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There’s a faint ache creeping up Hawks’ arms. It’s been weeks since he got a good night of sleep. He’s leaning on the balcony railing a little more than he’d like, the cigarette in his hand threatening to tumble to the ground three stories below.
It is a beautiful night, at the very least. Hawks looks out at the forest surrounding the villa, evergreens stretching out as far as he can see. He loves it here, more than he should. His apartment back in Fukuoka is cold and sterile, with no allowed personality. The people here don’t love him, most regard him with dirty looks in the hallway. But there’s a certain comfort to it all. Out in the real world, people revere him as a golden idol, look up to him as a model influence. Here he can shed the mantle. He doesn’t have to pretend to be genuine - everyone here already knows he’s full of shit.
It’s not that he wants to be. If he had a say in the matter, he’d lay his cards on the table at every possible turn. But he doesn’t have his way, and he only rarely has any cards of his own to bare. The cards he does have are wordlessly slipped into his hand, orders from on high for him to carry out. He wishes - or he used to wish, the dream has passed now - that he could be the person they think he is.
A firefly drifts past his eyes, and he reaches out to catch it. It lands gently on his glove, then takes off again. Fleeting.
The door slides open behind him and Hawks hears Dabi step out. He turns, watching him set his hand alight and light the cigarette in his hand. It flickers blue for a second, then dies slowly into warm orange embers.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” Dabi says, scrunching his face at Hawks.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
Dabi smiles back in reply. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
He leans on the balcony next to Hawks and takes a drag from his cigarette.
“You look like shit.” He says, after a few minutes of silence.
“Thanks. You look great too,” Hawks replies dryly. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”
He’s getting comfortable with Dabi. Not in a personal way, but they can volley remarks back and forth with no offense taken. He doesn’t trust Hawks - and really, for good reason, he wouldn’t trust himself either - and Hawks knows, and he knows that Dabi knows he knows. But there’s a contented mockery of it all. Dabi knows Hawks doesn’t draw his own cards.
“When was the last time you slept?” Dabi asks, tilting his head to look at Hawks out of the corner of his eye.
“Last night,” Hawks offers, and Dabi snorts.
“No, really.”
“Really. If you’re not careful I’ll start to think you care about me.”
Dabi rolls his eyes and turns back to look at the forest.
“They’re beautiful, you know. The trees. I always feel bad when I burn them down.”
“I didn’t know you could feel bad,” Hawks says, turning to look at Dabi. “But sure, feel bad about the trees. Not people, though.”
“I like the trees better.”
“Figures.”
“You’re an asshole, you know. Behind the facade.”
“I know. It’s hard to be a hero and stay a good person.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“How many heroes do you know?”
Dabi turns to look at Hawks, shifting his arm on the railing.
“You’re full of questions.”
“One. One question.”
Dabi is quiet for a few minutes, and Hawks doesn’t interrupt the silence.
“I don’t know any other than you now, not anymore. But in another lifetime I used to know hundreds.”
“Hundreds?” Hawks asks, and Dabi grins back, all teeth and rancor.
“You can tell me I’m embellishing. I won’t mind.”
“I would, but I don’t think you are,” Hawks says, and Dabi makes an unreadable expression. “Any of those heroes any good?”
“One. Once. But I think now he’s content to play dress up and take orders,” Dabi says with a sigh. He puts his cigarette out on his arm and tosses it into the ground below. “Anyways. Goodnight.”
“You too.”
Dabi holds his gaze for a second, like he wants Hawks to say something else. Hawks looks away, back to the trees and his own thoughts. He hears the door open and close, and then he’s alone again, staring out at the forest.