Work Text:
[Asshole] your place tonight. Bring food
[Hawks] always a delight
[Asshole] u know it
Keigo pockets the burner phone and it weighs heavily against his chest. They haven't seen each other in a few days, almost a week, with Keigo being busy trying to coordinate the whole hero attack as inconspicuously as possible with the PLF breathing down his neck.
It's been something of an odd change of pace. Since the day Dabi brought Pigeon to his place, he barely spent a day without seeing his mug, had barely slept or eaten alone in the past few months, and that change in their—well, routine —had been both a relief for Keigo's nerves as well as a source of turmoil.
It was easier to think rationally when Dabi wasn't around, lounging in the couch with Pigeon purring on his chest, or humming off-key in the kitchen while preparing some dinner they would share in front of a series they picked after bickering for way too long. It was easier to remain focused without those piercing blue eyes watching him every time he entered a room. No distracting touches, no wandering fingers through his feathers, no stolen, possessive kisses in hidden corners that left Keigo frazzled every single time.
And yet, even without Dabi’s presence, Keigo has to rein in his thoughts more often than not. Despite overworking his brain with plans, backup plans, and then backup plans for the backup plans, Keigo can’t rest. It's been frustratingly hard to sleep properly without a warm body wrapped around him like a vine, without the presence of someone next to him to soothe his nerves and help him unwind. Even Pigeon’s purrings and soft weight against his wings, it’s been hard to rest, hard to wind down. Since when had he become so dependent on someone? When exactly did Keigo become unable to function properly without Dabi around?
He should have taken advantage of this break to set his mind straight again and untangle the mess Dabi created. Instead of that, he spent every dull moment thinking about the asshole, and how unfair and completely dumb actually missing him was.
Keigo hates how relieved the text makes him feel. He hates how eager he is to go home in a couple of hours.
He loves it.
And he's so mad at himself.
Keigo contemplates his weakness, loathes it, treasures it, cradles it close, and wants to crush it under his boot.
He should protect himself. Gather his thoughts, and keep a cool head.
But everything related to Dabi can't be cool or rational. All of that flew out of the window the day those scarred lips crushed against his in a burning, hungry kiss.
From there, Keigo plunged head-first into the rabbit hole and his wings were unable to stop his fall. Unable and mostly unwilling. And now, he can see the ground rushing up at him at full speed, and still—
Still, his wings refuse to open.
Still, he's falling.
Dabi lets himself in, welcomed by Pigeon’s enthusiastic meowing. The set of keys he took from Hawks' kitchen drawer goes back to the pocket of his coat. Hawks never asked for them. He's not even sure Hawks noticed since he never uses the entrance door but neither did he question the fact that Dabi was able to come and go as he pleased.
Another silent agreement neither of them cares to address.
He picks up Pigeon with a coo, nuzzling her soft fur before even turning on the lights. He toes off his boots, trying to keep his balance with his hands full of purring cat, and parks them next to Hawks' collection of designer sneakers. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it next to the horrendous Paisley jacket Hawks seems so bizarrely affectionate of, resisting once more the urge to burn it on the spot.
The living space is neat and tidy, a sign that Hawks has been home since Dabi last came over. Not that Dabi is an especially messy person in general, but compared to the neat freak Hawks revealed himself to be, anyone is messy. The only things that linger on the wooden floor are a couple of stray feathers Pigeon probably found somewhere to play with.
The fridge is once more empty, save for cans of iced coffee and beers, and, for some reason, a single beetroot. What Hawks intended to do with that, Dabi has no clue. Was it an attempt at cooking and eating healthy even without Dabi cooking for them?
That would be a first.
Dabi grabs a beer and makes his way to the bathroom for a long shower. Even with the upgrade of their living conditions since their merge with Re-Destro’s goons, Dabi still prefers Hawks' bathroom. It's bigger, and more luxurious, and Hawks knows which kinds of products are good for Dabi's mangled skin. Dabi never asked for anything but somehow, Hawks understood, and now Dabi's own soap bottle stands next to Hawks'.
Dabi usually doesn't think too much about it. He refuses to. It would be opening the door to something he'd rather not address. But tonight, at the sight of the brand new bottle of shower gel Hawks probably bought a few days ago, his mind wanders.
They both know it’s not going to end well. And that’s also something neither of them cares to address. Neither of them is stupid enough to think that they’ll have any kind of happy ending. Dabi knew it as soon as he tasted Hawks for the first time. He knew his tendencies to addictions and lack of self-preservation. He knew it and still, he didn’t do anything to fight them. He dove head-first into Hawks’ warmth, bathed in his attention, devoured every kind gesture, and couldn’t find the strength to stop. It was too good.
Too good to be true.
And yet, he still can’t figure out why Hawks keeps on lying and entertaining their thing . He has no reason to anymore. Twice basically eats out of the palm of his hand, like a well-trained golden retriever. Even the rest of the idiots calling themselves his friends had warmed up to Hawks. So really, Hawks doesn’t need Dabi anymore. He has everything he needs to spy on the League, to feed the heroes with whatever intel he manages to gather from those dumbasses at the PLF mansion who can’t seem to realize that Hawks will never betray the good guys.
Why doesn’t Hawks tell him to fuck off?
Hawks is the stupidest of them all.
Or is it Dabi?
He leaves the steamy bathroom with the rest of his can of beer and steps into the bedroom across the hallway. The bed is made with fresh sheets that Dabi can’t wait to mess up when Hawks eventually comes back home. He drops the towel around his hips on the ground of the large walk-in closet in a wet bundle. Hawks will probably bitch about it but that’s fine. Dabi will hush him with a kiss or something.
He puts on a pair of black sweatpants Hawks gave up on getting back. They smell clean and the fabric is fresh and soft on his skin. He rummages through the pile of hoodies, looking for a specific one. He finds it at the very bottom of the pile and chuckles.
“Nice try, birdie,” he whispers as he unfolds the large sweater.
It’s ugly and awful. The pink color is starting to fade away with how many times it’s been washed and the chicken embroidered on the chest is coming undone around the edges. But the fabric is extra soft, the kind of soft you get only from clothes well-worn, and it’s Hawks’ favorite so logically it became Dabi’s favorite as well. This one doesn’t smell like laundry. Dabi can still smell the fragrance of his soap on it, mingled with Hawks’ shampoo. He wonders why he didn’t wash it with the pair of sweatpants.
Doesn’t matter.
Another beer is cracked open and Dabi goes to sit at his favorite spot, a wobbly chair on Hawks’ balcony where he can smoke in peace without the bird bitching about the stink of cold tobacco inside. Pigeon makes herself comfortable on his lap, and Dabi’s fingers tangle in her thick fur, scratching and petting until the purr concerto rumbles against his thighs. The night is falling but it’s not cold. Dabi actually enjoys Fukuoka’s weather and it’d been a nice spring day. It’s nicer than Tokyo and its chilly nights. Nicer than Deika and its rain. Here, there’s a breeze coming from the sea, just enough to provide some relief from the evening heat. Dabi drags on his cigarette and looks at the clear sky.
He checks the time on his phone and sinks lower in his chair, rearranging the small cushion behind his back and propping his feet on the railing without disturbing a blissfully snoozy cat. He’s not waiting for Hawks, of course he isn’t. But it’s a nice view and if, by chance, an oversized rooster happens to arrive at the same time and improves said view, then it’s a win-win situation in Dabi’s book. He’s allowed to admit that he quite enjoys watching Hawks fly, isn’t he? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s like watching a flock of pigeons flying around or something, right? Right.
He’s at the end of his beer and third cigarette when the familiar red wings appear in his field of vision, beating at a slow, lazy pace. Hawks takes advantage of the air drafts to glide toward the balcony. He lands gracefully next to Dabi, and folds his wings to his back.
“Yo.”
Dabi raises his almost empty can as a greeting. Hawks drops the bulging bag of fresh veggies, and what appears to be a whole chicken, on the small table next to Dabi. Dabi peers inside it, inspecting the goods. “Good, you didn’t forget the shallots.”
Hawks huffs and steals Dabi’s beer to finish it in one gulp. “Didn’t want to hear you bitch about ruining your cooking by forgetting the shallots.”
Dabi grabs the bag with a crooked smile and stands up, hiking Pigeon on his shoulder. “I was simply trying to explain to you the art of cooking.”
“And insulting me through it?”
“That was a bonus.”
“For who, I wonder.”
Dabi pinches Hawks’ nose. “For me, obviously.”
Hawks rolls his eyes. “Of course.”
Dabi sets off to cook while Hawks hits the shower. He’s busy preparing the chicken, separating the breasts from the carcass, when the sudden realization that this might be one of the last times, if not the last time they ever see each other like this, hits him like a truck launched at full speed.
Something has been brewing for a while now, like a storm rumbling in the distance. He’s seen how busy Hawks has been lately and it doesn’t take rocket science to figure out that one of their sides is about to make a move.
Something cold coils in the pit of Dabi’s stomach.
It’s not fear. It can’t be fear. Pigeon rubs herself against his legs, as if feeling his discomfort. He shakes his head and goes back to his task.
He’s finally going to get what he’s always wanted.
The knife in his hand feels so heavy he has to set it down. He stares at the open chicken without seeing it.
It’s over, isn’t it?
Their little game of playing house is over.
The sound of running water in the bathroom stops.
Dabi will never go back to this kitchen. He will never listen to Hawks rambling about whatever nonsense happened during his day and he’ll never get to cook for them both again. He’ll never feed his cat again or spend an evening with Hawks next to him on the couch and Pigeon on his legs.
Why does his heart feel so heavy? He knew this was coming. It’s not like he had feelings for Hawks. It’s not like he was in l—
“So, what are you making? I’m starving.”
Dabi startles, his eyes meeting Hawks’. Hawks frowns, stopping the motion of toweling his hair dry. “You okay? You look like someone just walked over your grave.”
Dabi looks away, trying to pull himself together. “Fine.”
Hawks walks to him and gently grabs his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Dabi purses his lips. “Nothing.”
“You’re such a bad liar sometimes.” Hawks rubs his shoulder but doesn’t push it when Dabi doesn’t answer.
Maybe he knows.
Maybe he realizes too that they’re at the end of their road.
If he does, he doesn’t say anything. He just takes his usual perch on the counter, next to Dabi, and switches on the TV. The sound of the voices onscreen fills the silence that has settled between them. Dabi goes back to his chicken, trying to ignore the twisted knot in his gut.
Their dinner is quiet, for once. Keigo looks at Dabi, at his clenched jaw, and tight lips. He barely touches the food he prepared for them both, and avoids Hawks’ gaze. Something happened while Keigo was showering and he can’t figure out what, but he knows better than trying to pry. The only result will be Dabi closing off even more. If he wants to talk about whatever is bothering him, then he will.
Keigo loads their empty plates in the dishwasher while Dabi puts the leftovers in containers with a sour expression. He stores them away in the fridge and stares at the neatly stacked glass boxes for a while.
“Dabi—”
“I’m alright.” He closes the door of the fridge with a bit too much force. “Let’s watch a movie.”
He storms past Keigo to go sit in his corner of the couch and browse through Netflix for something they haven’t watched yet in their shared list.
Usually, when Dabi is in a bad mood, he just disappears without a word or explanation, but tonight he seems determined to stay, which is fine by Keigo—albeit a bit puzzling. Everything seemed fine when he arrived so it’s nothing Keigo has said or done. Maybe Dabi got an unpleasant phone call while he was in the bathroom but he would have bitched about it during dinner if it has been Geten or Skeptic or—well, anyone from the PLF.
Keigo joins him on the couch but leaves some distance between them, not sure if Dabi wants space or not.
It appears he doesn’t. He lies back as soon as Keigo sits down, resting his head on Keigo’s lap, and starts the sequel of a twisted polar movie they had watched the last time they saw one another. Pigeon curls against Dabi’s belly, as if she felt her dad’s sour mood. Keigo tentatively cards his fingers through Dabi’s hair and when he’s not snapped at, he starts to relax.
The movie is interesting enough to keep Keigo’s mind busy and he feels Dabi’s tense body unwind progressively under his touch.
After the movie ends, Dabi goes to smoke another cigarette on the balcony, as usual, while Hawks switches off the lights in the living room and goes to faceplant in the bed, following a well-known routine. It’s typical for Dabi to take a while to join him, but he lingers on the balcony longer than usual. So much so that Keigo is almost asleep when Dabi crawls into bed and carves his way between his legs. Keigo’s weak protest is swallowed by the hungriest kiss he’s ever received.
“Dabi?” he manages to whisper when he’s allowed to catch his breath.
“Don’t talk.” There’s something in Dabi’s voice that pulls at Keigo’s heartstrings. Something demanding, but not in a bossy way. It’s more a plea than an order.
“Dabi—”
His next words are stolen away and Keigo stops talking, his body and mind too overwhelmed by Dabi’s greedy, almost desperate touches.
His brain is only able to start functioning again once Dabi is asleep next to him, an arm possessively wrapped around his waist and his head tucked under Hawks’ chin. Keigo has brought a wing to cover their naked, satiated bodies, shielding them from the cool breeze coming from the open window. Dabi’s peaceful breathing tickles Keigo’s collarbone. He runs his fingers against the bumps of his spine, mindlessly tracing the pattern of his scars in a soothing, familiar ballet.
How much longer will he be able to do this? A few hours? A few days?
Keigo sighs and holds Dabi closer, burying his nose in his hair and breathing in the scent of his shampoo, his throat constricted at the idea that it’s probably the last time he can have a peaceful night.
They’re both morons. They should have never indulged in this.
And yet, Keigo can’t bring himself to regret a single minute of their masquerade. They created a bubble of normalcy in the midst of all this madness that belonged to only them, a safe place neither of them deserved but desperately craved.
He presses his lips against Dabi’s hair. “Stupid asshole. You really got me good here.”
Dabi mumbles in his sleep and tightens his grip around Keigo’s waist, tangling their legs closer.
Keigo smiles and closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of Dabi’s breathing.
When he wakes up at the sound of his alarm, the spot next to him is cold. On the pillow that used to be Dabi’s, the familiar faded pink hoodie is neatly folded, Pigeon rolled on it, fast asleep.
Keigo looks at the sun rising above the skyline, ignoring the buzzing sound of his phone going off with emails, reports, texts, and demands.
The morning light brushes against the fuzzy embroidery, peaking from under Pigeon’s black fur.
Hawks clenches his jaw and steels his heart, burying the ache under cold resolution.
There’s no time for this.
There’s no time for him.
For them.
Never has been.
Never will.