Chapter Text
Hawks hefted the final, taped-up cardboard box out of his car, the chirp of the lock sounding faintly through the rain. He lugged it up the stairs, just as he had all the others. But the more trips he had to make, the longer the next one felt. The weather outside was doing nothing to dampen the suffocating humidity of the city, and Hawks’ wings felt like they were made of wet cardboard by now, despite how much he tried to shake them dry as he made his way up the stairs. Each flight felt longer than the last, but the heavy thud of his boots on the concrete was fueled by a desperate, lingering excitement. This was it. His own space.
His chest and shoulders ached desperately with the weight of his drenched feathers, and the rain mixing with the sweat on his face wasn’t doing him any favors. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and pulled, using it to wipe his forehead. Then he reached one hand up to push rain-soaked hair back, out of his face. Physically, he felt miserable. His wings weighed a hundred more pounds when they were sopping wet. But this would all be worth it when he got inside. He would crank up the heater, and he would truly get to dry off. In his own space.
Everything was going to be empty, blank, ready for him to make it his own. He was finally going to be living alone, he would have the freedom to do whatever he wanted. He could order pizza at 3am and nobody would complain that the doorbell woke them up. There would be no curfew to having the lights on. The walls, the floors, everything would be his to decorate, to make it his home. Hawks couldn’t wait.
He tried the door, finding it locked. Strange, he didn’t remember doing that. He pulled his keys out, the door swinging open a moment later. That fragile optimism shattered the moment he dragged that final box over the threshold of Apartment 4B. He was just about smacked in the face with a series of strong odors that made him instantly recoil and–if he was being honest–vomit in his mouth a little. The place reeked of stale paint, and the landlord’s chemically sweet carpet cleaner. But overwhelming those was the blinding scent of burning tobacco.
He stopped dead in his tracks, the box now balance-checked against his hip, as his eyes adjusted to the dim afternoon light filtering through the balcony doors. There, sitting cross-legged on a worn faux-leather sofa that definitely hadn’t been listed in the unfurnished floor plan, was a man with staple-scarred skin and a deadpan expression, casually tapping ash into an empty soda can. It took three seconds of heavy silence for Hawks to realize that the keys burning a hole in his pocket weren’t a golden ticket to his first solo sanctuary, but a legally binding invitation to a living nightmare.
The couch was an eyesore, to say the least. The cheap material was peeling in more places than not, and where the fabric was still intact, there were cigarette burns and other stains that Hawks couldn’t quite identify. It didn’t appear comfortable in any sense of the word, so he was baffled as to how this man was so casually settled into the worn cushions. Hawks realized with a start, this sofa was sitting exactly where he had intended for his own high-end entertainment center–complete with surround sound–to go. It simply had to go. It was hideous, it looked like hell to sit on, and it wouldn’t match any of Hawks’ other furniture. Not to mention it was blocking a key spot for one of his pieces.
As he continued walking through the space–shifting the heavy weight of the box to rest uncomfortably against his ribs–and examining the not-so-empty state of the apartment he thought he would get to bring to life, Hawks realized there were eyes on him. The man’s gaze was intense, active, never leaving as he continued to take inventory of his surroundings. Mud-soaked boots sat right in the middle of the hallway leading to the bedroom, adding to the foul odors that were making it difficult for Hawks to function. Not only that, but a black leather jacket was tossed carelessly on the kitchen island, as if that was where it belonged, where coats were supposed to go. Next to it was a half-empty bottle of soju, and a styrofoam takeout box. Everywhere he looked, there was a mess.
“And how exactly did you get in here?” he asked. Maybe this was a prank. Electric blue eyes met his, a grin splaying wide on the other man’s face. It looked…wrong. It stretched the scarred skin in new ways Hawks hadn’t quite prepared himself for. The man stood, carefully set down the cigarette on the can, and approached him. There was something so erratic about the way he walked; it was deeply unsettling and kept Hawks on edge. He walked as though he couldn’t be bothered, like his feet needing to touch the ground was a personal hate crime the universe was inflicting upon him.
“Why, I live here,” came his simple response, his voice low and rough on the winged man’s ears. Hawks stiffened, glaring at the stranger as if the action might undo the words he just spoke. When nothing changed, Hawks took a deep breath, rustling his wings in a lousy attempt to dry them. He slowly set the box down on the floor, resisting the urge to strangle this man who was very possibly a burglar.
But even as he had the thought, Hawks knew he was wrong. No thief in his right mind brings a sofa along to the scene of the crime. Thieves take stuff; they don’t bring more stuff. He examined the couch in disdain, it certainly wouldn’t have been his first choice–or even in the top ten, for that matter. He had his own couch on the way; he would have to find a way to dispose of this sorry excuse for furniture.
“You’re staring at my sofa like it personally offended you,” the other male observed, and Hawks lifted his gaze. “What are you doing here, anyhow? You have the wrong floor number.”
“I live here,” Hawks snapped, gesturing to the small mountain of boxes he’d already dragged in. The scarred man looked past Hawks, his blue eyes once more scanning the taped cardboard and the bright, expensive brand names stamped on the side of the luggage. A low, dry chuckle scraped out of his throat as he took another step forward. When he did, the air changed, heat crawling up Hawks’ spine. The air felt…heavy, dry, like everything else shriveled up around him. Like this man held a fraction of the sun’s power…in himself. That was something Hawks needed to be wary of.
“Right. Well, birdbrain, unless you’re planning on sleeping in those boxes, we have a problem. Because my name is on the lease downstairs.”
Hawks crossed his arms, his wet feathers puffing up defensively, making him look twice his actual size. “My name is Hawks. And I paid the first and last month’s rent, a security deposit, and a ridiculous pet fee for my wings. I’m not a ‘birdbrain,’ and I’m not leaving.”
The man stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then his eyes shifted, the sharp blue locking onto the bright red feathers being displayed, his face a mix of profound irritation and intense curiosity.
“Great,” he drawled, “I’m roomming with a giant property hazard.” That choice of words sliced right through Hawks’ brain, and he bristled. They were not roomming. Hawks signed a lease for a one-bedroom, single occupancy apartment. The other man, unfazed, turned on one heel, crossing to the couch again. There, he picked up his cigarette and took a long, slow drag, blowing the smoke directly into the space between them. Hawks stepped back immediately, but the smoke filled his lungs anyways, took an iron grip to his chest. His wings flared even more on instinct as he fought to breathe, one of them smacking into the wall involuntarily. As he regained composure, he thought, this place has to have some sort of policy against smoking - especially indoors.
“I did not sign up for roommates, especially not one with no regard for lung cancer statistics. We’re settling this.” Dabi didn’t move from where he stood, but one dark, heavy eyebrow cocked upward. He looked entirely amused by the behavior of the winged man in his doorway.
“Settling it? What, you want to throw hands over a four hundred square foot living room, birdbrain? I promise you, I’m not dragging that sofa back down the stairs.” He looked down at the smoldering cigarette in his hand, then back up at Hawks, completely amused.
“I am not throwing hands,” Hawks bit out, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching his teeth. He dropped his gaze to the floor, fingers twitching with frustration. “I’m going to show you a little thing called legal documentation. Move.”
Hawks didn’t wait for permission. He stepped past the heavy, suffocating heat radiating off the stranger–although he had to be grateful that now, his wings were mostly dry–and marched straight toward the island. He shoved the crumpled jacket and the sticky can out of his way, clearing a small patch of marble. With sharp, aggressive movements, he unzipped his heavy backpack and hauled out a pristine, transparent sleeve.
“Look at this,” Hawks demanded, slapping the crisp packet onto the counter. “Four year history, flawless credit score, first and last month of rent, a security deposit that could buy a small used car, and a nonsense pet fee that could buy a better couch than the one you brought in here. Signed and dated three weeks ago. Unit 4B. Single occupancy.”
The stranger let out a low, raspy sigh that sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement. He took one last drag of his cigarette, extinguished the orange butt against the metal rim of the soda can, and finally stood up. He walked over to the kitchen island with that same erratic, unbothered stride, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark jeans.
He didn’t bother sparing a single glance at Hawks’ immaculate paperwork. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a piece of paper that had definitely seen better days. It was folded into eigths, stained with what appeared to be old coffee, and frayed at the edges. With two fingers, he flicked it open and shoved it right next to Hawks’ pristine paperwork.
“Congratulations on your credit score,” the man drawled, his voice the epitome of sarcasm and mockey. “But read the bold print at the top, birdbrain.”
Hawks stood up straighter at the nickname but forced his eyes down to the crumpled page. His heart sank directly into his stomach. There, stamped in the exact same bureaucratic font as his own document, was 4B. Below it was the exact same monthly rent, move-in date, and the sweeping signature of the property manager. It was completely legitimate.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. The keys burning a hole in his pocket weren’t a mistake. The landlord had legally rented the exact same apartment to two completely different people. Hawks stared at the paper, mouth slightly agape, mind frantically trying to find a loophole. His eyes scanned up to the top of the stranger’s lease, searching for the name of the tenant to see if it was a forgery. But a thumb covered in thick, dark burn scars was placed deliberately over the name line, completely blocking it from view.
Hawks lifted his gaze, glaring directly into those intense blue eyes. “You’re blocking the name.”
“Yeah. You don’t need to know it,” the man replied smoothly. A slow, frustrating smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He leaned his hips back against the island, crossing his arms over his chest, completely unbothered by the fact that their entire lives had just been thrown into a blender. “Keigo,” the man repeated, testing the syllables out loud with a sharp, mocking smile–almost as the name itself it was a bad joke. “Right. Well, Keigo, you can call me Dabi for now. Because looking at you and your fancy paperwork is giving me a headache, and we’re going to go down to find the idiot who handed us both the same set of keys.” Keigo froze. Looking down at the leasing agreements, he realized with a sudden, jarring start just how close they were standing in the narrow walkway of the kitchen. He took a sharp step back, but the suffocating, smoke-tinged heat of the man’s presence lingered on his skin like sunburn.
Trying to reclaim his composure and dignity, Hawks snatched his paperwork off the marble counter. He smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle with a trembling thumb before slipping it back into its pristine sleeve. He jammed it into his backpack, keeping an eye on Dabi. The stranger didn’t didn’t share his reverence for bureaucracy; Dabi casually folded his coffee-stained lease back into eights, shoving it into the back pocket of his dark jeans as if it wasn’t one of the most essential documents in his life. Through the oppressive heat, the man moved with a heavy, quiet gravity. It was stabilizing and deeply frustrating all at once, making it incredibly difficult for Hawks to pull his gaze away.
“So,” Dabi drawled, casting a lazy, sweeping glance over the living space. “I presume you’ll need help moving these boxes back out?”
A sudden, involuntary ruffle rippled through Hawks’ primary feathers, the red plumage flaring out in an instinctive display of agitation. Out? The man was completely off his rocker if he thoughts Hawks was the one evacuating. Before he could open his mouth to argue, Dabi pushed off the kitchen island. The taller male took two long, slow strides toward the living room, heading directly for the neatly organized, military-straight stacks of cardboard boxes.
Panic and possessiveness flared. Hawks didn’t just step in the way–he practically threw his entire body between Dabi and his belongings. He snapped his wings wide, a wall of crimson feathers cutting off the stranger’s path and claiming the space. The tips of his feathers brushed the walls on either side, instantly making the apartment feel microscopic.
Dabi halted just inches from the feathers, his blue eyes narrowing with a dangerous mix of suspicion and sheer exhaustion. He didn’t back down, forcing Hawks to look up to maintain eye contact.
“What makes you think I’m the one moving out?” Hawks demanded, his voice tight as he bristled. “I’m already moved in. The hard part is done. I just need to unpack. Meanwhile, I don’t see a single thing in here belonging to you except for that tragic, lame couch and the jacket you so graciously tossed on the counter.”
Dabi didn’t flinch at the wall of crimson feathers in his face. Instead, he just tilted his head, his gaze dragging slowly over the vibrant plumage with a look that was entirely too analytical for Hawks’ comfort. Standing this close, the oppressive heat radiating off the man made sense. It wasn’t just the ambient temperature of a rainy afternoon; it felt like a fever. Hawk’s eyes dipped, tracing the horrific, jagged line where pale, healthy skin abruptly ended and rough, purple scar tissue began. The contrast was sickeningly neat, held together by crude surgical staples that gleamed dully under the harsh kitchen lighting.
Fire, Hawks thought, a cold spike of recognition hitting his chest. He was aware what a thermal injury looked like. This wasn’t a medical procedure gone wrong; it looked like the man had survived being burnt alive. The skin looked taut, ruined, and completely devoid of sweat glands–that explained why the heat just trapped itself around him like an aura. It made Hawks’ own feathers itch with a sudden, protective urge to pull back, away from something so fundamentally destructive.
“Tragic?” Dabi repeated the word like a low purr, snapping Hawks out of his clinical analysis. The man leaned forward, just an inch, deliberately testing the boundary of Hawks’ wingtip. “That couch has character, birdbrain. And I went through hell getting it up those narrow-ass stairs. I’m not moving it.”
“Well, neither am I,” Hawks snapped back, forcing his eyes up to Dabi’s to avoid staring at the staples anchoring the skin beneath his lower eyelids. Up close, those intense blue eyes looked even more feral, framed by ruined flesh. “I have a legal, binding contract. You have a coffee-stained piece of garbage.”
“I have the exact same contract,” Dabi corrected smoothly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. He reached out with a scarred hand, using the tip of one finger to nudge the edge of Hawks’ primary feather out of his direct line of sight. The heat from his skin practically singed the air between them. “And unless you plan on using those oversized poultry wings to defenestrate me, we’re wasting time. Get your coat.”
“My coat is soaked,” Hawks hissed, though he finally retracted his wings, folding them tight against his back to reclaim some breathing room in the suffocation space.
“Then get wet again,” Dabi drawled, turning on his heel to walk toward the front door with that same frustrating stride. “I’m not paying to share this space with a bird. We’re finding the manager. Now.” Furious, his heart hammered against his ribs with a volatile mix of territorial anger and deep, unsettling curiosity about the walking burn victim. Hawks grabbed his keys and didn’t bother zipping his backpack, just threw it over one shoulder and marched after Dabi–ready to tear the property manager to shreds.
Dabi opened the door, then turned to cast a glance over the living space again. At least he holds the door, Hawks credited him. He passed through the frame, but as he did, the wooden door slammed shut with a solid, echoing thud, pinning the thickest joint of his left wing against the frame. A white-hot jolt of agony shot straight up his spine, instantly stealing the air from his lungs. The world blurred into a sickening smear of gray. He didn’t even realize he’d gasped–a choked, pathetic sound of raw shock–until the pressure suddenly vanished.
The door opened a millisecond later, releasing him. Hawks staggered forward into the hallway, blindly reaching out to steady himself against the safety rails, his chest heaving as he cradled the throbbing appendage close to his spine. The humerus in his wing didn’t feel any semblance of intact, he would have to go to the doctor later. He whirled around, eyes flashing with absolute murder, ready to defenestrate the guy for real.
Dabi was standing there, the door handle still gripped in his scarred fist. He looked entirely unfazed by the threat of violence, though his eyes dropped to the twitching ruffled feathers of Hawks’ injured wing.
“Jeez, birdbrain, can’t wait your turn? I was trying to put my shoes on,” Dabi pointed out, his tone dry, but his gaze remained fixed on the tremor in Hawks’ shoulders. Before Hawks could force his sheer rage into words, Dabi’s voice dropped, losing a fraction of the gravelly bite. “Do they hurt? I thought I heard you scream.”
Maybe he had. The pain had blinded him, leaving him incapable of rational thought. Hawks reasoned that he likely had, given that the delicate bones still throbbed with a sickening ache. But as he looked at Dabi, Hawks paused. There was no mockery in those blue eyes now–just a dark, clinical focus that felt entirely too familiar with the concept of sudden pain.
“I didn’t scream,” Hawks lied automatically, his voice a sharp, defensive snap. He swallowed hard, forcing his posture to straighten despite the sickening throb in his shoulder blade. He smoothed down his ruffled primaries with a quick, twitching motion, desperately trying to mask the tremor in his hands. “The door caught me off guard. Let’s just go.”
Dabi scoffed, the brief flash of intensity vanishing behind his mask of bored indifference. “Sure, birdbrain. Keep your pride. Just don’t bleed on my carpet.” He turned and started down the narrow, dimly lit stairwell, his heavy boots clunking against the concrete steps.
Hawks followed a step behind, his jaw tightly clenched. Every bounce of his descent sent a fresh wave of heat through his left wing. The stairwell smelled of stale cigarette smoke, damp concrete, and the faint, unmistakable scent of Davi’s heavy warmth. It was suffocating.
The walk down the stairwell felt less like a descent and more like a gruelling, slow-motion exercise in pain management. Each step Dabi took was heavy, his combat boots hitting the hollow concrete stairs with a rhythmic, vibrating thud that seemed to echo straight into Hawks’ battered skeletal structure. Hawks followed exactly one step behind, his teeth ground together so tightly that a sharp ache blossomed along his hairline.
His left wing was pinned tight against his spine, the muscles locked in a desperate, defensive spasm to keep the appendage entirely immobile. Avian anatomy was a masterpiece of lightweight engineering–perfect for aerodynamics, but horribly ill-equipped for blunt force trauma. His bones were hollow, fragile things, filled with air sacs rather than dense marrow. A crush injury from a heavy, spring-loaded door didn’t just mean a nasty bruised; it carried the terrifying risk of a fracture. Right now, the thickest joint of his mid-wing felt like it had been caught in a vise and splintered. With every drop down to a lower step, the jarring motion sent a white-hot spike of agony radiating through the primary converts straight up to his shoulder blade.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead as a wave of genuine panic hit his chest. Is it actually fractured? If the bone was structurally compromised, his feathers would fail to catch the air. He would be grounded, trapped on the earth for months. The mere thought of losing his flight made a suffocating wall of claustrophobia close in around him. Making matters worse, his backpack was slung over his right shoulder, but the weight kept shifting. Every bounce forced the heavy bag to drag against the sensitive, bruised muscles where his wings anchored to his back, grinding the fabric directly into the injury until his vision swam with tiny, dark spots.
The infrastructure of the apartment building didn’t help his rising nausea. The air in the stairwell was trapped, heavy with the damp chill of a miserable rainy afternoon that had soaked into the very foundation of the concrete. It smelled rank; a stale cocktail of old cigarette smoke and water-damaged drywall. The walls were painted a sickly seafoam green–though the paint was currently losing its battle against time, curling outward in thick, brittle flakes that exposed the gray, sweating concrete beneath.
Overhead, a single, exposed fluorescent tube flickered with an irregular, maddening rhythm. It buzzed like a dying horsefly caught in a web, casting a harsh, stuttering light that made the narrow stairwell feel even smaller than it was. The steps themselves were uneven, worn down in the center by decades of heavy footsteps, and a thin sheen of condensation made the concrete dangerously slick. Hawks had to brace his right hand against the gritty wall just to keep his balance, his fingers coming away coated in a fine layer of grime that made his skin crawl. The building felt like a decaying labyrinth, a trap that was slowly shrinknig around him while he struggled just to keep his breathing quiet.
Directly ahead of him, Dabi took up space like he owned the entire building, completely oblivious to the misery trailing in his wake. He walked with a lazy, loose swagger that felt intensely offensive given how much agony Hawks was currently hiding. From this angle, Hawks was forced to track the broad, intimidating line of Dabi’s shoulders. The heavy, dark fabric of his coat was worn and frayed at the seams, riding up slightly with each step to expose the nape of his neck.
There, the jagged, purple expanse of ruined skin was fully on display. It was a gruesome sight up close, a patchwork of scar tissue held against pale, healthy flesh by a neat row of dull metal staples. The metal bit directly into the skin, gleaming under the stuttering fluorescent light like the teeth of a zipper. Even a foot away, the ambient temperature rolling off the man was absurd. It wasn’t the cozy, inviting warmth of a radiator; it was the heavy, dry heat of an open furnace. The smell of him–sharp, like burnt charcoal–cut straight through the musky stench of the hallway. Dabi didn’t just walk down the stairs. He dominated them, his broad frame and radiating heat walling Hawks in, leaving the bird with nowhere to look except at the physical evidence of how destructive this man could be.
By the time they finally reached the heavy door at the ground floor, Hawks’ breath was coming in shallow, ragged takes. He burst through the exit behind Dabi, stumbling slightly as his feet hit the linoleum of the lobby. The sudden transition to level ground offered a small mercy, but his skin was slick with a volatile mix of cold rain and sweat, his damp clothes clinging to his frame like a second skin. He took a long, shaky breath, desperately trying to steady the visible tremor in his left wing before Dabi could look back.
The property manager’s office sat at the end of a short, yellowed hallway, its frosted glass door bearing the words Management Office in peeling gold letters. Dabi didn’t bother knocking. He shoved the door open with a jarring rattle, letting it bang against the stop.
Inside, the office was cramped–full of cluttered filing cabinets, cardboard boxes, and the overwhelming scent of cheap vanilla air freshener. Behind a laminate desk sat a middle-aged man with thinning hair, a wrinkled polo shirt, and an expression of profound exhaustion. A brass nameplate on the desk read Mr. Tanaka.
Tanaka looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the two deeply disgruntled, soaking wet young men standing in his doorway, radiating pure animosity.
“Can I help you boys?” he asked, his tone dripping with the reluctance of a man who knew a disaster when he saw one.
“You can start by explaining why you rented my apartment to a giant poultry exhibit,” Dabi drawled. He marched straight to the desk, slamming his coffee-stained lease agreement onto the cluttered surface. The paper crumpled under the force of his scarred palm.
“Your apartment?” Hawks scoffed, stepping up beside him, mindful of the proximity to the man’s radiating heat. He unslung his backpack with a quiet gasp he couldn’t quite bite back, fished out his own pristine lease, and dropped it right on top of Dabi’s. “I signed three weeks ago, paid, and got the keys today. It’s my unit. He’s trespassing.”
Tanaka blinked, looking between the two documents and then up at the tenants. With a heavy sigh that seemed to age him five years, he pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and slid them onto his nose. He picked up both leases, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm against the cheap linoleum as he scanned the documents.
“Ah,” he muttered, his face draining of what little color it had. “Unit 4B. Right.”
“Don’t ‘ah’ me,” Dabi warned, leaning over the desk. The shadow he cast was massive, and up close, the blue fire in his eyes looked incredibly volatile. “Fix it. Give one of us a different unit, or throw him out. I’m not sharing a bathroom with someone who sheds.”
“I don’t shed!” Hawks hissed, though a stray, nervous feather choosing that exact moment to drift down from his jacket and land on Tanaka’s keyboard didn’t help his case. He cleared his throat quickly, pressing forward to ignore the hot flush of embarrassment. “Look, Mr. Tanaka, it’s a simple administrative error. Just check your system. Give him the keys to the vacant apartment next door or upstairs.”
Tanaka began tapping furiously on his keyboard, the plastic clacking filling the tense silence of the room. Hawks watched the screen over the manager’s shoulder, his heart sinking further with every second the man’s frown deepened. The archaic desktop computer groaned, a slow-loading bar creeping across the monitor with agonizing deliberation. In the tight space, Hawks tried to subtly lean away from Dabi, whose skin was throwing off waves of dry, oppressive heat that made the cheap vanilla smell downright sickening.
“Boys…I have a bit of a problem,” Tanaka said, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The system showing unit availability froze during the city-wide digital blackout last week. It double-booked Unit 4B. And…well, it’s the start of the university semester. Every single apartment in this building, and in our sister complexes across the street, is completely occupied.”
The room went dead silent, save for the hum of the computer.
“Say that again,” Dabi said, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register that made the hair on the back of Hawks’ neck stand up.
“There are no other openings,” Tanaka squeaked, physically shrinking back into his squeaking rolling chair until it hit the metal filing cabinets behind him. “The waiting list for a vacancy is at least three months long. I can offer a full refund on the deposit, of course, but–”
“A refund?” Hawks cut in, panic flaring hot in his chest–entirely eclipsing the ache in his wing. “Mr. Tanaka, I moved all my belongings across town. My old lease ended this morning, the new tenants are already moving their boxes in. I have nowhere else to go. I can’t live out of a suitcase.”
“And I’m not hauling that couch back down those stairs just to sleep on the street,” Dabi growled, his fists clenching tight. A faint smell of burning sulfur and meat began to bleed into the air, the subtle curl of heat rising from Dabi’s knuckles making Mr. Tanaka look like he was about to faint.
Tanaka looked terrified, eyes darting between Hawks’ agitated, puffed feathers and Dabi’s smoking hands. “Look, look! If you both agree to stay in the unit for the first month, I can waive the rent and fees for this period. Free rent for thirty days! I can put you both at the absolute top of the priority list for the next available single unit. But right now, legally, you both hold a valid lease for the unit. Neither of you can force the other out without a court order.”
The financial offer hung heavily in the air. For two young adults trying to scrape by, a month of zero rent was a massive, intoxicating offer. Hawks turned his head slowly, his gaze meeting Dabi’s intense blue eyes. The reality of the situation crashed over him like a wave of freezing water–a silent, tense negotiation passing between them in a single look. They were completely, utterly stuck.
Even if Tanaka refunded his deposit, it would take days to hit. Not to mention, Hawks didn’t have nearly enough in the budget to put himself up in a hotel room for three entire months. The tolls and tolls of interest those charges would take if he put them on his credit card…he shuddered at the mere thought.
Dabi’s gaze turned again, locked onto Tanaka. His hands still pressed into the laminate desk, the smell of something melting started rising between his knuckles as his palms get hotter. Then, as if it never happened, he smiled at the manager, retreating a step. Brushing shoulders with Hawks. He looked at the contact, his mind paralyzed for a fraction of a second. Standing in Dabi’s radius, the heat was suffocating. To the touch, though…it felt like the warmest of hugs dancing along his skin. Hawks realized with a jolt Dabi hadn’t pulled away, his eyes glossed over and distant. As if he, too, were contemplating just what could be done–not a whole lot. If that was the couch Dabi had to offer, Hawks couldn’t imagine the other man was in a better place than him when it cames to finances.
“Whatever. Let’s just go, birdbrain.” When the taller male pulled away, the pain ebbed back into Hawks’ mind, nagging. He was already stuffing his lease back into his pocket. Hawks grabbed his own before turning on his heel to follow. Dabi crossed the room with the same careless stroll, a stapled hand securing the door. “Well? You coming?” Hawks approached tentatively, his wing offering a warning as he neared the threshold of the office. Dabi’s voice dropped a register. “I’m not going to hurt you again, birdbrain,” he said, and the winged man couldn’t decide if the words were heavier with sarcasm or sincerity.
Hawks stepped through the doorway, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when his wings made it through with no new casualties. The door swung shut with a resounding crack behind him, and Dabi stopped at his side. Not taking the lead. He glanced sidelong at the other man, a newfound, mild respect bubbling in his chest.
Their steps echoed through the hall, and stress grabbed at Hawks’ chest again. Going up the stairs couldn’t be much better than going down, it was going to hurt again. Right before reaching the stairwell door, Dabi stopped in his tracks, his gaze turning to the right.
“Why don’t we take that instead?” he drawled, and Hawks peered over his shoulder to see what the guy was on about. At the end of the hall, there was an elevator that didn’t look like it belonged in this decade. When Dabi pressed the button, Hawks’ feathers picked up on a dull, rusty groan of gears that he wasn’t sure he trusted.
He reasoned that the elevator at least had to be up to code, as dangerous as his feathers told him it was. Even as Hawks had the thought, the elevator rattled, the sound echoing to the ends of the universe, as it made its descent. He took a steadying breath. It was this or suffer the grueling pain of the stairs again.
—
When the rusted doors creaked open, Dabi did a double take. The space it revealed couldn’t be more than four square feet. Even without the other man’s wings, that was cramped. Factoring in the massive appendages…it would be a long ride up to the fourth floor.
Dabi stepped forward first. He had to keep up appearances, after all. He couldn’t sacrifice an ounce of his aura. To Keigo, he was nothing less than laid back, cool, confident. He would keep up that appearance the entire month they had to live together. Dabi would find a way to make it work–at the very least, he was going to have chicken wings for dinner if Keigo tried claiming the bedroom for himself. The man and his messy wings could sleep in the living room for all Dabi cared. It’s only a month, he reminded himself. One month of putting up with the birdbrain, one month of living here for free. That was the biggest motivator. Now, Dabi could shamelessly order takeout every night the entire month if he so pleased–and he would still save money.
When he entered the small space, instead of turning to face the door, as was so common, he stayed facing the rusted terracotta wall and the distressed reflective glass. “You coming, birdbrain?” He peered over his shoulder, his gaze finding gold eyes staring back at him. At least, Dabi was pretty sure they were gold. It was difficult to tell through the stupid glasses the man had yet to remove. He found it odd that the birdbrain moaned and griped about the rain, but refused to take off the piece of plastic that limited his vision.
As he took in Hawks, he found himself wondering how the guy got dressed every day. It had to be difficult to maneuver clothes around all those feathers. He’d meant to observe when the winged man donned his coat on their way down. Instead, his focus had been blurred by the very obvious fact that Keigo not only hurt his wing, but tried to cover it up and lie about how much pain he was in. Dabi could hear the sharp intake of breath with every stair, there was no use denying it.
So on their way up, he figured he’d give the poor man a break and suggest they take the elevator. He clearly hadn’t known what he was getting himself into. Why did I suggest this? The elevator was comically tiny.
When Keigo slipped into the small space beside him–and stayed facing the wall just as he was–their shoulders brushed and stayed that way, sending jitters of electricity running along his skin. It wasn’t often that people came into physical contact with Dabi, whether it be intentional or not. He knew his demeanor didn’t exactly invite people in, and his fire quirk didn’t do him much favors either. So this, the prolonged exposure…it lit a different kind of fire in him, yet he couldn’t figure out how exactly he felt about it. He was torn between pulling away and inching closer. Maybe some of his warmth could dry the man. The scent of his rain-soaked feathers had already been overwhelming to say the least, but when the door groaned shut behind them, it worsened ten-fold. So Dabi had a personal interest in getting the winged man dry as soon as possible.
Keigo stood so close that Dabi could feel the birdbrain’s measured, tactical rise and fall of his chest. The two were both playing a part, putting on a show for the other male. Dabi wouldn’t concede first. He would find a way to make Keigo confess that he was, in fact, in pain. As the old tin box rattled to life and they started moving, Hawks coughed, and his wing jostled Dabi. He met the birdbrain’s gaze, ready to fire, but then he bit back the words on the tip of his tongue. Up close, Keigo’s eyes were lined with fear, fear and hurt. His eyes flickered to the man’s red feathers again. Dabi had only watched one nature documentary in his life, and from it, he only remembered three details–one of those being that birds have hollow bones. If it was true, then the winged man wasn’t just suffering from a lingering ache. He very well could’ve broken something. That segued into the second detail–a grounded bird is a dead bird. Dabi reasoned the birdbrain wouldn’t actually drop dead, but his life would turn upside down, he knew that much.
The cables shuddered with every slow centimeter the elevator crawled up the shaft, the gears groaning as if on their last breath. Dabi looked forward again, his eyes narrowing in on the reflection of the blond beside him–taking in the way Keigo’s wings sagged under the weight of the water. Every second that passed next to the human furnace that Dabi was, his wings perked up another inch or so.
Keigo shifted again, and the tip of one feather brushed the small of Dabi’s back. Just barely, but he still felt it, despite the coat. He took a slow, calculated breath, angling away from the poultry exhibit. In the tight space, though, that left them almost face-to-face. Dabi held his searching eyes for a moment before looking off to the left. The blond had some scars of his own, too. Dabi mused as to where he could’ve gotten them. The one on his chin caught the man’s interest most, it had to have been painful.
The doors, older than Dabi himself, finally grated open, and Keigo was the first to move, filling the hallway as he ambled up to their apartment. Their apartment. The word sat wrong in Dabi’s mind, made him crinkle his nose, but it was only temporary. Still, as the bird turned the knob, Dabi had the feeling he was walking through iron bars with his wrists splayed out–not a doorframe. When he crossed over the threshold, that excited buzz he felt earlier was nowhere to be found. His eyes landed on his couch, waiting, inviting him–but it didn’t offer the same comfort anymore.
Once they were inside, Keigo crossed the apartment to where his boxes were stacked methodically, as if he were playing real-life Tetris. Dabi watched, leaning against the wall, as the man took hold of a suitcase by the handle. His wings flared–pure habit–for all of two seconds before compressing themselves again, and he noted the way the blond grimaced at his effort to unfurl his injured wing. So he was right. The man used the appendages more than Dabi had initially given him credit for. Amused, he now got to observe as Keigo mutely dragged the suitcase by one hand, sliding it across the floor to the other side of the room–no doubt scratching up Dabi’s floor in the process.
After unzipping it, Keigo knelt, and withdrew only a small handful of things–a toothbrush, toothpaste in a black-and-gold tube, a neatly folded towel that Dabi’s hair would’ve ruined after one wash, and a pack of white gauze.
His eyes flashed with something familiar. Before he could think better of it, Dabi used one foot to launch off the wall with ease, holding his hand out expectantly. Keigo stiffened at the gesture, gaze flicking between his and his hand.
“Drop the tough-guy act, birdbrain,” he drawled, his voice low. “We both know you can’t wrap that on your own. Give it to me, or suffer through the night. Makes no difference to me.” The threat lingered in the air between them, before Keigo finally gave a reluctant huff and placed the gauze in Dabi’s outstretched palm. Smart move. Dabi stepped around him, taking his position directly behind the blond’s back. “Where’s it broken?” When the bird didn’t answer, he rolled his eyes and pressed two fingers into the base of the wing, right where muscle fused with spine. The man knelt before him let out a choked sound. But it wasn’t a gasp of pain–it was too soft, too breathless. Dabi paused, his eyebrows lifting slightly as a strange shift in tension rippled through Keigo’s frame. Intrigued by this reaction, Dabi slowly walked his fingers upward along the appendage. Keigo dropped his head, a hot flush creeping up his neck, and nodded once.
So that was the spot. Dabi grabbed at the loose end of the white material, unfurling it. He sank slowly onto his knees behind Keigo, silently beginning to wrap the bandage around the crimson red. This wasn’t the time or place for one of his usual witty remarks. As he worked, he noted the calculated breaths, the stifled flinches, the muted winces of the other man. Dabi continued, aiming to be more gentle. He knew his complexion thanks to his quirk might cause the man more pain, he wasn’t a sociopath. It wasn’t Keigo’s fault they’d found themselves in this mess, living together, after all.
Dabi wrapped the end of the first roll of gauze, his eyes narrowing. Third detail: a wounded bird can’t use its wing for anything, not if it has any hopes of healing. That likely meant restricting it from any potential for movement. He would have to use the rest of the gauze to bind the wing, render it immobile against the man’s back. With a start, Dabi realized he’d have to get rather personal to do that. He wouldn’t be able to tie the gauze around Keigo’s chest without getting closer.
He leaned in, sliding one hand under the man’s broad shoulder. Without so much as the sound of his breath, Dabi looped the bandage around, then again. Until he was certain the bird wouldn’t be able to move the appendage even if he tried. He slipped the end of the gauze under the binding with ease, standing and immediately taking two steps back once the wrap was taut.
Keigo turned his head slightly, still on his knees, and met Dabi’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. The taller man waved a hand in dismissal–he would more than likely need the favor returned at one point or another, and now he had a debt he could collect.
Dabi stepped through the space into the kitchen, taking a sip from the bottle he’d left earlier. Then, he picked up the duffel bag he’d dropped onto one of the seats, dropping it on the floor next to Hawks’ suitcase.
“I’ve got everything I need right here,” he said simply. Dabi hadn’t bothered packing as elaborately as the winged man. To be frank, Dabi had never lived with so many belongings. His whole life was here–contained within the confines of the satchel. The couch was a nice plus, something he’d managed to sneak out with him when he left in the middle of the night.
He slipped out of the mud-coated combat boots weighing down his feet, kicking them into a corner near the door. They hit the wall with a thud, leaving a trail in their wake. Dabi caught the sharp annoyed twitch of the bird’s nose at the smell of wet street-sludge, but for once, the blond kept his mouth shut. Instead, Keigo took what he had unpacked and disappeared down the hallway. Dabi watched him, the way he now favored his weight on his right side. Maybe he should let the bird have the bedroom, at least while he healed.
But that would be too kind, too easy. Dabi had to put up a fight. If the winged man wanted the bed, he’d have to earn it. Besides, who knew how long it would really take the birdbrain to recover? Dabi certainly wasn’t going to spend the entire month sleeping on his couch. It was intended for leisure and comfort during the day. It was not meant to be the shelf he recharged his body on at the end of every day.
Dabi took both handles of his bag in one hand, marching down the hallway. He let the bag hit the floor with a loud clunk, sizing up the space. It was marginally bigger than the living room, but it would do. Especially once he wasn’t sharing the space with a giant pet who was so accident-prone.
“Hey, hold on!” Keigo exclaimed, and Dabi slowly turned to find him standing in the doorway, taking up the entire space like it belonged to him. “Pretty sure we didn’t flip a coin yet, patch-work. What do you think you’re doing?” the bird squawked indignantly, and he lifted one scarred, purple-mottled hand to gesture to the room vaguely.
“I’m unpacking. Shouldn’t you be doing the same thing, birdbrain?” he pointed out, giving the man a lazy smile. Keigo moved closer, his hand wrapping around the bag handles. Hell no. Dabi instantly slapped a hand down over his, letting his quirk flare–just enough.
“You touch my things again, I’ll be having rotisserie chicken for dinner,” he snarled. A small wisp of smoke started to curl into the air between them, fierce gold eyes meeting his–holding his intense gaze, locking them both in a silent challenge. The seconds ticked by, the fire licking painfully at both of them. Finally, Keigo withdrew a red fist. And exactly as Dabi expected, he pretended his hand hadn’t just undergone severe heat.
“Seeing as you’re the reason I’m in pain, I think it’s only fair I get the room to myself. How am I supposed to fit on your couch?” His good wing flared, and Dabi paid attention to just how wide his wingspan–if only the half he could see–was. Maybe the blond was right. The couch was perfectly suited to someone Dabi’s size. But horizontally, the two men were nowhere near the same size.
“Fine. One night,” he accepted, but he wasn’t done. “Only because you look pathetic, like something straight out of a sewer. Tomorrow, I’m dragging you out by your ankles.” That seemed more than fair. The birdbrain made a valid argument, and Dabi would respect it for the time being. He tightened the hold on his duffel and strode out into the living space again, tossing the bag onto the vinyl floor near the couch.
Dabi’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t remember how long ago he stopped for sushi and soju, but it had to have been half a day already. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, opening the Maps app to see what was nearby. McDonald’s…Katsuya…there. The moment he read the name, something twisted deep in his abdomen, as if responding to a call. Domino’s for dinner it was. He opened the website, clicking through. Ultra-thin…pepperoni…sausage. Done. He hit checkout, then decided to see what the bathroom looked like–especially since Keigo already had the pleasure of acquainting himself.
He tossed the door open carelessly, taking in the space. For the price of the apartment, there was actually a very sensible amount of counter space. The birdbrain neatly tucked his belongings into the very corner, everything methodical and perfectly placed.
When he set foot in the hallway again, his ears pricked. Keigo was talking to someone. Dabi considered listening in, then decided against it. He settled for unpacking his own belongings, taking up space in the bathroom while he still could. From the depths of his bag, Dabi pulled out his toothbrush, deodorant, towel, and the bottle of hair dye he’d preemptively purchased back home. He set these on what was now his side of the counter. He scoffed at the idea. This entire counter was supposed to be his, but because of a stupid website glitch, now he had to share it.
Dabi returned to the living room, settling into the comfort of the couch that was doubling as his bed for the night. His gaze settled on the ceiling as his thoughts traveled. The bird man…he had nice features. Sharp, unsettling in a way Dabi couldn’t say he hated. If only his face didn’t have the nasty, holier-than-thou attitude to go along with it.
As he had the thought, the couch sagged under him, and he refocused his eyes. Turned to the side. Practically crawling under his ribs was the blond–phone in hand, open to Instagram, not a care in the world for the fact that he was very nearly giving the dark-haired man a lap dance. Dabi stiffened, a groan making its way up the back of his throat.
“Birdbrain,” he said, his voice choked. Breathless. Those gold eyes swung to met his, the yellow plastic barrier nowhere to be found. “Back up, idiot,” he managed, louder. Keigo’s brows furrowed, and he ruffled his feathers but slunk farther away–by all of an inch.
“I ordered food,” he said passively, his tone tired–careless. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?”
“I don’t want any of your bird food,” he replied, his voice strangled. The bird still wasn’t far enough for comfort. Keigo scoffed, rising from the couch now. He strolled over to the counter–pure confidence and charisma radiating from his figure–and he took a sip from the bottle that definitely wasn’t his.
“Original flavor, huh? That tracks,” he said, as if original were the equivalent of pineapple on pizza. Naturally, Dabi bristled. Who did this guy think he was? Drinking from someone else’s drink, then proceeding to insult their choice of beverage, as if he took personal offense to people enjoying things he disliked. “I only ask because I don’t want you to drop dead from me eating tree nuts near you. Allergies can be airborne too, idiot.” Oh. He had a point. Keigo was smarter than he looked. So Dabi gave a light shake of his head. No, he didn’t have any allergies.
The bird nodded in satisfaction, returning to the sofa–taking the same suffocating position again. The blue-eyed man stood up, crossed the room to the kitchen. There, he finished off what was left of his drink while he still could. While it still belonged to him. Then he took the bottle and the empty Sukiya box. Tossed them in the bin hiding in the corner. Returned to his couch that the blond had now sprawled out on.
Dabi tilted his head, his expression turning darker. “If I don’t have one entire cushion to myself in the next two seconds, I’ll be cancelling my food and making some mac and cheese to pair your wings with,” he said quietly, the threat carrying weight. Keigo shot him one questioning look–challenging him, almost–before he begrudgingly made his presence smaller, moved to take up the middle only.
He plopped down with a sigh, pulling out another cigarette. That made the birdbrain’s face scrunch, brows furrowed, and he immediately left. Went to the bedroom. Dabi watched him, made note of the reaction, before turning his attention back to his hand. So the blond didn’t like smoking. That was all he had to do if he wanted the couch to himself. He lit up with one quick burst of blue in his palm, taking a long drag. Peace. Reasonable personal space. Things he hadn’t seen since the winged man first came through the door.
Doors clicked in and out of their frames behind him. A toilet flushed. Then–
“You dye your hair?” Keigo inquired incredulously. Dabi turned his head, looked at him over his shoulder. The man’s arms were crossed in front of his broad chest, a truly puzzled expression playing out across his features. He was still in the hallway, still maintaining his distance. Dabi took another drag and blew it his way, a tiny grin tugging at his lips when the blond swatted at the air between them with annoyance.
“Yes, I do. What does it matter to you?” he replied, short and clipped. Keigo settled again, resuming the same position–this time, though, he let the wall take his weight by one shoulder. Those gold eyes stayed on him a beat too long. Prying. Searching.
He launched off the wall with ease, crossing to the standard-issue entertainment center and taking the remote. “So what’s your real hair color, then?” Dabi waited for him to turn on the TV, do something useful with the plastic brick he now held. But he didn’t, just crossed his arms and stood across the room, waiting.
“Now, birdbrain, must we tell each other everything? We’re only living together temporarily. Don’t expect us to become friends,” he drawled. As he finished the thought, two resounding thuds came from the door. Keigo was quick on his feet, accepting the food within moments. In one hand, he held the blue and red box Dabi ordered. In the other, a simple white bag with a bright orange logo–Yoshinoya–printed on the side.
“You ordered pizza?” There he went with that sour, disbelieving tone again. If the man had a half-decent personality, the interactions so far could’ve gone very differently. Instead, he had to have a superiority complex, and act as if every inch of Dabi’s existence was an insult to him. So the taller male stood, took the box without a word, and the remote while he was at it. He switched the television on, setting the food on the cushion beside him.
Keigo stared for a moment–at the grease already collecting on the edges of the box, at the careless way Dabi began scarfing down a slice, at the cigarette propped up on the same empty can. His eyes were wide, his brows pinched together, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“You’re so messy,” the blond spat, and Dabi decided he had enough. He stood, blue flames roaring to life, dancing along his figure. Keigo startled, let out a nervous sound, took a step back. But the other advanced, closing the distance. Watching the birdbrain struggle to escape the intense heat.
His wing flared, and one of the feathers came into his hand, hardening. Sharp. Interesting. His crimson poultry could turn into blades at a moment’s notice. That was useful knowledge, ad Dabi filed it away for later.
The tip of it came inches away from Dabi’s neck, and he just regarded the blond with amusement. He reached up, pushing the blade aside with one finger like it meant nothing. No threat behind it.
“If you don’t like the way I live, you’re more than free to leave,” he stated simply, flashing the other male a smile. Keigo huffed, withdrew the weapon. That didn’t seem to be an option for either of them, so they were stuck until further notice. Might as well try to get along, at the very least.
Keigo took his pristine white bag and crossed to the far end of the counter, sitting atop the marble ledge and proceeding to eat his food as if he were being watched, scored. Not a single ounce of meat touched his fingers. The man used a fork for everything–even the raw vegetables he ordered on the side. Dabi dismissed it with an eye roll and went back to his pizza, getting through another three slices with peace and quiet. The only sounds were the rustle of Keigo’s utensils and the crackling of Dabi’s box.
Then the winged man finished eating, and dragged himself back over to the couch–broth-soaked napkin in hand. Dabi eyed it skeptically, meeting the birdbrain’s eyes with a question etched in his.
“If we’re going to make this work, we need to set boundaries. Rules,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if this were a ship and he the captain. The taller one leaned forward, taking the paper material–and watching Keigo’s composure fall apart as it shriveled to ashes in his palm. He proceeded to tear the lid off the greasy cardboard container, holding it out.
“What, like a tie on the doorknob? Don’t worry, you’ll be made well aware when I’m getting action.” He wasn’t sure what reaction he had been hoping for, but his expectations were satisfied. The blond recoiled rather violently, as if he couldn’t imagine the idea of bringing somebody home in such a way. Then he took the cardboard sheet without asking first, and procured a Sharpie from his pocket. Of course the guy carried pens everywhere, that much didn’t surprise Dabi. He sat cross-legged on the floor, so Dabi mirrored it, entertained.
“First, bathroom. I need it at 7am every day. I don’t care when you use it, as long as it’s empty and available by 7.” He began to furiously scrawl in rather neat handwriting, given the unorthodox supplies in use. “No more leaving trash everywhere, throw it away when you’re done with–”
“So, are these your rules, or do I get to add some of my own?” Dabi cut in, and the way the man turned the faintest shade of red was enough to pique his attention. He mutely shoved the materials back in his direction, and Dabi took them. “You are responsible for any and all feather cleanup. The drains ever get clogged, that’s on you. Your job to fix.” He etched the letters in, his writing a decent contrast to the font of the first rules.
Keigo snatched the sheet back with entirely too much passion, scribbling before he spoke. “Fine. Then it’s your job to bleach the tub or the sink when they undoubtedly get stained black.” Fair enough. His own tub back home had to be replaced at one point because it went from looking stained to looking dirty, no matter how much bleach he used.
“If you get the bathroom at 7, I want it guaranteed empty for me at 1am,” he said next, and Keigo twitched with frustration as he watched him scrawl in the amendment to the first rule. Something told Dabi that the birdbrain wouldn’t be caught dead awake at such an hour, but he had to stake his claim, make sure that Keigo didn’t get his way.
The bird stole the supplies back yet again. “I want a 50-50 split in the refrigerator. You get your half for all your heart-attacks-in-a-box, I get my half for my food. We don’t use each other’s food, ever,” he demanded. Dabi hadn’t even looked in the refrigerator yet. If it had door storage, that rule could become tricky.
This time, instead of having to forcibly take them, Keigo handed the cardboard to him. That mattered. “Fine. We don’t use each other’s food,” he repeated, then, “and we don’t use each other’s appliances.” He waited a beat. He was done with his rules. Keigo just nodded in resolution, taking the pen back and signing his name at the bottom of the sheet. Oh, this guy meant business, at least when it came to any kind of paperwork or contracts. Dabi couldn’t help but sign, if only to ensure that his contributions would be respected.
He stared at the blond with a discerning gaze as the man went on to tape it to the wall. That contract may very well have been the only thing that kept Dabi from broiling the man alive.
He had a feeling their time together had no end in sight, as far the near future went. This was his reality now, living with a man who shedded.
One free month, he reminded himself. He ate free pizza tonight, according to his math. That would have to be enough for now. Anytime the blond got under his skin, he would give himself that simple reminder. This would all be worth it once Dabi had his own apartment, one he didn’t have to share. It would all work out eventually…right?
