Chapter Text
Hawks has to stop and stare, when he first arrives at Ashphodel Prison.
With less than 50 inmates, it opened right after the Second War with a focus on rehabilitation and mental health care. The cells didn’t even look like cells, but fully furnished rooms filled with sunlight and wide windows, giving inmates a beautiful view of the garden. According to Hawks’ research, because of course he did, each room has a flat-screen television, desk, mini-fridge, toilet with shower and other hobby-related objects the inmate might request. Families were allowed to visit everyday in private family rooms that stimulate a large cozy house with a TV and kitchen. They employ psychiatrists and doctors to take care of the rehabilitation of its inmates, and they’re required to have these sessions weekly or daily, depending on the need. A lot of their schedules are modeled after psychiatric hospitals with recovering patients. Inmates are encouraged to go on walks, to take up hobbies provided for them by the staff–usually art, literature, sports, music or a specific craft. There are classes for fitness, yoga, as well as a small in-house gym. Of course, inmates have their schedules designed carefully and monitored closely.
The place is bright and cozy, the complete opposite of Tartarus, and almost idyllic. The garden is big and beautiful, perfect for rehabilitation. Hawks knew that Endeavor was involved in constructing the center, to ensure his eldest son’s comfort and recovery, using most of his money and whatever was left of his influence.
What is this Dabi like, this Dabi who lives in a place so beautiful, so perfectly designed for his recovery?
There was a private place too for meetings. Not the family room, but a small space with a table and comfortable chairs. Hawks sat down, waiting for Dabi. He was dressed in one of his favorite hoodies, and then some loose pants. He thought hard about whether he should wear his hero costume or not, but Dabi probably wouldn’t like that. So here he is, in his most comfortable getup.
When Dabi arrived, Hawks noted that Dabi was not wearing cuffs. According to Hawks’ research, his quirk suppressors were injected into him. But still. No handcuffs at all when meeting with guests?
For a moment, they stare at each other, before Dabi sits down. His face, with his healing skin grafts, make his previously purple scars look like real skin, but pinker, like fresh sunburns. To be honest, it doesn’t look like he changed much. Just a color palette switch. Hawks zeroes in on Dabi’s eyelashes. There it was. He did not have those before, did he? But now they’re long and thick. His lower lashes peeked out, spindly and spaced out perfectly. It looked like it was a dark shade of red, and Hawks resists the urge to move closer to see better. Just to confirm.
Dabi’s gaze was the same, if even more intense, the blue popping out even more. Hawks schools his body to act relaxed, carefree. He does that everyday, why was it suddenly so hard to pretend?
“Heyo,” Hawks tries his best to grin. The last time they saw each other, Dabi had burned off his wings. How much has he changed?
Instantly, Dabi rolls his eyes. “Stop that. God, I’m already annoyed.”
Not much then.
Hawks tries his best to remain chipper. “Come on, Dabi, it’s not even a minute.”
Dabi sighs deeply, “Yeah.”
He sits back to his chair comfortably, with the same relaxed posture from before, a bored look to his lidded eyes.
Hawks takes the time to catalog Dabi’s changes. Even through the loose long sleeved shirt, Hawks can tell that Dabi has definitely gained weight. While still slender, he’s less lanky now, filling out nicely. Was it the scheduled gym time? The regular meals? Even with the League, he never liked to eat. Receiving proper medical care for his wounds seemed to have improved his appetite, making him appear broader and sturdier. Toned, even.
Dabi scoffs. “Seriously? Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“Ah, sorry!” Another megawatt smile. “Can’t blame a person for looking, you know.”
“Miss the scars?” Dabi asks, his gravelly voice in his usual teasing inflection.
“You always seemed very proud of them,” Hawks says. “Like it never bothered you, how you looked.”
“Well, the pain did.”
Duh, Hawks. “Oh yeah, of course.”
“The general discomfort,” Dabi continues. “The limited mobility. The upkeep.”
“Yup, I got that.”
“I didn't get the skin grafts to secure a modeling contract.” He rolls his eyes again. “I’m no pro-hero.”
“Jeez, Dabi,” Hawks says, allowing irritation to seep into his voice. “Why would you even want to see me, if you’re this miserable just seeing my face?”
“Who says I’m miserable?” There’s that familiar shit-eating grin. “I’m having fun. Aren’t you having fun?”
Hawks rolls his eyes. “I’m here in a professional capacity, for serious business.”
“Right, right. You wanted to pick apart a villain’s head to somehow improve society. Very noble.”
“Yeah! Let’s get this started then–”
“So why didn’t you just visit your father, Keigo?”
Tense silence. Hawks feels something under his skin itch. Of course Dabi won’t make this easy.
“Don’t call me that.” Hawks says, his voice hardening.
“Why not? That’s your name right?” Dabi asks, his eyes wide in faux innocence. “ Takami Kei-go . It suits you.”
“So!” Hawks continues resolutely, “as a young man driven to villainy by the hero society, what societal changes can you recommend?”
“Hmm. Maybe you should just answer these questions yourself.” Dabi rests his head in his hand, as his lidded eyes stares into Hawks’. “Aren’t you a murderer too?”
“Dabi.” Hawks can feel a part of him start to slip away. This is bad.
“My name is Touya.”
Hawks inhales deeply to center himself. He grabs a hold of that part of him that’s slipping away and pulls it back in. All this happens in a split-second but he looks at Dabi’s eyes, sees his curiosity, and realizes that Dabi noticed it, that brief moment of disconnection. This unhooks something inside Hawks, affecting his balance, but he sets it aside for examination later.
"Let’s try to stay on topic, Touya . You’re a killer too."
“Duh. That’s why I’m in jail.” He smiles. “Why aren't you?”
Silence.
“Besides,” Dabi continues, “I don’t kill friends.”
Hawks sees it again–Twice’s tears, his anguished face, his voice-he can hear it-
He blocks it out, presses it down violently, until it goes back to being a distant scream he can skillfully ignore. But Dabi’s eyes, fuck, those eyes again, bright blue framed by think lashes, are looking at him, searching for something, and Hawks feels himself unravel.
“Your wings are back.” Dabi points out, relaxed as ever.
“Very astute observation.”
“Don’t be a dickhead.”
“That’s you, hot stuff.”
“Right. Never call me that ever again.”
Hawks bats his eyelashes. “Why, it does something for ya?”
“Ugh, don’t do that.” Dabi’s face actually contorts with disgust, Hawks almost wants to laugh.
“Do what?”
“That whole cocky airhead bit you do,” says Dabi, slinking back into his seat, posture still terrible. “Just drop it. I hate that fake shit.”
“It’s not fake-”
“Yeah, right. You don’t have to be your shiny pro hero self with me. I literally saw you kill someone.”
Hawks feels cold at the reminder. “Right. Sorry about that.” He says, voice still cheery.
“No, you’re not,” Dabi says, with a chortle.
“... No, I’m not.”
Hawks feels like floating. What the hell is wrong with him? He's talked to plenty of villains before and has never felt as unbalanced as this.
Dabi laughs–a full laugh this time. “There you go. Wasn’t so hard, was it? Just saying what you think.” His blue eyes sink into Hawks. “So you don’t regret it then? Killing Twice?”
“I had to do it,” says Hawks. Something underneath his skin itches. The distant screaming in his skull grows louder. He's never talked about Twice to anybody before, not since that press conference.
Dabi shrugs. “Then I had to try and kill you.”
“Hmm, thought you were apologizing for that.”
“I was apologizing for not finishing the job,” Dabi clarifies. “I wanted to kill you, not mutilate you.”
Hawks couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He forgot how refreshing Dabi’s crude honesty could be. Funny, even, despite the dark subject matter.
“I didn’t know you cared about him,” Hawks replies, in a small voice.
This time, there’s no trace of playfulness on Dabi’s face as he lets the silence hang in the air. He looks down, his voice almost a whisper.
“I didn’t know then either.”
The silence stretches on, almost exactly like the silence of his penthouse and something in Hawks aches. For what? He doesn’t understand. He wants to babble, to scream, anything to fill the silence.
“I tried my best to save him, you know,” Hawks adds, softly. “I never wanted anyone to die. Twice was a good man.”
Dabi scoffs at that.
“I guess that’s the difference between you and me, Keigo. I only kill people I want to kill,” he says, the softness in his voice disappearing. “You didn’t even want to kill Twice but you did. Why? Because you’re just a pet. A pathetic slave.”
Hawks schools his feathers to remain soft and unsharpened, but it’s difficult. So difficult when Dabi is in front of him, picking at his wounds with glee. Hawks feels irritation bubble up inside him, Dabi always talks too much.
“And they said you were rehabilitated,” Hawks deadpans.
“Oh, I am.” Dabi laughs, “If I wasn’t, I’d have spat on your face the moment you walked in. I’d have pulled out the quirk supressors they injected in my fucking arm and set this whole place on fire. But luckily for you, hero, I’m being very well-behaved right now.”
Hawks has to take control of the conversation now and keep things professional. Usually he can do this with ease, but he feels out of his element here, his neck feels hot with… anger? Frustration? He clasps his hands together to ground himself. Focus on the mission, Hawks.
“Let’s move on, Touya,” He sighs, willing himself to cool down. “It’s been a year. I will not let you sit here and moralize about the things I had to do to keep people safe.”
“Like killing a friend.”
“Like disposing of an apocalyptic level threat.”
“ Disposing ?” Touya’s face contorts in disbelief. “I guess that helps you then? Talking about Twice like he wasn’t human?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hawks quickly tries to explain. It’s what the files say!
“Fuck you,” Dabi actually laughs, a bit breathlessly. “Fuck you. Brainwashed commision brat. Have you ever had an original thought in all your life? Do you even feel things?”
I can’t , Hawks thinks. I can’t or I’ll break . “That’s not fair,” He says instead, trying to keep his voice calm. “ You’re the one who killed people because you had a tantrum. Because you wanted attention.”
At that, he sees Dabi seethe, breathing heavily, his chest moving up and down. Hawks never had the inclination for anger and vengeance, but he feels an unheroic rush of satisfaction at seeing Dabi’s mask break a little bit.
Slowly, Dabi manages to spit out, “You don’t know anything about me, Takami Keigo.”
“Yes I do,” Hawks insists. “I was you. My parents hurt me too. They didn’t love me the way parents should. But I moved past that. Why couldn’t you? Why did you have to make it everyone’s problem?”
Hawks thinks of all the times he had to detach and compartmentalize until he could no longer feel hunger–any kind of it. Hawks had always been good at that, even before the Hero Commission found him. He never fixated on his problems, he never threw tantrums, he never complained. He gladly took everything and hoped for the best. He had to take everything, because he was good , he was useful, and he couldn’t understand how Dabi can experience the same things and act so differently. Why should Dabi get to do all those things that Hawks was never allowed to do?
Sometimes he thinks of Dabi’s rage and feels a sick revulsion–he will never be like that. He won’t ever act like a villain. Like his father. He will never let himself go back to the shadows where he came from. He’s better than that. He has to be. He has to be, or else–
Hawks’ chest tightens. It hurts. Calm down, Hawks . He’s not sure whose voice he hears–his or one of his many handlers.
Hawks feels like a child, letting his frustration get the best of him. Something about Dabi’s presence sets him off and he breathes harshly, unused to the feeling of anger.
The last person who pissed him off this much was…. well, Dabi.
“You want me to be like you then? That’s rich,” Dabi scoffs. “You just want me to obey and never question anything at all. Just let myself be used, be their perfect little thing. I let you see how the hero society caused people pain and suffering and you didn’t give a shit.”
Hawks’s heart pounds harshly, his chest hurting with the force of it. “I came from pain and suffering–”
“Fuckin’ spare me, prodigy with the perfect quirk. I know you’re just going to parrot everything your handlers say.”
“You’re selfish, Dabi. You’re irresponsible. You hurt your family,” The ground underneath Hawks is slipping but he couldn’t stop, the words tumble out of him in a rush. “You’d rather blame the whole world than grow up and do something useful, like most people. You’ve got a bad father! So what? I had one and I’m perfectly fine.” He hears voices again, his mother yelling, what are your wings even for? His dad telling him to be useful or be quiet. Not right now , he thinks. He shuts them all out. The lights in the room start hurting his eyes, his hoodie feels too hot, too tight. What’s happening to him?
Touya actually gapes at him for a second before he laughs heartily.
“That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day.”
He continues to laugh as Hawks glares at him. God, what an asshole. And it was a full belly laugh too.
“Okay, you wanna talk about fathers?” Dabi grins gleefully. “Let’s talk about fathers. I know about your dad. I know he beat you, neglected you. Don’t you wanna spit in his face? Don’t you wanna cuss him out?”
Hawks feels so cold. His fists clench. “I’m not like you. And my father is nothing like yours.”
“Here we go. I know what you’re going to say. He’s not that bad, I’ve had worse, you need to give him a chance, he’s changing! He saved a lot of people, blah blah blah.” Dabi laughs bitterly. “You think I haven’t heard that? You think I didn’t know that that’s exactly what was going through your head when I told you? You never cared about me or my family. All you could do was hope desperately that it wasn’t true, that I’m crazy, that it’s probably not that bad. Because how you felt about your hero mattered more than what he did to me. To my family. And that’s just how it is. Nobody fucking cares.”
That’s not true , Hawks thinks desperately. He wants to scream. There’s a fiery burning in his throat that’s unfamiliar. He thinks– tears? Impossible. He hasn’t cried in years.
“People are always falling apart trying to make excuses for him. I could see it in your eyes the moment I said it. I could always see,” Dabi’s voice breaks. “You used me. You used Twice. All you heroes are the same. You always use people and then you throw them away.”
Hawks shakes his head, desperately. No, no, no. That’s not –He wills himself to shut down and fly away, to become the clinical voyeur instead of this Hawks who feels. He could do it so easily, with a blink of an eye, an instinct refined over the years. Why can’t he do it now?
“That’s not fair. You used me too,” Hawks almost whispers. Why do you do this to me?
It’s like Dabi’s gaze is enough to pin him down and force him to feel. He’s having a nightmare, that must be it. Only a nightmare could make him feel this much.
He looks straight at Dabi’s eyes, and he’s stricken by the emotion he sees. The hurt, the surrender. With a jolt, Hawks realizes that he’s not the only one unraveling.
Why do we do this to each other?
Finally, Dabi shakes his head, resigned.
“I thought I could make you understand. You, of all people, should understand.” He looks into Hawks’ eyes and Hawks feels the floor disappear. “They used you too.”
Stop. Stop! Hawks wants to shut his eyes. You’re better than this. Fly away. Lonely years locked up in the Hero Commissions' building, with only a toy for company. I’m trying my best. His first murder, when he was a teen. And it’s still not enough! His last murder. Twice. And then the scorching heat on his back. You’ve done this so many times before. Fly away now!
“Birdy,” Dabi calls to him, his voice the softest Hawks has ever heard.
“What?” Hawks feels dizzy. He can hear Twice’s voice lodged inside his ears, it shrieks, he wants to tear them off–
“You’re shaking.”
The lights in the room blind him and blur and Hawks’ finally notices his heart pounding, his toes and fingers vibrating. His loose hoodie suddenly feels too much, his skin feels too tight. He’s sweating. He hears his father’s footsteps. His mother, begging–he looks around the room. Where’s the door? His feathers harden, but he doesn’t notice. He feels so cold and hot at the same time. He tries to focus on the door, but the room is spinning, the air has been sucked out. He’s dying, oh god, he’s dying–
It’s a panic attack, he realizes. He’s having a fucking panic attack. Right in front of Dabi.
Hawks can recognize the signs now, he’s a hero, he’s seen it in civilians often. Usually he can detach himself and fly away, observe the things that happen to him clinically, as if outside his body. This is how he gets things done. This is how he can remain Hawks, the hero. The weapon. There is a part of him, the clean knife, the trained fist, that slashes and wrestles away the ugly and violent part of him that feels. He does it so often, he doesn’t even notice. But now he’s lightheaded, he can’t breathe, he’s falling apart. This is what happens, this is what happens when he allows himself to feel, the Commission was right–and Dabi looks at him with–with what? What is that look? Concern? Amusement? Where is the fucking door? He needs to get out, he needs air, he needs to see the sky, he needs–
Suddenly he feels something warm rub his palms, an almost massage. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Focus on your hand.”
So Hawks does. He focuses on the repetitive circular motion of the warm thumb, on his palm, the rest of the fingers holding the back of his hand for support. It presses firmly, the heat of it washing Hawks over. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how. Why doesn’t he know how?
It hurts to breathe.
“Are you focusing on my hand?”
“Yes.” Hawks stares into Dabi’s eyes, the blue grounding him along with Dabi’s hands. He inhales for ten seconds. Every second is painful and infuriatingly slow.
“How does it feel?”
“Warm.” He doesn’t notice his body drooping, leaning closer to Dabi. He exhales, his body shaking with the effort.
“Okay,” Dabi still looks bored. “Breathing slowly?”
“I know what to do,” Hawks says irritably. He doesn't say that it hurts as he keeps counting and inhaling.
Dabi actually chuckles, the asshole. “Good. Tell me your name?”
“Takami Keigo.” Exhale .
“What’s your favorite food?"
Another slow inhale. “Yakitori.”
“Hmm. Favorite color?”
Hawks can’t help but move his body closer, like Dabi’s eyes have their own magnetic field.
“It’s red.” He says with wonder, as he exhales.
“Like your wings? Typical.”
“No, no I mean your eyelashes. I can see clearly now. They’re red.” Inhale .
Dabi pauses for a moment, looking amused. “Okay, what else do you see?”
“Your hair is white. Your shirt is gray,” Hawks recites, lost in it. “And your eyes are blue." Another slow exhale and this one melts Hawks and loosens his lungs. " That’s my favorite color.”
Dabi stares at him for a moment as Hawks gets used to breathing.
“It’s cyan," Dabi finally says.
“What?”
“Cyan. The color of my eyes.”
“Hmm, pretty sure it’s turquoise.”
Dabi tuts. “Are you seriously arguing with me about the color of my eyes? It’s cyan, birdbrain. Debate settled.”
“Who told you that?” Hawks scoffs, amused.
“An old lover.”
Hawks huffs at Dabi’s cat-like smile. “You’re so irritating.”
At that, Dabi laughs, the sound of it full and warm, it washes over Hawks like a wave and brings his body back to him.
They breathe together in silence for a few minutes and Hawks closes his eyes, still thinking of blue, until he feels settled enough to open them again. “It’s your fault.”
“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, birdy.” Dabi’s hands still feel warm.
“I don’t have panic attacks, Dabi. Ever. You did this.”
His breathing is in sync with Dabi’s now, his hands no longer shaking so violently.
“Do you need me to leave you alone?” Dabi is infuriatingly calm, never losing his relaxed posture. Hawks recognizes how much this helps him. He knows with his hero training that the best way to help someone through a panic attack is to be as calm and unbothered as you can be. But he hates feeling grateful to the person who triggered his panic attack in the first place. So he shakes his head and grips Dabi’s hand tighter. “Fuck you.”
Dabi laughs again. “That’s the spirit. Feeling better?”
Hawks nods and continues breathing slowly until it doesn't hurt anymore.
“Hey, I’ll go get you some water,” Dabi says. “We should do this over food next time.”
Next time? Unbelievable. While Hawks was having one of the worst experiences in his life, Dabi was thinking about food, expecting Hawks to just go along with it. The audacity.
As Dabi leaves for a minute, Hawks scans his body to inspect if everything’s back to normal. His heart rate has slowed down, his breathing no longer hurts. His fingers have stopped shaking, though he misses the warmth of Dabi’s hands. The lights are no longer too bright. His head is no longer spinning, his muscles have relaxed. His wings have softened–had they been this sharp the whole time? He didn’t even notice. Fuck, he’s exhausted.
When Dabi comes back with a water bottle, Hawks finally feels shame. "That was humiliating. Sorry."
Dabi rolls his eyes. "Shut up. Don't apologize. I was the one goading you, trying to make you blow up."
"Why did you?” Hawks asks.
"Told you, I hate that fake shit. And you're the fakest of them all."
Rude . Hawks rolls his eyes. "Well, congratulations. You did pretty well at making me blow up… and then at calming me down."
"Duh. My quirk depends on my emotions. I'm an expert at calming myself down."
Hawks snorts. "Didn't seem like it, last time I saw you."
Dabi ignores that. "You should see a therapist about that, by the way," he says instead.
"Great." Hawks wants to rub his temple. "Now I'm taking mental health advice from a criminal. Do you even take your therapist seriously?"
"Trust me, birdbrain," Dabi says in that bored, mocking drawl. "If I didn't, you'd be dead."
So dramatic. "The death threats are really not convincing anyone, Dabs."
“...I think I prefer hot stuff.”
Hawks can’t help but laugh at Dabi’s face, who manages to look bored and disgusted at the same time.
“So, next time, huh?” Hawks feels himself smiling. “You really want to see me again that badly?”
“You’re the one who was begging for my help.”
Begging . Hawks feels an eye twitch. He’s gonna have his hands full with this guy.
Still, Hawks feels a twinge of interest. He can’t deny that there’s a significant change from the Dabi he used to deal with. He can’t quite put his finger on it. He speaks the same, he acts the same. Still rude, smug, and incredibly frustrating, using his perceptiveness to hurt and provoke. But there was also a willingness. A willingness to what? Maybe he was just lonely in prison. He knew Dabi could be chatty in the right circumstances, despite how quiet he seemed at first.
He’s always found Dabi to be contradictory. Back then, he wondered how Dabi could be so intense and serious and then playful and flippant, in the same breath. Now Hawks sees it again. The violence in how he stripped Hawks down and the gentleness in how he put Hawks back together again.
Hawks knew that was Dabi’s thing–exposing the truth, no matter how much it hurts. He had been the target of that before, and now the target is on him again. Hawks had a feeling that Dabi won’t rest until he uncovers the truth. Hawks’ truth. And all his misdirection and charm will never be enough to distract Dabi, to convince him–just like how it never worked before, even though it worked on everyone else.
The difference now is that Dabi is offering his own truth as well, Hawks realizes with a jolt.
He thinks of Dabi admitting that he cared for Twice, that he was hurt when Hawks betrayed them. That, at some point, he saw something in Hawks that made him want to believe in him. That he… that he wanted Hawks to care for his truth, the same way Dabi cared for his.
Dabi slashed his own chest and showed him his heart, and then did the same to Hawks. And now it’s a bloody mess.
This could be very, very dangerous.
In ways Hawks has no defense against. He showed too much, no one else has ever known this much about him before. And it makes him feel ugly. Ashamed. He wants to scream and hide and never see Dabi again. It’s not too late to back out, right? To tell All Might that he’s just not the guy for the job?
He's never been afraid of Dabi before, but now he feels a smidge of fear.
“Don't worry about it." Dabi says, suddenly.
"Worry about what?"
"Having a panic attack. I have them constantly. A lot of people do. You should be more embarrassed about wearing that hoodie."
Hawks squawks, "What's wrong with my hoodie?"
Dabi glares at him for a moment before sighing.
"Look, I decided to meet you because I wanted to know what I’d feel when I see your face,” Dabi changes the topic again as he sees fit. Asshole . “When I hear you try so hard to sell me that peacock act I never bought, not even once. When I hear you make excuses for the people you should hate.”
“And what do you feel?” Hawks asks, exhausted.
“Pity, mostly,” Dabi says, his eyes carefully blank. “Ending up like you is my worst nightmare.”
This time, it's Hawks who laughs bitterly. “I feel the exact same way.”
Dabi stares into Hawks’ eyes, assessing him again. Hawks is really getting sick of that.
“You should go,” Dabi finally says, “The sun is about to set. I’m sure you’ve had enough of my face.”
“I don’t hate you, you know.” Hawks blurts out. He doesn’t know why he said that.
Dabi raises an eyebrow.
“I just can’t stand what you remind me of,” Hawks continues, suddenly shy. “And I… I don’t like who I am when I’m with you.”
The panic attacks, the anger, the fragility, the coldness. He’s felt more emotions today than he ever has his whole life. He can't even recall yelling at anybody before until today. It makes him feel weak, ugly and unbalanced. Like a child.
The shame threatens to overwhelm him.
Dabi narrows his eyes and tilts his head, curious. “Who are you right now then, Prohero Hawks?”
“Not Hawks,” Hawks shakes his head, and looks down, unable to meet Dabi’s eyes. “Just Takami Keigo.”
Dabi nods with understanding.
“And you hate little Keigo.”
Dabi hums nonchalantly like he didn’t knock the breath out of Hawks’. “Bring food next time. Or do you want me to cook? I can’t eat a lot of meat, but I guess I can eat some yakitori.”
There it is again. Dabi breaks him apart and puts him back together at the time it takes for Hawks to remember to breathe. So easily. Just like that.
I can’t do this.
“I’ll bring some yakitori,” Hawks answers weakly.
When he flies back to Fukuoka, Hawks knows for a fact he’s going to fall asleep the moment he sets foot on his penthouse. He was that tired. At least flying was familiar and always relaxing, allowing him to be on autopilot, safely back in his comfort zone. The sun sets and Hawks feels the warmth slowly ooze out of the earth as the sky continues to darken, leaving him cold and bare. Strangely, it reminds him of the heat of Dabi’s hands, when he massaged his palms. And then the sharp chill of the air when Dabi let go.
That had been the first time someone has ever held his hand, Hawks realizes.
The realization warms him back up again, though he can’t explain why.