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The rooms in which Hawks had grown up - a regular apartment, if not for its placement in the midst of HPSC headquaters - had never been repurposed. Even long after he's moved out, the old passcodes still worked to let him inside.
The air was stuffy, like no one's been there since Hawks had left for the last time. There was surprisingly little dust. He didn't really care about the state of all the random trinkets, though. He had a specific goal in mind: his old bed.
Swinging by the living room, Yokumiru's old room, and pillaging the linens closet, Hawks entered his old haunt ladden with every pillow, blanket and other scrap of appriopriate material that he could find.
Making the nest didn't come easy to him; It never did. Before, he could at least rely on his instincts to guide him through the motions.
Now, Hawks dumped the materials haphazardly, made a token effort to arrange them and climbed into the center of the mess.
It brought little comfort, and the mental dissonance that was created made the entire endeavor pointless.
He should have known better than to try it, to lean on the crutch of birdlike behaviour to soothe him. But it had been a part of him for so long that it's reflexive now; His muscle memory didn't care that his quirk was gone.
There were times when he nearly walked out of windows or off roofs before he remembered there were no wings to carry him anymore. The muscles in his back strained often as he tried to move the limbs he no longer had. His attention span was in shambles, having been stretched so thin for so long, the spectrum of a regular human's experiences feeling like a sliver of existence.
And, apparently, nesting no longer calmed him.
The lock on the front doors pinged open, followed by calm footsteps. Hawks didn't need to wonder who it was, didn't need to miss his feathers' surveilaince. Those were the footsteps he heard every single day for a decade. He'd recognize Yokumiru's gait anywhere.
The man was clearly alerted to Hawks' presence in the apartment, and knew exactly where to find him, beelining for his room without hesitation.
It wasn't long before he reached the treshold, pausing in a tired lean against the doorframe.
"Your doctors haven't discharged you yet," he said, voice dry. Either someone snitched, or Yokumiru had made an educated guess. He had been the one to raise Hawks; He knew his habits.
Hawks shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter over his shoulders.
He sat in silence as Yokumiru examined him thoughtfully.
"That's not up to your standards," he said eventually.
Hawks snorted mirthlessly. "What, the fact that I dipped early, or that I needed hospitalization in the first place?"
"Your nest."
Hawks blinked, confused. Then, understanding bloomed. He worked a pillow free and tossed it at Yokumiru's face.
The man didn't even bother to duck.
"I did my best!" Hawks protested, a futile effort. "It's my nest, anyway. You've got no say in what it looks like!"
Yokumiru hummed, pushing himself off the wall to approach. "So you don't think it would be comfortable if you moved this, here," he reached for some of the materials, rearranging them slightly. "And those, like this, and that over there?"
...Okay, so that did feel a bit more comfortable. Not right - Hawks' brain was no longer able to classify his old habits as such - but... Better.
"Thanks," Hawks mumbled petulantly, hiding his chin behind the blanket.
He hoped Yokumiru would leave. He knew the man wouldn't.
Instead, he had sat down at the edge of the nest. His self-control and body slipped immediately, sending him sprawling by Hawks' side.
"Talk to me, kid," Yokumiru mumbled. "What's running through your mind?"
Hawks wonders if that form of address is a deliberate slight, or merely a prod to get him talking.
The idea that it might not hold any ulterior motives didn't even cross his mind.
"That's just it, isn't it?" He said, not bothering to keep bitterness out of his voice. "I'm not Hawks anymore. I'm not useful like this. I might as well not exist at all."
Yokumiru raised himself up on an elbow, eyes wider than Hawks' ever seen them.
"Your quirk was an advantage, yes-" Understatement of the year. "-but it wasn't the entirety of your value, Keigo."
To his utter embarassement, Hawks - no, Yokumiru was right, he should start getting used to using his old name - Keigo had to sniffle, holding back tears by sheer willpower.
"You had a funny way of showing that," he snarked. "You, the Commission, the public- I'm not illiterate, I can see what the newspapers are writing about me."
"When have the newspapers ever been right?" Yokumiru straightens fully with clear effort. "Also, since when do you care what anyone thinks about you?"
"Oh, I don't know," the sarcasm is heavy on his tongue. "Maybe since I've been trained to place my self-worth at my hero ranking spot. Or maybe it popped into my head during all those long, long PR and marketing lessons. Perhaps it has something to do with how my own mother sold me for next to nothing. Just spitballing here."
Yokumiru's expression was inscrutiable. Then again, to Keigo it often was. As much time as they spent together, he never felt like he's gotten a good read on the man.
"I'll organize therapy sessions," the told him now. "To work through that."
Keigo didn't answer.
"For what it's worth," Yokumiru continued after a moment. "I am sorry. We mishandled your upbringing in ways that should have been noticeable from the start, and in ways that only crop up in hindsight, and I can do nothing but apologize for not carrying out my duty in a better manner."
That got Keigo to scoff. "I was a good enough weapon, wasn't I?" He sneered. "Got plenty of use out of me."
"You were a child. And we ruined you, made you into a thing. So blinded by the idea of raising a hero, we never stopped to consider the morality of it."
"Why are you telling me this?" It's not like Keigo wasn't already aware of all that. "What are you trying to do?"
"I'm trying to tell you that it's okay to grieve," Yokumiru's hand twitched, like he wanted to touch Keigo but thought better of it. "Your quirk, your persona, your childhood; We sacrificed all of that on the altair of commercialized heroics when it was never ours to give."
Leaning forwards, Keigo rested his forehead against Yokumiru's shoulder. The pose was familiar; Comforting, still, in that it had nothing to do with his quirk.
Keigo remembered moments like these. When the training was too much, when he needed a reprieve and there was only a sleep-deprieved junior agent way out of his depth to try and grant it to him.
"You're quick to place yourself with them," Keigo said. "When you never had much more power than me. And yet... You were always the one to try and help, in whatever little way."
A hand carded through his hair. It was nothing like preening his wings, but Keigo found himself relaxing anyway.
"Too little," Yokumiru told him. "I should have spirited you away the moment you've been placed in my custody."
"With what authority?" Keigo had no doubts about the power dynamics during his childhood, not at that point. Yokumiru was a pawn just like him until he made himself into something more. Raising higher and higher until he now stood as the President.
Keigo... Never stopped being a piece on someone else's board.
He burrowed deeper into Yokumiru's loose embrace, trying and failing to mask his crying.
"It's okay to grieve," Yokumiru repeated. "You've lost so much. No one has any right to ask anything more of you. No one will. I promise you, Keigo: no one will infringe on your freedom any more."
The dam bursted then, Keigo heaving sobs that had been building up for entire decades.
Tomorrow, he'd have to put on a brave face and deal with the world.
But that would be tomorrow. Today, he let himself be held by someone who understood exactly how much he had sacrificed - not just in the war, but over the years.
Today, Keigo was allowed to be nothing more than himself.
