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The frigid November air was digging into Hawks, even with his heavy flight jacket on. Perched on a skyscraper, there was little to stop the wind from crashing into him, whistling through his feathers and rustling his hair. He curled his wings around himself to try and hold some kind of warmth, but the effort was largely in vain. Hawks still enjoyed rare moments like this, despite the cold. Moments without the stress of pleasing the public, his handlers, or a temperamental villain weighing on him were becoming less and less frequent, and with the holidays on the horizon, Hawks knew he’d find himself with even less time than normal. So, he allowed himself to linger on the building, taking deep breaths and watching the city skyline. Try to clear his mind before heading back to his apartment.
He had it all on his shoulders. Not just Fukuoka or Kyushu, but all of Japan. The fate of the country rested on him and the trust he earned from one of Japan’s most dangerous villains. It was a heavy burden, but one he took on willingly for the sake of a better future.
(Not that it mattered how ‘willing’ he was. He had signed up to be Japan’s martyr a long time ago.)
Deep inhale, exhale. He wishes he had a cigarette. A bad habit he’d picked up recently, and one his handlers have only been lenient on because it got him closer to Dabi. As soon as the mission was over, the habit would be crushed, just like Dabi, the league, and every memory and moment the two have shared over the past few months.
He choked back a small whimper. The thought of the mission ending, of Dabi being wiped from his life like an unimportant stain made him feel… conflicted. That’s bad, he correctly identified. He’s not supposed to feel conflicted about Dabi. In fact, he should be quite set in stone when it comes to the villain. When the heroes raid the league and damn them to Tartarus, Hawks should cheer.
The thought didn’t bring him much joy, though. And he wasn’t sure what to do with that.
He really only had himself to blame for the blossoming… feelings about the villain. He had been the one to cross the threshold from professional to more intimate meetings. He thought that with his charms and willingness to indulge in Dabi, the villain would go soft on him and give him an opening. He committed to the bit too fast, just like everything else.
Dabi was a naturally suspicious person. He was observant, and read people well. He knew it was fake. Hawks realized that after they hooked up for the first time. It was sloppy and impulsive, rough and rushed. Hawks did his best impression of a starving man. Dabi didn’t buy it, immediately slipping his clothes back on and leaving afterwards.
“That was fun, hero,” he said with a smirk. Hawks thought about kissing it off of his face. “You’re a real good actor. Almost made me think you liked it,” he sauntered off like it was nothing, leaving Hawks beyond frustrated.
His plan had backfired, something he could’ve predicted if he put in a bit more foresight. But more alarmingly, he did like it. Dabi was a good kisser, he had a pretty face, and ran warm. He got shivers just thinking about how hot his damn mouth was.
It should be more alarming to him how quickly the two fell into bed after that, how he picked up Dabi’s habits, how Dabi can get into his house. Dabi is just using Hawks, like he’s been using him for information. Hawks, though? He doesn’t have a solid answer. Not anymore.
He decides to push that uncomfortable fact out of his mind for now, bury it in the deep recesses of his mind for future Hawks to worry about. Clearly, his nightly roosting wasn’t doing enough to clear his mind. With a deep inhale, Hawks folded his wings in and dived off the roof, feeling the wind rush by him. So loud he couldn’t hear anything, so fast he couldn’t see anything. For about 10 seconds, there was nothing but him and the wind, reaching his top speed before flaring his wings out and soaring into the sky.
It felt riveting, like a kid on a roller coaster. He wishes he could fly forever, let his wings take him up, up, up, high above any of his troubles. And then he’d fall down so fast that the pain couldn’t catch up to him. He’d hit the ground before he’d feel it at all, his last moments engulfed in the exhilarating ecstasy.
He’s unable to satisfy this fantasy, so he just settles for dive bombing like a normal hawk would. It’s able to calm his self-destructive urges just long enough to make it home and prepare for the next day.
He slides open the door, and notices the villain’s presence before he can even kick his boots off. He hears his heartbeat. He’s in the living room, on the couch, watching something on TV. Awake. Internally, he groans. He was really hoping he’d get some damn peace tonight, but he knew damn well that that wasn’t happening. Not with Dabi.
He decides to get it over with, stalking through the halls until the villain notices his presence. “You’re late,” Dabi says lamely, not taking his eyes from the TV. “What were you doing out so late, birdie?” He glances over to Hawks, tilts his head like a cat. It’s adorable. Dabi, adorable. How incongruent. He feels a pang of guilt.
Dabi makes him feel conflicted a lot . When he uses a nickname, no matter how antagonistic. When he shows concern. When he expects a genuine answer, not looking for the flavorless reassuring platitudes the hero gives everyone else. It tugs at his heart till his chest tightens, making it hard to breathe. The way Dabi does it so effortlessly. It probably means nothing to Dabi, it’s probably not even real, but it’s the closest thing to “care” Hawks has ever had.
(He can’t accept it. If he accepts it, he’ll have to acknowledge that his parents, the commission and Endeavor never really cared about him. He can’t, cause then what was it all for? What will he have, if not the belief that the commission hurts him out of love?)
Hawks shields himself with an easy smile. “Just watching the city,” he says with a shrug. “It’s real pretty at night. Good for gathering your thoughts,” it’s not a lie, but Dabi will think it is. He thinks everything Hawks says is a lie, especially when he smiles like that. It’s not. It can’t be. For better or worse, Dabi always draws out the truth from him. Draws out something real and untamed. He wishes he could tell Dabi. He won’t.
Dabi frowns and turns back to the TV. “I made dinner,” he says, and Hawks knows that he’s failed whatever test that Dabi had silently laid out for him. Good. He didn’t feel like talking to Dabi today. They never talked about superfluous things. Dabi was always testing and measuring him, prodding at him to try and get an honest response. Always analyzing. If Hawks didn’t have to lie, he wouldn’t mind so much. It’d be the only time anyone took any real interest in him, beyond the surface level. But he can never be honest with Dabi, so their conversations turned into a drawn-out game until Dabi was satisfied or Hawks blocked his advance.
He goes into the kitchen and grabs the bowl of stir fry. He takes an experimental bite, noting how it's significantly more spicy than the last time Dabi made it. He listened to what Hawks thought and changed it. The small detail makes a surge of conflicting feelings rush through his heart. Why?
If you asked Dabi, he’d tell you he’s a living corpse. That he doesn’t care about anyone or anything besides accomplishing his goal of destroying the hero system. And yet he cooked both of them dinner, adjusting the spices to make sure Hawks would enjoy the taste more. He stayed awake to make sure he got home, and Hawks is almost certain that he’s waiting for him to come into the living room. If he went to bed without eating, he’d scold him for it the next day.
Maybe Hawks’s plan to charm Dabi worked better than he thought. Perhaps under all the snark and mutual suspicion, The two of them were more similar than either of them thought. Hawks was made to fight, to kill, to serve. He was a bird taught to sing, never knowing he could fly. It seems Dabi’s only able to destroy, to burn and burn until there’s nothing left. Neither of them were made to love, but longed for it despite that. Maybe because of that.
Or maybe Hawks was just projecting. Maybe Dabi’s just a really good liar. But that answer doesn’t sit right with Hawks. He feels the way Dabi literally heats up when he calls him pretty, remembers the genuine gratitude in his eyes when Hawks has cigarettes or pain pills already at the house. The way he lit up when Hawks complimented his quirk.
Maybe that’s why Dabi’s been so soft on him recently. Maybe he was just as eager as Hawks to indulge himself, just as eager to plunge and lose track of it all.
Maybe they’re both falling from the sky, and maybe they’re both gonna crash. Maybe when Icarus fell he took the sun with him.
But if they’re falling, he should let himself enjoy the excitement of the drop. He disconnected most of his feathers from his wings so he could sit next to Dabi on the couch, curling up into the taller man’s side. “What are we watching?” Hawks asks, already stuffing his mouth with food. Dabi’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing his expression for any signs of a lie. He won’t find one.
Slowly, Dabi turns back to the TV. “Love, Death, and Robots,” he answers quietly. “Don’t worry, it’s an anthology series,” he tentatively wraps his arm around Hawks, the hero finally sees him relax. At least a little bit.
Hawks hums in response. “Never heard of it. Thanks for adding some more spices this time, hot stuff,” he relishes the small smile he earns in response. It’s a tiny little thing, genuine and soft and all the things Hawks needs.
Maybe it’s ok, if everything crashes and burns in a few months. Right now, the two of them are in a snowglobe; able to live insulated from the outside world. Each time the outside world shakes them up, they come back to each other, performing this faux relationship until the glass is finally broken. It’s a small comfort, even if it’s not real. And maybe that’s enough, for now.