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The air was humid, on the verge of feeling sticky and uncomfortable on the man’s skin. He could feel the way his fingers trembled as he tried clenching them, in an attempt to keep still. A cotton wad drenched in alcohol met the wound on his shoulder. A groan, followed by a hiss and balled up fists. His mind was almost completely focused on controlling his breath and relaxing his muscles, with his gaze fixed on the decorative towels in front of him. Cream, with a brown border. Hideous.
He should have known he’d end up here again. He did, on some level, internalize that it would happen. He just wanted it to be later, rather than so soon.
“I think we’ll have to go to a hospital, Keigo.”
It took him a few seconds to realize that the words were directed at him (as if there was anyone else except them two in the whole house. Eraser had patrol or… whatever it is he does at nights). His glazed eyes trailed up and were met with a pale, worried face, and he looked away again, back at the towels that no one uses, because they’re just there for decoration.
“Why can’t you just…” he reached over and grabbed the smallest towel from the rack, wincing as he bent his arm again and wiped the sweat and dirt off his face. He knew there was blood mixed in, but it was already dry, clumpy. He felt cold. “Why can’t you just heal me with your Quirk?”
“Because that’s not how it works,” the woman answered, discarding bloody gauze pads and cotton wads in the trash. “I’m not risking another coma. Your leg is broken. You can barely move what’s left of your wings, I’m pretty sure they’re broken, too. You took a really bad fall.”
“It wasn’t that bad, I just need a moment. And your healing.”
Keigo-- Hawks-- went quiet, waiting to see what Evangeline’s response was going to be. This could be over in a second, he knew it, and he knew she knew it, too. Breathing felt a little harder with each inhale, like he had something stuck right in his windpipe. There was a pause before he could hear her clothes ruffling as she moved, and a bump against the sink, probably her own wings. The bathroom could barely fit both of them, even though he was sitting. When did he close his eyes? He opened them again to see her crouching in front of him, and her hand cupped his swollen cheek, meeting her patchy, two toned face. He wanted to groan and roll his eyes at her worried look, but the most he could do was simply lean into her touch, his own eyebrows mirroring her furled ones. Her pout was too noticeable to brush off, too. This was probably the first time she looked outwardly concerned for him.
“Help me stand you up. Please.” The man grit his teeth, then went with her petition, the towel dropping at their feet as he stood up from the covered toilet seat with a struggle. One of his arms was around her shoulders, and she carefully led him back down the stairs, letting him take his time with each step until they were on the ground floor, limping to the front door. The fresh air from outside felt a little too cold against his damp skin, but he welcomed the change. The light at the entryway cast a shadow in front of them, and he looked down, noticing he looked almost as small as the girl carrying him. He was lacking his feathers, the ones that gave the illusion of him towering over others.
“I called a car for you, it should be here soon.” The woman’s voice was soft and quiet against his ear, just like it would’ve been if they were in the comfort of his bed instead. His head was thrown back as he thought of it; how nice it is, in those mornings, waking up with her, legs twined, hair on her face….
“...Hawks? Stay awake, c’mon. The driver’s gonna help you…”
When he opened his eyes again, he was met with the single ugliest chair he’d seen in his life. A window was to its left, with Evangeline standing right in front of it, looking outside. The sun was out, and she had changed from her pajamas to that soft pink shirt, with the long sleeves and the hole on her cleavage. He’d gotten it for her on a whim. His cheek dug a little more against the pillow where his head rested, and he curled in on himself, feeling the rough texture of a cast against his shin. Not a good sign.
How long had he been out, six hours? The fight happened at around eleven, when his patrol was almost over, and just past midnight when he was flying (or, well, trying to fly) to the nearest place he could think of. He couldn’t run, but he definitely fled. Dumbass. Could have put so many more people in danger because he decided to run away instead of facing the villain head-on. Coward. Did he report the incident? He couldn’t recall. He’d asked for backup…
He tried to fly to Evangeline’s house. He couldn’t even let her know about it, because his phone, along with his jacket, were ripped to shreds by those claws. He’d used too many of his feathers trying to cut through the thick… skin?, of the villain, and there was a piercing snap when they grabbed him by their base--
“Angel?”
She turned her head to him, seemingly being pulled away from her thoughts at his raspy voice. Neither of them moved, both unsure of what exactly to do. Should he try to sit? Should she go to him? The unspoken questions were answered when both of them did those exact things, with her helping him again, placing the pillows closer to his lower back for a little extra support. By instinct, he kept a little bit of space between him and his makeshift backrest, before realizing again that there weren’t huge contraptions he had to accommodate. The realization turned into a moment of shock and he turned his head so he could peek over his shoulder, seeing just the very base of his wings peeking through the hospital robe, with one of them in a splint.
Before he could speak, she sat by his feet, hands resting idly at her thighs. “The doctors said they’ll grow back, but you’ll probably need physical therapy for the broken one. Even if I’d healed you, we’d still be here. I’d just be the one in bed.”
Keigo looked away from her, noticing his reflection in a mirror in front of the bed. He looked nothing short of fucked up. There were bandages around his head, a black eye. It looked like the blood that he had on his face wasn’t all his, at least. Maybe. The splint, the cast. She was right. Using her energy to heal him would have drained her.
The denial and anger he felt were quickly turning to embarrassment, rather than bargaining. He looked down at his lap, playing with the tape that held his IV needle in place. “I’m really sorry I barged in like that. I just-- I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked and… fudged. How are the others, have you heard anything?”
“They’re all fine. Shouta was one of the ones doing backup,” she answered, a small smile appearing for just a moment at the mention of her housemate. “The villain was arrested. Everyone’s more worried about you. I’m worried about you.”
“Ah, don’t be.” He hated how quickly that answer came out, how instinctual it was for him. Even the tone was too bright. ‘Hero mode,’ is the term they would use to mock it. He pursed his lips and swallowed, trying again. “I’ll be fine, not the first time I take a beating. And my wings will grow back quick. I’ll be back in the sky in no time.”
Now it was her turn to purse her lips. Her wings were slumped, heavy on his legs. He didn’t mind. “Keigo… you’re barely 23. And this isn’t our first time here. Aren’t you… scared?”
He knew what she meant with the question. She wasn’t the first to ask, and it hurt more to hear it from her considering they met while fighting a villain. The only difference was that she retired only a year after, focused on the company she launched with the help of her old boss.
“Of course I am, but it’s my job. I’ve been training since I was a child, I can’t just quit. I’m at my peak. What good could it be for me to retire now that I’m so close to being the youngest number one?”
“And what are you going to do if you get to number one? What comes next? You-- you keep fighting until you die, is that your plan?”
“What’s your alternative, then?” Keigo’s brows furrowed, and his fingers began feeling shaky again. He knew she just wanted what was best for him, safest, but it didn’t mean he was okay with it. “What do I do? Please, tell me. Show me exactly how I can give up everything I’ve ever known and start again from the ground up as if it never happened.”
Now her arms were crossed. There was a tense silence between them, neither of them daring to make eye contact. She was about to cry, though. He could tell.
He got snapped out of his own emotionally charged thoughts when he felt her small hands taking his, uncurling his calloused fingers. Her nails were a sky blue this time; he didn’t notice the night before.
“I don’t want to watch you die.” He turned to look at her, her cheeks and the tips of her ears pink. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here anymore. I didn’t retire for fun, Kei. You know that.”
He nodded, sniffling. Fuck. Of course he was crying; he perfectly understood what she meant. He couldn’t deny the relief he felt when she announced she wouldn’t be on the field anymore. Twenty years old, and already Endeavor’s sidekick. She had every opportunity to rise in the ranks, maybe even fight alongside Hawks more often. It was too risky for her.
The words failed him, and he hoped a squeeze to her fingers could indicate even a sliver of what he wanted to say. He was sorry. He wanted to give it all up, maybe get a small job. He’d take anything. A secretary job, a barista. The safer, the better. They’d talked about it so much during those late nights in his bed, with their legs twined and her hair on her face. He was sorry that he couldn’t just do it, that he didn’t know how. His bottom lip trembled as she took their hands to her face, kissing his knuckles.
“Just think about it, okay?”