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The mansion’s bar is mostly empty, Dabi notices. Perhaps the meeting has gone longer than he thought it would. The stools were void of the usual people, and there is not a sound of laughter or conversing crowds. Instead, there was only him and his glass of whiskey, and the soothing silence. At least, it would have been, if not for his feathered friend (foe?) sitting quite comfortably on the stool next to him.
He didn’t mind, didn’t even bother looking. But seconds pass, turning to minutes, turning to a roaring silence.
It was quiet, too quiet– much to the pyro’s dismay. Dabi could only sigh, unable to decide if he should stay sober for this or if he’s going to need to drown himself in the golden brown liquid.
“So, you gonna talk? Or do you have a thing for awkward silences?” Ah… there it is... The motherfucker.
Dabi groans. Sober it is, he decides.
He turns to glance at the man next to him. As usual, the Cheshire grin was stuck to his face as if permanently glued, provocative and mocking, and all he could think was the mound of insults that he’s ready to throw. He clicks his tongue, but he keeps his mouth shut. Not yet, he tells himself.
“Some people like to keep to themselves, thank you.” He grumbles. Moving the glass in circular motions, swirling the cold beverage in hand– he had no intention of drinking it.
“That so?” Hawks purrs.
Dabi sneers and moves backward. And if anyone had seen it, may the gods bless this man’s soul, for he is barely able to contain the urge to unleash hell’s fury upon the turkey’s ass. But Hawks is none the wiser as he inches closer.
There is an uncomfortable silence between them. It stretches to infinity and it felt unbearable. How could he make seconds feel like hours?
This is getting weird, Dabi thinks. He couldn’t help but feel squeamish in his seat, like his ass is being seared on the stool. He wishes he could stand, but what would that entail? That he couldn’t handle the bird before him? Backing down a challenge?
It would give him away.
He had hoped that the other would leave, but Hawks continues to stare at him, boring holes in his skull. It’s like he is being devoured untouched. How captivating… beguiling. If he were a snake, he’d be charmed.
But he isn’t, and he should have paid more attention to the man’s movement.
Since when had he gotten so close? Since when did his whiskey feel so warm in his touch?
Hawks leans forward, eyes closed. He looked objectively beautiful like that, Dabi notes. The thought makes him grimace, and all he could do was lean back. The image of his beloved boss sitting atop the very same bar stool, passed out drunk, scorched and ingrained in his mind. It was not beautiful by any means, not a pretty sight like the man in front of him, but gods did it look so good- enticing even.
"What's wrong? You scared of a little kiss, Dabi?" The other taunts, clearly derisive. Smooth hands moved to touch scarred ones, but he was quick to retreat– like he had just burned himself… Dabi thinks he might as well have.
Disgusting.
He does not speak, but he's sure that his face conveyed more words that he could ever say. He gets off of the stool and takes a step back. Hawks didn't close the distance anymore and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he had cowered.
"Hmm... I wonder…” Hawks faces the bar, looking away from him now. “Is there someone else in mind? Someone more worthy to be adorned by your affections? Is that what's bothering you?" His gaze did not meet his, but he smiles all the same, and the gesture did not match his eyes.
Disgusting.
How utterly disgusting. It makes bile rise to his throat.
Dabi opens his mouth to speak, but what would he say? He closes them again. It was the truth after all. And if it was? His boss is objectively not the prettiest man, he knows this. He doesn't harbor the charming prince-like qualities that Hawks possess. But who cares?
Who cares about all that...?
He loves his boss's hands- loves how cold it is against his warm ones. Loves his red eyes, and white hair. He loves the way he'd turn around when flustered, how despite the scars that covers his face, still feels perfect under his unscarred touch. And the sweet sweet taste of his lips- Holy... shit... It's perfect, so good, and so delicious– course and rough against his blemished and marred ones. How each touch of his boss's hands against the line of healthy and unhealthy skin sends him to overdrive.
Electric... Soft...Intimate...
His ears rang, or rather, he could feel the thrum of his heart. It was deafening.
“That’s none of your business,” he spits the phrase like venom, as if defending each precious memory he had of his boss, burning the feeling down to his very core.
Hawks didn't speak, a knowing look gracing his features. He knows. But Dabi didn't care. Why would he? Against him and his boss, it was a decided battle. He stares at his untouched whiskey and gave him a small curt nod, leaving the seething phoenix to nurse his own alcohol, and his glass was left cold once again.
Dabi did not look back, now focusing on himself. How fast did his heart race? Or maybe it was just the thump, thump, thump of his footsteps as he walks the eerie hallway. He never liked the mansion. It was always either too quite or too loud, never both. It made his skin crawl, and that’s saying something considering his skin was all but healthy.
He clicks his tongue in frustration, chewing the insides of his mouth. Why is he so frustrated? What’s to be mad about? He couldn’t help but feel his stomach churn in irritation, smoke tempting to escape the gaps of his lips.
Hawks. He just knows.
The man beyond infuriates him.
How dare he? How could the bastard aggravate him so? To make him feel the lingering touches of his revered boss. To want to scorch him in blazing inferno. To keep the son of a bitch away from HIM. To scream: Mine!
Mine, Mine, MINE!
His mouth tasted ashy, smoky breath dancing– the beginnings of sapphire flames. He saw nothing but tunnels and he was a train at full speed, fueled only by raging resentment.
That is until locks of white cloud his vision.
“Dabi?” it whispers to him, angelic and honeyed.
“Boss…” he breathes softly, taking a step backward, surprised by how delicate it sounded in his ears. The blistering heat that once waltz in his skin dissipated, replaced by a fog of warmth, and suddenly his vision clears like day after storm.
He looks at the shorter man, his white hair cascading down his shoulders beautifully. He looked so ethereal– god-like. He was no believer, but if he was, there’s only one man he’d bow his head to.
“Tomura…” he says again. His name always tasted so sweet. Dabi could feel his heart explode at the sight of his venerated love. Has he finally set himself ablaze?
Perhaps it was the whiskey, or maybe he’s just in love. But his body moved as if on auto-pilot, swiftly enveloping the younger in a tight yet soft embrace. He rested his head on the other’s shoulder, nestling comfortably at the crook of his boss’s neck.
“Dabi?!” The white-haired man exclaimed, shocked by the sudden but seemingly welcomed affection. The pyro could feel the confused and flustered movement of his boss’s hands roaming his back. How cute!
The sight made his mind muddle with the image of his boss and thoughts flows to words without restraint.
“Boss… You’re so pretty,” he breathes in his ear, covered by the waterfalls of whites, feeling the villain king grow warm under the gentle caresses of healthy skin.
So cute…
“What’s with you today?” His boss mutters quietly to himself, gloved hands threading through raven locks.
A beat of realization and then, “Are you drunk!?” The shorter one all but sputtered, but he did not break out of the embrace, despite the now growing number of eyes.
Dabi could only hum in amusement, feeling the remnants of his anger disperse in whatever place they disappear to. Fuck you Hawks, fuck you!
Not even the personification of everything he hates, the embodiment of all his animosity could ever make him question his undying fidelity– his ceaseless affections.
“I’m not drunk, boss… I just think I really really love you.”