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Dabi doesn’t know if it’s the upbeat music filling his ears or the warmth in the air, but he’s in a particularly good mood. Maybe it's because he's done with boring work, and finally free to do whatever he wants. His mind is actually dead set on slouching on the couch and watching bullshit on TV with his purring cat, waiting for a certain blond to come back from work and move to the interesting stuff. The playlist starts another cheery song as he walks the familiar streets leading to Hawks’ place. No wonder his bird is always smiley if he’s listening to that pop crap all the time.
Dabi has been away for the past week, stuck in HQ, and then sent with Compress on the other side of the country to meet with some gangs willing to join the PLF. He had bitched a lot about it, not particularly delighted with the idea of not being able to go back to Hawks’ place every night. Compress had teased him about it during the past four days, ignoring Dabi’s death threats. Dabi got too used to having a nice bed, nice food, and being welcomed by his yelling cat at the end of every day. Hawks’ company was also a nice bonus. So yeah, sue him if he’d rather go back home instead of spending nights in a shared bedroom with Compress and his sharp tongue and twisted innuendos.
He stops by the usual Konbini, buys the usual beers and snacks and a new pack of smokes with Hawks’ credit card, and strolls through the usual back-alley where he found Pigeon all those weeks ago.
He removes the headphones he stole from Hawks as he arrives in front of the apartment, surprised by the lack of mewling. It’s the middle of the afternoon, Hawks is not supposed to be home.
He looks around with wide eyes, taking in the red feathers littering the carpeted floor and the surface of every piece of furniture. This combined with the absence of Pigeon gives birth to an unwelcome feeling of concern. Did someone come after Hawks? Fire simmers under his skin, ready to unleash hell if some fucker was crazy enough to hurt the hero. Not that Dabi really cares but he kinda needs his primary source of info and income.
“Hey Birdie, you there?”
Pigeon appears from the bedroom at the same time a loud sneeze echoes in the otherwise quiet apartment. “Hawks?”
“Go away.”
The voice is weird, but it’s definitely the hero’s. Dabi picks up Pigeon who’s trying to climb his leg like a jungle gym and walks toward the bedroom. He pushes the door open and freezes.
Hawks is sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by red feathers and the content of what seemed to be fifteen boxes of tissues. The usually majestic wings look like they went through hell and back, and then back to hell again. They hang pitifully on the hero’s back, almost bared save from a few patches of feathers here and there.
Hawks sneezes again, and a small amount of dull vanes is sent flying. “Fuck this shit, ugh.” Hawks blows his nose loudly and glares at Dabi through puffy, watery eyes. “What are you looking at? Get out.”
Dabi blinks in confusion, Pigeon still tucked in his arms. “The fuck happened to you? What’s wrong with your wings?”
“None of your business.” Another sneeze, another curse, another trumpet noise.
Dabi rolls his eyes and crosses the space separating it from the messy bed. “You really look like shit,” he comments as he spots the irritated skin around Hawks’ nose.
“Well, I feel like it. So now that you’re done with stating the obvious, could you please leave me alone?”
Dabi drops Pigeon on the mattress and moves a pile of feathers and used tissues to the floor. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’ve been away for a week, I want my bed.”
Hawks sniffled, unamused. “Your bed?”
Dabi grabs his favorite pillow and puffs it under his head, ignoring the annoyed gaze boring holes into him. Pigeon curls next to his head, purring like a small engine. “I thought someone had plucked you alive while I was gone. Are you molting or something?”
“God, you’re really on a roll, Sherlock.”
“I’m very observant, thank you for acknowledging it.”
The wings flap weakly and a few downy feathers near the root of the left one fall on the mattress. Hawks sneezes again. “God fucking damnit. I’m so sick of it.”
“Is that the molting or-?”
“It’s fucking hay fever, Dabi,” Hawks hisses, shaking the box of tissues in his lap. “And no more tissues. Fucking fantastic.”
He flops on his back with an annoyed grunt, the half-bared wing resting on Dabi’s stomach. “Make yourself useful and end my misery.”
Dabi chuckles. “No can do, Mister Hero Sir.” He runs fingers along the bone structure, and more feathers fall as he goes. Hawks hums and Dabi can feel the tension leaving the hero’s body, just like every time Dabi plays with his wings. “How long does it take?”
“Too long. Fucking bird mutation my ass.” He sniffles again, the sound disgustingly pitiful.
“Someone’s bitchy.”
“I’m fucking molting and I have hay-fever. I have the right to be bitchy, fuck you very much. I can’t even enjoy my week of forced vacation.”
Dabi shakes his head, amused. It's always funny to him to see how different Hawks is with him, compared to the rest of the world. The smiling, chill, pleasant hero is not that smiling, chill, and pleasant behind the closed doors of his nest. As they eased into some kind of domestic routine, for lack of another expression, Hawks showed Dabi another facet of his personality. One of a tired, overworked hero who insulted his alarm every morning and refused to talk before his first coffee. Hawks revealed himself to be quieter than his hero persona might have suggested, not that Dabi minds the silence. It has just been unnerving at first. He used to think that he pissed the hero off for good until he realized that Hawks just needed that quiet to recharge. The only thing that didn’t change was the snark. Hawks has a sharp tongue, in and out of work.
Dabi tugs gently on the wing. “Drama queen.”
“Shut your trap.”
Dabi reaches for the spot next to the root, where Hawks can’t access easily and gently plucks the feathers ready to fall. “Don’t you have anything to fight the hay fever?”
“The meds make me all fuzzy and I’ll sleep all day long.”
“What’s wrong with that? You could use some extra sleep, let’s be real, Mister-I-work-fifteen-hours-shift.”
“If I sleep, I can’t preen. And if I can’t preen, it’s going to take even longer to go back to normal. And it’s your fault if I’m working long-ass shifts.”
Dabi sighs and sits up, pushing the wing away. “You poor bird, I’m going to cry.”
“You can’t.”
“Rude.”
“What? It’s true. Hey, hey, where are you going?”
Dabi looks above his shoulder, startled by the almost panicked tone. “I’ll be back, stop fretting, dumbass.”
“Wha-? Dabi? Where are you going? Oy! Answer m-achoo!”
Dabi rolls his eyes and leaves the apartment again. This moron bird is obviously unable to take care of himself. Honestly, it’s a miracle he made it so far.
Dabi finds hay-fever medicine in the Konbini downstairs and stocks up with tissues and things he knows Hawks likes, like this overly sweet ice-coffee and extra spicy chips. Not for the first time, Dabi questions the hero’s palate. He will scrunch his nose at some decent stir-fried noodles but will wolf down a whole pack of nuggets with delight. Ha well, Dabi is not one to judge. If Hawks’ arteries end up clogged in ten years, it’s none of his business.
When he comes back to the apartment, Hawks has left the bedroom and is sprawled on the carpet, wings fully spread. Pigeon is curled on his butt, focused on the movie Hawks has put on the TV.
“Did you buy me tissues?” Hawks asks without looking away and curses as a box is sent flying his way, smacking him on the head.
Dabi snorts and starts the kettle. He prepares a large mug of green tea and settles it in front of Hawks’ face with the hay-fever tablets. “Go on.”
“I told you I didn’t want them,” Hawks grumbles.
“And I don’t want to hear you snore in my ear tonight. Or bitch all weekend long.”
“You can also fuck off and go back to HQ.”
Dabi levels him with a blank gaze, unimpressed. “Take the damn medicine, dumbass. I’ll help you preen.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re fucking helpless.”
“So you pity me now?”
“Damn right I do. You’re a fucking charity case. I don’t even know how you lived so far.”
A bare wing makes an attempt at smacking him but Dabi avoids it easily. “I’m going to shower. Meds, now.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah yeah, we’ll see about that later.”
“Ugh, shut the fuck up. You’re so annoying.”
Dabi waves the pathetic human being on the floor, unphased, Pigeon hot on his heels. He takes his sweet time in the bathroom, shower, bath, nice shampoo, and just soaking in the large tub for a while, watching dumb videos with his cat playing with the bubbles. It’s the first time in a week that he can actually unwind, knowing that nothing and no-one is going to ask him for anything bothersome.
When he leaves the steaming bathroom, bundled up in one of Hawks’ oversized hoodies, the hero is still where Dabi left him. The only difference is the empty mug of tea and the open box of medicine. “I see you’ve decided to stop being stubborn.”
Hawks hums, not looking at Dabi as he comes closer. Pigeon bumps Hawks’ head before settling as close as possible to his face. Dabi plops next to him and manoeuvers a wing to rest it in his lap. He starts the preening, as promised, and Hawks groans contentedly. “How are you so good at this?”
Dabi huffs. “It’s not rocket science.”
Downy feathers and dull tertiaries don’t resist his meticulous assault. He reaches for the small of Hawks’ back, just above his left butt cheek. and presses gently on the preening gland to coat his fingers with the oily substance. He’s seen the hero doing it enough times to know how it works. Hawks almost kicked him out the first time Dabi caught him coating his feathers, visibly embarrassed. From what he picked up later, the hero was not all that comfortable with his bird mutations but the coating was necessary if he wanted to keep his speed, especially during rainy days. Soaked feathers were heavy and really not good for flying.
“You don’t have to do that,” Hawks comments with a scrunched nose.
Dabi hums but doesn’t answer. He runs his oily fingers along the new feathers that have already grown back, smoothing the barbs until they shine that specific shade of red. The intimacy of the whole process strikes him but he finds out that he doesn’t really mind. He likes Hawks’ wings, it’s no longer a secret. The hero has made sure to expose his wing kink until Dabi couldn’t deny it anymore.
He moves to the second wing, repeating the same process. It’s relaxing for both of them. Dabi’s mind is quiet, and given the way Hawks’ body is turning into a puddle of goo on the floor, the hero is in the same state. That or the medicine is kicking in.
“‘m sleepy,” Hawks mumbles.
“Then sleep.”
“But you’re home.”
Dabi raises an eyebrow and looks more carefully at the squished face resting on the cream carpet. Hawks’ eyes are already closed.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Hawks scoots closer, his hand wrapping around Dabi’s ankle. “I don’t like it when you’re not here.”
The voice is so slurred Dabi would have thought that his bird was drunk and/or high if he didn’t know better. Well, maybe he’s high on the hay fever meds.
“Just sleep before you say stuff you will regret.”
Hawks mutters something and the grip around Dabi’s ankle loosens. Soft snores soon cover the muted sound of the TV and Dabi smiles. He leans forward, brushing a strand of blond hair away from the snotty face. He presses a kiss on Hawks’ temple, just above the tan line of his visor. “I don’t like it either,” he whispers.