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It had all started with a cigarette.
They were used to meeting on rooftops like this, after the sun had set. Dabi would light up a cigarette and the first drag was a signal for Hawks to start talking. To share intel. In truth, Dabi didn’t give a shit. He listened with one ear, just in case, but he knew that Hawks was playing a game. Dabi had never trusted him from the start.
One evening, Hawks remained quiet. His fists were clenched and his distant gaze was scanning the horizon, looking for who knows what. The curtain of anxiety draping him was suffocating and even Dabi had trouble breathing. With a sigh, he offered his lit cigarette to the blond.
“Here, birdbrain. Finish it.”
Surprise barely registered on Hawks’ face.
“I don’t smoke, Dabs.” He raised his hands to his chest, motioning a “no thank you”.
“I don’t care. You need it. You’re so tense you’re gonna break and I’m not gonna pick up the pieces.”
No. He would collect the pieces, but he would never put him back together.
Hawks scoffed and reached for the offered stick. As he put it to his mouth, the marred villain lit up another one for himself. It took a few drags for Hawks to visibly loosen up.
“So what’s up?”, Dabi said, flicking the ashes. “Why so stressed?”
The hero shrugged and rubbed his nose with his free hand, looking on the verge of just spilling the tar bottled up inside his chest.
“Commission stuff. Just… very stressful. Having to keep up the hero appearance enough to please them when I, in fact, despise them, is rough. I mean, I owe them everything, but they have absolute control over me. I feel trapped.”
Dabi hummed, taking a long drag and letting his eyes wander.
Hawks’ shoulders were slumped, he looked small, leaning on the roof railing like this. Like a monument, taken care of in the front for the tourists, riddled with cracks in the back. Exhaustion seeped through them, only held back by the dam of a will of steel. Dabi knew it was a question of time before the collapse. Hawks was a caged bird, instincts trained out of him and wings trimmed down by the Commission, but Dabi had a key. He knew how to weasel through cracks and crevices. The streets had taught him well.
The next time they met, Hawks had held out his hand to a sitting Dabi, clearly expecting something. Dabi smirked and gave him an unlit cigarette before going back to puffing his own.
“How am I supposed to smoke it?”
The villain chuckled and held up a pointer finger, a faint blue flame licking its tip. He held his hand deliberately low, forcing Hawks to stoop in order to light up. He groaned, annoyed, but he leaned in front of Dabi, cigarette in mouth. Their eyes met, teal burning with something primal, amber drowned in viscous emptiness. Then Hawks closed his eyes and let out a shaky exhale.
The third time went much like the second one, but when Hawks had leaned in to light up, Dabi had moved his hand, closer to his own face. Hawks had followed blindly, chasing a nicotine buzz he had grown to like. Not a second later Dabi’s mismatched lips were on his own, soft on top and rough on the bottom. That was when something in Hawks broke; the dam was giving in. He kissed back, his hands traveled in greasy black hair, letting the cigarette he held fall on the rooftop.
He knew he could do better than Dabi. But Dabi had something. He seemed to not give a shit, but to care somehow at the same time. Hawks felt as if Dabi always had a solution, something to numb the pain and fill the void. He was a constant, always on the rooftop with him, always lending his ear. Hawks needed someone to hold onto. Someone outside of the hero world, outside of theatrics.
As the kiss got heated, hands wandered on faces and under clothes, in hair. Gasps and moans punctuated eager licks and nips and soon Dabi was on top of him, an animalistic glint in his eyes. That was the look of a starving beast and Hawks felt desired for what he truly was. A hollow-boned, fragile bird. His instincts screamed danger, but he still plunged head first into the gaping maw.
The fourth time, Hawks met up with Dabi on the rooftop as usual, but this time he refused the cigarette offered to him. Dabi’s blood ran cold for a second, scared of losing what grip he had on the hero. Then Hawks winked and took out his own pack out of his jacket. He still leaned in towards Dabi though, eyes begging for ignition. Dabi smirked and held out a finger, watching with interest as Hawks lit up his stick.
That night, one cigarette became two became three, and they chain smoked on the rooftop, lying on their back, arms flush against each other. They had talked, they had kissed. At some point, Hawks’ fingers had hooked themselves in the belt hoops of Dabi’s jeans and he had pulled them down to his mid thighs, just low enough to reveal black boxer briefs. He had nestled his face in the crook of his groin, breathing in his scent. He had then started mouthing horny nonsense against the soft fabric, occasionally looking up, searching for approbation, for the go ahead. Dabi had grabbed his hair in a vice grip, keeping him down. He’d simply told Hawks to do his best.
Unsure but eager to please, Hawks’ game was still amateurish. It had more teeth than Dabi would’ve liked, but he’d take whatever he could get from his favorite bird. He would train him. Praise him, treat him to a chemical bliss, reward him with physical release. He would build the addiction and soon, Hawks would be able to take him whole, his nose flush against his hairy pubis, piercings tickling the back of his throat until tears streamed down his face, a complete wreck.
The deal had been sealed with the lewd pop Hawks’ mouth made when he let go of Dabi’s spent dick, his own aching in its confines. Dabi had praised him, told him he’d done a good job as he spat his seed on the ground and wiped the drool off his chin. He couldn’t possibly fight it anymore, he would keep coming for more. Dabi’s words were an addictive substance of their own.
—
Cigarettes were innocent enough, but Hawks did not really drink. Not before Dabi, anyway. The villain had been sly as a fox.
It started when Dabi had brought beer to their usual hang out spot. One beer while smoking a cigarette. Innocent enough.
The next time, they made it to six. Dabi got to learn that Hawks became cuddly when the alcohol level rose in his veins. Something he tucked in a corner of his rotten mind for later.
The third time, Dabi had called Hawks beforehand to change the location of their meeting. He’d simply given him an address, not a detail more.
Hawks had showed up on time to a beat down apartment. Just the kind of apartment he’d expect Dabi to live in. When the villain let him in, it smelled just like him; cigarettes, weed, burnt meat of unknown origins. The television was turned on, a greasy movie on show. Brushing off his unease, Hawks sat down on the couch, nervous to intrude in the villain’s lair.
“Drink?”
The raspy voice had come from the small kitchen, followed by a short coughing fit. The cabinets were stained from years of nicotine fueled smoke clouding the apartment. Hawks looked up to Dabi, not sure what he’d like.
“Yeah. Surprise me.”
Dabi would’ve normally made a shot. At least to get started. He had an ulterior motive, though, so he picked a normal sized glass. He poured an amount of vodka he would usually only pour for himself, never to guests, then topped it off with some crème de menthe to make it go down easier. He poured a shallow glass of some cheap whiskey for himself and made his way to the couch with the drinks.
Dabi was stunned when Hawks took a gulp, not a sip. He evidently needed to unwind, and that was all in the scarred man’s favor.
“It tastes like mouthwash.”
“Come on, drink up birdy, it’ll soothe you,” Dabi said while gently stroking Hawks bare shoulder, encouraging him to keep drinking.
A couple of glasses more and Hawks was gone. He either didn’t know his own limits or didn’t care. There was no hiding the dust of deep pink on his freckled cheeks. He rested his head in Dabi’s lap, his fingers softly brushing the staples below the other’s lips. He was adrift in liquid bliss, mouth slightly dry, head not yet pounding. His hand fell at the same time as his eyelids and Dabi grinned. Hawks was not completely out of it, just on the verge of falling asleep. The villain manoeuvred his way carefully from under his prey and positioned himself in between his legs, on the prowl.
It wasn’t hard to get rid of his pants. Hawks had come wearing civilian clothes, which consisted of grey sweatpants and a black tank top. The sweatpants just slid right down, and much to Dabi’s surprise, that was it. No underwear to wrestle with. This translated as consent in his fucked up psyche and he licked his lips. Hawks must’ve had something in mind, to come over to his place so bare. He was clearly offering himself.
It never crossed Dabi’s mind that Hawks’ state of dress had not been intended for him. The bird was his to take.
He started by taking the head of the flaccid member in his mouth, suckling and licking at the tip. The actions earned him a moan that came from deep within Hawks’ chest, muddled from the puddle of alcohol dampening his mind.
Dabi then took him in his hand and licked the underside of his shaft from base to slit a few times before jerking him off with enthusiasm. Despite his ministrations, Hawks was just too far gone to get hard. Dabi let him go with a frustrated sigh and left for the bathroom, not even bothering to dress him up. Leaving the door open, he pleasured himself, thinking of Hawks’ bare ass on his disgusting couch, the fabric covered in layers of stains of who knows what, until he came in his own hand and let out a low unsated grunt.
The fourth time, same place same time, Hawks had asked him for the same drink. He never asked why he’d woken up with his pants down. He’d assumed he and Dabi had fooled around, which did not really bother him. He’d give himself whole one day. Not now, though. He wasn’t ready.
He never thought Dabi could’ve taken advantage of him. Society might consider him scum, but he had never been anything other than kind to Hawks. In any case, Dabi had drunk too. That had to mean they were both into it, right?
Hawks sat on the couch this time around too, toying with one of the many holes left behind by a cigarette burn. As Dabi busied himself in the kitchen, he heard more shuffling around than he had the other day. The clacking of many cabinets, the rustling of utensils in drawers, the periodic clearing of a dry throat. He tried not to think too much of it.
Dabi thought he’d left the bottle in the kitchen, but he could not find it. He went to the bathroom, hands still and eerily calm despite what he was about to do. Once confronted by his collection of pill bottles, he sighed. What would he use? Benzos, sleeping pills, antipsychotics?
He opened a bottle and shook it, three small beige pills falling in his palm. He swallowed one and went back to the kitchen, bringing his loot with him. With the side of a knife, he crushed the two remaining quetiapine pills into a fine powder. He transferred the dust to a glass, which he filled with vodka and crème de menthe, as it had been requested. He stirred the mixture until the pills had dissolved and he joined Hawks in the living room with a glass of his own.
Hawks did not waste time in starting on his drink. A few sips in and he let his hand wander, letting it rest on Dabi’s. Today was one of those days. One of those days where he needed warmth, jetsam to keep him afloat in a sea of doubt and loneliness. Because he was lonely. Rabid fans did not count.
Dabi squeezed his hand, encouraging him to let go. He would be there. He would be there to cradle him, to keep him safe. Soon Hawks’ eyelids grew heavy and he fought to keep his gaze focused on the torn wallpaper in front of him. He heard a soft chuckle and looked up, meeting mischievous eyes.
“Sleepy?”, Dabi asked him and Hawks shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. I had to patrol late last night. I think… I need to lie down for a while…”
“C’mere baby bird.”
Hawks felt his insides melt at the nickname and he leaned against Dabi, whose hand soon found its way to his back, stroking soft crimson feathers. He let his head rest on a scarred shoulder and his eyes closed on their own as he reveled in the soothing touch. The curtains fell and he let himself get swallowed in a dark, yet comforting abyss.
Dabi could feel a hot desire pool in his belly as Hawks’ breathing settled and steadied. He hadn’t even started yet but his blood was flowing south already, excited to take the reins.
He stopped stroking the hero’s wings and brought his hand back, slapping Hawks’ cheek to make sure he was out. The slap elicited no reaction whatsoever and Dabi knew he was in the clear.
He laid Hawks’ head on the armrest of the couch and flipped him carefully on his stomach. With both hands, he dragged his sweatpants and boxers down together to his ankles, making sure they wouldn’t get in the way. He then undid the buckle of his belt, taking off his own pants. He spat in his hand and pumped his throbbing cock, relishing in the sight of the defenseless hero on display for him.
Something about being the one in control. Something about having the upper hand, about ravishing a fragile man who can’t fight back, bound by invisible ropes. That something hastened his need to ruin and he knew he couldn’t possibly take the time to prepare that sweet ass for the incoming assault.
But he couldn’t hurt Hawks now. Not yet anyway. He wasn’t done wrapping him around his finger. He first had to make sure he would come back no matter what. This was simply a treat, a sneak peek of what he could expect from his new pet once tamed.
Dabi sank his black fingernails in the fair skin of Hawks’ legs, preparing himself to spread them. Nibbling on his discolored bottom lip, he held the hero’s cheeks apart with one hand, guiding his cock with the other. He aimed lower than he would’ve liked, burying himself between toned thighs instead of tight heat. His head fell back and he drew in a deep breath, bracing himself before giving the first thrust. He let out a grunt, the friction more intense than he had imagined. Settling his gaze on the golden strands in front of him, he lowered himself to rest against Hawks’ back, face nestled in downy feathers. Hands on the hero’s chest, he kept on rutting in between his thighs like a maniac, chasing a sweet release.
Feeling himself coming close, he retreated and stood straight, dick in hand. A strangled moan escaped his lips as he came on the small of Hawks’ back, desperate to keep quiet.
Dabi left him there, desecrated. He admired the sight for a few seconds before picking up his cellphone from the coffee table, shuffling around the apps until he found the camera.
“Say cheese, birdie…”
The camera clicked and Dabi smiled, Hawks’ ruination immortalized. He tossed his phone on the couch before heading to the kitchen to fetch some paper towels to wipe Hawks’ back.
Dabi sat on the couch, throwing his discarded pants on the floor before lighting up a cigarette. A stranger would’ve called the look in his eyes caring, loving even, but had they known, they would’ve seen the embers of possessiveness, the glint predators have in the presence of their prey.
He loved Hawks. But not as a person. He didn’t give a fuck about what he wanted, what he liked. He loved him for what he could provide him. Relief, entertainment, companionship… Hawks was a broken toy and Dabi would keep playing with him until he would end up headless, limbless, soft plush spilling from his core. He didn’t really have toys as a child, but this one definitely blew all the others he did have out of the water. He would get as much use out of him as possible before discarding him like trash.
—
Hawks was not used to losing control. He tried so hard every day to keep it together. If he couldn’t be in control, someone else was. The Commission, usually. Their control was suffocating, but it was all he knew.
He loved Dabi. He had taught him how to let go. How to surrender, how to stop struggling against conflicting feelings. He was always there to listen, to shield him. He would run his fingers through his hair, whisper sweet names in his ear, hold him close in his arms.
Hawks didn’t mind relinquishing control over to Dabi. Whenever he would abandon himself, he was there to welcome him back with open arms. He would nurse him back to a comfortable state, providing refreshments and painkillers to relieve the inevitable headaches. Someone cared about him, for once.
—
Their meetings had moved from the living room to Dabi’s bedroom. It was as decrepit as the rest of his apartment, the bed always unmade, old blankets tossed around. The window always cracked a bit to let a refreshing breeze in and the stale air out.
They had made a nest on the bed out of blankets and pillows, watching a tv show on Dabi’s cellphone while snuggling under the comforting fort. As the episode ended, Dabi handed the phone to Hawks and he leaned towards his bedside table, shuffling around in the drawer.
“Ever tried weed?”
Hawks felt a knot in his stomach.
“No… never.”
“Ah. I’ll probably lose you, then. Meh, doesn’t matter.”
He had been right. It was Hawks’ first time being high and it hit harder than he thought it would. The music Dabi played on his phone sounded different. Deeper, more intricate. In a haze, he closed his eyes and listened to the lyrics being whispered just for him, engulfed in the melody. He felt a hand in his hair, soothing, and he relaxed in the calming embrace.
The next time they met, Dabi made him smoke again. Hawks quickly learned that being high made him seek physical contact. Limbs tangled under their fleecy nest, they held onto each other tightly, each getting something different from the other. Hawks relished in the warmth of another body against his own, in the off putting scent he’d grown to love. Dabi, however, was cradling his meal before he could partake, ever patient.
Hawks was the one to initiate. He cupped a stapled cheek in his hand, joining their mouths for a soft kiss. He craved tenderness and Dabi gave it to him. It started slowly, their hands gently exploring the other’s skin. Hawks’ fingers tracing circles on scarred flesh, brushing the outline of each and every staple lining the villain’s stomach. He felt his mouth on his neck, felt his tongue trail up to his jaw. A hand found its way to his ass, snaked in his pants, while the other mirrored the first, only this time in the front. Hawks let out a shaky exhale as Dabi slid his pants down, doing the same with his own afterwards. Their chests pressed against each other, feeling every breath the other took, they kissed again, languidly. Dabi broke the kiss to press his forehead against Hawks’ and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. He hissed as he started to pump his fist.
Dabi came first and he finished Hawks off with his mouth. Seemingly lacking a gag reflex, he took him whole and swallowed when the hero tipped over the edge.
Hawks stayed the night for the first time after that. He didn’t think he’d enjoy being the little spoon so much.
The third time Hawks got high with Dabi, they spent the afternoon together. They watched the villain’s favorite movies, but the plots were too convoluted for either of them to fully grasp in their altered state.
At some point, Dabi grabbed his cellphone and looked at Hawks.
“Watcha wanna eat? I’ll order something.”
Hawks eyes lit up excitedly and Dabi felt something tug at his rotten heart. If the hero only knew how precious he was.
“Can we get fried chicken? I’d love fried chicken. With iced coffee. Please?”
Dabi ruffled his hair with a warm smile. Hawks’ childlike excitement was endearing, but he wouldn’t fall for it.
“Sure thing, chicken butt.”
Hawks had never tasted fried chicken this juicy, yet so crispy at the same time. The coffee had the richest flavor he had ever had the pleasure to experience, strong yet sweet with a hint of caramel syrup. When he mentioned it to Dabi, the man chuckled between two bites.
“You’re just high. I swear this chicken ain’t nothing special.”
“Still. I wish it would always taste like this.”
Hawks looked happy. And with Dabi, he was.
At that moment, all Dabi could think about was when he would get to wrap his hands around his neck, when he would get to break him.
The fourth time had not been planned. Dabi was on the balcony, smoking a cigarette while wearing a simple pair of boxers and a tank top. He was startled when he heard his front door slam, pulling him out of his reverie. He prepared himself to use his quirk if necessary, but on the way to the living room, he heard Hawks.
“Dabs?”
Dabi relaxed and let out a sigh.
“What’s up crispy chicky?”
Hawks raised his hands, shaking his head.
“Don’t. I’m not in the mood. Give me something.”
The villain knew what he meant. Hawks was visibly distraught, something must’ve happened. Probably with the Commission. Not that Dabi gave a fuck.
“Okay… come to my room.”
He beckoned to the blond, who followed him, clutching the sleeves of his jacket nervously. He was tapping his foot as he listened to Dabi rummaging through a mess of different stuff in one of his drawers. He finally held out a joint and a lighter, and Hawks took them before following him to his bed and sitting next to him.
As he lit up, Dabi stroked the sparse stubble on his cheek.
“So what’s going on? Wanna talk about it?”
Legs raised to his chest, head between his knees, Hawks shook his head.
They sat in silence, passing each other the joint from time to time.
Once they finished it, they started to fool around, as they usually did. Clothes came off, inhibitions faded. Lips crashed with a sense of urgency and Dabi led the way. On top of Hawks, he left a trail of kisses from a nipple to his pubis before parting his lips and engulfing him. Hawks’ moans might as well have been words of encouragement, spurring him along.
Dabi took the blond’s cock in his hand, freeing his mouth for two of his fingers. He coated them with spit as best as he could before brushing them against Hawks’ entrance.
Hawks felt himself being breached. His stomach dropped and he straightened himself right up, leaving a confused Dabi in between his legs.
“I’m sorry, Dabi, I don’t think I’m ready… not today.”
Much to his surprise, Dabi snarled, something inside of him had snapped. He pounced on him, pushing him on his back. Hawks felt his rough hands wrap around his neck, tight enough to hurt.
“The fuck? Who do you think you are?”
He leaned in, his foul breath tickling Hawks’ face as he spoke.
“Mister pro hero number two? You think you’ll manage to keep going like this much longer? You’ll break. Who’s going to be there for you? The fucking Commission?”
He shook his hands brutally, making Hawks wince. The pressure Dabi exerted on his chest crushed his wings underneath him.
“You’re disposable, believe it or not. Another so-called hero will take your spot once you crack. They don’t give a fuck, they won’t pick up the pieces when you finally shatter. I will.”
His eyes had a maniacal glow that made Hawks’ hairs on the back of his neck stand on their end. Dabi kept one of his hands firmly around his neck while he tossed around in his drawer with the other to retrieve one of his bottles of lube.
“I’m the only one who knows how precious you are. Tell me, who else cares?”
Hawks remained silent, still struggling to swallow under the villain’s hand. Tears finally rolled down his face when he admitted defeat.
Dabi smiled and ran his fingers through the blond locks spilling on his pillow.
“That’s what I thought.”
Hawks could feel the bitter words crawling in his ear like an earwig. They laid the black seeds of doubt in his brain. It was no use resisting. Deep inside, he knew Dabi was right. Who cared?
He heard a click and a few seconds later, he felt slick fingers prodding him as Dabi picked up from where he’d left things. He winced, uncomfortable, but ultimately let himself be violated.
The assault on his intimacy stopped for a moment after a while, but the fingers were quickly replaced by Dabi’s cock.
Hawks let out a sob. The intrusion lit a fire in his groin and it was the bad kind. The kind that completely incinerated everything, leaving nothing behind.
“Fuck…”, Dabi muttered under his breath. He retreated before slamming in again, grunting as he buried himself to the hilt.
Hawks wanted to tell him it hurt. It hurt so bad. A sick part of him didn’t want to let Dabi go, though. So he offered himself. He bit his lip and grit his teeth through it, like he’d done so many times in his life.
Each violent thrust was punctuated by sweet words and moans that made the bile rise in his throat.
Fuck, you’re so good. You’re incredible.
You like that? Yeah you do. You take me so well.
You’re beautiful, you know that?
Hawks felt hands on his face, and soon Dabi’s mouth was on his, his tongue forcing its way in. More tears streamed down his face, he couldn’t keep them in. He felt dread seep out of his pores as Dabi kept thrusting into him like a psychopath.
Such a good boy, taking me whole like this.
Are you my toy? My fuck toy?
You’re doing good. You’re fine.
He felt it when Dabi came deep inside of him. He’d howled his name and it had felt like nails on a blackboard. Hawks fought hard to keep the bile down. The praise had done nothing to soften the onslaught.
They laid on the bed for a while. Dabi smiled, content. A tear fell down Hawks’ eye and he wiped it with the back of his hand. He sat up, legs hanging off the side of the bed. He winced when he put his feet on the floor and stood up.
“Where’re you going?”
He sniffled, rubbing his nose with the palm of his hand.
“…bathroom.”
Dabi didn’t say anything. No apology. No remorse either. He picked a cigarette from the pack that was on the windowsill and lit it up.
Hawks locked the door to the bathroom behind him. With an ugly sob, he let himself slide down to the floor, a hand in his hair.
He tried to stay quiet. He didn’t want Dabi to hear him. He wrapped his arms around his lower abdomen to try and relieve the dull throbbing pain. He could feel Dabi’s seed leaking out of him and thought he would drown in shame right there.
He had never felt so conflicted. He had been raped. But what Dabi had said had some truth to it; who, other than Dabi, cared? Mirko and Endeavor were colleagues, sure, but did they care? The Commission didn’t care. He knew that.
The pressure was ever growing since All Might had retired. He knew he couldn’t keep going much longer like this. Dabi had helped him unwind on so many occasions. He was rough, but maybe that was his way to show that he cared? Hawks tried to convince himself, because he couldn’t accept any other possibility. He’d crumble without Dabi.
Against his better judgment, he stayed the night and slept in the same bed as his tormentor. Dabi wrapped his arms around his waist and held him close. He kissed his neck like nothing happened.
—
The next few weeks went by fast. They still met like nothing had happened. Hawks tried, but it seemed natural for Dabi.
One day, Hawks barged in much like he did that dreadful time, and once again, asked for something to relieve his anxiety.
“I have pills for that. Benzos, sleeping pills, antipsychotics?”
“Whatever, as long as it works.”
Dabi shrugged and left. When he came back, he handed two white pills to Hawks.
“Let them melt under your tongue. You’ll probably feel out of it for a while.”
“What are they?”
“Lorazepam. Benzodiazepines.”
“Will I get addicted?”
Dabi scoffed.
“Nah. They’re not addictive.”
He didn’t even feel bad for lying to Hawks. The winged hero put the pills in his mouth, under his tongue. They tasted like paper, but he kept that to himself.
A few days later, he asked for the same pills again. Dabi just gave him the bottle, saying he’d get his hands on another one. Over the course of a week, Hawks had taken two pills every day without fail.
The second time, Hawks asked for something else. He explained how he couldn’t sleep, how he would stay awake until early morning. Dabi simply gave him blue pills this time. They worked; at least for a week they did.
Then one day, nothing was working anymore. He was now taking six pills of lorazepam just to feel as two made him feel at first. The sleeping pills stopped working about a week in, no longer lulling him to sleep.
His anxiety started creeping up on him at work. He ended up locked in a stall in the bathroom, weeping and hyperventilating. He had left his pills at home and they were all he could think about all day. He felt dizzy, nauseous and his shirt stuck to his back, soaked in cold sweat.
When he told Dabi, he simply shrugged.
“Yeah, that happens. Tolerance builds.”
“You said I wouldn’t get addicted.”
“They’re benzos. Of course that could happen.”
“I don’t know shit about all those pills, Dabi! I’m not a street pharmacist!”
“Do you still need them?”
“Of course I do!”
“I guess you could try quetiapine again.”
“What do you mean, again?”
Dabi had let himself slip. He rubbed his shoulder nervously before backtracking.
“Never mind. You could take some quetiapine and drink something. It should put you out of your misery for today.”
Hawks did feel miserable. He felt the waves of anxiety crash in his chest again, not sure he could trust Dabi again. He didn’t say anything, but Dabi left and came back minutes later with some pills and a glass. The liquid was transparent. It could’ve been water, but it took one sniff to realize it was vodka. He looked up and the look Dabi had in his eyes could not be said to be anything but caring. Loving, even.
He swallowed the pills, he finished his drink, he fell asleep on the couch in Dabi’s arms.
—
“I thought about it, and I think we should try something new.”
Hawks looked up, trying his hardest to focus his gaze. The pills didn’t knock him out anymore, but they did make him into a zombie. They were lying in Dabi’s bed, limbs intertwined.
“What?”
“I could get us some heroin.”
“I am not touching that crap.”
Dabi stroked his wings, a saccharine smile on his lips.
“Come on. You’ll be able to get away completely for a while. You won’t be alone. I’ll be there. I’ll even inject you myself.”
Hawks didn’t say anything. He did want to get away. Pills didn’t work anymore. His tolerance to weed had grown. Trying what Dabi had offered could spell the end of his career, though. But also the end of everything else. Did he love himself enough to say no?
“Come on, baby bird…”
Or did he love Dabi more despite everything?
He took a deep breath, trying his hardest not to tremble.
“Okay…”
“That’s my birdie.”
He kissed him on the cheek.
That’s my scorched bird.