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Keigo’s throat wouldn’t stop twitching, tightening, like it was trying to close around something that didn’t belong there. Every breath he took shook him to his core, every inhale snagging against something that he couldn’t quite hack out.
He kneeled in front of his toilet, hunched in on himself, the cold, lonely tiles biting into his skin. One hand braced the seat of the toilet, while the other scratched and massaged at his throat as he coughed weakly. Whatever it was was stuck deep, like it had grown roots and wouldn’t be easily swayed.
It had started as a harmless cough only a few days ago. Keigo remembered it starting in an interview. He had an itch at the back of his throat, just tickling, while he answered a question about what the heroes were doing about the league of villains. He hadn’t wanted to cough: it might have looked like he was lying to the reporter when he said they were on the case and dealing with it behind the scenes. Keigo didn’t want the public thinking of him that way. It would have reflected badly.
The cough didn’t feel particularly harmless anymore.
“—fuck,” he choked, voice raw, already fraying.
He shoved two fingers down his throat, gagging hard, body jerking in protest. It was pointless — he knew that, logically. Lungs weren’t stomach, wrong system, wrong solution. But he needed whatever it was up and out. He had a meeting with Dabi in twenty minutes or so, and he didn’t have time for this crap anymore.
Bile came up, splashing into the bowl in an awful neon yellow, hot and sour and revolting on the back of his tongue. HIs chest convulsed again, and something tore on the way out. Keigo gagged, choking, coughing around it as it forced its way up, dragging something wet and stringy behind it. It fell into the toilet bowl with a plop. It was coated in blood, the red already beginning to mix in with the yellow in the bowl.
For a second, he just knelt there, shaking, spit and tears hanging from his chin, lungs burning like they’d been scraped hollow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pretending the blood that he swiped away wasn’t concerning. His fingers slipped through lukewarm bile, closing around the bloody thing and standing up.
He stood, shaking, and went to the sink. The tap ran, washing away all of the crimson and leaving something that Keigo wished wasn’t so recognisable.
A rindou.
He knew immediately.
The water ran over his hands as he paused in shock. His hands shook, and his eyes drifted upwards, staring at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror above the sink. His lips were covered in blood, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.
Keigo was going to die.
He wouldn't have minded having Hanahaki disease with anyone else. He could've told the hero commission. They would've cut the flowers out of his lungs, clean and quick in a painless operation, the feelings gone in seconds. It would have just been another tally on his times under the knife by them. If it had been beneficial, they might have even let him keep it. Let him feel, just this one time. If it had been another hero, or a civilian It would've been good for press, even — a hero with a lover. Kamui Woods and Mt. Lady had constant rumors swaying about their relationships, and their popularity never wavered.
But it wasn't a hero.
It wasn't even a girl.
It was Dabi.
Keigo couldn’t tell the commission. He was a man of logic, and only two probable solutions existed: tell the commission and get the surgery, or suffocate from the only real feelings in his life.
Even then, it wasn’t that simple. If he were to tell the commission, then that might have been fine in itself, but they would ask who. And when they asked who, Keigo couldn’t lie. He couldn’t say Rumi, or another girl. He’d been through a million and one different lie detectors through the year for minor infarctions, and this wouldn’t be an exception. He would have to tell the truth. He would have to admit his wrongdoings. Keigo would have to admit that he loved Dabi.
And what then?
Keigo shuddered even at the thought. He would be killed either way, or even ex-communicated. The whispers of Lady Nagant travelled so far, they had even reached him. The commission had done it once before. He wasn’t in a position with the league where he could ask their doctor (did he really want to anyway?), and Keigo didn’t trust hospitals.
He was going to die.
Did he even want to get rid of the feelings?
Dabi was his — not in a claimed sort of way, or at least, Keigo liked to tell himself that. Dabi hated his guts. Dabi constantly taunted him, put him in danger, insulted him like it was a full time job, and never threw him a single bone when it came to joining the League. The commission didn’t, and couldn’t control Dabi, therefore, could do little to control his interactions with Keigo. For the safety of the mission, they couldn’t interfere with their interactions at all: no recording devices, whether audio or video; no telling Keigo when and where to go; and no control over what he would say or do to get in. To get the best information, all they could do was leave Keigo to it.
In that way, Dabi was his. Keigo had never thought of it as love. He loved the freedom that their interactions provided. Keigo didn’t love. He couldn’t. It wasn’t smart. He had preferences, but never loved.
Hawks felt a familiar vibration in his wings and turned to the locked bathroom door with worry. He splashed his face with water enough to wash the blood off and quickly flushed the toilet before stepping out.
Dabi was closing the door to his balcony, yawning into his hand. “Were you that busy taking a piss that you couldn’t answer your—”
He paused, looking at Keigo and going quiet. His eyes shamelessly raked down Keigo’s body, the cuffs on his sleeves sporting a blood stain mixed with the remnants of the vomit he had wiped away.
The tickling started again. The judgement was nothing unusual, but this time, it was different. Crippling, even. It was just one of many confirmations that Keigo was going to die alone, in his apartment, never having achieved his one goal of making a world where heroes had too much time to spare. Or had he? Keigo had clearly been so sidelined from his true goals that he had developed an aching want for someone that detested the sight of him.
“You look…” Dabi trailed off, looking up like he was searching for an appropriate word. “Worse than you usually do.”
Keigo wanted to respond with something snappy. Something that the hero Hawks would say. Something witty. Something to continue the conversation, and give him a lead. His throat might have closed up on him as he tried. His wings pulled in towards themselves. A smart comment was on the tip of his tongue, but it was lodged in his throat, only letting the truth emerge.
“...Dabi.” Keigo mumbled, looking weary. “What do you want?”
“We had a meeting.”
Keigo glanced up to the clock with wide eyes. 8:36pm. He had missed the meeting by fifteen minutes. Had he really been in the bathroom that long?
“Right. Yeah. Must’ve—lost track of time.” Keigo stood up straighter, giving a weak shrug. “Sorry.”
“You didn’t answer your phone at all.” Dabi grumbled.
“Was busy.”
“With what?” His stained sleeve met Dabi’s eyes. “Dying?”
Keigo rolled his own eyes, wings rustling a little behind him. “Really, I’m fine… just—”
“You eat?” Dabi asked, refusing to give up on his endeavor of prying at any vulnerability he could find with Keigo.
Truthfully, Keigo hadn’t been eating much at all recently. As part of his strict commission controlled diet, Keigo had to take these awful supplements in the morning to suppress avian aspects of his quirk that were undesirable. He wasn’t allowed to eat anything two hours before or after taking them, and by the time he got to work, he just couldn’t find the time. He was a walking zombie at this point.
Dabi had noticed at their last meeting. Keigo had been perched on a shipping container, listening to Dabi go on and on about things regarding the league that he definitely should have been listening to. His stomach had been in knots, and it rumbled really loud. Dabi had insisted on him stopping by to get food on his way home. Keigo hadn’t, but the sentiment was still there.
Keigo rocked back on his heels, smiling tiredly, trying to pull his persona back to the surface and cover the dread. Whatever he had eaten earlier was down the drain anyway, now. “Yeah.”
“...Sure.” Dabi raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go over there and sit down.”
There was enough roughness and frustration in his voice that Keigo took the command to heart, slowly walking over to his plush couch and sinking down into the cushions. It was slightly uncomfortable on his sensitive wings, but Keigo brushed that aside momentarily. For Dabi.
“…don’t move,” Dabi added, turning away.
Keigo squinted after him. “What are you—”
“I’m making food,” Dabi threw over his shoulder. “Try not to die before it’s done. Waste of effort.”
Keigo just let his head fall back against the couch, eyes half-lidded, heart fluttering, expression slipping back to discomfort as Dabi wasn’t looking at him directly. Why did Dabi need to do nice things for him? Why did his heart flutter like a teenage girl? The urge to chirp happily was bubbling up, and he had to suppress kicking his legs in giddiness.
How much longer could he keep this up? How much longer could he keep Dabi from finding out about the flowers before it was used against him? Could he prevent Dabi from realising they were for him in the first place, if discovered? What about the commission?
What if Dabi loved him too?
Keigo sighed, legs stilling. That was like trying to pull teeth from a chicken. The needle wasn’t even in the haystack for Keigo to find. Even the smallest probabilities were absent. There was no chance. Not in a million years, and especially not for him.
Keigo shut his eyes.
He’d draft his final will tomorrow when he got into the office.
“Alright, Hawks. One more time—deep breath in, hold… and out.”
Keigo exhaled into the tube, trying to act calm.
The doctor’s brows furrowed, and she removed the tube, fumbling with her stethoscope and pressing it to his chest, “Again,” she repeated.
Keigo tried, but a cough jerked out of him. He lifted his hand to cover his mouth in case blood started coming out again. He’d done his research, and he was in the early to mid stages. He’d possibly be able to hide it for another week at maximum before the physical signs alone gave him up. The coughs didn’t stop, dry and scraping against his windpipe.
“I’m good,” he managed, holding up a hand, still coughing once under his breath. “Just—went down the wrong way.”
The doctor eyed him as she took the stethoscope away, swivelling her chair over to where her chart sat, scribbling down some information. This was the first time he had seen this doctor specifically; through the years of the commission health checkups, it had always been that one middle aged male doctor with a stinking attitude. Keigo was glad they’d switched it up, at least temporarily. The guy was likely just taking a vacation.
“…your lung function has dropped significantly since last month.” The doctor commented, eyes narrowing as she stared at his previous results on her computer.
He leaned back in the chair, stretching like he was bored. “Got hit with a quirk a few days ago. Messed with my chest a bit. It’ll clear.”
One of his handlers, leaning against the wall adjacent to him like an overseer, shifted their weight on their foot. “You didn’t report a respiratory-type quirk.”
“It didn't seem worth the paperwork,” Hawks rubbed the back of his neck, giving an awkward chuckle. They were already sniffing blood.
The doctor cut in before his handler could respond. “Regardless of paperwork, this isn’t minor. Your breathing is strained, and I’m hearing abnormalities I don’t like.”
“It’s fine.” He said, clearing his throat. “I’ll take a rest day. I’m not in any pain or anything.”
“I’m going to book you in for an X-Ray.” The doctor said, ignoring him, clicking her mouse and moving it around. “How’s 3pm? Later today.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” Keigo’s careful smile faltered. “I’m fine. I—”
An itch creeped up in his throat, and he leaned forward, a rattling cough bubbling up through his chest.
His handler crossed her arms, speaking through his fit of coughing. “If your lung function has dropped this much in a month, we’re not ignoring it.”
“Hawks…” The doctor said, straightening up and resting her hands in her lap. “I understand that you’re a bit wary about this, but if there is something seriously wrong, and imaging is delayed, it could affect your hero work and overall health. This isn’t something that we can just ignore.”
Keigo’s heart was pounding in his chest, squeezing tight like he was about to collapse on himself — or maybe that was the pressure itching in his lungs. He couldn’t let the commission find out. He had to stop stressing; if he found himself panicking any more than this, he might stress grip, and then his handler would know something was up.
The doctor seemed to take pity on him, sighing and moving closer with her spinning chair, looking him in the eye with a softer expression. “If what you’re experiencing is normal, then at least it could give you some peace of mind. I promise, it’s in your best interest.”
She was right. That was the most frustrating part of this. Keigo trusted doctors, despite them being commission sponsored, but he needed to deny this. Of course, the looming threat of dying was scary, but was it scarier than the commission?
“Three is fine for him.” His handler answered for him. “Come on, Hawks.”
Keigo stood on command, giving the doctor a slight bow and a charming smile before heading out of the door. He spared a glance at his phone as he walked through the hall with his handler. He had two hours and twenty three minutes until the scan. And a text from Dabi:
Food in the fridge.
Keigo couldn't help the smile that started to blossom on his face, his eyes softening imperceptibly. Dabi always had his ways of showing kindness. Keigo glanced to see if his handler was watching before typing back:
Thank you.
The second time Keigo stood in the hallway that day hadn’t made his heart flutter in the same way as it had before.
Nothing had changed in the building; the smell of antiseptic still clung to the sterile white walls like a vice. But he had. His handler had. She gently closed the door to the consultation room, taking a sharp inhale and then looking at Keigo like he was the scum of the earth.
She seemed to struggle with words that conveyed the degree in which she wanted to strangle him. That much was clear.
“Who?” She asked, voice deadly low.
“It’s not the end of the world, or anything.” The doctor had told him confidently, taking another glance over the scan from radiology on her computer. “I’ve had patients before with Hanahaki. One of them ended up with a relationship out of it, actually. But the rest of them had gotten them removed, and they were fine. It’s a high success rate for the surgery: around 90% of people heal perfectly fine with good care and a little time off of work. There’s some pills going through a clinical trial too, actually, for Hanahaki sufferers, if you’d be interested—”
“No thanks.” His handler had answered for him, like usual, trying, and failing to mask the anger she undoubtedly had. Keigo didn’t need to look up to feel the glare piercing his skin. “We’ll do the surgery. I’ll ask someone to make a call tomorrow and schedule it.”
Keigo had spent two hours and twenty three minutes trying to come up with a lie that didn’t force him out of his mission, and simultaneously get him killed. He hadn’t come up with a single one.
“It doesn’t matter.” Keigo couldn’t even laugh, or try to make a joke. He was dead.
“I’m not talking about the person you ‘love’. Who do you think you are, Hawks? You knew about this and chose to lie about it to us. I saw you updated your will last week. You knew. You selfishly compromised your own performance as a hero by not telling us — for what? For who? Who is more important than the public you swore to protect? Who is more important to you than being a good hero, Hawks?”
Keigo didn’t answer. A tightness in his throat stopped the words in their tracks. He was unsure whether it was that he was too choked up to answer, or genuinely struggling to breathe until a sputtering cough escaped him. It rose up, tearing a petal from inside his lungs, up his windpipe and out, with a complementary smear of blood.
“This is exactly what I mean, Hawks.” She said, clicking her tongue. “What would you have done if this had happened while fighting a villain? Do you think they’d give you a moment? Allow you the, what— ten or so seconds that it took you to force that up?”
Hawks leaned against the wall, hand flat against the cold tile. He was heaving breaths. The petal fell out of his closed hand onto the ground, a light splat as the bloodied thing kissed the ground.
His handler leaned closer to him, as if to whisper a secret into his ear. “We will be having a conversation about this tomorrow. You will tell us about this, Hawks. And after you recover, I think I'll be allocating some of your time to further training about prioritisation. Alright?”
Her heels clacked against the ground as she walked away, slowly getting quieter but not any less heavy. Keigo turned back against the wall with his wings enclosed around him, trying to give him some privacy as he buried his face in his hands and shook.
His handler was right. It was completely, and utterly selfish, no matter which way one looked at his situation. It was selfish towards the public. Those in vulnerable positions that relied on his swiftness and strength to stay safe: women who had their purses stolen, old grannies that needed to cross a busy street, or civilians and children trapped in buildings that needed his immediate attention to get out alive. He couldn’t be a help to other heroes in his position either, being ill and out of commission like this. It was manageable at this point, where he could stick the petal up his sleeve and pretend nothing happened, but what about when he began to cough up entire flowers? Where did he draw the line and have to step back from hero work?
He wasn’t helping the police or the commission. He was compromised. His mission to infiltrate the league was fucked from the moment it began. Dabi had been an outlet for every one of his minute frustrations with hero society and the commission, and it had bloomed into Keigo feeling stupid in love from a text or an acknowledgement. Was he that desperate? Keigo knew, although his front for the public said otherwise, he did have low self-esteem and the ever present ache of loneliness inside. He had an aching self-awareness that sent him spiralling. He’d fallen stupid for the only person that treated him like the person, Keigo, and not the object, Hawks.
It wasn’t even benefitting Dabi. Keigo was still being a burden on him by begging him to join the league. He was going to have to betray Dabi eventually. If he wanted to protect Dabi, if he truly loved him, Keigo should just tell the commission and have them snip out the feelings, and take Keigo away from being a double agent. That would benefit the league. It would be ideal for Dabi.
But Keigo didn’t want to let him go.
He willed himself up to his feet, trudging down the hall. Keigo opened the first decent sized window at the end of the hall, moving the potted rindou flower next to it aside and perching himself on the windowsill. He fixed his visor before pouncing out.
His wings carried him through the crispy winter air, the sky a murky gray with dark clouds in his periphery. It was sure to rain hard tonight. The wind screamed in his ears as he dived towards his apartment complex, finding his balcony. He landed hard, tucking his wings behind him as he shoved the glass door open, squeezing them through. He’d started leaving it unlocked nowadays. For him.
The apartment was empty as always. No Dabi. Keigo treaded towards his room, tossing his boots off haphazardly on the way in. The uncomfortable coat came next, the horrible tan fabric with the sherpa inside falling in a crumpled ball on his sheets as he slinked his way into his door sliding wardrobe.
This was his nest, of sorts. His usual soft, crimson blanket sat in a heap on the ground by his pillow. In the corner, he had a scarf that Toga had gifted him, wrapped over an electric candle, next to that scruffy old Endeavor plushie that desperately needed a deep wash and some of the stuffing changed. He flipped the switch on the bottom of the electric candle and slid the door back over.
It was a struggle for his wings, but Keigo enjoyed small spaces. It was fully enclosed, dimly lit, brimming with softness and security. He had the firm structure of the ground and the wooden walls of the wardrobe to keep him grounded. Without bringing in some reinforcements like twigs and such, it was the best he could make. Even if the commission inspected it, he could brush it off as just random storage. It was perfect. He tossed the blanket over his legs before wrangling his phone from the left pocket of his cargos and unlocking it.
4:32pm. No new messages. No missed calls.
Keigo tapped on Dabi’s contact, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he went to type a message.
Was he about to do this?
Keigo didn’t know what else to do. He started typing before he could psych himself out. The commission was a no-go. Rumi would ask too many questions. He didn’t have anyone else.
Dabi. Call me when you get the chance.
He would have cringed if he had any shred of dignity left to care about. He sent the message with a firm press of his thumb. He sounded desperate. Could Dabi tell he was hopelessly in love? Keigo scrolled up on their first messages, pressing his lips in a thin line.
9pm. Same place as last time, Hawks.
I’ll be there.
He scrolled down, tears beginning to well up. God, he was such an idiot. Nothing had changed.
Food in the fridge.
Thanks.
Was he really about to risk over a decade of training and slaving away to become a hero and help others, just for a man he had met less than a year ago? For the slim, slim chance that Dabi would choose kindness and understanding? For the even slimmer chance that Dabi would choose Hawks over the league?
He nearly dropped his phone once it started vibrating in his hand, startled and too in his thoughts. Keigo sniffled, hitting the green call button and putting it on speaker. One tear scurried down his cheek. The first few seconds of the call were just footsteps pounding against the floor, and a door closing. He sat the phone in his lap as Dabi spoke.
“Birdie.” He sounded like he was trying to test the waters of this conversation. “Everything… good?”
“Where are you right now?” Keigo choked, unable to hide the trembling in his voice, sniffling as hot tears rolled down his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could taste the salt as it reached his lips.
The line went silent for a moment, likely in response to the unexpected crying. He could still hear Dabi’s breathing on the other end, though. “I was… It doesn’t matter. Why are you crying?”
“I…” Keigo paused, taking a deep breath.
Why was he crying?
A cough bubbled up again, wet blood seeping onto his hand. He sheepishly wiped it on the carpet as Dabi spoke over the phone.
“Hey,” he said, sharper now, but trying to sand the edge off it. “What’s wrong with you? Are you still sick?”
“No…” Keigo supplied weakly, although it didn’t sound convincing, even to him.
“You hurt?”
“No…”
“...I’ll be over in five minutes. Leave your balcony door open.”
Keigo sniffled again, nodding. He realised Dabi couldn’t see him through the screen and mumbled incoherently in response. He ended the call and spent the entirety of the five minutes staring at the clock on his wallpaper, watching the minutes tick, tick, tick by in real time.
Keigo was going to tell Dabi the truth.
It was potentially the most impulsive, thoughtless idea that had popped into his head back at the clinic. If he had stayed put, he would’ve been straight on the chopping board, head stuck in place with the blade of the guillotine pressing cold against the back of his neck, tickling his hair as he would stare into the crowd of board members, ready to decide his fate for him. It was that, or tell Dabi.
Not about the Hanahaki disease. Not initially, at least. He didn’t want Dabi to think his judgement was clouded. He was going to admit to Dabi that he was a double agent. He would admit to all of his wrongdoings. He would admit the truth about the commission. He would admit that he had been planning to kill Twice if things went south. He would lay himself bare and hope, pray, that Dabi would show him mercy.
They’d had a conversation once about their fathers, sat on top of a shipping container and ate the most vile looking ramen from a convenience store not far from their location. It had been a quiet night, the sky clear, and Keigo had remembered staring at Dabi, looking into his cerulean eyes as he watched the stars like a young boy. Keigo hadn’t managed to extract much about Dabi’s relationship with his family in general that night, other than it was rocky, at best. But Keigo could relate to that. Maybe Dabi would see that they weren’t so different after all and spare him, right?
Right?
His heart hammered at his chest, and Keigo was bursting at the seams, his suppressed emotions slipping out against his will. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was too tight. Something was pressing down on his lungs. Like a boot, shoving him into the dirt where he belonged. He was going to betray everything he had ever known. He was going to betray all of those civilians he could have saved in the future. He was—
Startled by a hand on his shoulder, Keigo flinched, pulling himself out of his head for a second and trying to focus on what was in front of him. Dabi, looking at him with wide eyes, hand warm — but not the usual intending to kill warmth. He stepped over Keigo’s legs, closing the wardrobe door behind him and settling down with him. He glared at the Endeavor plushie, shoving it out of his way as he got comfortable across from Keigo. The space was barely big enough to fit them both.
Keigo knew he likely looked a mess. He’d been crying for roughly ten minutes now, so his eyes were likely as red and puffy as a slapped ass. The clumped mess of petals and blood still nestled beside him, out of view for Dabi.
“Hawks.” Dabi said calmly, leaning forward, arms wrapped around his knees as he met Keigo’s eyes. “What… happened? Talk to me.”
“I have— I…” Keigo found himself at a loss with words, for what was embarrassingly not the first time today. “I’m a double agent—”
He cut himself off, expecting Dabi to do it himself and blaze him into ashes. Nothing came. Not a hit, not a flame. Nothing.
“I’m well aware.” Dabi said, his mouth raising in a small smirk. “What else is new?”
“You… knew?”
“Of course I knew. Why on earth would a hero, one who has indisposable amounts of money, fans, fame, everything, want to be a villain? Don’t fix something that isn’t broken, right?”
Keigo paused, grabbing the blanket and using it to scrub his tears away, looking at Dabi with a troubled expression. “...Then why didn’t you kill me? Why aren’t you killing me?”
“It’s a good question. I guess I don’t want to. You give us information about the commission. Shigaraki had told me that, as long as you’re on a tight leash, it’s fine.”
“...A tight leash.”
Dabi leaned back, the back of his head lightly thumping against the wall, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Why are you telling me, though? Little hero has a guilty conscience?”
“Not like that…” Keigo mumbled. “I just… I wanna come clean. I’m so tired of being under the commission’s thumb all of the time. I—”
He broke into a fit of coughing again, trying to hide his mouth as he curled in on himself, wings trying their best to extend and hide him in the cramped space. He couldn’t let Dabi see. He couldn’t. Dabi’s hands pushed lightly at the opening of the feather fortress, pushing past to get a glimpse at Keigo. Keigo had tossed the petal aside that had come from the fit, but Dabi wasn’t looking at that. His lips.
For a moment, hope bloomed. Dabi wanted to kiss him? His finger came closer, brushing against Keigo’s lip and then withdrawing.
Blood. Nevermind.
“You are still sick.” Dabi stated the obvious. “Is that why?”
“No, I—”
“It is.” Dabi huffed. “Is it terminal, or something? Are you—”
Keigo’s voice cracked, “Will you please let me speak?”
A pregnant silence settled between them. For someone who usually jumped at the opportunity to throw in a snarky comment, Dabi was quiet, just waiting patiently for Keigo to explain. His face was totally blank, and the only thing Keigo had to work with was the focused look in his eyes to gauge how the conversation was moving. Even when he was forced to tears, Keigo slipped into his analysis mindset easily.
He should explain the sickness first.
“I’m sick. You’re right.” He admitted. “It’s terminal. Kinda. I saw the doctor about it today. I don’t really want to talk about it. But I promise, it’s not why I’m suddenly switching sides or anything.”
Dabi’s eyes widened. “...I could ask Ujiko to have a look at you. He’s got access to stuff that normal heroes don’t. He could—”
“I don’t trust that guy. And it doesn’t matter.” Keigo explained.
“It does matter. You’re our informant for the Hero Commission, double agent or not.”
“Dabi, I’m leaving the hero commission for good.”
He couldn’t take the words back now that they were out. It felt illegal, evil to even admit what he had been thinking. The commission had taken him away from his mother. They’d trained him up to who he was today and offered him a brand new start. He was betraying the only people who had ever seen any good in him.
“I don’t believe that, if I’m honest.” Dabi replied, leaning on the palm of his hand. “You expect me to believe that you did all of that crap the hero commission wanted you to, and you go around every day saving people and being the goodie-two-shoes that you are, and you just want to, what, throw it all away?”
Keigo shook his head, bringing his knees closer to his core. “I’m not saying that I’m jumping to the extreme. I’m not gonna kill anyone like that just because I left.”
“Well, you killed Jeanist.” Dabi reasoned.
Keigo grimaced slightly. This was a bit of a tender topic. He’d intentionally tried to trick the league on that one. This entire conversation could go to shit if he found out, and then what? Who would Keigo have? His wings rustled against the wall, and something clicked in Dabi’s expression.
“You didn’t kill him then.” Dabi stated flatly. “I knew it. I knew that was a fake ass body.”
“No, it is a real body. He’s just… not dead.” He hurried to clarify, “I don’t know the specifics behind how it works. That’s the hero commission’s doing.”
Dabi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… Nevermind.”
Keigo took a deep breath and started. “I’ve never had the choice before, you know. I was born into this. My father was… a villain. And my mother and I turned out homeless after he got arrested. I could’ve starved, or went with the commission. I’ve been stuck with them since I was, like, five.”
“I know.” Dabi murmured.
Whether it was just confirmation that he was listening, or that he actually already knew about this, Keigo couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore.
“They just… To them, I’m just a weapon. I’m happy to get my hands dirty to help everyone else, but… They’re never happy with anything I do. I’m constantly giving them reports about the league and I get nagged about the smallest amendments. They clip my talons, pluck my tail feathers—”
“You have tail feathers?” Dabi asked, sounding slightly amused.
“Um, yeah. They grow from my tailbone.” He confirmed, not missing how Dabi’s eyes trailed downwards all of a sudden. “The commission don’t like how they look. I’ve gotta look like their Ken doll all of the time…”
Dabi shifted closer, looking almost hesitant before putting a hand on Keigo’s knee. Keigo wondered what went through his head sometimes. Was it a gesture of friendship? Was he trying to court Keigo? Was he actually trying to give comfort? His thumb rubbed in a comforting motion, and he spent an ephemeral moment just staring at Keigo. His lips, his puffy eyes, the markings around them.
“A gilded cage is still a cage.” Dabi reasoned, then paused. “I can speak to Shigaraki about trying to help you disappear, if that’s something you want. As long as you’ll side with the league when the time comes, it might be something we can arrange.”
“Won’t everyone just call me a liar?” Keigo sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
“Not if I don’t tell them what I know.” Dabi smirked. “I’ll vouch that you’re serious about the cause. They’ll still put you through some sort of lie detector thing, of course, but as long as you’re batting for our team, it won’t be a problem.”
“What use am I without the commission, Dabi?” Keigo asked, in almost a whisper. “If I’m not with them anymore, then I can’t give you information. I’ll just be useless.”
“Your feathers.” Dabi ran his hand across his wing, thumbing softly at the feathers. “They can feel vibrations. That makes them good for gathering information from anywhere. You’re also a strategist, and extremely fast at what you do. I could put you to good use. The hero commission isn't our only enemy. So don’t worry about that part, birdie.”
He stayed petting Keigo’s feathers, running his fingers down the spines. It was actually calming, and his chest started to feel lighter than before. Keigo’s wing drew closer to Dabi’s hand, wanting more of the softness, pressing as if they wanted to burrow under Dabi’s skin, and get even closer to the heat simmering underneath his skin.
“...Do heteromorph names frustrate you?” Dabi questioned, still focused on his wings.
“Like…?” Keigo tilted his head.
“Spinner hates when I call him ‘lizard’.” Dabi supplied, “He told me that calling you ‘birdie’ is quirkist.”
Keigo took a few seconds to ponder. “It’s not what you’re actually saying, I think. Because he is a lizard heteromorph. It’s how you say it that’s the problem.”
“I say it the same way.”
“No you don’t.” Keigo chuckled. “Birdie is more like… a nickname. It’s different from calling me ‘Bird’. One’s more like… dehumanizing than the other.”
Dabi hummed, but his brows furrowed, still confused. “But he is a lizard. I don’t get it.”
“It’s like…” Keigo huffed, staring at his ceiling. “When women complain about guys calling them females. Technically they are females, but it’s like taking away their humanity by calling them that. It’s kinda the same thing. He is a lizard heteromorph, but it's a little dehumanising to be labelled as just that. He’d rather just be called Spinner, or… whatever he goes by. Just ask him.”
“Right…” Dabi fingered with a feather at the edge of his wing. “I understand. So… Do you not want me to call you birdie, then?”
“Oh. I don’t mind.” A flush rose to Keigo’s cheeks, up from his neck. He did actually like the nickname. Only Dabi called him that. And he’d made himself look like an idiot by going against everything he had just said. But whatever. “I’ve never had a nickname before. It’s hard to make nicknames with ‘Hawks’, so…”
“What about with Keigo?”
Keigo went to respond, but his breath caught in his throat. How did Dabi know that name? The commission had it wiped from every public record list, every library, every database. His acknowledgement before hadn't just been an acknowledgement. “How…”
“There’s an old archive in Fukuoka that has all of these dusty newspaper articles saved in the back. The old hag in there let me see them. A six year old boy saving a bunch of people from a car crash. Very heroic. Oh, and I asked your mom about it.”
Keigo didn’t even know what to respond with. He couldn’t necessarily be too pissed off about the library thing, since it was on public records, but he was a little shaken up by the idea of Dabi visiting his drug addicted mother.
“She was fine, if you’re wondering.” Dabi added. “Alive and well.”
Well. That was good.
“Speaking of which, you haven’t eaten.” Dabi gave his wings one last pet before standing up and brushing off his jeans. “It’s better that we discuss your whole escape operation once you're fed and watered. I’ll go make some of the food I left in the fridge earlier.”
Dabi slid the closet door open, stepping over him to get out. Keigo’s heart raced, and on impulse, he grabbed Dabi’s hand.
The healthy skin was smooth, and Keigo wasn’t shocked. Dabi took good care of his skin, since he was already falling apart as it is. But he didn’t flinch at the grafted skin either. It was just another part of Dabi. And Keigo really liked those shiny staples that attached both sides.
“Thanks.” He said weakly as Dabi looked back at him. Dabi squeezed his hand and then let go, feet padding through his room and down his apartment hall towards the kitchen.
He was going to die.
The hero ‘Hawks’ had been dead for two weeks and three days before the hero public safety commission made a statement.
The first week after his disappearance had generally been written off by the public. Although Hawks tended to have a more active approach on his social media, and was usually seen in public, even on his days off, a week wasn’t necessarily concerning. Perhaps he was sick, or focusing on some more training, or off on holiday somewhere foreign.
The eighth day, Rumi had made a comment during a hero gala that Hawks was not only missing the charity event, but hadn’t been responding to any of his messages or calls. When Endeavor had been asked, he commented similarly, saying that not having his phone buzzing every ten minutes from messages from Hawks was unfamiliar. Even Best Jeanist had kept up a semi-online presence during his hiatus.
The public noticed. His fans started going crazy. After two weeks since Hawks’ last sighting in public, it made front page news: “Wingman No More? Allies Stay Silent on Hawks’ Disappearance”; “Flying Solo: Did Hawks Choose to Disappear?”; “Has He Flown the Coop? Where Is the No. 2 Hero?”; “All Quiet on the Commission Front: Everything Known About Hawks’ Disappearance.”. The tabloids had run rampant with theories of a secret love affair abroad, where Hawks had eloped with a mystery woman.
The final nail in the coffin had been a scathing statement from Rumi. She declared that never, in his right mind, would Hawks disappear with zero contact like this. She pinned it straight on the hero commission, demanding that they make a statement regarding Hawks’ whereabouts.
The commission came out the next day, Madam President organising a press conference where they answered the many questions about the disappearance. She’d worn a form fitting black dress, pearls draped around her neck, and her hair pinned up neatly as she confirmed the death of the hero Hawks by Hanahaki disease. She claimed that he had avoided his doctor’s advice, choosing against getting the surgery to remove the flowers of unknown origin from his lungs, and was found dead by a commission agent in his apartment.
In Hawks’ apartment, truthfully, they had found half of the place totally scorched, soot like a blanket on top of his furniture and flooring. There was no sign of a body, but certainly signs of a struggle. His bedroom lamp smashed on the ground next to a pool of dried blood which had been hacked up from his throat, and a pile of ash.
The ratty old couch squeaked as Keigo Takami shifted. He flicked through a fashion magazine of Toga’s as he watched the woman he once feared pretend to look upset at his death. Dabi lounged next to him, doomscrolling through his phone.
“Hanahaki disease…” Dabi grumbled under his breath, not looking up from his phone. “Could they not come up with anything more original? There’s so many other terminal diseases that cause less public outcry. You’ll just be in the papers for even longer.”
Keigo stared at him blankly, not responding to the comment. Dabi looked up to meet his unwavering gaze, brows knitting together as he tried to figure out what he had said wrong. Living together for the past two weeks had actually helped Keigo decipher what Dabi’s unhelpfully vague facial expressions meant.
“...What would you say if I told you that it was Hanahaki disease…?” Keigo tested the waters.
Dabi’s eyes widened, and he sat back, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t bother responding. He turned to look at the TV. The reporters hounded Madam President on TV about this sudden revelation.
Was that a rejection?
Was Dabi just going to pretend that he hadn’t said anything?
Keigo found himself fidgeting with his fingers, like they were the most interesting things in the world. His talons had started to grow back out like they should have been naturally. They were still blunt at the tip, but with a little bit of Toga’s filing skills and they’d be looking brand new. He might even let her paint them.
He shouldn’t have expected anything different than this. It was already a miracle that Dabi took him under his wing, and allowed him to come into the league as Keigo. He only had so much luck. Keigo contemplated messaging Rumi. That’s what usually happened when he had troubles. He’d give her vague enough details to avoid her questioning who he was talking about, and she’d help him think through it.
He missed her. He missed his friends. He’d chosen to get bluntly rejected by the guy he was in love with over maintaining his secure relationships. He was so stupid.
“How… bad is it?” Dabi finally spoke.
Keigo’s gaze shot up, and he gulped. “I coughed up a full flower this morning.”
“You let it get that bad?!” Dabi exclaimed, sitting up, hand coming to cover his mouth.
“I don’t have any control over it.” Keigo looked down, ashamed.
“You can’t die from something that stupid. It’s not…”
Keigo felt a cough building in his throat, something stuck deep inside. He tried to cover his mouth with one hand, the other gripping the ruined sofa as he heaved breaths. Dabi was over in an instant, rubbing his back in between where his wings began to try and soothe him.
It lodged out in the one. A rindou flower in his palm, staring up at him like a cruel joke. Dabi took one glance at it, and Keigo could hear the sharp intake of breath. He knew this was it. Hanahaki sufferers didn’t last for very long after they began coughing up entire flowers. Keigo had just started this morning.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his breathing coming out uneven as he glared at the wrinkled, bloodied flower in his palm. Flowers. Keigo had spent his entire life training to take out the most powerful people, and yet, he was being taken down by some stupid, harmless flowers trapped inside of him.
Dabi’s warm hand enclosed his in seconds, covering the flower in his hand. Keigo looked up with his mouth slightly opened.
“I do love you, Keigo.” He said with conviction. “That’s what you need to hear, right? To fix it.”
Keigo didn’t believe him, but the pressure lifted slightly from his chest. He took a deeper breath. “You don’t mean that. You’re not serious. You’re just saying that—”
“Shut up.” Dabi rejected his denial. “I’m not fucking lying to someone who is dying right under my nose. I’ve been in love with you. So…”
The blush that rose to Dabi’s face made Keigo gasp. Or maybe it was the sudden influx of air into his lungs, the ability to breathe normally, which he hadn’t even realised that he had lost. Dabi was serious. Deadly serious.
“You… You love me.” Keigo said out loud, disbelieving.
He squeezed Keigo’s hand tight. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Your ego is big enough — I don’t need more of it.”
“...I love you too.”