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It starts with a tickle in his throat, unthreatening, almost unnoticeable, there’s too much else going on for Enji to bother wondering why it’s there. He glances over at the crimson wings to his right, sighing in relief that they’re still intact on the lithe frame of the young man beside him. They’ve cleared the last of the Nomu from the area, fire and smoke and red daggered feathers litter the ground around them. The fight had been close at the end. He muffles a cough into his fist and Hawks quirks his head at the sound, wide eyes blinking in surprise, eyes that catch on Enji’s face and burrow into him. The smoke has never bothered Enji before.
“Hey big guy. You okay?” Enji grunts and turns away, ignoring the question as it stings his ears, he leaves Hawk’s side and heads over to speak with the police gathered at the sidelines of the incident. The cough stays with him, and maybe it’s just that he’s been overworked recently, maybe he’s getting older and all the night patrols are catching up with his respiratory system. That night he puts honey in his tea and the tickle goes away, but his chest feels oddly heavy.
“I brought lunch!” Hawks kicks open the unlocked window and plops into Enji’s office, like Peter Pan’s fucking shadow, a plastic sack on his arm from the combini, filled with four bento boxes and two large teas. They both have big appetites. Enji’s metabolism is through the roof from the heat of his quirk and Hawks is the same, constantly needing fuel to sustain him, preferably protein rich.
He passes Enji the pork bento with a knowing smile as he ravages his fried chicken and rice. Enji appreciates the gesture, even though he won’t say it. At this point it would just be awkward, to finally say how grateful he was for all of Hawks’ little visits. Telling the young hero that he actually enjoyed his company would be unsettling for the both of them. He’d put a lot of work into masking his affections with gruffness and annoyance.
Instead Enji finishes his meal, in mostly companionable silence with Hawks chattering as he usually does filling up the pauses between bites with small talk and stories that Enji tries not to react to. He’s used to acting detached, letting Hawks’ perpetual chatter wash over him like waves on the beach. Another cough breaks the mood and leaves Enji scrambling for his tea.
“Woah Endeavor, remember to chew between bites.” Hawks reaches across the table to pat him on the back as he doubles over his desk, white paper napkin pressed against his lips while he tries to catch his breath. Enji composes himself with a deep shaking inhale and clears his throat like nothing happened. The coughing doesn’t feel like a tickle anymore, it feels like there’s something in there. Something trying to claw its way out.
That night as he’s brushing his teeth Enji spits into the sink and notices something yellow. It’s mashed in with the white suds of toothpaste, but it’s unmistakably a petal. Enji doesn’t know how it got there, or where it came from. His first thoughts run to the tea he drank, but everything comes in bags nowadays. He washes it down the drain and tries not to let it worry him.
He sees a petal every evening for the next week.
“Endeavor?” Hawks’ golden eyes are peaking up at him, masked only by the yellow tint of his visor. Endeavor tries not to get lost in them. “Are you getting sick? I’ve never heard you cough like that before.”
The furrow between Hawk’s unruly brows is comforting, his concern is genuine, and Endeavor wonders what he ever did for this young man to make him deserve that much consideration.
“Have you been to the doctor? This has been going on a while now.” Hawks continues uninhibited. He wouldn’t speak this way to Endeavor in public, but in the shadow of his hero agency office anything is fair game. Hawks is concerned and maybe that should concern Endeavor, because it must be worth worrying about if it has broken this perpetually optimistic Hero’s spirit.
“I’m fine Hawks. I won’t die of a cold.” Enji can tell by the way Hawks frowns and bites his lip that he doesn’t believe him. He knows this isn’t an ordinary cold, and he knows -Enji’s not sure how he does- but he knows that Enji’s hiding something from him.
Endeavor begins to keep a handkerchief in the pocket of his hero uniform. Well, first he has a pocket added, and then he gets the handkerchief. The petals are showing up more often, sometimes in the form of half formed flowers, still just as brilliant yellow, so Enji begins to cough them up into his hand and burn them, wiping away the spittle with the red handkerchief and continuing with his hero duties. It’s not easy anymore though. The weight that was wearing on his chest is now like a boulder instead of a small stone, it pulls him down forcefully, every movement becomes a struggle. His limbs feel weak, his pulse races with the slightest of movements, he feels faint after a few minutes of brisk walking, and he quickly realizes it will be impossible to continue with hero work for much longer. So he puts in the first vacation request of his career, two weeks. He thinks that two weeks should be enough.
Enji is not an idiot. He’s all too familiar with what’s happening to him. He knows he could call any hospital about it and have it taken care of in a matter of hours, but he doesn’t call. He’s not expecting it to go away on it’s own and he knows he still has some time left before it’s too late. It’s embarrassing how difficult it is for Enji to reconcile the consequences of the surgery, the loss of this thing that he never even planned to acknowledge. It seems unfair that this should happen to him, so late in life and so uncharacteristic of the number one hero.
He thinks of his children, how most of them despise his presence, how almost half of the public does too, especially after what happened with All-Might. He thinks of the future generation of heroes, so capable, so full of hope. He doesn’t doubt that there are better men and women ready to take his place if he passes, and he entertains the idea of dying quietly in his home, being remembered by only a handful of people.
It’s not that bad of an idea to entertain and for a moment Enji is selfish, and he relishes the idea of martyrdom for his love. Afterall, it’s the only true love he’s ever known. The only emotion to capture him with more tenacity than his anger.
He leans over the side of his bed, wracked with a fit of coughing so violent he can barely draw a breath, he feels like he’s being suffocated from the inside out, asphyxiating on foliage. He pulls back, face red, mouth open gasping to the ceiling, vision swimming purple and black before him. He’s too tired to stand so he falls back to the pillow, yellow flowers ground into the white bed sheets beneath him, their pigmented petals mashing and staining the cotton.
Enji never thought of himself as a romantic. It’s ironic. He spent the better part of his life refusing to acknowledge his heart even existed, and now to have something like this overcome him, defeat him, wear him down, it was God’s poor sense of humor.
Fuyumi isn’t at home this week. No one is, and between shuffling trips to the bathroom to refill his water glass and the slow trudge he makes back to the mattress he begins to lose track of the days. He knows he’s getting thinner. It doesn’t take long when a man of his size skips meals, his muscles scream with fatigue and starvation, veins beginning to bulge under his skin, his body in desperation to cling to the last remnants of life.
Maybe that’s why he’s decided to stop eating. It’s not like he can swallow anything without coughing anyway. He can barely tolerate sipping on water. By this time his bedroom looks like a honeymoon sweet, flower petals scattered over the mattress, trailing onto the floor, some of them drying and turning a darker golden brown, others still new and fresh. He has the shape of the small things memorized, but he hasn’t bothered to try to figure out what type of flower it is. What would it matter at this point anyway? He knows exactly why they’re blooming, exactly who they’re blooming for. Enji guesses he should be happy that they’re a small variety and not some godforsaken sunflower or gerber daisy that would split his esophagus in two with one mighty heave. No these tempestuous things are delicate, small but sturdy, beautiful and bright and full of life. They’re viciously resilient, the type of plant that would grow on the face of a mountain, or pop straight from the snow in early spring and announce that summer was on its way.
Enji can only smile at them now, lips cracked and lungs wheezing. He stopped burning them long ago.
The fever makes it hard for him to see. He doesn’t know what time it is day or night, but he hears something crash from the livingroom and it wakes him, only enough for him to turn his head toward his bedroom door, waiting quietly to see what thing will come barrelling through at him after all that racket. He’s not at all surprised when he sees gold and red.
“You’re an idiot!” Hawks seethes, glancing around the room that now resembles a florist’s refrigerator. Enji gazes up at him from the bed, eyes drinking him in, the way he flits around the room, wings trembling with emotion, rage or fear or worry, anger probably from the way Hawks’ jaw is clenched. “Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
Enji opens his mouth to tell Hawks to leave, but his lungs betray him and all that leaves his mouth are more petals. Hawks’ eyes widen, his wings expand, knocking everything off Enji’s dresser and scattering the flowers around the room in a small hurricane as he flies to Enji’s side and grabs the water glass to press it to Enji’s lips with shaking hands. It takes a minute but the fit subsides and Enji reclines against the pillows. Hawks pulls his phone from his pocket.
“You’re not staying here Enji, I’m calling an ambulance. This is ridiculous.”
Enji grabs his hand and the phone, and shakes his head slowly. Hawks is stunned at how weak his grasp is now, how a hand that large can be so soft against his.
“You can’t die Enji. You’re the number one hero!” Hawks pleads like it’s some sort of revelation, like Enji doesn’t already know those things about himself. He watches Hawks’ mouth turn from a thin angry line into a quivering pout. His fingers reach into Enji’s hair, brushing through his short locks in a frantic attempt at comfort. If Enji felt he was strong enough he would try to catch his hand and kiss it.
Hawks’ golden eyes are starting to fill with tears, clear as glass, thick lashes blinking rapidly.
“If you’re not going to have the surgery then at least tell me who it is! I’ll drag their ass in here for you and make them love you.” He growls and Enji doesn’t think he’s ever heard Hawks this desperate, the young hero is always so cocky, confident, chiding.
“It doesn’t work that way Hawks,” Enji’s voice is barely more than a whisper, “you don’t force people into loving you.”
“So you’re just going to let yourself die without telling them?!” Hawks is livid, his fingers clutch Enji’s hair stiffly, like if he holds tight enough death will never be able to take him.
“I’m sure that they’d never want me. So yes, I don’t intend on burdening them with this.” Hawks looks away at his words, chin tucked against his shoulder as his body shutters, wings trembling and arching over the both of them, like another layer of protection, but there’s nothing that Hawks can do to fight against this enemy, this invisible hand that is tearing Enji away from him. When he turns back Enji notices the tears streaking down his face.
“But how can you be sure Enji?”
Enji wants to comfort him, he longs to have the strength to bundle Hawks safely in his arms, to hold him and reassure him. He’d hoped that Hawks wouldn’t be around when his end came, although he cannot deny that it is a comfort to have him near, to be touched by him as he feels his life draining out of his body. Even his vision is fading now, heaviness seeping into his frame, much thicker and more oppressive than before. His breaths are short and shallow, he’s barely taking any air into his lungs and they wheeze as he exhales in slow breaths. He’s dying and Hawks is crying freely now.
“Don’t- Don’t go Enji.” Hawks digs another hand into the middle of his shirt, attempting with all his strength to yank Enji up from the bed, as if him sitting up would change anything. But Enji is too heavy and Hawks loses the battle, falling into his chest with a weary sob.
“Don’t go-” Hawks’ voice is muffled into Enji’s chest. He sniffles and turns to yell at Enji’s heart, commanding it to listen to him. “I love you Enji, doesn’t that count for anything?!” Hawks screams, and the scream turns into a sob, as he scratches uselessly at Enji’s body beneath him.
As his words reach Enji’s ears and understanding begins to take hold, something very warm and comforting begins to radiate out from beneath Enji’s ribs. It feels like pure light, sunshine, a golden warmth that spreads through his being. Enji takes a quick inhale at the revelation and notices his lungs feel deliciously full of air. His chest inflates and lifts, causing Hawks to stir above him. He finds his strength coming back to him miraculously. He blinks open his eyes and reaches a hand up to cradle Hawks’ face, his palm wet with tears.
Hawks shivers at the contact and grabs Enji’s wrist to hold his hand. He must think Enji’s dying, because he hasn’t stopped sobbing. Enji swipes underneath his eye with his thumb, rubbing away the black line of make-up with a soft grin on his lips. He waits and watches as the bird preens with the attention and then quickly furrows his brow in realization, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open in shock.
Enji laughs and it doesn’t hurt. It echoes through the room like dawn breaking through the night and then Hawks is kissing him, frantically and clumsily with no regard for Enji’s poor broken lips. The taste is stale and there’s still blood in Enji’s mouth but Hawks couldn’t care less. His arms are thrown around Enji’s neck and he’s burying himself into the older hero, wings flapping and vibrating with excitement. Enji just tries to keep pace, but that’s always been difficult to do with Hawks, the bird is two steps ahead of him at every turn.
Hawks has straddled him by now, clumsily sitting on Enji’s lap, knees barely sinking into the bed on either side. His wings explode, red feathers flying and falling in all directions so that he can shimmy his jacket off while still connected to Endeavor by the lips. He has to actually sit back to pull off his shirt.
“I am so angry at you.” He grits out, as Enji struggles to catch his breath, this time for an entirely different reason. Hawks is above him, chest bare, hair a mess and face red with anger and passion. He looks like an avenging angel, feathers redirected to his back so that his wings expand behind him in two giant swaths of red fury.
“I’m sorry.” Enji replies, and it’s so genuine Hawks looks like someone has just slapped him. He stumbles forward and plunges both hands into Enji’s hair before kissing him again, deeply with tenderness Enji didn’t know Hawks was capable of. Struggling, because it’s been over a week since Enji has had a decent meal and his muscles scream with every movement, he grabs Hawks by the hips and holds him. It’s like trying to hold water in the palm of his hand. Hawks writhes and pulls and pushes against Enji’s touch like a cat that wants attention, but then it doesn’t. Eventually Enji’s tired of being the one acted upon and he uses what’s left of his strength to flip their positions, pinning Hawks and his giant wings beneath him.
“We need to talk about this-” Enji begins, and his voice is steadier than he expected it to be when the words leave his mouth.
"Yeah we do.” Hawks agrees quickly, and Enji can only take that as a bad sign. “So, why did you LIE to me for weeks !?” Hawks pushes up on his elbows and Enji backs up at the venom still rooted in Hawk’s voice. “I could tell something was wrong, I’m not stupid.”
“What was I supposed to say Hawks?” Hawks scoffs practically rolling his eyes, and it reminds Enji of Touya in an unsettling way that he doesn’t want to dwell on.
“How about I’m sick? Or-or- or I need your help, or-” and Hawks is stumbling over the words because he knows just as well as Enji does that the older hero could never bring himself to say any of those things to Hawks. That’s precisely the reason why Hawks had to break through a living room window after a week of radio silence to save Enji from himself, because the man would rather suffocate to death holed up in his room than confront his feelings.
“I’m sorry Hawks.” Enji is repeating himself, but it’s all he knows to say. “I couldn’t bear the thought of guilting you with this.” He adds in the smallest of whispers.
Hawks' golden eyes widen in sudden understanding, as he reaches out to cup Enji's scarred cheek.
"You really had no idea?" He sounds incredulous. "How could you not know? I thought I'd made it obvious."
It's too much for the older hero, the way Hawks' eyes light up in wonder. Even after everything the young hero has been through, he can still pull off a genuine smile, pretend that the last several years of his life haven't been filled with work and risk and bloodshed. Enji's too far gone to muster that expression anymore.
He buries his face in Hawks' shoulder so he doesn't have to meet his gaze, it's like staring into the sun in the heat of summer, blistering and beautiful and so bright it burns him inside and out.
“I thought I was projecting my desires onto you. It was one thing to know that you admired me, but another to leap to that conclusion.” Hawks snorts into Enji’s hair and begins to wiggle beneath him rocking their hips together awkwardly.
“Does this feel like you’re leaping to conclusions?” He asks lasciviously and Enji is again starkly reminded of how young Hawks is and how different their libidos are, not that Enji is old enough to have problems in that area, he’s just, unaccustomed to this much sudden attention.
“Hawks-” Enji warns, pulling back up from his shoulder and sending him what he hopes is a stern glare. It’s obvious from the way Hawk’s face splits into a sparkling grin, that Enji’s look is far from stern and perhaps much closer to fond in expression. Hawks genuinely giggles and Enji’s face flushes at the sound.
“Enji-” he replies mockingly and Enji could get used to that, to hearing Hawks call him by his first name with love on his lips, no more big guy or Endeavor or number two.
Hawks wraps his arms around Enji’s neck and gently pulls him down until he’s resting with his head under Hawk’s chin, laying half off half on his small body.
"You’re not going to crush me, relax.” Hawks instructs as he begins to thread his hands again through the back of Enji’s hair, thin strong fingers scratching down his neck on occasion.
Enji melts faster than ice in July and realizes how exhausted he is from all of this, physically and emotionally. He feels completely rung out. There is a long list of duties Enji knows he needs to finish now that he will not be dying in his bed alone. He needs to shower, shave, eat, call the agency, clean the bedroom and change these sheets and- Hawks’ tricky fingers find their way behind his ear and start gently pulling on the lobe. He lets out a noise he’s never heard himself make before and blinks like a startled cat. Hawks chuckles again, softly and continues his ministrations as Enji’s eyes fall shut.
When Enji wakes up hours later Hawks is still there, right where he belongs.