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He’d grown used to the thoughts.
Him.
Him.
Him.
Dear god.
Dear god.
Dear god, him.
The aching feeling in his chest every time he was close to him, the blood rushing to his checks, the inability to hold his gaze.
He hated every second of it.
The constant reminder of what he couldn't have.
Not because of some unrequited bullshit, no.
No.
No, god, it would have been better if it had been unrequited.
Or at least, that was what he told himself.
But he could see him, him, him, keeping his gaze on his lips a bit too much, eyes flickering from those to his eyes, before quickly looking away, every time, every time he thought he couldn't see.
Oh, how he wished he couldn't see.
And he could feel him, him, him, tenderly caressing his skin, fingers that lingered on those sensitive spots he knew too well by now, blowing cold hair on his neck, hesitant, hesitant, before softly biting his skin, so soft, so gentle, him, him, him; he kissed his chest and sucked his nipples while he fucked him roughly, so roughly, he’d always been scared of how much he liked when he did those things, when he couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan, lips slightly parted, blurry-eyed, just, immersed in him, him.
Him.
Sometimes, Hawks wished he’d never met him.
He wished he’d never found him the second time, he wished they hadn't kept contact, he wished this had never started.
Whatever this was.
He wished he didn't miss him every time he woke up alone, he wished his chest didn't hurt every time he was away from him, he wished, he wished, he wished.
He wished he’d never met him.
He wished he'd never experienced any of this.
He wished he’d never grown used to the thoughts.
He wished they'd never been there to begin with, never started, never lingered at the back of his mind, waiting for the right moment to come out.
Never.
Never.
Never.
But He didn't wish this always.
Sometimes, when he could hear his soft, forced breathing next to him, when he could feel his cold arm wrapped around his waist, sometimes, only in those times, he was glad he’d met him, he was glad he taught him to feel this, all of this, he was glad the thoughts were there, the aching, the longing, he was glad it all started.
He was glad, so glad, to know that he too, could love.
Love.
Love.
He had always been indifferent to that word: what was love, when he’d never had anyone, when the first people who should have shown him love only neglected him and manipulated him, abused him and sold him to an organization that didn't give him room for any type of feeling?
He later started to be curious about it, love, what was it, was it the lingering of a touch, a person that made you smile, your heart beating in your chest when he smiles at you, his cold fingers caressing your hair, his sarcastic grin every time you made a joke, his unreliable mood swings and the food he cooked for you?
He learned to hate the word love when he realized what it actually was.
When he realized he loved it.
Loved him.
Love was pain, love was emptiness and fullness of something indescribable, something that makes you think and think and overthink and overthink until you’re too tired to do anything else.
Love grew slowly in his heart, in his mind, until he couldn't keep the door to himself locked anymore, until he was forced to let it overflow in every part of himself, too tired to keep running from it.
Too tired.
Too tired.
Loving Dabi was exhausting.
It was exhausting because Dabi was Dabi, and he'd never really understood him, him as himself, as his thought that he was never able to comprehend, read, his contradicting actions, his screams and his cries, his soft voice and his laughter.
Dabi was such a complicated person, Hawks thought he would never be able to fully comprehend him.
He didn't really mind.
But loving Dabi also made him feel complete.
Complete in an overwhelming way, I want to give every part of myself to you, I want to discover every little piece of you, you, you, you.
Loving Dabi made his heart scream:
Love me too, please, please, love me too.
Love me too.
If you don't love me, who else will?
Who else will?
Loving Dabi was scary.
Hawks thought that loving anybody would be scary, for himself.
Loving Dabi was scary because it made him doubt himself, it made him think that he couldn't really love him.
Because of who he was.
Because of how much blood was on his hands.
Because he still woke up screaming for all the things he’d done.
And how could he love him, if he was in such a state, if he couldn't keep his emotions, his impulses, at bait, if, if, if.
All excuses.
All excuses.
He was just scared.
He was just scared.
Because he loved him, he loved him, say it, say it, say it, he loved him even though he was trying to convince himself he couldn't, he loved him even now, even now, in the middle of all, even now his heart sometimes ached when he saw him.
Because he hated him.
Because he loved him.
He hated him, he hated him and his fucking stubborn manners, I want to help you, and I'm not accepting a no as an answer, he hated him.
He hated him.
Dabi stayed.
Dabi stayed and every single fucking time he tried to kill himself, he stopped him; and it was so frustrating, so frustrating, having to live with the anger that came with his actions, all the thoughts he couldn’t push away, and his need to be with him.
He hated it.
He hated him.
He didn't even think it was some fake emotion he forced himself to feel, he genuinely thought that Dabi was the worst person on earth because he stopped him from harming himself.
And he hated that, in a way, Dabi was something that kept him going, that made him hesitate when he was left alone.
Hawks had grown used to the thoughts.
But sometimes, he wished they didn't come back when he was in the middle of counting twenty sleeping pills.
Sometimes, he was glad they came back in those moments.
Because he was able to look him in the eyes and say I didn't do anything without lying, even though his heart broke when he still checked, he was so relieved to be able to see his eyes soften when he looked at him.
He was so relieved to see that there was still love in those eyes.
It had always been there, whether he lied or not.
And he was so glad.
So glad.
So glad.