Archive of Our Own

Five years as a pro hero and Hawks doesn't think he's ever wanted to get up for a shift less in his life. Every fiber of his being seems to scream out in protest as he drags himself out of bed, careful not to jostle the prone figure lying next to him.

Whether Hawks actually managed to sleep any is unknown to him, head too jumbled to grant him any peace as it turned over countless conversations and information and 'what if's over and over and over again.

Putting each piece of his uniform in place—a morning ritual that usually brings him some comfort before starting his day—only leaves him feeling more hollow. He moves mechanically, eyes losing focus as he watches himself slide on his gloves.

A dull ache settles in his stomach as he drops his hands back to his sides. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror still perched on the kitchen table, all he can hear in his head is Dabi's insistent voice from last night.

Maybe he was right.

Dragging his gaze away, Hawks considers leaving without a word, not wanting to disturb the Dabi-shaped lump curled up under the bedcovers. He hadn't even stirred when Hawks got out of bed to begin with.

He's not all that surprised when his feet take him towards Dabi instead of the door. Hesitating for only a moment, Hawks sinks down onto the edge of the bed and reaches out to run his fingers through his hair. The thought of taking the gloves back off crosses his mind but he can't seem to muster the energy.

Dabi makes a soft noise of contentment but otherwise doesn't move or react.

"I've gotta head out soon."

Dabi grunts vaguely in acknowledgement, lying still a moment longer before flipping his head to face him. Blue eyes peer up at him now and Hawks' stomach twists when he notes how lucid they are.

He wonders if Dabi has slept at all.

"Need anything?"

"A body that doesn't hate me?"

A smile tugs at Hawks' mouth. "Don't think I have any of those lying around, sorry."

Dabi heaves a dramatic sigh. "What good are you, then?" He grumbles into the pillow and Hawks really has to try and not take the joke personally. "You could go tell Re-Destro to shove his recruitment meeting up his ass for me."

Hawks gives him a consoling pat on the head. "You have fun with that."

He gets a miserable groan for his efforts. "Some hero you are." Tilting his head to look at Hawks again, he offers an unenthusiastic, "Want me to put in a good word?"

The coil of nerves in Hawks' stomach tightens, making his skin feel flushed and itchy. He's not sure why Dabi is pretending he has the privilege of choice here.

"Do I need to vet this supposed good word?"

Dabi smirks. "I'll just tell the truth."

"Oh, well that's comforting. What's your endorsement then, huh? Hawks. Terrible cook. Great in bed."

"I guess one of those is true."

"Fuck off!"

"I'd say you're at least decent."

"Decent?"

"What? You've only cooked for me once. Need a bigger sample size."

Hawks scoffs, trying not to smile. "I hate you."

"How 'bout Hawks. Decent cook. Great in bed. Terrible liar. They'd be crazy not to hire you."

Hawks rolls his eyes, cheeks burning. "I can't stand you."

"That why you're sitting down?"

"You're just being a brat cause you know I can't smack you with a pillow right now without feeling bad."

"Not my fault you have a conscience, hero."

Hawks glares petulantly at an unfuriatingly amused Dabi and then huffs, leaning down to kiss him. "Shut up."

His self-satisfied smile only grows. "Happily."

Their mouths meet, soft and warm and right. While it's not quite enough to ease the weight of a sleepless night off his shoulders entirely, he does feel some warmth trying to creep back into the hollowed out space in his chest.

"How long should I wait before sending out a search party?"

Dabi laughs raspily. "Hmm. I'll have to get up and piss eventually so…"

"Gross. Is that how villains measure time?"

"Circle of life, Birdie."

"I don't think that's what that saying means, Hot Stuff."

The fragile but growing warmth drops away again when Dabi continues his previous thought. "Seriously, though. Guess I've just been working under the assumption you'd want to join but…" He looks conflicted for a moment before his face shutters almost imperceptibly as he seems to get a little lost in thought. Taking a breath, he continues. "You signed up for the League. Not…this."

Confusion wells up in Hawks, the thought, You should know why I can't refuse. You should know, so why… circling in his brain as he tries to extrapolate what hidden meaning Dabi's words could possibly have.

Even if he did choose this life. Choose himself. Abandon the Hero Public Safety Commission and his life as a hero. He'd still have to join, wouldn't he?

The Paranormal Liberation Front is the future of the League. The future of Dabi. Right?

There's an intensity behind Dabi's eyes now that roots Hawks to the spot. "We're gonna do whatever we want, right?" He says, and there's a wry sort of humor to his tone that catches Hawks' attention. "So, what do you want, Hawks?"

Unless…

"Of course I wanna join," Hawks manages to reply immediately, though words don't come quite as easily after. Remembering the listening ears that will more than likely be privy to this conversation, Hawks gives himself just long enough to formulate an answer that hopefully only Dabi will think to read between the lines of. "My place is here. With the League. With the Paranormal Liberation Front. If this is how we make the future we want a reality, then I'll stand by your side."

Dabi watches him the entire time, eyes calculating and Hawks could swear a little apologetic. Like this isn't how he wants to be talking to him either. He moves like his body is made of lead but eventually he gets a hand up where he can tangle their fingers together, giving them a weak squeeze. "Good."

Squeezing him back tight enough that his talons press against the tips of his gloves, it takes a moment before either of them is willing to let go. As Dabi settles back down against the pillows, Hawks can't help stroking his fingers back into his hair until blue eyes start to slip back shut.

"D'you want me to pick you up something to help you sleep?" Hawks asks gently.

Dabi's next breath gets caught in his throat as something like fear suddenly washes over him. "No."

Not expecting such a vehement rejection, Hawks tries to study him closer but Dabi just looks away.

"It's— I don't—" Dabi starts stiltedly and then huffs, voice quieting. "This always happens. I'm used to it. Should sleep fine tonight, so don't get your feathers in a twist."

Hawks makes another pass with his fingers, then another, not sure he entirely believes that last part but not wanting to push it. Leaning down, he hesitates and then presses a careful kiss into his hair. "Heard that."

Dabi stays hidden.

Nose pressed to his hair, Hawks lets himself linger just a little longer, inhaling the scent of smoke and something unfamiliar he only vaguely noticed last night that stings his nostrils. When he finally moves to stand, a hand wrapping around his wrist keeps him from getting very far.

When Dabi turns back this time, he seems uncertain but determined. Grabbing him by the jacket, he tugs until Hawks gets the message and leans the rest of the way down.

His mouth hovers over Dabi's, hands gripped tight and air hot between them. Dabi's breath hitches and then their mouths are sliding together, careful at first and then growing more heated as their mutual need bubbles over into something desperate. A plea for understanding. A promise.

Dabi's mouth is warm and demanding and all Hawks can do is moan at the taste of his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Hawks lets out a choked whimper, overwhelmed yet desperate for more.

When Hawks finally manages to drag himself away, the temporarily thwarted fogginess in his head immediately starts to try and creep back in.

"Don't get into too much trouble."

"Hah. No promises."

"Need probiotics or anything?"

Dabi rolls his eyes, gesturing vaguely towards his medical bag before burrowing back under the covers. "Got some in there if you wanna grab 'em for me."

Heart squeezing at the subtle act of trust, Hawks sends a clump of feathers over to retrieve it, using far more than is probably strictly necessary for a bag that only weighs a few pounds. It takes a moment of checking though the vast array of unlabeled pill bottles before he finds what he's looking for.

He can't quite contain a smile as he hands over the bottle of probiotic chewable gummies.

Dabi glares at him through messy hair, daring him to say something snarky as he tosses a couple in his mouth.

Hawks raises a hand in surrender. "Whatever works."

"Now leave me alone. Give the ol' Commission a middle finger for me."

Hawks isn't even surprised at this point that Dabi is familiar enough with his schedule to know that's where he's going today. Though it leaves him very curious as to how he's managed to acquired said information.

Leaning down one last time, Hawks plants an obnoxious kiss on Dabi's forehead, laughing as his face immediately gets pushed away.

"Keep your germs to yourself, you overgrown chicken."

"Okay, okay. I'm going."

When he gets to the front door, he can't help turning around to look one more time, stomach churning. Words he can't say try to claw their way up his throat but he swallows them back down.

"Don't miss me too much," Hawks finally manages, certain he's only making it more obvious he doesn't expect himself to be able to do the same.

"I'll finally get some peace and quiet," Dabi replies dryly, though the smile creeping onto his face makes it obvious he's just teasing him.

Hawks gets as far as turning the doorknob when Dabi pipes up again. "If you…"

Whipping back around embarrassingly quick, Hawks' heart tumbles into his stomach as Dabi's eyes dart away.

"If I…?" Hawks prompts, needing to know what could possibly be making him act so evasive all of a sudden.

"I'm sure you're gonna be dead on your feet but…No way I'm hauling my sorry ass to your apartment so if you wanna crash here again…make sure I don't die from an infection in my sleep or whatever…" He smirks a little to himself. "I'll leave my window unlocked."

"I'm not fitting myself through that," Hawks scoffs, eyeing the short but wide industrial strength glass window with distaste. The fluttering feeling in his chest only gets worse the more he turns Dabi's words over and over, needing to prove to himself that. Yes. Dabi did in fact just invite him to spend the night again. Willingly. Out loud. Of his own accord.

Dabi tugs the covers up higher to hide a smile, rolling onto his stomach and spreading his limbs out over most of the bed. "You're no fun."

"Sleep well, Hot Stuff."

Dabi grunts noncommittally.

Taking his leave before he convinces himself he has far better things to do than lie to a room full of government officials, Hawks starts towards the stairs but stops short.

He knows that Dabi realistically isn't in any danger here. Not presently, at least. But there's a gnawing sensation in his stomach that won't let him leave without making sure someone else knows Dabi is essentially bedridden.

Figuring he's the League member most likely to be up this early (and the only one he knows the room number of without snooping), Hawks turns down the hall and heads toward Room 34. Sure enough, it's not long before his hesitant knock is answered by a surprised, far-too-put-together-for-this-hour looking Atsuhiro.

"Uhh, hey, Mister," Hawks greets him, feeling ridiculous.

"Oh, come now. Atsuhiro is more than fine."

Hawks smiles sheepishly, trying to remind his brain that this person is familiar and not a threat to him. "'fraid Hawks is all I got."

"You two and your aliases," Atsuhiro tuts, amused. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hawks pauses, realizing he hasn't exactly planned what he's going to say. He really doesn't want to overstep but he won't be able to come back here until super late and—

"Is something wrong?" Atsuhiro asks gently, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Dabi. He's…" Hawks has no idea how much the League is aware of Dabi's medical conditions, so he settles on, "…probably gonna be a little out of it today. So I just—"

"Ah. Staple day again already?"

Hawks physically deflates, relieved he doesn't have to beat around the bush. "Can you make sure he eats in like thirty minutes? And doesn't. Uhh. Die in his sleep?"

Atsuhiro chuckles into his hand, eyes crinkling at the corners, and blood rushes to Hawks' cheeks.

"Forgive me. I don't mean to make fun. It's only…" He waves the thought away, fixing Hawks with a look of immense endearment. "Your concern is refreshing. I'm sure Dabi has taken to it well?"

His tone tells Hawks he's well aware of how easily Dabi accepts any worrying or help from other people.

"Uhh…" Hawks cringes a little as the more volatile parts of their night nudge back into the forefront of his memory. "You could say that."

It seems to take some effort for Atsuhiro to push aside his curiosity. "I'll be sure to check in on him. You have my word, Hawks."

"Thanks, Atsuhiro."

Tipping an imaginary hat at Hawks, Atsuhiro closes the door.

With that, Hawks has no other reason to stall and begins his march to the nearby staircase, belatedly wondering if he should've asked the magician thief for directions before leaving. Thankfully, he manages to find an exit easily enough and takes off into the sky.

Thirty minutes later, almost on the dot, Hawks get a text from Dabi that makes him laugh out loud.

Edgelord: Fuck you.

Edgelord: Traitor.

This certainly isn't the scenario in which he ever thought Dabi might say those words to him. His fingers type and send a '<3' before he can even think about it, stomach swooping with immediate panic.

Edgelord: im locking my window

Nuisance: :(

Edgelord: i hope it rains

Nuisance: :(((

Edgelord: bring me dinner and maybe I'll forgive you

Nuisance: you like convenience store hot pot?

He doesn't get a response after that but Hawks doesn't let himself worry too much. Atsuhiro is more than capable of keeping him in line for the time being.

Even with all the thinking he did last night, he still feels underprepared for the lion's den he's about to thrust himself into. Every flap of his wings feels like tightening a noose around his neck until, all too soon, the headquarters of the Hero Public Safety Commission looms ahead of him.

Don't give away more than strictly necessary.

Let them lead the conversation.

A truth with every lie.

The HPSC's own teachings circle endlessly in his brain. One would think after doing this for a decade and a half he'd feel confident going into an unknown situation and flying by the seat of his pants. But he just doesn't have a firm enough grasp on how much the HPSC has been keeping tabs on him since joining the League to plan accordingly.

Do they know about him and Dabi and have just been willing to turn a blind eye to it? Trusting him to know what's best for the mission?

Do they think he's been compromised?

Hawks shakes himself, cursing his over-thinking. It's just another meeting like any other before it. He'll give a report on the Meta Liberation Army, confirming it to be alive and well. He'll tell them about the Paranormal Liberation Front merger announcement and how its members have been split up into regiments. How he's cemented a place in the League, and soon the PLF, as a trusted ally. That by playing the role of abused caged bird he's been able to—

He lands on the top floor balcony built solely for him, discarding his unease with one last shake of his wings before folding them neatly behind his back.

It's just a progress report like any other.

The only power they have over him is what he gives them.

He's still in control.

The door completes its biometric scan of him and then he's sliding it open with a re-gloved hand, pasting on a carefree grin. "Hey, hey, Madam President!"

Steely blue eyes greet him from her place standing at the head of the meeting table, as cold and impassive as ever. "Hawks. Nice of you to join us." She turns to address the rest of the room. "Let's start, shall we?"

Hawks takes his position at the end of the table, back straight and hands clasped behind him.

"What have you learned?"

For the next half hour, Hawks details any findings on the League he feels inclined to share, confirms their involvement in the Deika City incident, and recounts the formation of the Paranormal Liberation Front. Everything he spent sleepless hours rehearsing in his head.

When he finishes, Madam President simply nods as she always does, only looking mildly troubled when he recounted the sheer number of people in attendance.

Hawks doesn't let himself relax.

"How closely will you be monitored?"

"I'll do a more thorough sweep, but, confirmed audio and video recording throughout the villa. My contact suspects I'll be put on surveillance so expect at least audio recording devices planted on my uniform and feathers. If he does his job, I should be officially recruited in the next day or so."

"Good. Messages concerning your assignment will be sent in code until further notice. Please inform your sidekicks you'll be out of the office more often. Returning intern, Tokoyami Fumikage, will be placed under their care."

Hawks' stomach lurches at the mention of his favorite UA kid. He couldn't bring himself to reject his request for a second internship, even knowing by then he wouldn't be present for most of it. Though he wonders if the disappointment of rejection would have been an easier pill to swallow than having an even flightier than usual mentor.

Maybe someday he'll have to guts to apologize to the poor kid.

Madam President turns to his Handler who rises, ever-present clipboard and tablet in hand. "How are his standings?"

"Public approval rating is climbing back up thanks to his continued sightings with Rabbit Hero: Mirko. Resolved cases disappointingly continue to suffer but we hope will show improvement if he remains diligent today."

Hawks hates that his cheeks start to prickle at the way they talk about him like he isn't there. Like he's nothing more than an underperforming school child. He shouldn't care what these heartless people think of him in the first place, but it always reminds him a little too much of his—

"He's due for a trimming today, I'll go ahead and confirm with the—"

"That won't be necessary," Hawks cuts in.

His Handler freezes. When she sets her pen down, the sound seems to reverberate around the office. "Excuse me?"

Hawks' heart hammers in his chest as he rolls his eyes, feigning bored impatience. "They're already willing to believe I'm a turncoat, but I can't keep that trust if it looks like I'm still under the control and stigmas of hero society. Dabi and the League see me as this sympathetic lost soul like the rest of them, but that isn't going to fly with more paranoid cultists like Re-Destro and Skeptic. I have to look like I'm taking what they believe to heart. Any ounce of hesitation or weakness from someone who still needs to prove their loyalty will mean they'll always doubt my commitment to the cause."

His Handler's lips form a thin line but she says nothing, deferring to Madam President to decide how they should proceed after such a direct act of disobedience.

Madam President regards him coolly but makes no moves to silence him.

Hawks stubbornly holds eye contact as he continues.

"To get the information we need. To prevent this war. I need them to trust me. So I'll pretend to rebel. Little by little. I'll spread bits and pieces of their ideology on my patrols. I'll feed them information they wanna hear. I'll let them monitor me until they're certain I'm not a threat to them. That the risk is worth my sway as someone the public trusts implicitly…" It takes all of his self-restraint not to shoot a sideways glance at his Handler when he adds, "…which is more than even the Number One Hero can currently say."

Madam President digests the offer Hawks is making, brows furrowing ever so slightly. "Play too hard to either side and you risk losing your hold over them. How will you ensure you don't lose said sway? I don't think I need to impress upon you how crucial it is we don't let public trust in heroes wane any further."

Hawks' stomach twists but he holds firm, swallowing down any pointed remarks about the Commission's choice then to send him of all people to infiltrate the villains in the first place. The fact she's willing to negotiate at all is more than he could've hoped for.

"I'll divert more resources to helping Endeavor maintain the trust he earned in Fukuoka. His win against Hood bought us time, so let me make the most of it before it's too late."

"And any lost support of those less-favorable to mutants?"

It's not the first time he's heard her use that word, but this time it almost makes him flinch. "Let their support shift to Endeavor. A temporary drop in my ratings is a necessary sacrifice if it means preventing this coming war."

Hawks takes a sharp breath, not letting himself falter even as his own words make him sick to his stomach.

"Heteromorphs are at the most risk of falling victim to the kind of narrative the Paranormal Liberation Front wants to sell. And with the League's Shuichi Iguchi as a lieutenant, they now have the perfect mouthpiece to gain the favor of heteromorphs and supporters of Stain alike. If I can get them to trust me, even as a turncoat, more than Re-Destro, our odds of success will only increase."

His feathers pickup on the telltale tap of Madam President's thumb against her clasped hands, the only sign she's still giving him a chance to persuade her.

"I'll do more team-ups with Mirko. Give them a hero who represents them. Keep them happy with the way things are. So that when the Paranormal Liberation Front comes knocking, they'll already have someone else they'd rather follow."

The movement of her thumb stops. "And when the war is over?"

Hawks gives a carefree shrug. "If it comes to that, I'll be a war hero. Maybe I'll retire early."

His joke is met with stifling silence as always.

Rolling his eyes, he makes a point of sobering up. "I'll keep doing what I've always done. I'll create a world where heroes have too much free time on their hands. I'll be the hero Japan needs." Spreading his wings, he gives a respectful bow. "Under the Hero Public Safety Commission's careful tutelage."

A tense silence falls over the room, broken only by the shuffle of papers from the room's other select occupants. Faces he can picture perfectly as he stares resolutely at the ground— ones he's known since he was a child and yet offer him no warmth or support.

Madam President sighs just loud enough for Hawks' heart to shrivel a little in his chest. "Wing Hero: Hawks has a meticulously crafted image. To throw that out of balance now is a big risk."

"I'm certain the payoff will be worth it. My image can be recovered. We can't bring heroes and civilians back from the dead."

The tapping of Madam President's thumb resumes.

Hawks forces his lungs to keep dragging in air, slow and measured.

"Keep them for one month. Don't let the general public see them. Prove to me that it can get you results."

"Understood."

"We'll reconvene in four weeks for updates on his standings."

Everyone but Hawks stands to leave, filing out of the room in dutiful silence until it's just him and Madam President.

Hawks doesn't dare fidget. Doesn't dare speak a word.

Her hands remain firmly gripped behind her back. Taking a breath, she releases another small sigh, pretending to let her walls drop now that they're alone. "You know I trust your judgement. You're our best for a reason. But our leniencies have limits, Hawks. Do what you must to complete your mission, but don't forget you still have duties to maintain."

"Of course, Madam President."

"Dismissed."

Straightening up, Hawks turns and exits after everyone else, willing the hairs on the back of his neck to lie flat once more.

Only once the door shuts does the erratic pounding in his chest register, cinching his chest unbearably tight. His ears start to ring and panic rises up his throat but he shoves it all down and away.

Fuck.

Any shocked relief at being allowed this one bartered freedom is overrun by a surge of panic. She knows. Of course she knows. He doesn't know why he's even bothered to try and kid himself up to this point. Even without any surveillance directly inside his apartment, they were bound to notice eventually.

Nothing she said would suggest she thinks he's actually gone rogue, but, fuck. Every word out of her mouth has always been calculated and intentional, and she'd said leniencies.

The PLF's surveillance will buy him some time away from the Commission's constraints but sooner or later his luck has to run out, right? He won't always have a carefully crafted excuse.

He barely even notices as he's ushered into an examination room and sat down for his routine blood work. Pleasantries are exchanged on autopilot, the same set of questions run through as his mouth forms each correct answer.

Blood counts good.

Quirk counts good.

Flex here. Detach and reattach there. Feathers healthy and up to standards.

See you next month. Cold and impersonal. Better than the alternative (he tries not to think about it anymore).

His body stands of its own accord, muscle memory bringing him into the hallway but not quite keeping him from knocking the ends of his wings on the doorframe. The world swims around him, detached from his body's numbed awareness as he forces himself to listen to what is being said to him.

"Get food and fluids in you then meet me in the training room in ten," His Handler snips, clearly still bristling from the moment in the conference room.

His head nods stiffly.

The rest of his time at Headquarters passes in a similar sort of daze with him remaining just attentive enough to not arouse suspicion or incur any reprimands. No one even seems to notice anything is wrong.

The moment he leaves to start his round of patrols is a massive relief. Perching on a faraway rooftop, Hawks sits and stares unseeingly off into the city below him. He should probably go meet up with his sidekicks soon.

Hawks stays where he is, unable to drag up enough motivation to give a shit. Fuck his Handler and her impossible expectations. Fuck the whole Hero Public Safety Commission.

He's exhausted. His Handler kept him in the training room well past their usual allotted time as clear punishment for Madam President's decision and his wings fucking ache.

His fingers twitch for his phone, longing to text Dabi or Rumi or someone who might understand. Who might care.

Somebody screams and Hawks is on his feet in an instant, zeroing in on the sound's source and launching off the rooftop at breakneck speed. His hands close around a young child, pulling them out of the way of oncoming traffic that screeches to a halt at the sight of them. His feathers whip out without a second thought, stopping the momentum of each car before they can crash into each other.

Car horns blare. Voices shout, cursing and asking if everyone is okay.

Hawks sets the trembling kid down on the sidewalk, checking them over for signs of injury. "Woah, careful there little chickadee."

Big blue-grey eyes with little slits peer up at him, glancing at the street and back like he doesn't understand how he got from point A to point B. Then they widen impossibly further, seeming to recognize who Hawks is now.

A terrified heteromorph with a beak-like mouth and long feathers trailing from his arms runs across the crosswalk to where Hawks landed, his briefcase recklessly abandoned on the other side in his panicked attempt to catch his runaway kid.

"Pidge! Oh, sweetheart. Don't terrify your father like that," The man scolds, though his voice clearly contains nothing but love and worry for the kid as he pulls him into a tight hug. "We have to wait for the walking man, remember?"

A split second later, hands close around Hawks' and he almost flinches. "Thank you, oh thank you Hawks!" The man turns back to Pidge, hands patting along his arms, his cheeks.

The moment of relief is shattered by the sound of an angry voice shouting from one of the cars Hawks had to stop. "Get that kid on a damn leash! Fucking freaks."

Hawks whips around to look at the scowling middle-aged man as he speeds off, resisting the extremely strong urge send a feather after him and slash a tire or two once he hits a red light.

The father, to his credit, doesn't give the man the satisfaction of a reaction, focus entirely on his kid. Though his shoulders noticeably hunch a little inwards.

Only now does Hawks notice the small wings on the kid's back flitting back and forth. The tiny little feathers dotted across his cheeks like freckles. The sharp point of a little nose that sniffs like he's not sure if he should start crying or not. "You can fly all you want at the park, okay? But you have to hold your dad's hand when we're in the city so you don't get hurt."

The kid makes a trilling noise that sounds like an impatient huff.

"I know kiddo." The man scoops the kid up onto his hip, turning back to Hawks who hands his retrieved briefcase back to him, managing a tight smile at his surprised expression. "We're lucky to have his eyes in the sky, huh, Pidge?"

Pidge nods vigorously, eyes practically sparkling as he takes in Hawks' wings and flaps his own in response.

The father jostles the kid with a warm smile. "You wanna be a hero like him some day?"

Nodding so hard he throws himself off balance, the kid latches back onto his dad, small talons catching on the sleeve of his tweed suit jacket.

Something angry and reckless spits in Hawks' chest, urging him to take his gloves off to show the kid they match. To show him the little feathers he grows too. But then something uglier rears its head, a spark of envy, at the gentle way the father carries the child. How, when he notices the talons digging into him, he doesn't reprimand the kid or tell him to put them away.

Taking a breath to steady himself before he can get lost in painful memories, Hawks turns to the kid. "That idiot in the car doesn't know what he's talking about. I'll bet he's just jealous he can't fly." He offers the last part like it's a secret.

The kid looks at him uncomprehendingly and some of the tightness in Hawks' chest drops away in a rush.

He hadn't heard, then.

The father, however, shoots Hawks a look of sincere gratitude.

"Stay safe, alright?"

Pidge nods and lets out a happy trill, wings flapping erratically as he waves his hand with vigor.

"Thank you again!" The man calls after him as Hawks takes off into the sky.

His encounter with the father and son sticks around in the back of his mind for the rest of his shift, poking and prodding at the fraying threads of his sanity. His sidekicks at least seem to notice he's having an off day, not that they've asked, settling instead for shooting each other concerned glances when they think Hawks isn't looking (he's always looking). They probably just know better by now than to ask, knowing they won't get a genuine answer from him anyway.

He doesn't know why the thought just makes him feel worse.

 Six hours in and Hawks almost considers calling on someone from the League to cause some trouble just to give him something to do. There's been a slight uptick in criminal activity since last night, people likely spurred on to act as they please after Shigaraki's speech. But that sense that far more of them are lying in wait, poised for the perfect moment to strike on Shigaraki's command, has only increased.

Two more miserable hours later, Hawks drags himself back to his agency, dreading the admin work he really should do before it piles up anymore. By the time he's caught up, he's so exhausted he leaves through the front door, not trusting his wings to carry his weight without a lot of concentrated effort he just doesn't have to spare.

Fishing out his phone, he winces at the bright light as he checks absently through his notifications.

He's finally received a response to his last message to Dabi.

Edgelord: birdie im sucking your dick

Edgelord: bring extra so I don't owe your co-conspirator anything

The sheer crudeness of the text drags out the barest hint of a laugh from him.

Right. Well, shit. He has no clue how he's planning to get back to Gunga Villa in this state. The idea of ditching to go be alone in his apartment only to wake up and go to work all over again in the morning is enough motivation for him to figure something out, though.

Fuck, he's starving.

It takes everything in him not to let his wings drag on the sidewalk as he turns in the direction of his favorite convenience store just a block down, nestled between a laundromat and a boba shop. Their hot pot is to-die-for. Sometimes he swears it's even better reheated, though maybe he shouldn't trust what his stomach says at the ungodly hours he's usually awake for it to think so.

He'll be getting a second and third opinion soon enough, a realization that clears just enough of the fog in his head to make room for a tiny bit of excitement. Moody as he's been all day, the promise of good company is what's been keeping him going so he holds onto that thought.

Three devoured steam buns and some friendly ribbing from the owner about all the extra food later, Hawks accepts his fate and begrudgingly takes off into the sky, carry-out bags in hand. He's pretty sure the meddling old man undercharged him again despite his constant insistence that he's more than capable of paying for everything himself.

When he arrives at the villa, he's pleasantly surprised to see a familiar masked figure waiting for him at the main entrance. Landing a lot cleaner (though still not up to his usual standard) than the last time he did so in the presence of Atsuhiro, Hawks shoots him a lazy wave.

He only resists Atsuhiro's offer to help carry the bags for a moment before caving to his doting.

"You really don't have to—"

"Nonsense. You came all this way. It's the least I can do." With everything situated, he turns back to Hawks who can almost perfectly imagine the way his eyebrows then furrow in concern. "My, you look utterly exhausted."

Hawks shrugs, forcing out a what-can-you-do smile as he makes a more conscious effort to stand up straight and fold his wings up properly. "Eh. All in a day's work, y'know?"

He can tell Atsuhiro wants to say something in response to this but decides against it, turning instead to wave off the guards that accost them at the front door. "Come now. No need for that."

The guards eye Hawks warily but let them pass.

"You should have seen him when I showed up this morning," Atsuhiro says, ever the easy conversationalist. He sounds like he's smiling. "I feared I might burst into flames from the intensity of his glare alone."

Hawks can picture it perfectly and finds his lips twitching into a more genuine smile. "I'm sure he told you exactly where to shove whatever food you brought."

Atsuhiro laughs softly. "He was impossibly stubborn about it but that was to be expected. I left the breakfast for him to eat and it was gone by the time I returned around lunchtime, so..." He trails off as he fishes out a keycard for the elevator. "I'm sure he doesn't like wasting food any more than I do."

Hawks doesn't even object as they enter the enclosed space. When the door to Dabi's room finally shuts behind them, Hawks allows himself a long, measured breath of relief.

"You dead yet, Hot Stuff?" Hawks calls out down the small entryway. He barely even processes as Atsuhiro takes all of the bags and starts heating the food up, not even giving Hawks a chance to offer to do it himself.

There's silence at first. Then, a drawn out groan and the creak of a bed shifting under someone's weight. "Sorry to disappoint," Dabi mutters just loud enough for Hawks' feathers to pick up on.

"Okay, drama queen. Come eat, then."

Dabi grumbles something about mother hens but does stand, albeit very, very slowly. Dragging out his usual chair, he slumps down at the table, arms crossed on top to help keep himself held mostly upright.

Walking over to join him, Hawks goes to grab the back of his usual chair to pull it out only to find there isn't one.

Or.

Well.

There is a chair.

More of a stool, really.

There's a wide, cushioned stool that's been dragged over to the table from where it was previously tucked under the kitchen bar counter.

"Oh."

Hawks blinks at it dumbly, brain struggling to comprehend what it's seeing and why.

"It's not gonna bite you," Dabi teases dryly, jolting him back into awareness.

His eyes remain glued to the stool. Something in his chest tugs as all manner of emotions bubble up to the surface, begging to be set loose.

Dabi waves a dismissive hand and then rests his chin in his palm, looking away. "Just shove it back over there if it doesn't work. I don't care."

Words dry up in Hawks' throat no matter how hard he tries to speak. It's such a small thing for Dabi to do. The stool sits a little awkwardly high for the table compared to the other chairs, but…

Hawks sits, tucking one leg under him and the other on the stool's footrest. He feels a little ridiculous at first until the overwhelming relief of being able to spread his wings out comfortably behind him overrules any self-consciousness.

Dabi reaches over and gives his thigh a weak squeeze, hand retreating almost immediately much to Hawks' confused disappointment.

The reason becomes clear when Atsuhiro appears to set the table with various to-go containers, plates, bowls, and utensils. He guesses Dabi does need his hands to eat.

"There we are." Stowing his mask and balaclava on the table a safe distance away from the food, Atsuhiro takes his seat with a pleased sigh.

Looking down at himself, Hawks is seized by the sudden need to be rid of as much of his hero costume as possible. A few seconds later, his visor, gloves, and jacket have all been discarded on the seat next to him. With a quick thank you to Atsuhiro, Hawks pulls a bowl of hot pot towards himself and ravenously digs in.

Few words are exchanged as everyone eats their fill, letting out little hums and sighs of contentment. Every now and then, he finds himself peeking over to check on Dabi who makes slow, minuscule progress on his food, but progress all the same. He's been especially careful about moving his mouth and jaw too much and he wonders if it's because he replaced the rest of his staples while Hawks was out.

When Dabi finds a container with a thick brothy soup Hawks isn't entirely sure he asked for, he practically moans out a relieved, "Oh, fuck yes." that has Hawks' thoughts swerving into 'highly inappropriate for the dinner table' territory.

Dabi's been glancing over at him too, though his eyes confusingly keep straying to Hawks' hands in particular. At first he thinks it's because he's always wearing his gloves so he's appreciating the view while he can. It's not until he's licking the grease from a piece of fried chicken off his fingers that he realizes why Dabi's eyebrows might be so furrowed in thought.

"This was exquisite, thank you Hawks," Atsuhiro says when they've all slowed down, picking absently through the pitiful remains.

Dabi makes a vaguely affirmative noise in agreement.

"Any time." Giving in, Hawks eats the last piece of fried chicken in one bite, only realizing after that he hasn't been monitoring himself to make sure he's been chewing like the Commission trained him to do.

If his dinner partners notice, they don't comment on it. Dabi continues to aim intense looks at him when he's not looking but that's not exactly anything new.

Atsuhiro excuses himself not long after. "I've a luxurious bath awaiting me, I'm afraid. So it's curtains for me. I trust you have it from here?" He directs the last part at Hawks, making Dabi huff at the insinuation that he still needs looking after.

Hawks' skin prickles with heat. He didn't think him and Dabi were being that obvious about their seemingly mutual wish to be alone together. Another night he would've happily chatted away with them both, but…

"I'll make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble," Hawks replies, earning himself a clump of crumpled up napkins to the face.

"Until next time, dear friends!"

"Have a good night!"

"Hope you drown, old man."

Atsuhiro sighs dramatically, warm brown eyes practically twinkling with amused endearment. "I'm really not that much older than you."

"You listen to Frank Sinatra," Dabi argues disparagingly. "On a record player."

"Indeed, I do," Atsuhiro agrees without an ounce of shame and Hawks can't say he's all that surprised. His expression turns pitying. "Jealousy is unbecoming of you, dear. You're welcome to ask to borrow it."

"I'm going back to bed," Dabi grumbles.

With a laugh and a bow, Atsuhiro takes his exit.

The door clicks shut and then it's just the two of them, lost in their own thoughts until Hawks finally shakes himself enough to start clearing the table. With everything either put in the dishwasher, the fridge, or the trash, Hawks makes his way over to Dabi who's migrated to the couch.

Hawks looks down at him sprawled out longways on the couch for a moment. Dabi clearly doesn't expect it when Hawks then collapses on top of him instead of at his own end of the couch.

Dabi grunts at the impact, heartbeat spiking.

Remembering too late, Hawks immediately tries to sit back up, apologies tumbling out of his mouth. "Shit, sorry. You're probably still—"

"Calm down, dumb bird. You're fine. Just—" He shifts to give Hawks room to lie more on his side, letting him still drape bonelessly against him while holding up most of his body weight on his own hip and shoulder. Wrapping a scarred arm around him, Dabi lets his other hand fall to rest between his shoulder blades.

He's not sure why the touch comes as a surprise, making his wings jolt and some of his feathers sharpen instinctively in self-defense. When the hand instantly retreats, a frustrated whine tries valiantly to escape his throat but he swallows it down.

"Should've asked…" Dabi mutters, abashed.

Hawks clutches onto him a little tighter, throat impossibly tight as he tries and fails to reassure him. Frustration builds. He should be better than this. Stronger than his emotions. Why can't his brain just compartmentalize it like he's done time and time again? Why can't he just—

Fingertips brush against the nape of his neck and up into his hair. "Here okay?"

Hawks' heart squeezes in his chest. The rush of emotions he's been trying to pick apart piece by piece and stow in a tidy box in his head swells, threatening to spill out at any moment.

He manages the barest hint of a nod.

Dabi still noticeably hesitates before more firmly threading his fingers into Hawks' hair, stroking him with a gentle tenderness that threatens to shatter him entirely.

"That good a day, huh?" Dabi offers dryly.

"Just peachy," Hawks squeezes out.

They don't say anything else for a long time. Hawks tries to let the contact comfort him but all he can think about is being in that examination room. How the walls always seem closer than the last time he was in there. How he's reduced to a specimen to be poked and prodded at until he produces the right reaction.

"You get out of going to that meeting?" Hawks asks, voice falling flatter than he aims for. He needs to hear Dabi's voice. Needs a distraction. Anything.

"Didn't even get the satisfaction. Got moved to some fuckass time tomorrow morning. Lucky me."

The familiar rumble of his voice finally seems to signal to his overthinking brain that it's safe to relax. Gradually, each layer of his plumage settles a little more and he tries to take a steadying breath to better success. "You 'n Atsu have fun?"

Dabi scoffs. "Fuck you. I was fine on my own."

"Oh, come on. I'll bet you loved having someone to order around."

"It was annoying."

"Aww. You miss me?"

He's supposed to just be teasing him but the question comes out a little too genuine for his liking, making his stomach swoop in anticipation like he actually deeply cares what Dabi's answer is.

Dabi pushes Hawks' hair down into his face. "Obviously not."

When he peeks up at Dabi through the strands, though, he's smirking just softly enough that Hawks knows it's a lie.

"Save any cats from trees?"

Hawks manages a small laugh. "Yeah, actually. A couple."

"You'd think people would learn to keep their windows shut."

"Well, you always pick the lock anyway, so..."

Dabi huffs in amusement.

They fall silent again and Hawks tries to ignore the tears still threatening to pour out the moment he loses hold of his careful control.

The conversation he had with Madam President continues to circle endlessly in his head. With so much of his focus diverted to his mission with the League recently, he's been frustratingly unable to keep better tabs on the goings on behind closed Commission doors. He wonders if that's been by design but waves the thought away just as quickly. What could they possibly gain from his absence or lack of awareness? Shouldn't they want him to know what their plans are?

"You just gonna lie there and think yourself to death?"

"Yes," Hawks mutters petulantly back.

"Have fun with that."

"I will."

Fingers continue to stroke his hair in a steady rhythm.

Hawks sighs. "Your hands are colder than usual."

"Okay," Dabi replies simply.

"Should that concern me?"

Dabi shrugs unhelpfully. "Got shit circulation. I don't usually get to eat enough for it to be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Thought you went to medical school, Birdie," Dabi teases with a flick to his forehead.

"I'm not a doctor—"

"Stomach needs blood to digest shit. Blood has to come from somewhere. Hands, feet, brain, heart. Real fun stuff."

"Why do you know all this shit?"

"Look at me, Birdie. Had to learn to survive."

"Guess so…"

Hawks runs his fingertips gently along the scarred skin of his partially exposed collarbone. His brain tries to conjure up an image of what Dabi may have looked like when he woke up in the hospital, presumably alone and in a body forever changed from the one he had before.

Was it always this bad? Did his body deteriorate overtime? Unable to heal itself quickly enough before his quirk just burned it all up again?

What happened?

Sure, he's heard of medical quirks performing all kinds of miracles. But to have sustained such substantial damage and lived…it just doesn't seem possible. Yet, here he is. Heart beating unsteadily against Hawks' palm, but unmistakably alive.

"Shouldn't waste your energy worrying about me. The world ain't getting rid of me that easily." Dabi slides his fingers between Hawks', giving his hand a squeeze that makes his talons peek out from hiding. He doesn't even hesitate before asking, "No salon trip today?"

Hawks isn't sure why he expected Dabi to let him get away with not telling him any of what happened today. It's possible he'd lay off if Hawks told him to, especially after the night they had of Dabi asking him to do the same. But he's also a stubborn fucking hypocrite on a good day, so who knows.

All Hawks can manage is a small, "Nope." before his throat tightens back up.

"What did they want in exchange?"

Heat crawls into Hawks' cheeks and spreads down through his neck and chest, twisting around his heart that continues to beat uncomfortably fast. The urge to run away, to launch into the sky and fly until he's too exhausted to do anything but go home and slip into the peaceful oblivion of sleep floods his body.

He hates that Dabi can't just pretend with him for a moment that everything is fine and normal and that the Commission has nothing but his best interests at heart. That he hasn't been giving his entire life away to people who have never cared about anything but maintaining control, no matter the cost.

He still feels so stupid for not letting himself see it sooner. For wanting so desperately to believe he was a good person doing the right thing that he was able to excuse every abuse. Every dead body.

He turned a blind eye to it all.

And, fuck. If they're so willing to send assassins after people to get their way why wouldn't they be just as willing to orchestrate an entire—

"You look like you could use a shower," Dabi comments out of nowhere, making Hawks' feathers puff up a little in offense as his thoughts are completely derailed.

"Wow, thanks. I smell like it too?" He moves to sit up, feeling unexpectedly stung.

"Sure you worked up a sweat saving all those cats," Dabi says dryly. "Nah, I just know— I mean you usually don't—"

"What?" Hawks snaps harshly. Or maybe he just sounds tired. He's not really sure anymore.

"Let your wings look like a birds' nest?" Dabi replies calmly, if a little incredulous.

Hawks flinches.

Humiliation crashes into him, harsh and sudden. Insults from Dabi aren't even anything new but for some reason this time his words cut deep enough to draw blood.

Blue eyes register this overreaction and then soften in what his brain can only see as pity and disgust. Unable to bear the sight, Hawks stands abruptly. "Right. Yeah." His wings snap uncomfortably tight behind him, pulling as close as physically possible in an attempt to hide from prying eyes. "I'll get right on that."

For some reason, when he starts walking towards the bathroom, Dabi stands to follow him with a frustrated scoff. After a few steps his hand darts out to steady himself on the back of a dinner chair. "Dumb bird, I didn't mean it like that."

Hawks waves him off. "I know," He lies.

It's not like Dabi is wrong. He's probably filthy.

Shutting himself up in the bathroom, Hawks strips off the rest of his uniform with a surprising rush of relief. He hadn't realized just how uncomfortable he was getting in the skin-tight flight suit.

The shower is a little more cramped than he's used to, but the moment the hot water starts beating down on his tired muscles he can't find it in himself to complain. He spends a good few minutes just leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the water ease some of the tension that never quite fully leaves his lower back and those stubborn knots under his shoulder blades.

He senses Dabi entering the bathroom at one point but he's just as quick to exit, leaving Hawks conflicted about whether he's relieved or disappointed. By the time he's done scrubbing sweat and grime out of his hair and off his skin, he has to begrudgingly admit to himself that Dabi made the right call. His head still feels jumbled with thoughts of the Commission, but his sour mood has lifted almost completely and his body feels much more like his own again.

He's going to have to preen his feathers, there's really no escaping it. The thought of doing it in front of Dabi brings an uncomfortable flush back into his cheeks. He probably wouldn't mind if Hawks just sat and did it alone in the bathroom.

Towel wrapped around his lower half, Hawks walks over to investigate what Dabi left for him on the counter. The pile of clothes looks perfectly innocuous, probably just some sweats and a t-shirt. Maybe a pair of boxers if he was feeling especially generous.

Moving to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, Hawks tugs the pile into his lap. When he picks up the t-shirt to gauge if it will actually fit his shoulders, he stops in his tracks, arms freezing in the air.

Because there, cut into the back of the plain black shirt, are two long holes right where his wings would need to protrude. They're longer than is strictly necessary, like the person who put them there was working off of pure guess work. When he runs his fingers along the edges in disbelief, he notes that they've been singed to prevent any fraying.

Hawks' chest seizes. His fingers grip the fabric of the shirt like it might slip away.

His vision blurs and then he's crying, hot tears cascading silently down his cheeks. He presses the garment to his face, breathing in the familiar scent of cigarettes and something more pungent that he doesn't recognize as tears turn to small, shaky sobs.

They won't stop so he hides, hands pressed to his eyes through the shirt in shame. He feels ridiculous, and angry, and confused. Beneath it all sits a warmth so all-consuming that it only makes him cry harder, wings wrapping protectively around himself as his legs fold up in front of him.

Which is of course how Dabi finds him moments later, door carefully slid open then back shut as he steps inside.

"Before you rip my head off—" Dabi starts heatedly but cuts himself off the moment he sees him.

Hawks opens his mouth to apologize for being such a mess but all that comes out is another stifled sob that instantly draws Dabi closer to him.

"Oh, shit, uhh…" Seeming hesitant to touch him, Dabi crosses his arms and leans against the wall instead, only now noticing the article of clothing clutched in Hawks' hands. "It's not my best work but I didn't think it turned out that ugly."

Against all odds, Hawks laughs and then keeps laughing, the fragile sound echoing off of the bathroom walls.

"I leave my good sewing kit at the hideout, so…" Dabi continues to more giggles of disbelief from Hawks.

When he risks a glance at Dabi, he's smirking in a way that tells Hawks he was trying to make him laugh to begin with. Heart squeezing, Hawks looks back at the shirt. "It's a little crude, but…" His voice deserts him again as he tries and fails to tell Dabi how much the gesture means to him. "Sorry you had to cut up your own shirt. Promise I'll replace it."

Dabi waves away the offer. "That shirt's probably older than I am. It's got dye stains on it anyway."

"Pair it with some ripped jeans and it'll look intentional," Hawks teases, confused when he doesn't see these supposed stains. Before he can think about it any harder, Dabi responds.

"Not sure I wanna be taking fashion advice from you of all people."

"Fuck off."

Ever the contrarian, Dabi steps closer now, reaching out to push wet hair out of Hawks' eyes. Letting them fall shut in response, Hawks leans into the touch, allowing it to soothe him as he swallows against the stubborn lump in his throat. Gentle fingertips brush away the remaining wetness under his eyes, simply shifting higher when more starts to appear.

"I really should preen my wings," Hawks fights to get out, barely above a whisper.

"I seriously wasn't—"

"I know," Hawks reassures him and means it this time. "I just—" He doesn't know why he feels such a visceral need to do it after the day he's had. "I need to—" He tries again, frustration with his inability to explain himself quickly turning to tired resignation. "I don't know…"

"You…want me to help?" Dabi asks cautiously, eyebrows furrowing as something troubling seems to occur to him. "Can I help? Or is this just one of those bird things?"

Hawks grips the shirt in his lap tighter, shoulders creeping up to his ears as his cheeks prickle with a different kind of warmth. "It's— I mean you probably could—"

The blue eyes boring into him are alight now with curiousity but Dabi doesn't probe any further, just shoots him a teasing smirk. "I'm sure I can go keep myself entertained for a few hours if not."

"Gonna go put on a show for Skeptic?" Hawks jokes.

"Without my co-star?" Dabi reaches back around to tug suggestively at the back of Hawks' hair, leaning down just short of kissing him. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Hawks hums contentedly. "That's co-lead, thank you very much."

Dabi rolls his eyes and kisses him, flooding Hawks' chest with a wonderfully familiar warmth. He expects that simmering desperation that usually seeps into moments like this, so it's a pleasant surprise when the kiss remains slow and achingly tender in a way that leaves Hawks feeling more exposed. Though this time he doesn't think that's such a bad thing.

"Thought he wasn't worth sharing with," Hawks murmurs against mismatched lips.

Dabi glances around and then shrugs. "I don't think even Skeptic is enough of a freak to want to listen to people pissing and shitting. I was trying to tell you."

Hawks pulls back to shoot him an incredulous look. "When?"

"I kicked your fragile little bird pride before I could get there," Dabi mutters, expression harassed and maybe the tiniest bit apologetic.

"Ah. Right." Hawks feels himself smile despite his strong urge to have fun raking Dabi over the coals a little. "Should make you sleep on the couch for that."

"You and I both know that's an empty threat, hero." Dabi's hand trails back down to Hawks' jaw, thumb stroking just barely against his lower lip. "Unless you're planning to join me."

"You know. The longer you distract me…" Hawks kisses him through a growing smile. "…the longer it's gonna be before I can."

"Need something to remember you by while I'm out there all alone."

"Oh my god, shut up—" Hawks pushes at Dabi's chest, starting to laugh.

A single raspy laugh escapes Dabi's returning grin, his eyes glinting with amusement and so much warmth that Hawks just wants to let himself drown in it.

"I never…" Hawks starts hesitantly and he's certain that Dabi can see how pink his face probably is as he considers what he's about to share with him. "…said you have to leave."

This seems to genuinely catch Dabi off guard, delighted mischief turning to pinched confusion. "You sure bird brain?"

"I mean, it's super tedious so you'll probably get bored pretty quickly. Though, I guess that's nothing you're not already used to."

The more he considers it, the more his stomach twists with uncertainty. It's not that he doesn't trust Dabi to help, there's just a stubborn part of him that wants to—needs to—do it for himself. But he can't help feeling like that would just mean he'd be stubbornly refusing help for no reason like Dabi was last night.

Fuck. It wasn't for no reason though, was it? Yet, despite those negative past experiences Hawks is gradually getting a clearer picture of, Dabi still decided to trust him.

So why can't he—

"All due respect, Birdie," Dabi cuts in, snapping Hawks back to the present before he can spiral any further. "But your feathers seemed pretty pissed earlier and I'm not trying to lose a finger."

Hawks tries not to deflate as frustration starts to worm its way between his ribs again, making him want to cry all of a sudden. He opens his mouth to argue but can't think of one that doesn't sound needy and childish.

"If you seriously want my company that badly though…" Dabi continues smugly then, noticing that Hawks has embarrassingly perked back up, lets it fall away into something more genuine. "I still haven't replaced the staples on my hands, so, if you don't mind sharing counter space. Can be boring together."

Hawks stares at Dabi for a long moment. Probably a little too long for comfort, not that Dabi ever seems to mind. When his brain finally computes the offer being made, he pictures it in his head, them working side by side on their own seperate tasks but decidedly sharing each other's company.

The tightness in his chest loosens.

"I'd…" Hawks has to drop his gaze before he can manage to admit, "Really like that."

"Yeah?" Dabi says gently, cradling Hawks' cheek until he feels brave enough to look back up at him. A second later Dabi accepts his fate with a disbelieving sigh, though it's clear his disdain is directed at the task ahead. "Alright, Birdie. Let me go get my shit, then."

Taking the opportunity to finally dry off properly and get dressed, Hawks pulls on the graciously given pair of surprisingly soft boxers and can only hope his thighs don't stretch out the fabric too badly.

His feathers register what sounds like something being dragged toward the bathroom. Smothering a pleased smile in the shirt he's kept hold of, Hawks sends a few feathers out to help Dabi in his stubborn mission before he manages to pass out from overexerting himself.

True to his suspicions, Dabi has gone and retrieved the stool for him and is now shoving it gracelessly into the bathroom.

The second Dabi lays eyes on him he freezes, instantly zeroing in on the black underwear. His breath noticeably catches and he stares as if in some sort of trance as Hawks happily climbs up onto the procured stool, feet coming to rest on the foothold.

"Fuck, that's hot," Dabi rasps shamelessly and Hawks' entire body heats and crackles like it's been doused in flames.

Hawks spreads his legs a little, just enough to see Dabi follow the movement with hungry eyes.

"Now who's being distracting," Dabi complains, sounding mournful as he resolutely heads for the counter to begin laying out his various medical instruments.

Deciding to behave for the time being, Hawks turns his attention to his wings, smiling so much his cheeks start to ache.

The first time Hawks rouses his wings properly, Dabi jumps at the rustling sound, made even louder by the enclosed space. Thankfully, he hadn't started replacing any staples yet.

"Sorry," Hawks says sheepishly.

"Think I forget how big those really are. Is your wingspan seriously triple your height?"

"Eh, depends."

With most of the bigger pieces of debris now removed, Hawks knows what the next step needs to be but hesitates. He knows that, logically, there isn't any reason for him to be embarrassed by his decidedly avian features around Dabi but shame creeps in all the same.

Dabi catches his gaze for a moment but, seeming to read his discomfort, turns back to his own task.

Swallowing down the rapid thump of his heart, Hawks forces himself to say, "You can…look if you want."

He doesn't want to hide from him. Dabi has trusted him with so much recently and Hawks is determined to do the same, even if it makes him feel like he's going to be sick.

The washcloth being run over Dabi's hands stills and then blue eyes turn to watch him curiously.

"It's nothing crazy just…embarrassing." Hawks resists the urge to shut his wings back up, instead reaching a hand back to press at the base of his spine, coating his fingers in the oil his body naturally secretes for this very reason. A uropygial gland, a Commission doctor once told him it was called, hidden under a thick patch of baby-soft feathers.

Dabi follows the movement but doesn't comment, only looking more confused until he sees Hawks' coated fingers.

At the first stroke of them through his feathers, Hawks feels a tension release from his chest. A few passes later he follows an unfamiliar instinct and experimentally unsheathes his talons. The difference in how much easier they're able to tug and shape the feathers smacks him in the face like a traffic light pole (something Hawks may or may not have personal experience with).

"Oh, dang," Hawks blurts out, earning him another curious glance from Dabi.

"What?" Dabi prods.

"I don't usually…" Hawks trails off, using his talons again and feeling equal parts elated and betrayed. "They're not usually this grown out so I've never tried..."

A long since forgotten memory wriggles into his brain from that fateful outing his mother took him on as a child. When a rare act of rebellion and a clearance sale forever altered the trajectory of his life. He remembers walking past a display of magazines, not that he had much understanding of what those were at the time. The words didn't make any sense to him, but he'd been drawn to one with a whole collage of birds on the front, peeking inside and finding photos of wings so similar to his it made him gasp with excitement. He only caught a short glimpse of a set of birds preening their feathers with beaks and talons before his small noise alerted his mom and he was being dragged in the opposite direction.

He thinks he remembers squeezing his only possession close as he pretended to sleep that night, waiting for his mother to pass out before he sat up and tried preening his own feathers. From then on his feathers became smoother and stronger, but also more sensitive to sound and vibrations. What used to be brittle, prickly barbs could more easily pick sounds apart from each other and would attach and reattach more neatly.

Then the day came where he followed his newly awakened instincts into town again, saving all of those people like the colorful heroes on his parents' television. He'd thought maybe he finally found a purpose. A good use for his otherwise useless wings that his mother would finally praise him for. Maybe she would even love him.

"…not since I was a kid, anyway," Hawks finishes when he realizes the bathroom has been quiet too long for Dabi not to have noticed.

The look Dabi gives him is one of pure restrained fury as he puts together what Hawks is saying. "Gonna kill those bastards," He mutters darkly, making Hawks heart swell at the protective sentiment.

"Might not be here as long as I thought," Hawks jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Apparently feeling charitable, Dabi follows his example and drops it.

Hawks tries to go back to preening his feathers but his hands eventually fall still as his thoughts continue to churn and swirl. Again, he feels a pull to tell Dabi. To open up about what it was like being a mutant kid hidden away from the world like some kind of unseemly pest.

How is it that he had an easier time talking about his childhood that first night on the rooftop? Why was he able to be so reckless then? Leaping over the impenetrable wall the Commission painstakingly built between him and that house like it was nothing?

The moment he remembers they're being monitored by Skeptic any words of his past retreat completely. It's too big a risk, even if Dabi thinks they're safer to talk in here. He knows how far surveillance is willing to go. No stone left unturned and all that. Even the smallest bit of intel could be what sets something big in motion for years to come.

Still, the reminder that Dabi did try and set up a scenario where Hawks could feel free to talk about what was eating at him makes him want to honor the effort.

Hawks curls his wings a little more purposefully around them in an attempt to give them more privacy, better guiding his words to their sole target. Taking a steadying breath, Hawks gives his brain a brief moment to slot everything into place before opening his mouth. "There's something…"

Blue eyes snap back to him, clocking his shift in tone immediately.

Hawks sighs, keeping his voice low and level as he turns back to his wings. "I don't know. There's something that's been bothering me."

"No shit," Dabi replies unhelpfully, matching his volume. His eyes are bright, though, encouraging him to keep talking.

Hawks straightens another set of feathers.

Sighs again.

Finally bites the bullet.

"I always saw my mission as a way to prevent a full out war. To gather intel so we could neutralize the threat before it got the chance to become an unbeatable one. But something Madam President said today…" His hands still against his feathers, anxiety crawling up his throat as he forces himself to continue. "She said something about when the war is over. Like it's a certainty. Like…"

He can't get himself to voice it, but Dabi of course has no such qualms.

"Like they're not trying to prevent one at all? Like they want a war?"

Hawks' heart rattles in his chest, each unsteady beat thumping harder than the last.

He nods.

"No shit, Birdie. When a country loses their trust in heroes, what's a sure fire way to regain that trust and re-enforce your hierarchy? Put the heroes on a stage and make 'em beat the bad guys."

Strangely, Dabi's direct words bring Hawks some comfort. While he doesn't like the picture it paints of the Commission, even if it's one he's already subconsciously aware of being someone who's held the paintbrush for so long, it's a relief that he's not crazy for jumping to the same conclusions.

"Give 'em flashy names and catchy special moves and bam, you've got a public too distracted to care about what happens behind the scenes and more than willing to be herded like happy, helpless little sheep."

"People are starting to wake up though. Eventually something has to give."

"And that's what they're counting on. They'll push, and push, and twist narratives to their favor. Even when it seems to go against what they want. Cause at the end of the day, the winner tells the story, right?"

"I just can't help but wonder…" Here he hesitates and then changes tack a little, not wanting to imply distrust of the very people he's technically still trying to win over. "They dont know I've gone rogue, but they're definitely keeping things from me. I just don't get what they gain from that? Wouldn't you want your top operative to know your true motives? Why not get the most possible use out of me?"

Dabi grimaces at that last part. "I mean, clearly they still trust you to some extent cause your ass isn't locked up in Tartarus or dead under mysterious circumstances. That or they trust that they can still use you, anyway. The gain is still greater than the risk."

Hawks' stomach twists. It's not an unfair observation to make but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about hearing it said out loud. "Guess I've been doing my job well, then."

Dabi studies him and it takes a moment of looking for Hawks to see the tinge of something sorrowful carefully hidden away behind a guarded exterior. "You won't have to forever."

Hawks' throat tightens. "I know."

"You know we'll protect you," Dabi insists.

"I know."

It's not me I'm worried about, He doesn't add.

Willing himself not to start crying again, he reaches back and coats his fingers with more oil.

Silence falls over them.

Despite the less than happy note they leave off on, Hawks does feel some of the emptiness in his chest fill in with the warmth of Dabi's understanding. It might not change any facts of the matter, but there's a comfort in knowing he isn't alone in his head with it anymore.

For the next hour or so, they each work at their own task. Hawks probably could have been done by now but he can't help stopping and staring every now and then in morbid fascination. Unlike the ones Hawks helped with, replacing these staples seems to be a much more delicate process. One that involves a lot more muttering and swearing and not-quite-contained winces.

There's more blood too, which Hawks only notices because he keeps catching little wafts of the coppery scent. A fact that's mildly concerning given his nose isn't usually this sensitive.

Is it the small enclosed space, maybe?

Something to do with Dabi's blood type?

Dabi's hand twitches again and his jaw clenches harder, eyes narrowing as he forces himself to continue against the wishes of his clearly protesting nerves. Hawks can only imagine how much of a nightmare it is working around all those delicate tendons that push and pull at each other constantly.

He drags his gaze away before his hero complex, as Dabi so lovingly calls it, can stick its nose where it doesn't belong. Though this doesn't do much to quell the urge that bubbles under the surface of his skin. One that tells him to close the distance between them. To take Dabi's hands in his and press warm kisses to every knuckle before gently cleaning away the blood with his wet, hot—

A fierce blush crawls up his neck. His first instinct is to shove the freakish thought away, but his second creeps over from the side of genuine curiosity.

Would Dabi let him? It would be incredibly unsanitary and they'd definitely have to clean the small divots in his skin afterward to make sure they actually healed and took to the new staples properly. But he knows so intimately the noises Dabi has made before at having his blood tasted. Remembers the pleasant fuzziness that had overtaken his own brain as it coated his tongue.

Hawks mentally shakes himself.

He must really be exhausted.

When he's at last satisfied with their feel and appearance, Hawks rouses his wings one final time, still managing to startle Dabi who finished with his hands and has been watching him for a good half hour now. With his barbs smoothed and interlocked, it's easy for Hawks to track the way Dabi's heart rate spikes and then remains elevated.

Anything Hawks might have said gets caught in his throat in anticipation, though of what he isn't certain. His heart pounds as Dabi's gaze travels over his wings, taking in every curve and feather like he's a work of art to be studied and savored.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Dabi says, hushed and reverent.

The words seep into Hawks' body and curl low in his stomach. Giving in to the pull, Hawks flexes his wings again and then lets them splay on either side of him, angled so that they catch the light better.

Unable to stay away any longer, Dabi stands and crosses the small gap between them. His hands reach out to slide up and then grip his thighs, making Hawks gasp.

Fuck. He doesn't want to sit here and ruminate anymore. The Commission has stolen enough of his precious time today as it is.

So, he spreads his wings until the two of them are almost completely obscured from the rest of the room. When he then wraps a hand around the back of Dabi's neck and drags him demandingly closer, the arsonist goes easily, sliding their mouths together in an eager kiss that makes his stomach swoop.

"You can touch," Hawks says breathlessly.

He wants that mouth on him. His hands. His eyes. Anywhere. Everywhere. He's never needed someone like this. This bone-deep ache that only Dabi can satisfy. But, god, does he want.

"Doesn't that kinda defeat the purpose?" Dabi replies, but his hands are already sliding up Hawks' hips, his waist, his rib cage. He mostly keeps his fingers still so as to not jostle the freshly inserted staples, but Hawks doesn't mind. The worshipping caress of his hands against vulnerable flesh makes his head spin all the same.

Hawks' heart hammers in his chest, lungs squeezing as he tries to catch his lost breath. "Please touch them," He begs.

Hot hands bury themselves near the base of his wings and Hawks whimpers, hands darting out to grasp onto Dabi's shoulders for stability. The fingers release and than stroke firmly down and Hawks lets out a needy trill.

"So soft," Dabi praises lowly. "So pretty, sweetheart."

"Ahh—" Hawks' hips jerk so Dabi steps closer, urging him to slide off the stool just enough to let their mutual need meet with a purposeful grind. "Fuck, Dabi—"

"Hawks—"

"Don't stop—"

"So perfect."

Hawks pushes at Dabi's definitely-still-atrocious shirt until he gets the hint, surprisingly letting him be the one to unzip and tug it off of him. The moment they're freed from yellow sleeves, Dabi's hands slip down to Hawks' lower back, digging, stroking, searching until they find the uropygial gland hidden under thickly layered downy feathers.

"Please," Hawks pants and is instantly obeyed.

Fingertips press carefully against the gland, gathering oil to spread over heated palms. The next time they stroke through feathers his wings shudder with unrestrained pleasure.

"Ahh, fuck—" Hawks cries out.

Dabi sounds just as out of breath when he rasps, "Yeah? That feel good, Pretty Bird?"

A needy, "Mhm." is all Hawks can manage in his totally blissed out state. Everything around him ceases to exist, Dabi his only anchor as he slips deeper into the warm fuzziness rapidly taking over his brain.

He thinks his talons might be digging into scarred flesh but Dabi doesn't complain. Warming the oil on his hands again, Dabi digs deeper into his plumage, dragging low trilling noises from Hawks' dry throat.

"I love hearing you sing." Dabi kisses a slow path up the column of Hawks' throat, burying his face in his sternum as he scratches slow and hard with his fingernails. "My pretty songbird."

A raw sound like a sob is ripped from his throat and then his dick is twitching and spasming as a sudden orgasm shocks through his entire body, from downy fluff to primaries.

"Shit, Birdie. Fuck. So good."

His wings twitch and shudder and everything feels impossibly more sensitive but Dabi doesn't let up, seeming to recognize that Hawks' arousal is not yet satiated.

Overcome with the desire to touch them both, Hawks slips a hand down to stroke Dabi through his boxer briefs. Dabi's hips buck and he lets out a throaty moan that Hawks echoes, loving how he can feel his dick twitch at the sound. Tugging them both out of their underwear, Hawks slicks his hand up with his own steady stream of precum and then starts jerking them off in earnest.

"Oh, fuck. Yes." Dabi's body jerks and he has to steady himself with one hand on the long stool which scrapes a few inches across the bathroom floor.

Everything is hot and slick and pure desperation. Dabi's head falls against his shoulder and Hawks' mouth practically waters at the sight of little droplets of fresh blood oozing from where his talons started to make themselves a new home. Without a second thought, Hawks leans down and bites him over the already abused skin, startling a shaky moan out of Dabi. The taste of sweat and copper coats his tongue like a sweet nectar and all Hawks can do is moan as Dabi sinks his teeth into his shoulder in return.

When he swaps to the other side, so does Dabi, heated hands clawing at his thighs, his feathers, everything they can reach and squeeze and scratch. A hot, needy mouth finds his right as Dabi starts to tip over the edge. Urging his mouth as far open as it will go, Hawks plunges his tongue inside, relishing in the shameless whimper Dabi lets out at the taste of his own blood.

All he can taste, all he can feel, all he can think is Dabi, Dabi, Dabi.

"I love being the only one who gets to see you like this," Dabi whispers, blue eyes bright and all consuming. "Fuck. You're so beautiful, Hawks. Want you to ruin me. To fucking devour me and leave nothing left."

Hawks comes with a hoarse cry and Dabi follows not long after, both of them coating Hawks' hand now as he continues to guide them through his fist.

"Wanna keep you," Hawks pants mindlessly. "Wanna make you mine."

"Already am," Dabi rasps, letting out a needy, throaty noise when Hawks grasps his shoulder again, talons digging possessively into scarred flesh. His forehead falls back against Hawks' shoulder, sweat smearing into his skin as he turns and buries his face in the side of his neck with a choked, "Fuck. Shit."

Their hips continue to rock against each other of their own accord, giving little jolts as they ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over them. A hot tongue drags across Hawks' skin so he tilts his head back, baring himself to Dabi who presses closer.

The fingers that close around Hawks' throat dance that intoxicating line between comfortingly and painfully hot. His survival instincts screech at him to fight back, to escape, but Hawks just hums contentedly and cinches his wings even tighter around them. He loves how he can feel Dabi's heart pounding where their chests are pressed together, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact that feels so indisputably right. Like their bodies were molded to fit perfectly together.

Hawks gives them another slow stroke, swiping his come-slicked thumb over each sensitive head just to feel Dabi throb and squirm against him. The choked noise he makes inspires him to do it again, feeling himself smile as Dabi curses and calls him an asshole in a voice so breathy it almost undoes Hawks completely.

Forcing hazy eyes back open, Hawks looks at Dabi and demands he do the same as he does it a third time, heart thundering at the vulnerability so graciously poured into him from the overheated body trembling against him.

Blue eyes plead with him.

It's too much, I can't take it.

Don't stop. Don't ever stop. Keep me here forever. Just like this. All of this is yours to take, to have, to cherish.

Don't you dare look away. They say as Dabi lunges forward to kiss him.

Want me. Need me. Love me.

They both moan into the kiss, pushing and pulling at each other like they've mutually decided to defy physics entirely in their endless pursuit to be closer, always needing to be closer.

Love me… love me… love me…

It's a long time before Hawks' hand stills for good, barely managing to stay wrapped around them as his entire body trembles. His wings shake where he's been keeping them extended for so long, but he stubbornly keeps the crushing weight of them suspended until Dabi's body finally seems to give out and slumps forward, letting Hawks and the stool bear the brunt of his weight. Allowing his wings to sag down on top of him, Hawks tries and miserably fails to catch his breath, blissful smile widening when Dabi doesn't fare any better.

"You still alive down there?" Hawks eventually manages around gasps for air.

"No thanks to you," Dabi practically slurs, making no moves to try and pull himself back upright.

"Maybe one of these days we'll make it to an actual bed again."

"With our track record?" Dabi grins lazily against him. "Doubt it."

Fingertips brush against his skin, dancing over feathers and ribs. More than happy to let them continue, Hawks closes his eyes contentedly. When another few minutes pass and Dabi's heart rate doesn't slow, Hawks opens them again, pressing his nose to sweaty black hair in mild concern. "Seriously, you okay?"

"Don't flatter yourself, hero."

A few of his feathers detach of their own accord, floating along Dabi's body in search of any sign of serious injury. He knows he won't find any, knows this is more likely just a symptom of overexerting an already struggling body, but Dabi doesn't immediately shoo them away and it brings him some peace of mind.

A feather brushes along Dabi's damp forehead and Hawks notes that he looks a little pale. Another wraps securely around his wrist, while more retrieve and dampen fresh washcloths to clean them both up.

He can't help the small stab of guilt he feels when he investigates the punctured scar tissue of Dabi's shoulder—his bad one, too—that hasn't quite stopped bleeding yet. Dabi doesn't react to any initial prodding, only flinching and hissing quietly at the sting when Hawks stubbornly cleans and then applies antibiotic cream to the small wounds.

Hawks apologizes quietly, not that Dabi is having any of it.

Dabi tilts his head that's still pressed to his shoulder towards Hawks if only so he can see him roll his eyes. "Christ, Birdie. You're acting like you shot my dog in front of me. It doesn't even hurt."

"Yeah, see, that's kinda what worries me," Hawks says, placing a kiss over the newly applied bandages before relenting.

"Do your feathers always have a mind of their own?" Dabi asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

Puzzled, Hawks turns to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Dabi's gaze considers the feathers still floating idly around them, the ones wringing out a washcloth in the sink, then finally the one still cinched around his wrist right at the pulse point.

Hawks' cheeks flush hotly. "Sorry, I can—" He starts to call them back but something makes him pause, overriding his instinct to shrink himself back down before Dabi gets weirded out and tells him he's being too much.

Dabi finally lifts his head to say something but stops when he notices Hawks has too. A strange expression Hawks can't decipher crosses his face and then he smirks a little, hand reaching out to stroke casually through his feathers.

A shiver runs through Hawks' body at the touch. He waits for his hackles to lower before letting his wings drop bonelessly back down, humming contentedly.

"It's hard to explain," Hawks says after a moment, drawing curious blue eyes back to him. "It's less that I'm consciously controlling every single one and more like…" He tries to think of something to compare it to but draws a blank. "It's kinda just muscle memory at this point."

"Right," Dabi replies slowly.

"Like walking. You don't think about which way your arms and legs go you just…do it. Like, if I shove you, your foot shoots out to catch you. But you don't have to think about moving it first, right? I am still controlling them, though. I mean. The signals still come from me, but, mostly subconciously."

Dabi's mildly dubious look smooths into a teasing, almost triumphant smirk that makes Hawks' face burn hotter. "Right. And you can control them from how far away?"

"What's with the sudden interrogation?"

"Pretty far, right? So, if, say, a little red feather snuck into bed with me earlier today…"

Hawks' breath catches and not just because Dabi chooses that moment to oh so slowly tug at the sensitive feathers right at the base of his wings.

"…and slipped so innocently under my shirt…"

Dabi plucks a feather out of the air and drags it tantalizingly up Hawks' chest to his throat, lingering over each pulse point. He then trails it down Hawks' forearm before wrapping his hand one luxuriating finger at a time around his wrist.

"…that was all you? I mean, orders had to come from somewhere, right?"

Confusion floods Hawks' brain as he swallows thickly. He's pretty sure he would remember if he sent a feather to do all of that. Granted, he was a little distracted talking to Atsuhiro and then wrangling his tired, endlessly circling thoughts into something resembling coherency.

He doesn't know what would be more damning. Falsely admitting to it and risking finding out that Dabi was pulling his leg the whole time, or denying it, thus implying he's so down bad for the guy even his feathers picked up on it and acted accordingly.

Had he really been so desperate to be certain Dabi was safe and alive?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hawks settles on evasively.

"No?" Dabi's grin only widens.

Retreating into his brain a little, Hawks feels around and, shit, yup, there it is. A small feather caught up in Dabi's bedsheets just a room away from them. But how? And when?

Hawks cringes when he finally realizes. "The soju. I never reattached it."

"Couldn't get the thing pried off of me," Dabi continues to tease him, clearly relishing in Hawks' growing embarrassment. Heating the hand around Hawks' wrist just enough to be noticeable, Dabi shoots him a startlingly surly look. "Thought maybe you'd decided to spy on me after all."

"I wouldn't— Y'know, that's real rich coming from you, mister home invader—"

Dabi chuckles, ire dropping away as quickly as it came. "Wouldn't what? Be that obvious?"

"You literally invited me to give you one last night!" Hawks argues indignantly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Hawks smacks him lightly with a wing, only feeling a little bad when it still manages to make Dabi stumble. "Fuck off."

Dabi just smirks, righting himself and then immediately crowding back into Hawks' personal space. Giving Hawks' wrist a squeeze that makes his talons peek out, he seems to grow enamored with the since-dried blood that stains the tips.

A small 'sorry' slips out before he can stop himself.

Hawks wants to pull away, shame at his loss of control squirming in his stomach, but Dabi just keeps staring. Tugging Hawks' hand closer, he plants warm, unexpected kisses on the inside of his forearm, his wrist, then his self-consciously curled fingers.

"One of these days…" Dabi murmurs against him, dragging his lips over the talons. "…I'll get it through that thick bird skull of yours…" He slides two of Hawks' fingers into his mouth, startling a choked noise out of him. Blue eyes gaze half-liddedly up at him before falling shut. Swallowing them just a little further down, Dabi hums and then slowly releases them, revealing one knuckle at a time.

"That… you have a thing for heteromorphs?" Hawks ventures weakly.

"I have a thing for you, you stupid fucking bird. All of you."

Hawks' mind goes completely blank with shock and all he can do is stare owlishly at him. "Oh."

"Fucksake," Dabi grumbles, breaking eye contact as some color finally starts to return to his cheekbones.

Hawks bites down on a dopey smile. His stomach swoops and it takes a few tries before he can get himself to admit, "Got a thing for all of you too, Hot Stuff."

A smug smile stretches across Dabi's lips, tugging at his staples. "Yeah, no shit."

Seeing right through him to the genuine pleasure that dances in his eyes, Hawks tugs him closer, drawing him into an unhurried kiss that makes something in his chest flutter.

He can't seriously be that obvious about it.

Can he?

Hawks considers the bandages on Dabi's shoulder. He thinks about red feathers wrapped protectively around scarred wrists, and our leniencies have limits, Hawks, and the fact they just had sex in a bathroom again, and mentally facepalms.

Okay, so maybe he's not exactly hiding it well. But, maybe he doesn't want to hide.

"All right. Let's get you to bed before you pass out and I have to carry you."

"Think I could fall asleep standing up?"

"What, like a horse?"

Dabi grins. Laughs.

There's a world that the League believes can exist. That he believes can exist. One where he can wear his feathers—all of his feathers—proudly. Where he can grow out his talons, and free every last noise from his throat where they've been shoved down for years, without fear of rejection or violence.

It might not happen now. It might not even happen any time soon. But with each passing day he can more clearly picture that future until it feels like all he needs to do is reach out and grab hold of it.

As they stumble out of the bathroom, clingy limbs wrapped around each other even when it only seems to impede their progress towards the bed, Hawks thinks that maybe he already has.