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Keigo wasn’t home.
It wasn’t anything Dabi hadn’t expected, honestly. He would’ve been surprised if birdie had been at home, all indignant when Dabi let himself in through the balcony sliding door as he usually did - but Keigo wasn’t here. He was out running patrol, Dabi knew. Not just because he knew Hawks’s schedule like the back of his hand, but because he’d seen Hawks getting thrown into a skyscraper twenty minutes ago on a konbini’s shitty television while he’d made his way here.
If Dabi had made his way to Keigo’s apartment just a little faster than usual after that, well - there was no one to know about that but him, right?
He shut the sliding door and moved to flop himself over the couch, sighing as he felt himself relaxing into the cushions. Honestly, he could just pass out here - and had multiple times before when he was too lazy to take over the bedroom while Keigo was out - but he wasn’t that tired. He was more interested in finding out when his birdie would be winging his way back.
A quick, annoyed huff left his throat unintentionally when he had to get up to grab the remote for the flat screen TV hooked onto the wall - only to pause when he noticed a small, almost palm-sized red feather tucked neatly underneath it.
He plucked it up, the downy softness of the plume striking as he twisted it between his fingers. Fiddling with the remote in his other hand, he plopped back onto the couch and flicked the screen on, flipping through the channels until he found one that was covering the local Fukuoka news - and, more importantly, Hawks sightings.
He doesn’t look too bad, he thought, cataloguing all the new bruises and scrapes, the lines of exertion that tugged at his eyes and the lines of birdie’s frame in a way that Dabi had long since trained himself to see. His eyes were light, though, and his smile confident as he spoke to some of the on-duty first responders. His wings, though - were they….
Dabi blinked.
Huh, were his wings twitching? He stared at the image of a tired-looking Hawks, all banged up and slightly bruised from the fight, and confirmed - yep. Keigo’s wings were twitching. It was hardly noticeable, but they were - almost like they were reacting to something prodding at them. But Dabi couldn’t see anything that could’ve been getting to the Winged Hero.
Maybe he’d ask when the other got home.
The moment the news shifted away from Hawks, he flicked the TV off, uninterested in their speculation about the latest villain attacks. Instead, he toyed idly with the feather in his hand, wondering how long it would take before his birdie would be making his way back.
As it turned out, not long at all.
Barely an hour after he’d made himself comfortable in Keigo’s apartment, the hero himself showed up, stumbling through the sliding door looking just a little worse for wear and more windswept than usual. Visibly disheveled and oddly bothered in a way that caught Dabi’s attention and held it fast.
That look usually meant Dab would be having a very entertaining night in.
It was also almost enough to distract him from his idle toying of Keigo’s stray feather - almost, at least, until he felt the tug at his fingers that was Keigo trying to pull it back from him without even a hello to break the silence.
He tightened his grip on sheer instinct, and the sound that escaped his partner was almost obscene.
Well now, what’s this?
“Something bothering you, pretty bird?” he asked pointedly, tugging tighter at the feather in his hands just to see -
Keigo’s hands clenched and Dabi caught sight of the visible flustered blush blooming on his cheeks, realization dawning and -
“Will you stop that, asshole - ,” his pretty bird demanded, all flustered and indignant, stepping close regardless of the grin Dabi knew was spreading on his face. He almost laughed.
“Sensitive, little bird?” he asked gleefully, delightedly, his smirk just shy of wicked as Keigo glared at him and didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to though, since Dabi could see the answer as it stared at him. Saw it in the way Keigo couldn’t stop the discreet but unmistakable shiver that came over him as Dabi dragged a warm thumb down the feather’s barbs, gentle but noticeable pressure mixed with a heat his birdie was all too weak to. Saw it in the way those keen eyes slid half-mast, unfocused for a split second as the sensation registered and overwhelmed him, just until Keigo could reign it back under control.
But Keigo did reign it back under control, like he always did.
“Don’t be an ass,” the pro retorted, rolling his eyes, “Of course they’re sensitive, they literally pick up vibrations in the air.”
How very curious. Dabi hummed, mulling over the thought in his mind, mischief and something else already plotting through his mind as he considered that. It wasn’t like it was entirely unknown that Hawks could sense things through his feathers - but, Dabi supposed, there couldn’t be many people at all who knew how sensitive they were. How much Keigo could pick up through them, even when he wasn’t anywhere near them.
Judging by how bothered Keigo had been - annoyed and restless and impossible to ignore - they were very sensitive. He felt a broad grin creep on his face - a very specific one that, judging by the flush becoming apparent on Keigo’s face, his lover recognized. Slowly, deliberately, he reached over and drew fire-warm fingertips down the wide blade of Keigo’s primaries. The sharp, muted inhale and hitch of breath was very promising.
Dabi could have some fun with this.
It was only hours later - the two of them tucked away abed while he was gently combing through the little feathers mixed in with fluffy golden locks at Keigo’s hairline in a way that had sent the already exhausted bird straight to sleep - that the thought struck him.
And, in the nature of a lot of his more disturbing inner thoughts, it struck him viciously.
As he brushed against the soft downy feathers, as Keigo let out a soothing, sleep-laden coo, shifting to tuck himself closer to Dabi’s warmth - it hit him how fragile those feathers were.
Sure, fragile was usually the last thing people would associate with Keigo’s feathers. Sharp and efficient, rather - a rich ruby red that was eye-catching in the sun, just as brilliant and deadly as the man himself. But with that kind of sensitivity….
A shiver like the touch of Yumi’s ice danced down his spine.
How many times had he seen Keigo stumble across the balcony’s threshold, wings bristling like a soaked cat after a rough day, pained exhaustion on his face before he registered Dabi had been laying in wait for him and years of training wiped the expression away? How many times had he seen those regal red feathers in disarray - singed and smoldering, covered in goop, gone entirely as victims to the villain-du-jour?
How many times had Dabi himself burned the very same feathers he was playing with now? How many times had he watched them crumble to ash between his fingers, reveling in the glare Keigo would send his way?
Suddenly, the realization shaded into something more daunting. His hand stilled, still curled into Keigo’s hair even though the urge to yank himself away was almost overwhelming.
Keigo huffed, a near silent sound as a soft whining cheep of protest slipped from him. Without further adieu, before Dabi could do as much as twitch, Keigo had pressed back into him at just the angle for Dabi’s fingers to brush against those sensitive little golden feathers.
It was an entirely unconscious motion that was filled with so much trust it almost broke Dabi’s heart.
You shouldn’t trust me, he thought darkly, thinking of a cheerful little boy with bright red wings he’d met well over a decade ago. Thinking of the broken little boy, and the quietly shattered young man with puppet strings wrapped around his wrists he’d become. Thinking of the folder full of evidence he’d copied from a midnight raid, a mother’s grief recorded on camera, and a mission so sensitive that there were only a handful of words uncensored.
Thinking of the devastation he could wreck with that long-fingered hand threaded through his lover’s hair.
But Keigo knew that. He knew where this road would end - for both of them - and he trusted Dabi anyway.
Always been a bleedin’ heart, birdie, he thought, resuming the gentle motion, carding through Keigo’s hair as the hero curled closer in his sleep. It’ll come back to haunt you.
He almost hoped it wouldn’t. But Dabi was a creature born from the ashes of his own grave, of his father’s hate and his family’s despair in a world that should’ve protected them. Hope wasn’t worth much these days.
He didn’t touch the feathers again.
end.