leans back, his wings drape over the edge of the backrest. He doesn’t seem fazed by Dabi’s lamenting, only hums absentmindedly before turning familiar eyes to the other. He is a stranger, just not an unknown one.
“Sorry.” Hawks huffs, tugging off his beanie and running a hand through his hair, righting a stray lock that had fallen loose. “I have to be really careful now, with the upcoming ranking ceremony media attention has skyrocketed.”
“Oh boo hoo,” Dabi bites contemptfully as he meets the other in a one-eyed, sideways glare. It’s been almost three weeks since they saw each other and so the sudden proximity makes him uneasy– quick to snap. “I didn’t call you down here just so you could complain about your rich-bitch life.”
“Alright.” Hawks breathes, a little placating, clearly picking up on the testy mood. “What’s up then, D? You heard anything from the boss?”
Dabi scoffs at the nickname, hunching down over his knees, elbows balanced against them. One hand picking at a staple on the other. “Yes, actually.” Dabi mutters, fully discontented at being even the slightest of help to the hero. Hawks doesn’t react physically but Dabi knows his attention well enough to feel when it sharpens.
“Boss gave me a nomu, we want to test it.” He voices, still observing the other from the corner of his eye.
“Okay?” Hawks replies, easily inquisitive, like he’s not secretly drooling for Dabi to spill the beans.
“We want you to find us a hero to help test it.”
Hawks, still, doesn’t really outwardly react to the words. He hums quietly and drums a gloved hand against the seat of his pants– Dabi thinks it odd that he keeps the gloves, even when everything else from his hero suit is swapped.
“What kinda test we talking?” Hawks voices finally, voice considering but not at all concerned. He turns slightly, to face Dabi more fully. His right arm comes up to hang at the backrest of the bench, he angles his chest to face Dabi’s hunched form. “Hell, what kinda hero we talking?”
Dabi eyes him, hopes that the glare combined with an extended silence will leave the other less collected– wants for Hawks to grow insecure and tuck his limbs back into his own space. He doesn’t, he just smiles. Waits for Dabi to answer.
Dabi grits his teeth, leans back from his hunch to press himself backwards– just to prove he can. Hawks’ hand hangs a few inches from his shoulder, Dabi swears not to let it rule him.
“Someone in the top hundred” he voices “We’re gonna need them strong enough to put up a fight, so we can properly scale the nomu’s abilities”
“Alright.” Hawks responds, listening diligently.
“Though not too high.” Dabi tacks on, pushing his own elbow up over the backrest and turning towards the hero. Hawks watches him with a tilted head and sharp eye. “We don’t want our weapon damaged.” Dabi smiles wide enough for his staples to sting. It’s a thin, spread thing. More an uncomfortable stretch of skin than expression of joy.
“And the hero is meant to lose, then?” Hawks questions, pulling his hand back so they're not quite as close. Ha. Dabi wins.
“Yeah.” Dabi breathes. “ If you really wanna gather some brownie points you can send out one of those loud media dogs, Mount Lady, Death Arms, whoever really.”
“Sure.” Hawks says, easy as water. He looks completely collected, not a hair out of line. It irks Dabi more than he would like to admit. “When and where is this meant to take place? I assume I’ve got at least a week to set this up?”
“Yeah, yeah. Two weeks, then we’ll arrange for the attack in some city central somewhere.”
Hawks shifts in his lean, opens his mouth to respond. “It would be smarter to focus the attack somewhere more sparsely populated. A lot of civilians, whilst helpful in making headlines, also equals a lot more responsibilities for the hero.”
Dabi mouth opens in silent offense, the fucking gull of this guy. He should fry him. “And?” he spits instead, because he’s just such a pious practitioner of patience and virtue.
“That means they’ll probably prioritise human rescue over engaging with your nomu. Instead I’d suggest an industrial area somewhere. Maybe by the docks? Easier to force a battle when there’s not too many places to run.”
“You trying to tell me how to do my fucking job? No.” Dabi says, dead-eyed and numb as he glares at the other. Not about to let Hawks worm his way through with any suggestions.
“No.” Hawks answers, just slightly too quick. “I was just offering you an alternative, I want you to succeed y’know? And I think somewhere more secluded would greatly improve your chances of a worthwhile testrun that doesn’t just reveal this new asset without anything to show for it.”
“No. Shut up.” Dabi grunts, already done with this discussion. “As long as there’s bloodshed there is something to show for it.”
“Sure.” Hawks agrees “Although-” he tries again “A central attack would also mean a lot of other pro hero’s being quick to respond. It would become very difficult for the nomu to escape without injury.”
“Shut. Up.” Dabi says, falling back into his typical toneless hiss. The kind he pulls when something is really starting to piss him off. “Kurogiri will take care of the escape.” Hawks leans in a little closer, opens his mouth to say something else, still not able to just take the fucking rejection.
A rumble sounds through the space, powerful and deep as it settles, heavy enough to hum at his bones. It warbles their words with its intensity and leaves something completely different behind. Hawks stops himself, on the way to whatever carefully crafted ploy he was about to voice, and straightens to sniff the air. His wings flutter at his back as he frowns with slight distaste.
“It’s gonna rain.” He says simply, pulling at the trenchcoat to return it to his back. A thin shield against the incoming pour.
“Mm.” Dabi hums, non-committedly. Still sour at Hawks’ apparent disregard for Dabi’s decision. He turns back towards the park, away from Hawks. Dabi feels Hawks observe him, ignores the other as he lifts himself to his feet. His knees click as he stands, Dabi feels slightly light-headed. Hawks is quick to follow, annoyingly much more agile and smooth in his motions.
Dabi starts pacing away, Hawks follows.
“I’ll reach out later.” Dabi says without turning, mostly to get him off his trail. He doesn’t want to stick around for the storm, the way his clothes tend to cling to his stitches is painful enough when dry. Hawks doesn’t stop. Dabi turns, annoyed– prepared to threaten him away. Just as their gazes meet something blinding and bright lights up the sky, lights up Hawks. Showers him momentarily in a color so bright and true it makes him look like he’s on fire. Like a real life icarus, painted here before him.
Following the light comes a second rumble. It shakes Dabi to his core, just as loud as the first. Reminds him of the shaky wail of a brother just born, of the perfect split in his perfect hair.
They stand silent, face to face in its wake. Hawks’ wings ruffle behind him, like he needs to physically expel the last vibrations humming through the air. A first drop hits Dabi’s shoulder, a silent plop within the otherwise silent space. It's followed by a second on his hand, a third in his hair. “Aw, shit.” Hawks curses, Dabi mirrors the sentiment.
The drops soon become a drizzle, that then progresses into a pour. Dabi curses his luck and hurries off to the first cover he can find– a shielded bus station, with a wonky piece of plastic roof and three walls, just outside the park.
It takes a minute or two to reach the shelter, it’s long enough for the water to start seeping into his clothes. Great.
He clambers into the space with damp hair and half-wet clothes, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, already planning out his excuse for demanding Kurogiri’s portal. Hawks enters the space after him, Dabi doesn’t spare him so much as a glance, too caught up in navigating to his messengers app.
It’s a tight space underneath the roof, they are forced together, practically shoulder to shoulder, Hawks’ wings don’t exactly make it better. “Fuck off already.” Dabi urges, pushing Hawks away, back out in the rain, before finally managing to find Kurogiri’s number. He shoots off a text.
Hawks, annoyingly, just presses himself back underneath the roof. He’s got the trench-coat hanging over his shoulders and arms, tugging it closer to himself with one gloved hand as the other just hangs uselessly. His eyes are hardened with determination, he wants something.
“Get lost.” Dabi tries again, his push this time around doesn't manage to usher Hawks away as much as wobble his own stance.
“I am serious about the attack, Dabi.” Hawks says, voice pitched low. Within the loud thrum of rain against pavement it’s a hard thing to make out but Dabi thinks there’s anger hidden there. “It would be unwise.” Hawks sounds a lot more calm with the second phrase, a cover-up of something Dabi wasn’t meant to catch.
“I don’t care.” Dabi mutters, still staring down at Kurogiri’s contact. “You should.” Hawks snarks right back.
Dabi shuts off his phone, drops it into his pocket.
Hawks is watching him, out from underneath the ugly grey beanie he must have slipped back on his head somewhere between now and the stance from the bench. His eyelashes are wet, clumped together like the teeth of a comb. Short and light. His cheeks color a rosy red, his nose too.
Dabi pitches forward, leans down into the other’s space. Hawks stands his ground– undisturbed, this time, by Dabi so close. “Careful, Birdie” He whispers into their shared air. Hawks smells of heady masculinity, like the expensive cologne worn by expensive men; Sandalwood and cocoa fruit, maybe a hint of oranges. Dabi breathes it in deep, lets it coat his lungs like nicotine.
Their eyes stay lock to one another's as Dabi speaks, his tongue feels heavier than it should be. The roar of the rain dulls around them, Dabi hears only rasp of his own torn vocal chords. “Might think you’re not as devoted as you say you are.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hawks breathes back, steady and sure of himself. Perfectly content to dismiss Dabi’s words and leave them bleeding in the rain.
Once more the sky burns with something bright. Once more Hawks alights underneath its sharp glow. The rumble is quick on its heel, only a second or two after. It holds the world within its hands and shakes until something shifts; Hawks’ sharp gaze, flicking, for the fraction of a moment, down to a charred and stitched mouth. To ugly, scarred lips.
Dabi’s guts ties itself into knots, the thick scent in his lungs feels like smoke. Sandalwood turns into oak, oranges into fire. Cocoa into flesh– and Dabi– Dabi feels too young, on the cusp of something great, of something terrible.
The fire burns hotter and hotter, Dabi can’t stop it. He couldn’t. Cool sapphire stares into warm gold. It’s waves crashing against a beach– a meeting long familiar but somehow new with every push and every pull.
He already knows it’s a mistake, when his lips fall down to hover above Hawks’. When Hawks reaches up to close the distance– all soft lips, rough stubble and warm mouth. The blackened chars of Sekoto peak lie like the dusty page of a forgotten history lesson. His father’s temporary love like a warning, the heat of Hawks’ body like temptation.
Dabi’s hand finds Hawks’ neck. Warm, corded muscle and underneath– a pulse. His thumb presses into it momentarily before slipping away, back behind his ear, underneath his stupid beanie. He grips into soft golden locks, guides their heads in which way to meet. Hawks goes easily.
Hawks’ hands smooth up and down his waist. He presses into their embrace, Dabi grunts into the other’s mouth, a tongue slyly wraps around his own. They kiss, fast and sloppily. Hawks’ right hand crawls its way upwards, presses along Dabi’s spine until it glides off and finds a shoulder, anchors itself there.
Dabi pushes them forward, presses Hawks into flimsy plexi-glass, it groans silently under the weight of the bodies leaned against it. The thrumming of the rain melts into nothing at their shared warmth.
They paw at one another, Hawks drags Dabi close, Dabi almost trips as he’s pulled flush against the other abruptly. Their knees tangle in a mess of limbs and fabric– they clank against each other, feet uselessly shuffling in a desperate attempt to get closer. Dabi hasn’t felt like this since he was a teen, young and dumb and drunk out of his mind with some girl he’d only just met.
Another thundering roar spreads, they barely notice, too caught up in their act of selfish, wanting idiocy.
With his free hand, Dabi slips past Hawks’ trench-coat. He skims his hand over the hero’s chest, down towards his stomach– his abdomen. Slips it along his waist until it ends up at the small of Hawks’ back. Firm, sculpted muscle greet him everywhere he ventures, defined enough to be felt even through the fabric of his clothes. Feathers press against the other tightly, they shudder around Dabi’s hand. He runs it up, up, up, until he finds the soft, feathered lining attaching the wings to the man’s back. He scrapes blunt nails against the top of it, Hawks stills.
A minute shift in the feathers around his hand. They strengthen, not sharp but not pliant to his touch, either.
Hawks’ hand quickly falls from his shoulder, it slips back inwards towards them and wraps around Dabi’s elbow– the one brushing at his wings. It pulls at him, bidding him to stop.
Dabi runs a careful touch along the feathered limb once more– a curious exploration of the foreign limb, only partly in the interest of a continued assholery. Hawks’ lips clamps shut, Dabi sees the way his pupils blow. It’s so distinctly unlike Hawks, for something as human as having his pupils dilate.
Like an oil fire, like sparks to a gas leak– the ignition takes quick. Bubbling through his stomach, ricocheting in his chest.
Hawks’ expression stays stagnant, locked in place. “Hey.” He stutters, tone harsh– almost defensive. Uncomfortable. Dabi stops, his eyes narrow slightly, observing the other through the shitty pale light shining from the station's roof. Hawks’ beanie sits over his right eyebrow, lop-sided, halfway slipped off and only kept in place by the press against the wall. His hair sticks out from underneath it, sprawled out in all the wrong directions. It’s the first time Dabi has seen the blonde hair so displaced.
Hawks’ eyes are open wide, frozen even as his pupils grow. He’s breathing loud– just as Dabi. His cheeks color a light red, he’s blushing. It makes him mortal.
Dabi dips, slowly, down. His nose brushes Hawks’, they stare at one another, sharing air. Hawks blinks, levels him with something wide as his breathing slowly evens. The redness stays, a pleasant tint over his round cheeks.
Dabi’s finger runs along the limb for a final time before leaving the man’s form entirely, left instead to hang lonesome at his side. Red feathers shudder around his movement, Hawks takes a deep, shuddering breath. It’s as damning as his look.
“What?” Dabi asks, expression blank– blunt. He feels his heart hammering in his ear, the blood pumping in his veins. Ignores it.
Hawks breathes in deep, again, right against Dabi’s mouth. Their lips brush, Dabi feels the warmth of Hawks’ exhale as it spreads over his lips and chin– the taste of him still fresh in mind; minty and fresh.
Hawks opens his mouth, closes it, swallows deep. Something settles at his face and it isn’t until the man’s typical mask is pulled tight again that Dabi recognizes it was ever even off in the first place.
“I think I better get going.” Hawks whispers, voice a little rough, probably unintentionally vulnerable. He clears his throat in his fist, banishing the emotion quick. When Hawks smiles it’s a practiced and collected thing, perfectly ready to charm a watchful crowd– only given away by the blown pupils and tinted cheeks.
Dabi doesn’t let himself sour at the words, he’s more than familiar with rejection. The hand he still has in Hawks’ hair falls, soon no part of them is touching. He stares, cooly, at the mess he’s left of Hawks’ golden strands.
They ration the oxygen for a moment more, Hawks’ smile holds firm, even as it seems to strain at Dabi’s continued proximity. “Mind backing up? Feeling a bit like a club sandwich here.” Hawks jokes, it falls flat, the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes, nothing ever does.
The soft pink still lingers at his cheek. It’s quickly fading, gone like something too mundane to recall. Like its existence hasn’t answered questions Dabi had long avoided.
“Sure.” Dabi breathes tonelessly against the other’s lips, he thinks his body must be running hotter than usual because his mouth tastes vaguely of ashes. His fingers twitch, craving the soothing smoke of a cigarette.
Dabi straightens up with intentional sloth, movements languid and cat-like. Hawks pries himself off the wall once Dabi has stepped back, his wings ruffle behind him– probably to smooth them out.
“I’ll find you a worthy fighter.” Hawks pipes, casually humorous like they weren’t making out seconds ago.
Dabi hums, already picking up his phone to ignore the other. Kurogiri still hasn’t read his message. He sends another one before mindlessly scrolling through their history, just for something to do.
No more words are exchanged. Dabi sees through the corner of his eye how Hawks turns to him, breath entering as he prepares to speak before stopping himself and turning away. Leaving the prized cover of the station and shuffling off into the rain. The thrumming sounds louder now, almost deafening as it drowns out Hawks’ steps.
When the other has his back turned, Dabi peeks up from his phone to watch as Hawks flees. The darkness and rain quickly overtakes the shape. Wing Hero: Hawks leaves and with him the mystery man with the tousled hair and soft blush disappears too. It’s probably for the best that Touya doesn’t get to meet him.
His phone pings, Kurogiri finally responding. They share a few brief words before a misty, purple warp-gate opens up just to the right of him. Dabi doesn’t spare any more glances towards Hawks’ direction, but he does wonder.
He leaves the stranger as a stranger, for now. Dabi has a feeling that their impending introduction will carry with it a lot more than just secret names.