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Hawks never really gave much thought to the longevity of things. He was a Hero who had been declared “too fast for his own good”. To him, everything moved comparatively slow.
The first time that he and Dabi had kissed, heated after an argument in an abandoned warehouse after midnight, he hadn't given it much thought; it was just a simple shift in balance. There was nothing between them, just built-up sexual tension that had reached its limit and ended with an aggressive kiss, a clash of teeth and tongue, rough hands everywhere.
The second time they had kissed, they’d been bloodied and bruised from a different kind of fight; it had been the highly anticipated battle between the pro Heroes, led by Endeavor after Hawks’s warning, and the Paranormal Liberation Front. Throughout the entire ordeal, Hawks had to somehow play for both sides, fighting against Heroes on both sides, and both men ended up worse for the wear. Hawks hadn’t ever considered there might be a secondkiss, let alone the frantic third, fourth, and fifth kisses that immediately followed. But these held a different weight than the first, all desperate for assurance that they were both there, and while they weren’t unscathed, they would be all right.
Of course, he didn’t see it all for what it really was until it was much too late.
Hawks hadn’t grown up with the same opportunities as other children his age; he had always been convinced by the Hero Public Safety Commission that he’d been given more—that he was special. But of course that meant he’d never had the chance for crushes on classmates, for quick secret make-outs between classes or for sneaking into bedroom windows when parents were asleep.
Hawks had never experienced the feeling of falling too hard, too fast.
When he first met Dabi, he hadn’t been afraid of falling. After all, he had his wings to catch him, always reliable. But he’d heard the story of Icarus and as Dabi’s hands were fisted in the lapels of Hawks's Hero jacket, forehead resting against his own, their hot breath intermingling, Hawks realized that Dabi was the sun, and he’d flown too close. As Hawks gently pushed hair out of Dabi’s face, leaning in slowly for another kiss, pressing Dabi back against the brick wall in the alley where they hid, secretly tucked away, he learned what it felt like to fall.
But even then, Hawks didn’t allow himself to think about how long it might last.
Hawks was never one to think of the future. Sure, he had his dreams of what Hero society would eventually be like, but since a young age, his future had been planned out and he had been left following a predetermined path. He did was asked of him—what was expected of him.
And then suddenly, he had this monumental secret. Joining the League of Villains had been kept strictly secret, of course, but was still part of the plans laid out for him by the Commission. This secret didn’t have the same looming pressure, the same burden of expectation. There were no demanding requirements for a completed mission, the weight of which he was slowly starting to suffocate under.
“We shouldn’t do this.”
Hawks swallowed, not meeting Dabi’s eyes. He still had the man pressed against the wall, and Dabi’s hands were still clutching his jacket. He knew everything about it was wrong.
He couldn’t figure out why it was one of the first times in his life that things just felt right.
“You’re right.”
The response made Hawks’s heart plummet.
Then, Dabi lifted a hand, gently grasping Hawks’s chin and forcing his gaze back on him. He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to Hawks’s lips that was so impossibly sweet. Hawks let his eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation, how it seemed to warm his very soul.
“There’s a lot of things people shouldn’t do, little bird,” Dabi murmured, a soft admission only for the Hero. “But they do them anyway.” His thumb brushed along Hawks’s jaw, his other hand sliding down to the man’s hip. “I want this—want you anyway.” Hawks opened his eyes again, gazing at Dabi with uncertainty. “The question is if this is what you want.”
This secret was breaking the surface of rough waters. This secret was the burning feeling of air in Hawks’s lungs after being so sure he was drowning. This secret was the reminder of what it felt like to be alive after coming so close to death.
“I want you,” Hawks said, just a breath of a whisper, a secret he was almost too afraid to admit to himself, let alone the other man.
Dabi grinned. “Then you have me,” he said simply. “‘Shoulds’ and ‘shouldn’ts’ be damned.”
And just like that, the secret became so much more. It was suddenly a collection of stolen moments—knowing glances when no one else was looking, kisses in dark alleys and abandoned warehouses, and midnight rendezvous in Hawks’s own apartment, Dabi climbing the fire escape and slipping in through the window.
There was a thrill to it, hiding away and making sure no one else knew just what was transpiring behind closed doors. Excitement swelled in Hawks’s chest when a few of his sidekicks had commented on his recent uplifted mood and enigmatic smiles; Rumi even went so far as to suggest he had some mystery date he’d been hiding away. He stayed tight-lipped, even when she’d accurately pinpointed the cause, and it somehow made the whole affair even morethrilling.
They stayed away from prying eyes, no one else bearing witness to what they knew would be a betrayal to both sides.
Because Dabi had told him he’d known the truth from the start. He knew Hawks was a double agent, and yet he still had no intention of turning him in to Shigaraki. He’d told him as much after the fight, after the failed attempt by the Paranormal Liberation Front (though, calling it a victory for the Heroes was also far from accurate), after the frantic, desperate kisses that night. He’d admitted that he was well aware of the fact that Hawks had tipped off the Heroes somehow, and he was almost impressed—everyone watched Hawks’s every move, and yet he’d still managed to slip under their radar.
It had started out as a flippant attitude on Dabi’s part, simply not caring due to his own lack of loyalty to the League as they were only a means to an end; he just wanted to watch the chaos that might unfold, and hoped that he might use Hawks himself to reach his own personal goal.
And then it suddenly wasn’t so simple. Suddenly they didn’t have loyalties that lay merely with the Heroes and villains, with good and evil, with right and wrong. Suddenly their loyalties lay in each other, unspoken oaths and tacit promises sealed with rough lips and gentle hands, skin against skin.
A handful of minutes pushed aside turned into hours tucked away just for them. Quick trysts turned into prolonged nights, whether tangled up in sheets and tangled up with each other or just reveling in the company, reveling in the idea of not being alone.
Again, it was a shift in balance. But whereas before it was only a minor change, now his entire world was tilting on its axis, displacing everything he knew. Hawks was learning that nothing was black and white as it had seemed, but all a mix of muddled grey.
A war raged on inside of him. It was no longer as simple as living in the moment, as taking things as they came, as not thinking of what the future could possibly hold—not when his mind was constantly reminding him of what he had to do, keeping him aware of just how wrong it was that the heart in his chest was steadily becoming less and less his as he handed it over to the villain, piece by piece.
He tried to tell himself that it was okay: Dabi would take his heart and cradle it carefully in his scarred hands, keep it safe behind a wall of consuming blue flames, protect it as though it were something truly precious.
Hawks let himself forget that the story of Icarus was not one of beauty—it was a cautionary tale.
When Hawks finally cracked beneath the pressure placed on him by the Commission, his facade of cool collectedness crumbling away, Dabi had found him. He’d picked up the broken pieces, holding them close, sitting on the floor of the Hero’s apartment as Hawks slowly reassembled himself.
“I’ve got you,” Dabi said. The tone was hushed in the dim light of the apartment, a gentle reminder, as if speaking any louder would only cause him to shatter again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Hawks clutched the other man’s shirt, burying his face in his chest. “We’re in this together, little bird. You and me.”
Icarus wasn’t the only thing Hawks remembered learning about from the Ancient Greeks. As Dabi held him close to his chest, the wax melted and Hawks fell, and he was reminded of something else he’d never given much thought to.
He recalled the son of Aphrodite and Ares, whose name held another significance to the Greeks. Hawks had heard of eros and ludus and philia and storge and agape and pragma.
Never before had Hawks thought he truly understood them.
Dabi ran a hand over Hawks’s wings, smoothing the feathers, ruffled from tension. It was so gentle, so caring. Because they were both lost, both desperately trying to make it through each day in an unkind world, but in moments like this, it was just them, finding ways to heal and mend. And in that healing was an explanation, hidden away, of the things Hawks had never understood.
Against all odds, Dabi had given him that understanding.
“Dabi,” Hawks murmured. The villain glanced down at him with an inquisitive hum. Hawks swallowed, heart beating wildly in his chest. “Dabi, I should... I should tell you that—that I...” He choked on the words.
“What is it, little bird?”
“I think I’m in lo—”
The rest of the admission was swallowed up by Dabi’s mouth, a chaste but hard press of lips against his own. When he pulled back, Dabi rested his forehead against Hawks’s. “Don’t,” he pleaded, the pain in his voice evident. “Don’t say it.” He shook his head, hands gripping harder at the other man. “Please.”
Hawks reached up, gently placing a hand on either side of Dabi’s face. He pulled him in for another kiss, soft and sweet, the only way he could think to prove that it was okay, that he understood.
It was funny to think such simple words could be so profound, could stir up such fear because of their impact. Even if the feeling was an understanding between them already, to put the name to it felt like a heavy weight tying it down. It felt as though assigning the word to their relationship meant that they were placing a timer on it—and they both already knew just how limited their days were, even if they refused to admit it.
So Hawks kept quiet.
Because finally Hawks understood the risk of finding something you wanted to last forever and how that suddenly rendered it fleeting. Because while Hawks always had thought everything moved slowly compared to him, he suddenly felt like he was trapped in an hourglass, sand steadily slipping away even as he tried to grasp it and keep it from falling.
Hawks kept quiet because he convinced himself if he did, he could hold on just a little longer.
Hawks kept quiet, but the world didn’t still itself at his silence, and Hawks was met with the harsh reality that his intentions and best efforts weren’t always enough; as much as he tried, he had no actual control over the situation and how long it might last.
At that exact moment, his mind was blissfully blank. He felt groggy, waking up in all-too-familiar arms.
It only took him a moment to recognize that something was very wrong.
The first thing he registered was the sound, finally breaking through the ringing in his ears—a frantic muttering, interrupted with a string of curse words. Slowly, more distant sounds filtered in, sounds he was familiar with—the sounds of a fight.
Then, his sense of smell returned, and he noted the scent of smoke, and in the immediate vicinity, charred flesh.
He could taste blood on his tongue, and was slowly becoming aware of the pain overwhelming his entire body.
With an exorbitant amount of effort, he forced his eyes open. His vision was vignetted, dark and fuzzy on the edges, but even then he found it difficult to focus on what was slightly clearer. Through one eye, the world was still tinted slightly blue, a crack running through the middle, and he surmised his visor had broken.
He tried to tilt his head to see the man who was clutching him, but the pain spiked, and a faint groan escaped his lips instead, eyes fluttering shut.
The muttering stopped.
“Fuck!”
Hawks felt as hands jostled him, pain knocking the breath out of him again, even as the touch tried to be gentle.
“Come on, little bird,” the voice pleaded, and Hawks didn’t like the desperate tone it took on.
It didn’t suit Dabi.
He wanted to say as much, to tease him in an effort to make things lighter, to put the villain’s mind at ease, to wipe away a few of those worries like they were mere specks of dirt, as though it were that simple.
But the way Hawks’s voice failed him, the way it took every ounce of effort he had just to crack his eyes open once again…
Hawks knew it wasn’t promising.
Dabi let out a sound of pure and palpable relief when Hawks’s eyes blearily met his, a breath of a laugh. “Thank fuck, pretty bird,” he said in a rush, breathless and hushed.
Again, Hawks’s mind quickly supplied him with a teasing remark that he was sure he didn’t look pretty, considering he could feel the dirt and grime matted in his hair, the blood congealing on various portions of his exposed skin. Again, however, his vocal cords refused to function, and he opened his mouth but no sound came out.
The tension made its way back into Dabi’s features and Hawks felt his heart clench at the sight, aching more painfully than any of his current injuries.
“Dabi.” He reached a hand up with a great deal of effort, letting his fingertips trail across Dabi’s cheekbone; he tried to ignore the way he left a smear of blood behind, certain it was his own.
Dabi closed his eyes for a brief moment, lifting his hand to cover Hawks’s, pressing it closer to his skin. The feeling made something warm and soothing wash over Hawks, a sort of contentment.
He let his eyes drift shut again.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Dabi muttered quickly, and Hawks could feel him shaking his head, still holding his hand in its place. “Come on, little bird. You—you can’t do this to me.” His voice was strained. “You can’t leave me, Hawks.”
Hawks forced his eyes open at the sound of his name—he was certain he could count the number of times Dabi had used his Hero name on one hand—to hear it gave him a sense of just how grave the situation was.
“‘M’not going anywhere,” Hawks assured him, the sentence coming out slurred. “Promise.”
Dabi closed his eyes, shaking his head again. “No.”
“S’okay. ‘M’okay.”
Dabi leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Hawks’s. “I… I should have said it. Should have told you.” His grip on Hawks tightened. “I… I love—”
But Hawks gently shushed him. “Later,” he murmured. “When… when we’re out—” He cut off, hissing in pain. “—outta here.” He hoped he sounded reassuring, still just wanting to assuage the tiniest bit of Dabi’s pain if he could.
Even if he wasn’t convinced of it himself.
If he said it now, Hawks feared it would only open the door to more regret. He didn’t want to let things end on that note—of missed opportunities and words that should have been said. Already he knew that the both of them lived with far too many regrets they kept tucked away in hopes they’d never have to reexamine them.
Before Dabi could say anything more, before he could object, they both heard the sound of footsteps. He felt Dabi stiffen, straightening up, one arm still wrapped around Hawks’s back and holding him close. The other hand dropped the one that been clutching Hawks’s, now outstretched instead, ready for the attack.
“Stay back!” he snarled. Hawks could faintly make out two figures through the haze, but his vision was fading, darkness encroaching around the edges. He let his eyes fall shut, the effort to keep them open positively draining. Dabi’s grip on him tightened, and he felt the tension rise in Dabi’s body. “I said stay back!”
“I’ll handle this, Midoriya.”
Hawks vaguely recognized the name, and the voice that had said it. The green-haired one that seemed fond of breaking his fingers, and Endeavor’s son.
He heard one of them take a few more steps. He knew that Dabi was still in his defensive position, but now he could feel the man shaking as he held him.
“I’m not going to attack you,” Todoroki Shouto said, but even now Hawks felt like it sounded far more distant than he knew the boy was, as though the voice was muffled. “We just want to help him. Leave him with us so he can get the help he needs right now.”
Hawks had known the kid was clever—he wondered just how much of the situation he was able to read into with that insight. Under other circumstances, he might have thought it almost funny that the first person to potentially catch on would not only be the son of the Number One Hero, but the—well, that just speculation from research, an unproven theory, a truth that he briefly considered he might not get the chance to uncover, after all.
“It’s not a trap.” Hawks could only assume that Dabi made a face of distrust that had made the boy say as much. “But we can help him, and you need to let us do that.”
Hawks could still feel the tremors coursing through Dabi’s body, but his grip had loosened ever so slightly. Or was Hawks imagining that? His labored breaths were becoming more painful, but the rest of his body seemed to be going pleasantly numb.
“I promise to take care of him.” Spoken so softly, Hawks really thought his mind must be playing tricks on him. Because even though he knew the words came from Shouto, for the first time he considered that it almost sounded like…
But just as quickly as it came, the thought was gone, added to the growing list of evidence, information filed away to re-examine at a later date.
Hawks didn’t want to wonder whether or not that day would come, now.
He felt the arm curled around him slowly release him, felt himself gently pulled away…
And as he was physically slipping away from Dabi, his mind slipped back into nothingness.
In between his next few bouts of brief consciousness, Hawks dreamed. He dreamt of a simpler life, of flying and freedom and happiness. It left him disoriented each time he awoke, mouth cotton-dry, a pounding in his head and an aching that spread to every extremity. The first few times he drifted in and out were a haze of doctors and nurses, of being told to “take this” and “drink this” as he was handed a variety of colorful pills and cups of water, asked a flurry of questions to ensure he knew exactly where he was and why he was there.
The first visitor Hawks remembered was Todoroki Shouto.
He knew he’d had other visitors over the first two days he’d been there—he’d been told as much, and he could see the traces they left behind, various arrangements of flowers at his bedside, left alongside notes that wished him well. Still, the first time he was truly cognizant of someone else in the room, when his brain was finally much less foggy than it had been, it had been the teenage boy sitting by the side of his bed.
Immediately, his mind provided a long list of colorful curse words that he might have been ashamed of, had he said them aloud.
Hawks struggled to push himself up into a sitting position, the pain in his body and his slowly-regrowing wings making it difficult. Shouto moved to stand, to attempt to assist the man in some way, but Hawks simply shook his head.
“It’s fine, kid,” he said, attempting to sound bright and reassuring, offering what he knew was a far-too-forced smile. “Anyway, I should be thanking you. You were the one that brought me in, right?” He didn’t wait for a response, still grinning widely but stiffly. “They told me it was you that found me, but I, ah… I do remember bits and pieces.”
Shouto considered him carefully for a moment. “I did,” he said, and the words were so calm, so even, his face so perfectly blank, that it almost made Hawks panic.
He wanted to ask about Dabi. The question of the man’s fate was like a burning itch under his skin, desperate to know if the boy had actually let the man escape or if it had been an empty promise. He wondered if Dabi had been caught regardless, taken in or killed, even after Shouto had recovered Hawks and they’d left the scene.
He needed to know.
“I didn’t say anything,” Shouto continued suddenly, that same, level tone to his voice. “Midoriya hasn’t either.” Suddenly, he was reaching in his school bag, pulling out a tablet. “And… I figured you’d want to see the news.” He paused. “Though… you won’t find anything about him in there. Ididn’t.”
Hawks’s breathing nearly stopped, tentatively taking the tablet from Shouto but determinedly not making eye contact. “You’ve got questions, right?” The dread was slowly creeping in because of coursehe’d have a million questions. He’d found the Number Two Hero being clutched to the chest of an S-Class Villain like a dying lover.
He supposed there was some sort of accuracy to that.
He swallowed tightly, not knowing how he could possibly answer any question the teenager threw his way.
“Just one,” Shouto said after a moment of silent deliberation. “Whose side is he on?”
Hawks wanted to tell the boy the conclusion he’d come to, that there weren’t just the sides of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, of ‘good’ and ‘evil’—that the world wasn’t black and white like everyone liked to make it out to be, but a whole spectrum of greys, infinite shades between two extremes, and even then, it still far more complicated than that…
Instead, he settled for a different answer, taking in a deep breath and steeling himself for the potential fall out. Still, he felt confident that it was the answer that encompassed it all, that it was the truth hidden beneath it all.
“Mine,” he said simply, looking up at Shouto. “He’s on my side.”
Shouto nodded at this, as though it was an acceptable answer, as though it were all he needed to hear.
After a moment of consideration, he got to his feet. “You can keep that for now,” he said, gesturing to the tablet. “I’ll come back again after school tomorrow.” And with that, he turned to leave.
Hawks watched as he lingered in the doorway for just a moment, as though considering the other questions he was sure he wanted to ask. But after a beat longer, Shouto had left him all alone once more.
The next visitor that Hawks had was well after midnight, between the nurses’ shift changes. Hawks had been asleep, but was jarred awake at the sound of the door to his room opening and closing, then being locked behind the intruder. In the dark, it was hard for Hawks to see much, but even with the dark clothes and hood covering the face, he recognized the figure easily.
The relief that flooded into every inch of his body had him nearly reduced to tears.
“Dabi.”
The word was barely out of his mouth when lips were capturing his own, stealing every bit of air from his lungs. Hawks kissed him back like his life depended on it, and maybe, to a point, it did. He felt hands cup his jaw, felt the hospital bed dip as Dabi’s knee hit the mattress, felt the heat of the other man, alive—somehow still alive—the both of them, still alive.
When Dabi pulled back, the air burned Hawks’s lungs. He smoothed out the man’s hair, resting their foreheads against each other. No words were exchanged for several long minutes as they just reveled in each other’s presence, the knowledge that the other was there.
“Thank fuck, pretty bird,” Dabi breathed against his lips. “Just… fuck.” He shook his head, a motion that Hawks felt rather than saw. “I was—I thought—” He broke off. “When I handed you over, I—I almost thought…” He swallowed. “I thought it was too late.”
Hawks carded his fingers through Dabi’s hair, his other hand reaching up to rest on the nape of the man’s neck. “It wasn’t,” he said.
Again, Dabi just shook his head, as though the idea of delving further into the topic was too much.
Hawks couldn’t blame him. However, he did have one question he needed answered before they moved on.
“You wouldn’t have trusted anyone else,” he murmured, drawing back just a little more so they could properly see each other. “What makes Todoroki Shouto special?”
Dabi let out a bitter laugh. “I know you’ve connected the dots by now, little bird,” he said, a little too casual for the matter at hand. “I know you’ve figured it out.”
“But I also know you’ve fought against him before,” Hawks said. “And I know that you consider that connection nonexistent.”
Dabi sighed, glancing away, brow furrowed. “Growing up, we were both always told we looked more like him,” he said, practically spitting the last word. “I did everything I could to change that about myself, but it always felt like he was following along, just like he was asked.” He paused, looking down, shaking his head. “He didn’t look like him at that moment. When I looked at him then, I… I saw her.” He turned his gaze back to Hawks. “I saw our mother.”
He shook his head again, pulling Hawks back to him. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “He saved you. That’s all I care about, little bird.”
And to a point, Hawks had to agree.
The topic of family, of the past, remained untouched after that night. But now, the difference was that Hawks knew, certainty given with Dabi’s admission. He began to understand just what had brought Dabi to this point, what had caused him to burn with more fury than the sun, harsh and abrasive but still somehow brilliant—and Hawks knew with that same certainty that he would continue to fly too close, to let not just his wings but his entire self be devoured by that intense heat.
But Hawks was confident that he would rather he be given the chance to fly and fall than to never be able to touch the sky at all.
Each moment suddenly had a purpose, a determination. Every move was calculated. Time no longer moved too fast or too slow, was no longer a thing to be taken for granted or wasted. It was still fleeting, falling away, but Hawks knew what he was doing with each and every second of it.
As Hawks watched the colors of dawn paint the sky, pale light reaching his room as the sun slowly began to rise, he once again thought of the story of Icarus; laying in a tangle of sheets and limbs, Dabi’s arm a solid presence around his waist, his whole body curled into his, he thought how the tale had gotten it wrong.
In a matter of hours, everything would be over.
Hours, days, weeks—it had all been spent in a desperate effort to right far too many wrongs. Hawks had picked his side, and as he’d determined, it wasn’t black or white—it ended up being a brilliant mix of electric blue and deep crimson. He knew just how much Shigaraki’s powers had grown, knew just what level of destruction the man was capable of; and he knew just how corrupt everything Shigaraki wanted to destroy was. He’d given all of the information to both sides, only he and Dabi knowing the extent of the power each side was going to bring to the battlefront.
But neither of them planned to stand back and watch. They were warriors, as well.
Arms tightened around Hawks, fingertips pressing into his skin, pulling him closer to Dabi, even as the man slept on.
Hawks wanted a world where Heroes had too much time to spare, but really—that world was just a dream. All he could do was try to lessen the casualties.
Hawks turned slightly, hands resting against the blazing skin of Dabi’s body; Icarus touched the sun, but the melted wax, the burned wood and feathers didn’t feel like falling.
Because maybe he was plummeting to his death, but the freedom that his heart had been granted didn’t make it feel like an end, like a lesson to be learned.
Hawks closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Dabi’s forehead and the man shifted.
“I love you,” he murmured against the skin.
He wondered if Icarus had felt the same, had truly loved the sun and every fleeting moment he’d spent in its warmth, those brief seconds before it came to an end. Because for Hawks, he knew it was worth it, to have flown so fantastically high and been able to feel the sun for himself, even if it all eventually had to end.
When he opened his eyes again, he was met with Dabi’s own, then a chaste press of lips—sun kissing his skin, warmth enveloping his entire being, loving Icarus in return.
“And I love you, my pretty bird.”