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Dabi steps into the ballroom, gaze sharp despite the perpetual half-lidded look his scars give him. The suit he has on sags on his slight frame, but he chooses to wear it like it was a choice and not the only thing he could acquire on short notice. It's not like he gives a shit about any of these people.
Well. Aside from a certain pretty bird that is.
The Commission really went out of their way this year to set the scene for their donors' gala. Everything shines, from the white floors to the red drapes with the gold trim, to the crystal champagne flutes. Outside of course is a nightmare, full of their customers strung out on Zydrate or being chased down by Repo Men, but inside, the inner circle stays warm and protected.
Dabi's fingers itch as he resists the urge to light someone on fire. It would be so easy.
But, he has a mission tonight. So he makes his way through the crowd easily, grabbing a glass of champagne as he passes by the upper crust of society. Despite his scars, no one spares him a glance—it's supposed to be a masquerade, so he's technically skirting the requirement, but his face passes for a Halloween mask on the best of days, and it gets him a free pass. It's almost ironic— makes him wonder what a guy has to do for a scrap of attention around these parts.
Not the case for Mr. Popular, he sees. Even with most of his distinctive wings discarded for the evening, admirers still flock to him as he holds court in the corner of the room. They have him dressed lavishly, the gold of his suit catching the light like some kind of sun god. At least, that's what they seem to be going for. Dabi personally thinks it resembles a disco ball. He rolls his eyes as he passes, barely ghosting his fingers over one of the feathers at the base as he pretends to slide past through the crowd.
He doesn't have to turn to know Hawks has sensed his presence. The bird may be blind, but those feathers the Commission gave him more than made up for the perceived deficiencies.
Barely a minute passes before Dabi feels more than hears someone join his side.
"You couldn't even pretend to blend in? Masks aren't that hard to find."
Dabi turns his head slowly and suppresses a snort at the garish red mask Hawks is sporting. "Don't say that, Birdie. You don't want them to kill off whatever sad sack made that mask for you when they find out you don't like it."
Hawks purses his lips at the accusation. "I meant for you, asshole."
Dabi smirks and leans to whisper in his ear. "So do I get a dance or are those only reserved for the donors they throw you at?"
It earns him an eyeroll, but he grins as Hawks tugs at his hand, leading them both onto the dance floor. Dabi settles it on Hawks' waist, squeezing a little just to watch the half-suppressed shudder go through him. It's been years since Dabi has had the chance to practice these skills and he's rusty. The last time he was at a party like this, he was still Touya, and dear old Dad hasn't poked around high society since before Dabi became real.
The music soars around them, and he feels Hawks' little talons dig into his shoulder.
"I mean it, Dabi. If they see you…"
"They'll what? Kill me? They tried, remember? It didn't exactly stick," he says, gesturing to the mess of his face.
Hawks lets out an unhappy huff at that, but makes no move to pull away from him, so Dabi just pulls him in as close as he thinks he can get away and spins them around the dance floor until the song ends. His plan's worked it seems— he's gotten Hawks away from his "handlers" and to the other edge of the ballroom.
Thankfully, his partner seems to catch on quickly and shoots Dabi a quick grin, the first glimpse of what lay beneath the public face he's seen all night. He's once again grateful Hawks isn't sporting his full wings— it makes sneaking through the crowds into a back room easy.
Once inside, he finds himself pinned to the wall by Hawks, a pretty glint in his gold eyes. "You shouldn't be here."
Dabi spreads his arms in supplication, grin giving away the artificiality of the movement. "And miss this? Nah. Tell me you weren't just waiting for me to swoop in and save you from talking to the suits."
Hawks ignores him in favor of playing with the seams on his wrists, like a reassurance that Dabi is here in front of him. It softens his resolve, to know he missed him despite his sharp words. "Come on. They won't miss you if we're quick."
"Not a problem," Hawks quips, though the mirth doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Too fast—"
"For your own good, yeah, yeah. I watch TV."
"Aww, you watch me?"
Dabi rolls his eyes, even though he knows Hawks can't see it. "I watch everyone. Now do you wanna keep wasting our time yapping or do you want me to distract you?"
Hawks finally removes his hand from his arm to rest on his neck as he pulls Dabi down for a kiss.
—
True to his word, they finish with enough time to lay around a bit before Hawks will be missed. Dabi is starting to feel the telltale shivers and tingling at his scars, telling him he needs another fix badly. He'll have to find where Shigaraki is parked for the night once he leaves.
For now, though, he runs his fingers over the scars where Hawks' wings protrude from his back, the unnatural way they don't quite manage to mimic bone and sinew. The fact the Commission gave him such a hack job of a surgery both does and doesn't surprise him. He'd asked once if they hurt, a stupid question, but Hawks had humored him. "More heavy than anything," he'd said. He only has to wear the full set for performances.
Hawks flinches away from his touch after a bit. "Sensitive."
Dabi smiles and kisses the back of his neck in apology. "Can't help it, pretty bird."
He sits up at that, pulling the scars out of Dabi's reach. "Your hand is shaking."
Pursing his lips, he clamps down on his own wrist. "Nothing for you to worry about. I've got it under control."
Hawks snorts. "If you had it under control, you wouldn't need to get wrapped up in Shigaraki's mess."
Dabi bristles. "Like you're one to talk about making shitty deals."
Instead of getting angry like he's itching for, Hawks just stares ahead. "That's why I'm saying it."
"Yeah, I know," Dabi says testily. Like they haven't had this conversation a hundred times. Both fucked over and left at the mercy of the Commission, one caged, one desperate for revenge. No good ending on the horizon.
"Why did you leave?" Hawks asks. It isn't sad or angry or pleading— his voice is flat, his mouth tense and unhappy.
"You know why-"
"Don't give me that," Hawks snaps, and there's the anger bubbling under the surface. Dabi wants to tell him it looks good on him, but that would just get him slapped.
Dabi sighs, knowing Hawks is going to need something real from him. Maybe even owes it to him, considering they both know why Dabi's really here. And especially when it's always Dabi that leaves first in their little dance.
"My Dad is still a Commission puppet. He thinks he's some hero, gutting people for debts they can't pay. Shigaraki needs me on the ground, and I can't be two places at once."
"And graverobbing for Zydrate gets you closer to taking him down how?" Hawks' mouth is a thin line now.
Dabi clicks his tongue, letting his piercing clack against his teeth. "Careful, birdie. You almost sound like you sympathize with them."
"You know I don't," he says. A lie. Every word from his songbird is parroted Commission lies and Dabi knows it. He's just too stupid to walk away. He tells himself he's keeping an eye on it before it blazes out of control.
"Yeah," he breathes in lieu of a real answer. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a vial of familiar blue liquid and dangles it in front of Hawks, letting it brush over his shoulders until he uses a feather to snatch it.
"What is it?"
"New formula Boss Man wants to test out." He nudges Hawks. "You said you wanted to help, right? Prove it."
When Hawks doesn't make a move to confirm this, Dabi tries a different tactic. "They've got you pushing surgeries, right? This is just a way to sweeten the pot. You're not doing anything new. Besides, that's why we're testing it out on this crowd, huh? That way, it's just rich assholes getting screwed over."
That seems to spur Hawks' into action and his hands finally wrap around the vial before slipping it into his own pocket.
"Good bird," Dabi purrs. "A few drops in people's drinks should do the trick. I'll let you pick the test subjects. Wouldn't want that spotless conscience keeping you up."
Hawks taps his nails on his thigh. "If I do this, will that be enough for you to let me see Shigaraki?"
Dabi hums. "It's enough that I'll consider it. Do a good job and I'll consider it seriously."
Shit, he thinks. His hands are really fucking shaking now. As much fun as he's having, he needs to get out of here.
He stands, letting his fingers run over a feather. "Gotta run. I'll come find you when I have another job."
Hawks sighs, pulls him down for another kiss. It's a bad angle that's more teeth than lips, but they chase it anyway.
He doesn't risk looking back as they rejoin the party— doesn't think he can stomach watching Hawks plaster that smile back on, even if he knows it's all in service of his greater goal.
Instead, he walks past the hordes of laughing, masked idiots and imagines their screams in his head.