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Hawks had been perched on the railing of his apartment deck when Dabi arrived.
He hadn't really been doing anything, so he couldn't say he minded the visit.
It was probably the last visit he'd ever receive, truth be told.
The hero sighed as he looked over the city below.
He was so high up, the street lights and sounds of the bustling city below reminded him of faint twinkling stars and the soft humming of bees.
Or maybe that was just him.
He didn't jump as he heard the sliding glass door open behind him. Nor did he flinch when the villain sidled up next to him.
Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly, hoping that the last thing he ever saw, was at least pretty. It was all he could hope for, really.
Dabi tsked, "Don't forget, birdie, you don't have your wings to catch you if you fall." He leaned back onto the railing and crossed his arms.
Hawks shrugged, he maintained a strong eye-contact with the world below him. "If I close my eyes, they're still there."
And it was true.
If he had closed his eyes, he could have felt the wind caressing his feathers. He could have felt the phantom weight of them on his back. If he closed his eyes hard and long enough, he still could have felt the vibrations and heat that radiated off the villain next to him.
"They aren't real," Dabi said. This time, Hawks felt the pair of cerulean eyes directed at him. A pause. "But you know that already." There was an emotion buried within those words, but the hero couldn't bother to figure it out.
A bittersweet smile tugged at Hawks' lips. "Nothing is real, is it?" He moved his gaze from the ground to the sky above. He propped his chin up on his hand, struggling to balance from the new position, especially without his wings to even him out. It was cloudy, and as always, the stars were drowned out by the artificial light gleaming from down below.
Hawks recalled the feeling of flying high enough to where even that wasn't a problem. If he closed his eyes, he could have felt the cold that bit at his face, the only part his hero costume couldn't cover. He could remember the thousands of stars that littered the night sky each night, above the clouds and lights, unbeknownst to the people below.
The last time he did that was months ago. Months ago, when he didn't feel like the world was resting on his shoulders. When he still felt like the leash that had been wrapped around his neck since he was a child, finally had some sort of slack.
And to think, despite everything, Hawks felt like it was just yesterday.
"My wings are gone, but the phantom pains aren't," he continued, if only because the prolonged silence was killing him. Killing him slowly and painfully, as if Dabi finally made his move. "Your fire still makes my skin blister, even though you're never there to ignite it."
A while ago, Dabi's eyes had shifted from Hawks' face to the sky, and still, he sat silent. Listening. Listening more than anyone in Hawks' life had bothered to try.
"Twice visits my apartment sometimes still, it's nice. Sometimes." Hawks could feel his eyes glaze over, he forced them to dry. "I know he's not real either." Even though he wished he was.
He wished he wasn't as fast as he was known for being. He wished that his wings had already been burnt to a crisp. He wished that Dabi had just killed him before he could do it.
Hawks sighed, wondering when Dabi was going to kill him. Sometime soon , a dark corner of his mind supplied.
"Hawks isn't real," he said, to which the villain beside him snorted, "though, everyone knew that, huh?"
"Birdie," Dabi had begun, palm alight with a playful flame, "I hate to say it, but your acting skills are subpar at best." He smirked as he looked at the man beside him. Hawks didn't see it.
Hawks instead changed his position on the railing. He opted for sitting on the thin bar, knowing that if he fell…
The hero fixed his gaze on a distant building.
"Hawks wasn't real," he repeated, a certain finality lacing his tone. More for himself than Dabi. A pause. "I'm kind of sad he wasn't."
And yet, no use crying over lies. They weren't real.
Hawks was just an easy role for him to slip into. Arrogance and aloofness was easy to play. A beacon of hope and safety for all.
People were easy to fool. If anything, it almost became fun, slipping into that faux persona. Almost.
In the end, Hawks knew he was just tired.
Helping people became his life. That's all he had, that's all he could ever do or be. A helper. A hero.
All his worth was found in making sure complete strangers were unharmed and happy.
"And what about Keigo?" A gruff voice asked him. Keigo felt the gaze burning into the side of his head.
He shrugged, unsure.
What happened to Keigo?
What happened to that scared little kid, clutching that stupid Endeavor plushie tight to his chest, as if it could protect him? He was hopeful, at least. But what happened to him? At this point, Keigo was nothing but a far distant memory, one Hawks didn’t necessarily want to dig up.
"Stolen," is what he settled on. His gaze on the building so far away blurred in and out of focus, but not because of tears.
Keigo was stolen.
Along with his freedom. And his sense of worth. And his personality, hobbies, likes and dislikes.
They were taken away, along with his identity.
Stripped of all that was useless, to become the perfect, mindless, obedient, pet.
Hawks snorted self-deprecatingly. "At the ripe age of seven, even.” He paused, considering something for a moment, “Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it to them."
"To who?" Dabi asked, sounding mildly interested. It only baffles Hawks more. Why wasn't he dead yet?
He doesn’t react the way he wants to, as he had been trained to do. Instead, he shrugs, "My parents, mostly. I wonder how much money they got for selling their child. If it was worth it." Dabi was silent, so he went on, shifting his gaze back to the city below them. "The more I think about it, though. I can understand," he said, solemnly. Not everyone has a choice. Sometimes it's life and death, and deep down, he knows he would've died.
He knows that his father was a criminal. A thief. A murderer. Dare he say, a villain.
He knows that his mother was a drunkard. Resentful on a good day, violent on the worst.
He knows that these two memories alone, the only two he knows are for certain, he knows they're enough of a reason.
He knows he wouldn't have survived. He wouldn't have become anything of substance, at least.
But then who is to say he's anything better now?
Isn't he worse ?
Would he have been better off dead? Would that have saved the lives he himself had taken?
Would his absence even make a difference in the world he knew today? The one he helped create?
"Hawks is dead," he knows. They said it on the news. They told him as soon as he woke up. "And Takami Keigo never really existed," and he knows this too. He knows because the only memory he has for the boy is nothing of worth.
Shouting, broken glass, drunken slurs, and an Endeavor plushie gifted out of pity.
He supposed a moment of silence now was better than none.
"So when are you gonna do it?"
Dabi tilted his head, in an almost cat-like manner. "Do what?"
The former hero finally turned to meet the other's gaze, void of emotion. "Your thing. Set me on fire or something."
"Eh," the villain shrugged, "Novelty's worn off." Playfulness lurked beneath the aloof way the words were spoken, though Hawks could barely find it in him to care. "Besides, it's getting cold, you don't have a coat on, and I could really use some whiskey right now." He stood up straight from where he leaned on the railing, looking at Hawks expectedly.
They held eye contact for only a moment before the latter broke it again, opting to stare at his legs dangling off the edge. Subconsciously, his grip on the bar loosened, if only by a bit.
"You already know where the liquor cabinet is," Hawks said, a tired smile forming on his face. "Don't need me to show you." Besides, he was overwhelmingly calm sitting here. It was a strange feeling. Imminent death coming from either leaning too far forward, or from the man behind him.
For a moment, Hawks debated which would be a worse way to go.
His attention soon snapped to the hand that was on his wrist. He looked up, and was met with two strikingly blue eyes, a certain fire brimming beneath them. One Hawks once wished to explore.
When he spoke, Dabi's voice was a forced calm, "I don't mind company while I drink, Kei. You know this."
Hawks desperately wanted to call bullshit. Tease him about all the times Hawks asked to go out for drinks only to be denied. All the times he was chased away with a half-empty bottle of rum and some rather creative names.
He wanted to laugh it off, he wanted Dabi to leave, he wanted Dabi to stay, he wanted Dabi to just get it over with already .
But he was tired. Too exhausted to move, too exhausted to fight.
So instead, he nodded silently, and followed Dabi back into his apartment.