Chapter Text
The slice of cake sits untouched on the kitchen island, the red juices from the strawberries already soaking through and turning the vanilla slice into an awfully textured pink.
Even worse is the envelope that sits next to it. The wax seal had long since been broken, the letter resealed with tape at some point to keep its contents safely tucked away. It was just too painful to look at. There’s a date on the front,
12/28/20XX
. Some blatantly specific date.
Keigo Takami’s eighteenth birthday.
The letter and everything within the hauntingly white thing, ends up back on his countertop every year since it’s opening. Leveled with an empty stare while the inner turmoil spirals along like a water wheel. Faster and more hurried some days but calmer when the rains pass. Keigo distantly feels like rain wouldn’t be too out of place on this day. It’s just his luck that December means snow instead. He doesn’t feel that it’s too far out of place either. Another cold and miserable weather event that pounds against the windows of his apartment like an old friend coming for a visit. Or maybe an enemy looking for trouble.
Trouble comes in the form of deep purple scars, backlit by the meager sunlight that manages to seep through the heavy snowfall. Keigo pointedly does not move to open his balcony door and let the villain in. He doesn’t have the energy for anything today, his chest too tight and an embarrassing pressure building behind his eyes the longer he remains seated with the items lingering in his vision.
The lock to his balcony gives with a soft click , Dabi easily letting himself in without a single thought towards the soaked state of his clothes as they drip onto the hardwood. Keigo can practically see the smirk on the bastard's face already, despite being turned away from him. He makes a sorry picture, hands folded in his lap, fidgeting with the dainty, silver engagement ring where it remains on his too rough hand. The faint tear tracks that never seem to stay dry without his memory of ever shedding a tear to begin with. His hair is messy, grimy and matted in equal parts after a long day of patrol. Any energy that had remained, melted away in violent flames the moment he’d actually allowed himself to feel any kind of something about the day.
It feels wrong. To have Dabi see this. They aren’t on bad terms by any means, they’re just not friendly with one another. Sure there were a few fleeting moments in between snide remarks and clever insults, but that was it. A moment and gone.
It makes it much harder to understand the odd look Dabi is giving him now. The smirk he had expected is nowhere to be found, mouth set into a flat line in its usual place, paired with something that could be concern creasing his brow. It’s too bad the arsonist doesn’t actually care.
All the same, his staples pull at the edges of his mouth as it opens and closes a few times without a sound. Trying to find the proper insult perhaps. Looking for the best thing to say to drag Keigo’s already quickly deteriorating mood further down than six feet under. Blue eyes settle firmly on the letter and his expression drops to something more interested.
“What’s this?” his rough voice drags out plainly, thieving fingers carefully plucking it from the table. Something flickers in his eyes, his grip tightening around the edges when he scans over the date scrawled neatly on the front.
“What is this?” he repeats slowly, meeting gold eyes momentarily.
Keigo doesn’t respond. His own gaze flits back to the slice of cake sitting in front of him. It wasn’t for him, his own birthday be damned, it could never be for him. It was just a stupid promise he’d made. Drying tear tracks dampen again, vision filling with salt, chest constricting painfully with little choked off sobs.
It was stupid .
Dabi doesn’t say anything else either, setting the now opened envelope and the note that had been inside carelessly back next to the cake. Warm hands hesitantly find the space between his wings, gently using the placement to turn the hero into the still soaked cotton of Dabi’s shirt. Dabi doesn’t complain about the tears and snot being added to the already sorry state of his clothing, only tugging Keigo closer to his chest like he could separate the lonely little kid from the carefully crafted persona of Hawks and tuck him away in his own rib cage for safe keeping. Keigo’s own hands tangle into the material of Dabi’s jacket as if the thought could become a reality if he held on tight enough.
When the villain does finally start speaking again, it’s soft rambled nonsense words of comfort that only seem to make him sob harder. One hand stays firmly between his wings while the other drifts to rub circles in his lower back. Keigo’s always been drawn to physical touch, whether that be some side effect of his quirk or something left over from his childhood, he didn’t care enough to unpack it all right then and there. It’s so soft, so gentle. More careful than anyone’s ever treated him before in his life that he can remember. It’s much easier to forget the sorrows of the day while being held like this.
Keigo has no idea when he’d managed to fall asleep, but he wakes, more tired than ever, tucked under the ridiculously soft blankets of his bed. Any memory of last night feels like a fever dream and Dabi, if he had really been then in the first place, is already long gone from what he can feel through his feathers. His eyes are crusted over with dried tears and his stomach twists uncomfortably in its raving demand for food. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, with a glance at the digital clock perched on the otherwise empty bedside table, it’s very clear that he doesn’t even have to be up for a few more hours. He pushes to his feet anyway. Not a single light is on in the whole apartment aside from the little lights that blink from the smoke detectors.
Everything seems to freeze in place once the letter comes into view again, laid open, cake suspiciously absent next to it. His hands shake and he has to bite his lip to keep it from wobbling when he finally, finally , picks up the note. It says the same thing it always has, hope for a future filled with love and laughter. How naive.
Happy Birthday Pretty bird,
I know this probably won’t mean much, but I wanted to write all this down anyway. If you haven’t found it already there’s a ring inside the envelope that I want you to have. Mom gave it to me and said that I should give it to someone that I truly love. Apparently it’s some dumb family heirloom that used to be her mom’s or something that you’re “supposed to give to someone when they make you really happy all the time.” I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I do really want you to have it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I like that you like looking at me even when dad won’t. I want to always have you with me and if this means I can have that then that’s what I want. I might have to ask you for this back before you ever have a chance to open it just so that I can ask you for real. I love you birdie. I do now and even if I don’t later, I want you to know that there will always be a version of me that does.
Love,
Touya.
It’s so simple. So badly written. A kid Touya had somehow gotten it in his head that the letter was the best idea in the world. The best idea even when it brings tears back to Keigo’s eyes that refuse to be blinked away without a fight. The ring had fallen out before he had ever gotten to read it the first time. The little jewels shape into delicate snowflakes in a blue that matches Touya’s eyes. An engagement ring meant for a future Touya never lived to see. Sometimes the thought rolls around his head, of cold days spent bundled up under blankets on the couch or late evening dinners followed by slow dancing in the kitchen to all of their favorite songs. Too bad it was never possible.
Hawks roughly rubs at his face with the back of his hand, tugging a fake smile in place in a raw attempt to strangle the lingering thoughts of Keigo back into the box where he belongs. The note is folded back into its envelope and sealed with a sad piece of tape, left on the counter to be dealt with another day. The ring stays in its place, always does, never removed unless absolutely necessary in the days surrounding his birthday. It was a gift after all. One that Hawks will have to appreciate when he has the time to take a moment to let that something feeling roll back in with all its agony.
“I’ll see you next year, Touya,” Keigo whispers back toward the letter one last time. He still has work to do.