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“Wait—you want me to ‘test his loyalty.’ Me out of all people? And through what means?”
I inquired with skepticism, lancing my otherwise monotonous voice. Pressing my cheek against the crack between the door and doorframe, I listened to the sound of rustling behind it.
“It was requested that you interrogate him.” He replied promptly. He wore denim blue overalls, complementing his burly stature and unkempt ginger beard that grazed past his mid-thighs. It was thoroughly matted to the point that I guessed his quirk was either skipping or whipping with it.
“Yeah well… this isn’t in my job description,” and neither is asking questions, “so I demand a bonus.”
In the end, my lazy ass couldn’t be bothered.
Curiosity doesn’t pay bills.
Initially, I expected a rebuke or decline, but he just provided a small, respectful nod.
“Doc? You of all people, making demands?” The voice the question was posed in wasn’t gruff and low, like the ginger who was likely on steroids beside me.
It was more hoarse and sinister, laced with dubious intent.
I felt an arm sling onto my shoulders, then curl around my neck. The skin figure felt like dry ice—so cold it burned—accompanied by a slick leather texture his patchworked flesh beheld, alongside a whiff of rotted flesh mingling with burnt tobacco.
“You know what, I’m feeling generous today—I’ll let it slide.” He continued, letting his side graze against mine.
Typically, I’d reply. With an equally insincere jab or so. However, it felt like my job and reputation, both of which I cherish very dearly, were in indirect danger. It rattled me, and he could sense it. The fact I was holding my breath and growing increasingly light-headed by the second.
Resisting the urge to look at him, my eyes glued to the ginger. I swear I could feel his lips curl into a rare smirk beside me. I bet it would hurt, though. Just as much as looking at it does.
“Ah, silence. Isn’t that wonderful.” He remarked wryly, feeling his arm tighten around my neck fractionally and hot breath graze my ear. I knew the jackass cherished the fact he could get on my nerves. As if he was my little brother, he took annoying me on sight as a job. “Listen to me, won’t you?”
The back of my throat burns—not bile, but the threat of it. A sickening gut feeling churned within my stomach. Dabi flashes another wicked grin, now within my line of sight and under my nose.
When his lips parted, his mouth emitted a stronger stench of tobacco, and it irked me so much—why on earth would he worsen his condition? A smoking, walking corpse.
“Who is it?” I finally asked while letting my hand drift back to my side. I could feel my fingers ache as they uncurled from being a tight fist-full of anger around a doorknob. I couldn’t blush. I never did. Or had anything in my life that made me. I supposed the pale flesh of my palms, which were now a bright pink, compensated for that.
“Hmmm…. Your mom. Wait, you don’t have one.” It felt more like a slap than a tease, despite his voice being lower and more melancholic while his turquoise-blue eyes briefly flickered towards the door I was investigating earlier.
I exhaled, irritated by the childish joke. Now he was bringing up my family issues. If he dares to bring up my father—I wouldn’t hesitate to bring up his. Damn alcohol, it loosens tongues… giving blackmail for both sides.
“I just don’t talk with or about her. Now stop fucking with me and get to the point.” I snapped, resisting the temptation to hurl a fist at that deranged face of his.
He paused, obviously thinking of a rebuttal that would piss me off. “I wouldn’t since you’re not my type.”
I almost gagged. “Eugh. Am I anyone’s? Plus, I thought you were gay. Lately you’ve been spending time with a certain pro-hero—” Then it clicked. The person beyond this door was him…
“Probably not. That explains your single ass.” He answered my earlier question, then proceeded to deflect my accusation with simmering notes of anger, “I am not. That was for work purposes only.”
With that, his eyes sharpened and the ambient air grew imperceptibly warmer. However, that didn’t stop my imagination from going wild: Closeted, is he? I swear I smell Yaoi…
“Sure it was. Don’t worry, this is a safe space. And we’re the same age—and you’re also single—for now, I guess—and fuck you.” I countered, ending with a curse I wished had been longer.
“No thanks.”
“Yeah, cause you’re into guys.” I retorted, swatting him hard with his arm still slung around my neck. The jackass didn’t even budge. He let me slap him at least; that’s a win—I guess.
“I’m not… Or anyone, for that matter… I have better things to do. Anyways, now hurry up and do your job. You look harmless enough to let his tongue loose.” Dabi vouched, removing his arm, and whirled around. He began to walk away with the ginger following him closely behind.
“Why? Are you seriously letting him join?” I jeered. Personally, I pegged him to never trust the likes of him. Even with the stunts of Nomus and the ‘killing’ of a pro-hero.
“Yup.” He confirmed curtly, without looking back or providing further explanation.
“... Okay so… Want me to torture him?” I guessed again, my voice a little louder to ensure he could hear as he walked away, and to Dabi this time. He does have more power than the ginger.
“Hm? I mean if you want to, but an interrogation is fine. I wouldn’t want you to add to your bonus.” He mused.
My eyes lit up as he spoke, my hand positioning my thinly framed glasses higher up the bridge of my nose. I was thrilled for another opportunity to see another million yen in my savings.
“With what? A scalpel?" I speculated sarcastically while beginning to contemplate the reasons why I was the choice for the job.
Firstly, I was a woman—and Hawks flirted with plenty of those, right? Civilians, coworkers, fans, and even news reporters, all light-hearted and not very deep. Whether it be a publicity stunt to appear ‘charismatic,’ or lust exploiting his pretty privilege.
Secondly, I’m just a doctor hired by an ‘Independent Training Combat Association,’ rather than a certain notorious organisation that sought to liberate the outcast and whatnot. Not that I really cared. Thus, why I didn’t exactly give the vibes of a serial killer, arsonist, or any sort of criminal, and I wasn’t any either. I don’t intend to be, but my quirk would risk it.
Last and certainly not least, the extra dime ensured my lips stayed closed after.
Once the sound of footsteps disappeared, my hand twisted the doorknob a little too quickly. A telltale sign of my eagerness, even when I strove for nonchalance. I proceeded to swing the door open and stepped foot into the dingy, cold room. Slowly lifting my heavy eyelids, I squinted to adjust to the dimness of the room.
In the center of the room, he shone like the sun—a stark contrast to the darkness around him. Like the focal point of an artwork, he was the first thing my mind actually registered. Arms shackled and dangling a few inches above the ground, his arms were tied above his head by ropes that dug into his wrists.
His iconic attire, consisting of a tan-yellow jacket and electric-yellow visor, was nowhere in sight. Leaving him in a skin-tight and sleek black shirt that revealed the lines and planes of his Greek-statue-like body, and pants of a similar colour to his jacket, hung low around his waist.
A snatched waist. Oh, how I dreamed of—damn it. Note to self: please stop being an envious pervert.
A slow bittersweet smile curved his lips but didn’t quite reach his calculating gaze. I felt his golden-brown eyes sweep over me, probably determining whether I posed an immediate threat. Simultaneously, I could feel my chest tighten. The back of my throat ached and sweat condensed within my palms. My feet stopped as we assessed each other in reciprocated silence, nonverbally daring the other to speak first.
His crimson feathers twitched slightly, restless but in an oddly animated manner. If I recall correctly, couldn’t he control each of them individually? Depending on how he injured me, our quirks would be an interesting lineup. Regardless of my growing intrigue, he’s still capable of fighting back. Even when hanging from the ceiling like a chandelier.
Vicinally, there was a lone bar stool from who knows where. Yet it was enough for me to sit on it, with a flicker of smugness comforting my nerves. Imagine not being able to sit down is an impulsive thought that pressured me to say it to his ears.
I walked over and sat on it, positioning myself in front of him. My elbow rested on top of my knees—probably inducing a shrimp-like posture. But I don’t care…
I sat up straighter, disregarding my faux compliment. Okay so… maybe just a little.
“What’s a pretty lady doin’ here?” Breaking the silence, he spoke with a widening grin. It disgusted me because of how half-assed and overrehearsed it felt. Damn, a Barbie doll would be jealous of how fake he was being. Anything but, and far from being genuine. The very thing I was indirectly tasked to extract.
“Cut the bullshit—I mean flattery, save it for Dabi for all I care.” I briefly corrected myself, chastising myself to be more cautious around him. Who knows. It could pay well treating him graciously.
Hawks blinked twice. His golden eyes flickered like a beacon in the dimly lit room. A curse after a compliment. Well, this was a first. Like being called gay for a villain he loathed. Both seemed completely unfathomable.
“And I thought I made my preferences clear. Straight like a ruler, you know…” He defended, though there was some hesitancy mingling with disbelief. To me, it seemed he was either second-guessing his sexuality or couldn’t believe such absurdity was said to his face.
“The bendable sort? Honestly, believable.” I scoffed, lacing a strand of my wavy hair around my finger, parting the curtain bang further from my short wolf cut.
“Hah. Who knew docs had a sense of humour.” His speech grew increasingly drier and less flared as he reevaluated his initial impression of me.
“Oh, so you were listening?” I probed. It seemed like he was eavesdropping before.
“Hard not to.” He answered, testing his restraints with a wince as the rough rope bit into his chafed wrists. He tried relieving some of the strain on his sore muscles by rotating his shoulders to work out the soreness, making his feet and the tips of his wings swing slightly like a pendulum.
"I appreciate your hospitality." He continued, tone dripping with sarcasm, but there was a glimmer of amusement in those striking golden-brown eyes. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he asked, "Surely the League can afford better than this… right?"
“Now answer my question.” I demanded, ignoring his complaint. My eyes narrowed, irritated by his needless but quiet stalling. “Why do you want to join us? Why now, and all of a sudden, Hawks?”
Not appearing startled in the slightest by the onslaught of questions—a regularity for a guy constantly appearing on television—his voice remained steady despite the uncomfortable position he was in.
“I assure you—my intentions are sincere.” A beat passes, readjusting his voice to smoother register, “I want to join the League and Army as an ally. But I can’t really blame you for doubting me.”
He paused, his words unintentionally coming out lightly exasperated. "What makes you think I'm not being genuine?"
"... Oh, I don’t know, Number Two Hero of Japan, Hawks. How could I not be?” Name-dropping his entire title should suffice as a reminder of his job and honour. For him to join us, it would risk our lives as a soon-to-be traitor, though I had faith Dabi had something planned.
Drawing a deep breath and considering his words carefully, he responded. “You’re not really wrong. Most heroes settle, content with just saving a few here and there. I was one of them, for too long. But it’s only natural that I finally see the potential. For something greater—”
"You're a liar. A pretty good one, I must admit." I interrupted as I stood up from my seat, letting my white lab coat drape back down to my knees, then adjusting my glasses. Begrudgingly, I appreciated the fact he didn’t answer right away and lacked the urge to quip back. Unlike me. It’s evident that he was listening and observing a cautious, increasingly distant demeanor.
I continued as I let the hard soles of my shoes clack against the untiled floor below us, the sound echoing viscerally throughout the room. My feet persuaded me closer, then behind him. Outside his peripheral view. “A good skill to have is noticing when someone isn’t interested in the fake, scripted speeches you say. It's pathetic. I hope you know that too. You’re pathetic.”
Just like me.
“Sure… You did a few stunts, and this will probably be your last before you join…” I added, watching his shoulders and back muscles visibly tense under a skin-tight shirt. Lifting my hand, I let it pass between his neatly folded wings before quickly threading it into his silky golden-brown locks and yanking it back painfully hard.
A sharp inhale and hiss escaped his clenched teeth. I’m glad I can’t see his eyes. An ache in my stomach knew it’d weaken my resolve for a reason unbeknownst. “It concerns me that you’re unaware that we… that I can see your mask. Truly.”
I managed to say out loud amidst my second thoughts and immediate regrets. This isn’t me, a doctor who’s meant to heal, not hurt.
Act silent.
Not violent.
This isn’t him. A man who was suppressing instincts. To strike back.
Act violent.
Not silent.
"A mask? Doesn’t everyone wear one?” He gritted out hoarsely, tears pricking the corner of his eyes involuntarily. Hawks tried tilting his head back even further, a desperate attempt to lessen the sharp sting on his scalp. At this rate, I reckoned he could become a politician by his swift and subtle evasion of my questions and allegations.
"You're right, I am a liar.” He admitted, his volume quieter and more restrained before promptly rising to his defence, “But so is everyone else in this world. The only question is, whose lies are worth believing? I won't pretend to be perfect. I've made mistakes, done things I regret. But I'm here now, offering my skills, my intel, my commitment to the Army and League's cause. Is that not enough to warrant a chance?"
My grip on his hair loosened, digesting every superficial-sounding word he uttered. Seizing the opportunity, Hawks tugged some of his hair from my fingers with a sharp tilt of his head, enabling him to turn back slightly, a piercing peek over his shoulder.
Targeting my gaze with something violent, jarred but restrained, as if they were trying to find reciprocating feelings or fire within my dull orange depths. Pointless. I gave up enjoying or arguing with life ages ago.
"Anyways... I'll make sure to report that reasoning to them. And the mask I’m talking about is the ‘charming’ one. To people who have better things to do than gawk over fantasies, it's painfully obvious. Just your fans, fellow heroes, and society choose to ignore it. It's pathetic really."
Hawks' eyes widened slightly at my blunt assessment and acceptance. A flicker of surprise broke through his carefully constructed facade. Surely he didn’t expect me to sugarcoat it or expect manners in a place like this.
He held his tongue, considering his response as I released his hair completely, allowing his head to fall forward and my hand to return by my side. Eventually, I made my way back in front of him, reestablishing a respectful distance between us.
After a moment, he looked up again, lips pressed together into a thin line, while his bushy eyebrows furrowed. Evidently unsure if he should reapproach the conversation with courtesy or resolve to treat me with an equivalent level of hostility.
"Perhaps… perhaps you're right," he decided quietly. "However, charm is a weapon. A tool to manipulate and distract. It's become second nature, a defense mechanism honed over years in the spotlight. Can you blame me?”
“Why not? Want a pity party? Want me to empathise? Sorry, but I don’t give a flying pig about it.” I sneered, already turning around halfway towards the door, avoiding his likely hurt gaze at all costs.
I’m not on his side. Preferably neither the League's nor Army's. I’m on my own, making my savings grow, and that’s all I can ask for. Anything else is unnecessary. Talking to him. Doing this. It was all unnecessary—even if my bank account was looking scrumptious right now.
I found myself reconsidering.
Was it worth breaking a Hero’s rare moment of vulnerability with a brash comment?
Curiosity doesn’t pay bills.
I hated myself for not sticking with it.
“So no shit, Sherlock. I blame you. I blame you for using a script most would fall for—not being genuine and honest upfront. I blame you for staying in this hell-hole and not getting lost. I know you’re here for info, and I’m not blind enough to miss it.”
I took another step away, feeling his glare sear my back.
“Also, I’m not interested in playing along with your fake identity crisis... You’re a hero. You will always be at heart.” Gosh, I probably sound so clichéd right now, typical for someone who struggles with creativity. Dwelling in a writer’s block that impacted speech as well.
Hawks' expression flickered between surprise, disappointment, and grudging admiration. He let out a soft, humourless chuckle. He shifted, the chains creaking softly as he adjusted his position.
"But perhaps... Perhaps this is an opportunity for growth. A chance to prove that I'm more than just a mole or a liar." Hawks met my eyes steadily, "I meant what I said about wanting to change."
"My ears are hurting from your monologue, Hawks. I thought you were sharp enough to know that I don't believe you or trust you. Whatever you say won’t change that. I guarantee it. Anyways, the name's Ves, though you already heard it."
"Ves," he repeated softly, as if he was testing the sound of it on his tongue. "A pleasure. Albeit brief and needlessly violent." Despite the joking lilt to his words, there was an undercurrent of sincerity. Undeniably, this encounter had been revealing. In the end, it managed to strip away layers of pretence on both sides.
"How is it a pleasure if you're being hung from the ceiling by your wrists with rope? Are you into kink?" I pondered out loud while turning around.
Another humourless and strained laugh drifted toward my ears as I approached the exit door.
"Kink? Hardly. Though I suppose there's a certain irony in finding pleasure in pain, isn't there?" He shifted, the chains rattling softly. "But does it mean you're already planning our next meeting?" He provoked teasingly, purposely designed to mess with my mind long after one’s gone. However, it just heightened my disdain for him. The fact he felt compelled to flirt even though we were far apart.
"... Nah… I keep things professional." I retorted before leaving, closing the door with a soft click.