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Despite the annoying drizzle, Hawks keeps a leisurely pace as he flies toward the back alley Dabi chose for tonight's meeting. Rushing through this kind of rain is never pleasant and with Dabi always late, it's not worth getting himself drenched any further.
Alas, his bet doesn't pay off because he spots Dabi already waiting, standing in the rain as steam lightly rises around him. Fuck. The man's always late, playing with Hawks' eagerness to meet the higher-ups while reminding him that he's nothing to them, below everyone in status. Just another wannabe recruit.
Hawks had hoped the power plays would stop once they started sleeping together - a mutual, no-feelings-attached agreement in order to let off steam with someone convenient and unlikely to run their mouth - but no such luck. Their additional activities had just added weird mind games to their not-relationship, though at least this made for predictable interactions.
"Sorry I'm late~!" he cheers as he lands, hoping to control the flow of the conversation even if it's to make Dabi lash out at him.
No reaction from Dabi and Hawks approaches, 1000-watt smile at the ready but - Dabi has a black eye and a large bruise on his face, several staples ripped from under his eye and jaw, and the rain is making the blood look like tears. Hawks sees red, blinded by an unexpected surge of rage; it’s like he got punched in the sternum himself.
"Who the fuck did this?" Hawks hisses, hand going up to touch. Dabi slaps it away before he can reach.
With a sharp inhale, Hawks attempts to rein in the - anger, fear, possessiveness rushing through him, hot and overwhelming and like nothing he's felt before. He tries to tell himself he's worried about losing his only in into the League but that doesn't justify how personally he's taking this, and he's in the business of lying to others, not to himself.
He compartmentalises and studies Dabi, how rigidly he holds himself. Hawks doesn't like the deeper shades of black on his jacket and clothes because he can't tell if it's rain or blood or if Dabi fell in a puddle.
Dabi points at something on the ground and Hawks sees piles of ashes that the rain is slowly draining away.
Right.
Of course, Dabi can take care of himself. They must have jumped him, and then he "fixed" the problem.
Hawks really shouldn't condone murder, should feel sick that he's looking at the remains of human beings. But adrenaline is still pumping through him and he's so upset that anyone would hurt Dabi on his watch. His feathers bristle and shake out some of the rain, droplets flying around him.
"Two more running," Dabi rasps. "Want to hunt?"
His grin looks absolutely horrifying with his wounds but Hawks finds himself grinning back anyway, glad to hear him talk even if he doesn't sound well, glad that it can't be that bad if Dabi's still behaving so like himself.
They hunt. It doesn't take long, the thugs haven't gone far. For a few short seconds, Hawks ponders how to stop and arrest them, get them into custody, but really he knows.
He knows.
It's no surprise when blue flames engulf the fleeing bastards, the weak drizzle nowhere near enough to extinguish the blaze, and their screams die out quickly because Dabi's quirk is nothing if not effective.
Hawks knows he should feel worse about it but he'll have to examine this later. Right now, feeling numb about murder works to his advantage.
By his side, Dabi just stares at the ashes as the heaps slowly fall onto themselves under the weight of the rain, still too heavy to drain away. His jaw is set and he stands as still as when Hawks found him, hot steam rising after using his quirk because this rain may be weak but it is cold as fuck.
Hawks wants to bring him home and tend to his wounds, make sure nothing else is wrong. But they don't do that.
"This weather is shit," he attempts carefully. "Want to share the information in my apartment?"
They've only gone there together once. To fuck. They'd watched a movie, too. It had been... unusual. Nice. Out of the usual boundaries. It wouldn't feel appropriate to bring him there for the kind of meeting where Dabi barks a few orders at him, taunts him about not having done nearly enough to prove his loyalty, then leaves again right after arriving late.
But today doesn't feel usual. Hawks tries to keep a neutral expression, maybe a small frown to pretend the rain is annoying him even though his visor keeps it out of his eyes and he doesn't really give a shit. He flies in worse conditions all the fucking time.
Dabi, though... Hawks wants to carry him there and give him a hot shower, dry him with his fluffiest towels and sit him on his couch under a mountain of blankets, warm beverage in hand and wearing the soft flannel pyjamas Hawks bought for him on a whim but never mentioned. Fuck.
His compartmentalisation is failing and Dabi still isn't saying anything or moving or smirking and everything feels off, not in a mind game Hawks is losing kind of way but in a wrong wrong wrong kind of way.
Dabi pins him with cloudy, glazed eyes before apparently coming to a decision.
"Yeah," he whispers.
And then he collapses.
Dabi opens his eyes. His body hurts everywhere but he feels dry and warm. The ceiling above him is familiar. He remembers wondering about the ugly lampshade he could spot between red wings while Hawks was riding him, before the hero twisted just so and made him lose his mind, stealing his attention away.
This is the first time he's been alone in this room, though. He should move. Check... whatever is going on. Where the hero is. How badly the fucking jerks who jumped him damaged him.
But he's warm. He's comfortable. There's the heavy weight of blankets over him. His face is throbbing but doesn't feel as raw as it did earlier. Outside. Whenever that was. He forces his arm to move even if it's sore - those fucking strength quirks - and touches his face. Staples are still missing but surgical tape holds his face together. He'll have to replace them with something more durable later but this will do nicely for now.
Dabi's surprised Hawks even has the stuff at home. He doesn't really want to think about it. There's a glass of water and ibuprofen on the bedside table, which sounds real appealing right now. He slides his body up the bed and leans against the headboard, and notices he's wearing soft pyjamas, soothing on his skin.
Something gets stuck in his throat and he quickly grabs the pills and shoves them into his mouth, downing the water in one go. He coughs a bit; he went too fast and it hurts - it hurts everywhere really, even with the tight bandages around his waist holding his tender ribs still.
He'll take all of this pain if it means he has an excuse for feeling like he's choking.
"How are you feeling?" Hawks asks, leaning against the doorframe.
Must have heard him coughing.
"What do you think?" Dabi bites back, but it doesn't sound as aggressive as he hoped. He feels drained.
Hawks smiles, like he's happy to hear his snark and Dabi wants to close his eyes so he doesn't have to see that, but he's already feeling so fucking vulnerable. His back burrows further into the pillows and he wishes he could melt into them. He feels 100 years old. The blankets have fallen to the side and he doesn't feel cold, not really, but he's still stupidly grateful when feathers bring the blanket up to his chin. He'd rather die than admit it.
"Tea or coffee?"
"Stop acting like a fucking maid..."
"Tea it is, then," Hawks says as he disappears.
Dabi doesn't have the energy to protest. Yelling seems like too much effort and also like it would destroy his ribcage, and he sure as hell ain't getting up just to stop Hawks from hovering.
He might have dozed off a bit. There's a steaming cup of lemon tea on the bedside table. The bed dipping shakes him out of his restless nap.
"Mind if I sit here?" Hawks whispers and what does he expect Dabi to answer?
"It's your fucking bed."
"Yeah. You seem like you need the rest, right now."
"So do you. You look like you've seen a ghost and haven't slept in a week."
Hawks bites his lower lip but doesn't look away.
"You scared me," he says softly.
Dabi's heart beats louder and this is everything he told himself they could never become when they started their arrangement. He tears his gaze away from the hero and wriggles down the bed again, horizontal enough to catch more sleep though not so low he can't drink, once the tea's cooled down.
He doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't think Hawks will kick him out but Dabi doesn't have the strength to leave on his own. He probably should, for both their sake. But villains are selfish, and Dabi is in pain, and the League's HQ is so fucking far. Choking on the doctor's teleporting goo would kill his ribs, too.
Dabi closes his eyes. Maybe that'll show he doesn't want to speak.
The bed dips again, and Hawks is lying beside him under the covers, careful not to dislodge the additional blankets on top of Dabi.
Ah, Dabi really doesn't want any of this consideration but he's also so fucking desperate for a bit of kindness right now. He says nothing, he drinks it in, doesn't mind when a wing adds its weight to the blanket mountain on top of him. It's not even about warmth at this point, it's just - it's so comforting and everything he shouldn't want and should stay away from, everything he should prevent himself from wanting because he's been weak all his life and he really can't add yet another failing to his tally, not when it'll all get taken away anyway.
But soft feathers brush against his cheeks and he can't help himself. He turns and rubs his face against them once, twice. The texture is so soft. These things have no right to feel so soft and gentle when they can sharpen enough to draw blood and kill.
This seems to work like a signal for Hawks because he scoots closer, as close as he can without disturbing Dabi in his current state.
God, Dabi doesn't want to talk or have to be anything right now, but this - all of this, this is new, this isn't something they do. Forcing himself to open his eyes again is torture and he takes in a deep breath before facing Hawks to - to say something, be the one to ask "what the fuck is this about" - he's grateful for the wound tending but this is all - it's nearly - it's too tender - it's—
Hawks' eyes are closed.
He's not even pretending to sleep, but he's clearly giving Dabi an out.
Dabi exhales, lets out all of the air he'd been taking in to start this huge conversation and... lets it go.
The conversation doesn't have to happen now.
It doesn't have to happen ever.
They can just... take this moment as it is, carve it out of the reality of their lives and just... be. Exist, without words or games or threats, just for a bit.
Dabi looks for Hawks' hand under the blanket and closes his eyes too after he finds it and takes it in his. Hawks squeezes back.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The medicine is taking effect, and he's drowsy and sore and tired and he just... it's hard to stop himself from taking chances.
He slides down further down the bed and slowly turns to face Hawks, eyes still closed, careful not to hurt himself further. It'll be too painful to stay on his side for long, but his forehead finds Hawks'. Feathers are caressing his cheek. Their legs tangle and their fingers interlace and when Dabi exhales again, the weight of the world doesn't feel as heavy on his shoulders, for the first time in a decade.
He shouldn't... It can't be... This is...
Dabi falls asleep, vague worries not enough to battle away the peace settling over him.
The pressure on Dabi's ribs can't be good lying like that but he sleeps so profoundly, Hawks doesn't have the heart to wake him up. Not just yet. He'll keep an eye on Dabi's expression and wake him as soon as there's a hint of discomfort.
In terms of pure physical distance, he's been nearer to Dabi before, sweat-slick skin pressed against each other. Right now, holding his hand and feeling his pulse through the feathers on his neck while their ankles and knees are hooked together, Hawks feels closer than they've ever been.
Dabi might not have believed him, but Hawks had been scared when Dabi had all but collapsed in the dirt.
It feels good to confirm that he's alive with every pulse of his heart, with every light exhale stirring feathers.
Hawks scoots a bit closer, careful not to disturb Dabi's slumber. The scent of lemon tea slowly drifts around them and fills the room, and he pretends that's what he's breathing in when he inhales deeply to absorb Dabi's presence next to him.
Warm. Breathing. Alive.
Hawks keeps watch.