Archive of Our Own

The call comes at 10:34 PM. The name on the screen flashes "birdbrain", and Dabi thinks, Well, isn't that interesting.

Hawks will text occasionally, but he never calls. To be fair, Dabi told him to contact the number at his own risk, and Hawks seemed to take the advice to heart. Or maybe he was just playing it safe with the only tie he had to the League. If Hawks is calling him, it's either very good or very, very bad.

The uncertainty gives Dabi a moment of pause, but his curiosity ultimately makes him hit the answer icon.

"What," he says.

There's a shuffling sound on the other end, followed by what might be a hiccup. Then Hawks' annoying upbeat voice slurs, "Oh heyyy! You" —A muffled static— "finally picked up!"

"Are you drunk?" Dabi asks, surprised. He's on the verge of being offended, but he's never seen Hawks anything less than perfectly controlled. A Hawks drunk beyond reason and making a fool of himself holds a certain appeal.

"Noo," slurs Hawks, then reconsiders. "...Maybe. Anyway're y'still operating?" The nonsequitur throws Dabi for a loop, but Hawks hiccups and keeps talking. "Sorry, stupid question, you picked up, 've course y'are. Um..." There's a shuffling. "Hol' on, I gotta—" Something loud and static-y passes over the microphone, and when Hawks next speaks he sounds far away. "Mirai Hall! That's it. It's the, you know, the Denki Building? Off Watanabe-dori. I need a pick-up there." Dabi finds himself at a loss for words, but there's an increasing level of annoyance at the sheer audacity Hawks has to call him of all people for... what, a ride? "Over in Chuo ward? Y'there, man?"

"What the fuck," Dabi says, edging ever closer to pissed. "You think you're in any position to be asking for anything?"

"That's—not very professional of you?" Hawks sounds so confused it would be funny if Dabi weren't mad.

Screw this. He doesn't have the energy to deal with Hawks pushing boundaries right now.

"I'm going to do us both a favor and hang up and pretend this never happened. Don't pull this shit again, Hawks."

Dabi pulls the phone from his ear and the screen lights up, illuminating the phone call application. He moves his thumb to the small red circle. On the other end, Hawks says, "Wait—Dabi?" and the only reason Dabi doesn't hit the end call button right then is the sheer, honest confusion in Hawks' voice. "Hold up, why're you—ooooh shit, that's right the fuckin'—"

A burst of noise cuts Hawks off, like fabric brushing against the microphone, but Dabi doesn't hang up because he's never, not once, heard Hawks swear. He kind of wants to hear him swear again, maybe get it on record this time. Send it to a few journalists.

"God, I hate this, I can barely feel my fingers," Hawks complains, then pauses. "I did not mean to tell you that. Goddamn it, I hate these events. Endeavor didn't have t'come, he's 'too busy', 'n Edgeshot didn't have t'come because he's 'unphotogenic'."

The mention of Endeavor prickles angrily in the back of Dabi's skull, but he forces that down because something interesting is happening here. The cussing, the unfiltered complaints—this is a complete break of Hawks' typical character. Sure, he's always been chatty, but he never actually says anything. Dabi finds himself raising the phone back to his ear.

"Where are you, exactly?"

"It's the uh, the party? The... fundraiser thing. For... that one guy's grandfather. With that disease. Y'know?"

Dabi doesn't know, but he gets the gist. It's some sort of high-class event, probably a lot of rich people and a lot of rich wine. Enough wine to make Hawks slip up even more? There's a soft clatter in the background, and a less soft swear.

"I kinda, uh—" Hawks starts, then cuts himself off. He clears his throat, and when he next speaks it's all too easy to picture the grimace on his face. "Any chance you could... come get me?"

The request takes Dabi by surprise, and his gut reaction is to laugh, tell Hawks to get fucked, and hang up.

But.

This spy game between him and Hawks has been going on for weeks. It's been a constant back and forth of virtually no progress. Dabi's fairly certain Hawks will betray the League the first chance he gets, but there's that tiny, miniscule chance he might be telling the truth. Hawks plays his cards close to his chest, and thus far Dabi's been unable to get any dirt or leverage on him. If Dabi could tip the balance in his favor, get Hawks to slip up and tell him something real...

A drunk Hawks asking for a favor is suddenly very, very appealing.

Dabi says, "What's in it for me?" just to keep the conversation rolling as he mulls over his options. The more he thinks about Hawks right now, pathetic and stumbling over his own feet, unable to keep up his perfect, family friendly façade... yeah. He wants to see that.

Hawks goes silent for long enough Dabi wonders if the call dropped. Then Hawks groans. "I'll owe you," he says reluctantly; and that's what Dabi likes to hear.

Dabi's life is one of pay-it-forward compromises. Sticking around the League means he has to keep Shigaraki happy; keeping Shigaraki happy means taking the information he gets from Hawks and doling it out slowly, strategically. Keeping Hawks around means dangling access to the League just out of reach in exchange for information.

Hawks' continued existence and health matters more to this cycle than Dabi is strictly comfortable with. It's very much in his best interest to keep Hawks around.

But it's not in his best interest for Hawks to know any of that, so he says, "Nuh uh. I want specifics. You'll owe me what?"

Hawks sighs, his breath is a noisy puff of static in the cheap speaker of Dabi's phone. "Whatever y'want. Anything within reason."

"Within reason? Let me get this straight: you call asking for a favor, and when I ask for one in return you tell me that's too much?" Dabi laughs once, mocking. "That's not how this works."

"I'm askin' you t'pick me up from a party, not—borrowing a million yen!"

"You want me to go all the way to Fukuoka and you won't give up one little favor. Typical. You do realize I'm busy, right?" He's not. The plan for the evening was to sit outside and people-watch for an hour, maybe smoke a few cigarettes, and then go to bed. Still, there's no way he's doing this for free.

"You've got a teleporter, you asshole." Oh ho, bringing out the big boy words again. "You want money? Fine. You want me to kill someone? Think again."

Yeah, Dabi expected that, but Hawks can hardly blame him for trying. "Whatever. Just don't forget that you're gonna owe me."

"Fine," Hawks snaps, except instead of sounding pissed he just sounds tired. "But if you push me onto the fuckin' train tracks, I'll haunt you, don't think I won't."

Jesus Christ, Hawks is so far off his game it wouldn't be funny except for how it very much is. This is gonna be a fucking blast.

Dabi grins, looking forward to it. "Alright, deal," he agrees, hoping he hasn't made giving in seem too easy. "What's the address?"

The address is in the Tenjin area of Fukuoka city, but it takes Hawks several minutes to relay that information. He keeps forgetting the names of things and has to check his phone. Dabi thinks he hears Hawks drop the phone twice. It's so far out of character for Hawks to be this clumsy that it edges into concerning. How much has he had to drink that he's this bad off?

It occurs to Dabi that if he hangs up, Hawks may be physically unable to answer his phone when Dabi calls him back. Suddenly Hawks asking for help from Dabi of all people makes a lot more sense. Any port in a storm and all that.

He keeps the call with Hawks going as he texts Ujiko with some coordinates for a random alley about 10 kilometers away from the party venue. Ujiko texts back asking for an explanation, but Dabi declines to specify. Like hell he's telling that freak more than absolutely necessary. Dabi's not in the habit of telling anyone about himself, but he puts in twice the effort when it comes to Ujiko.

He ignores Ujiko's prying, incessant questions, and rejects his repeated calls in favor of staying on the line with Hawks, shrugging on a black jacket with a high collar and a hood, and pulling on a face mask. By the time he's slipping his apartment keys into his pocket, Ujiko still hasn't come around, so Dabi texts, Should I ask Shigaraki. Sure enough, a few moments later, he's materializing in the back alleys of Fukuoka.

Dabi looks around to get his bearings, neglects to text his thanks to Ujiko, and puts the phone back up to his ear.

"The second you pass out you're on your own," he warns as he heads for the mouth of the alley.

"Great," Hawks says sourly.

All in all, it takes Dabi about 20 minutes to get to Hawks' location. It's a particularly quiet night with not many people about. They don't talk much on Dabi's way there. But every time Hawks' breathing grows too faint, Dabi mutters, "Still there?" and every time, Hawks sighs back, "Yeah."

The asshole had better not fall asleep. Not when Dabi's actually putting in effort.

As he enters the district with Hawks' party, Dabi says, "Hey," and waits. There's no response. A growing anxiety tells him Hawks has given in to the inebriation. Dabi presses his ear to the speaker hard, listening for any sign of consciousness. "Hawks," he snaps.

Finally, there's a soft gasp from the other end. "Yeah... 'm still here." Hawks' voice is frail and tired. The sound of it doesn't make Dabi feel as smug as he thought it would.

"What did I say about passing out?" Dabi demands, pushing through the slow, thin crowd and rushing through the turnstile. He knocks a few of them with his elbow and a woman stumbles and turns to glare at him, disgruntled. Dabi ignores her, practically jogging towards the entrance of the station.

It doesn't make sense that Hawks is fading this quickly when he'd been fully intelligible less than 30 minutes before. He hadn't kept drinking—Dabi would have noticed it over the phone if he had.

"T'not to," grumbles Hawks.

"That's right, so don't."

When he nears the location of whatever party Hawks is at, he knows he's in the right place. It's obvious from the pairs and clumps of drunken party-goers meandering down the street, all dressed to the nines. Their necks and wrists are decorated with pearls and watches that Dabi's fingers itch to liberate them of, but unfortunately, he has other things to worry about.

"I'm outside," he says into the phone. "Where are you?"

He waits several long moments for a response that doesn't come.

Dabi swears, pressing the phone hard to his ear again to see if he can hear Hawks breathing. "Don't you pass out on me, Hawks, I swear to god I will leave you here—"

There's a clatter, a bang, and then a groan. "'m here," Hawks says, and Dabi releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Could you—" The sound cuts off, and Dabi has no way of knowing if Hawks has dropped the phone again or if he's just hesitating, but then Hawks says something quiet and inaudible and... strained?

"Spit it out."

"I can't go out there like this," Hawks says weakly.

Can't go out like what? Like the drunken asshole he is? He doesn't want to make a fool of himself in front of his precious fans, no doubt. Dabi snorts, unimpressed. He can think of a few places Hawks can shove that useless pride.

"I... I dunno who—" Hawks inhales sharply and stops talking again. 'Who', what? Who might see him in this pathetic state? A noisy exhale comes from Hawks' end of the phone, and he says, "Nevermind—you're right."

Dabi opens his mouth to push the issue, to ask, 'What the fuck are you so scared of?' but on his cell phone's cheap speaker comes a click followed by silence. It isn't until the line starts to beep that Dabi realizes Hawks hung up on him. Incredulous, Dabi pushes the power button and slips the phone in his jeans pocket.

There's a small, poorly lit alley across the street with a view of the venue's front entrance. Dabi settles there to watch people as they leave.

Three groups stumble out before Dabi starts wondering if he should call Hawks back. By the time the fifth group has gone by, the back of his brain bubbles with an iota of concern. If Hawks tripped on something and cracked his head open—that's not on Dabi, right? It's not Dabi's fault that Hawks drank so much—or that he hung up before he could even get out of the building.

Several more groups pass.

Fuck.

He pulls out his phone and brings up his dialing app. He's already brought up Hawks' number and is about to press the call button when a large group exits the building. Dabi looks up, compulsively scanning it for Hawks, and there he is in the middle of the crowd. He's wearing a gray suit, and it's so unusual to see Hawks in anything but his hero get up that Dabi might have missed him entirely if it weren't for the wings. They look a bit ruffled, but Hawks' posture is relaxed and open.

There's nothing particularly interesting about the suit, except that the fabric is so sleek it shimmers even in the crappy street lamp lighting, and it lines Hawks' body so well that it must have cost a small fortune. The tie is conspicuously absent and the top two buttons undone.

Trailing behind Hawks is a smattering of enamored fans. Their happy chatter is too loud for sober people but not loud enough for Dabi to make out any of the words from this far away. Hawks' pace is slow but confident. He doesn't stumble. He grins easily and laughs at a joke Dabi can't hear, and Dabi feels a twist of doubt in his gut.

Did he fake it? The phone call, the drunken state, the vulnerability—all of it?

It doesn't make any sense that he would, especially because he has to know Dabi is watching right now. He can't figure out why Hawks would fake something like that. But he also can't figure out how a man who had been drunk to the point of almost passing out could look this unbothered.

One of the admirers grabs at Hawks' shoulder and Hawks startles, tilting off balance and stumbling on nothing. He almost crashes into the sidewalk before his body appears to defy the laws of inertia and gravity, hovering mid-fall and righting itself without seeming to move. His wings don't flap, but that doesn't mean anything. If Dabi had to guess, he's holding himself up using some well placed feathers; maybe on the back of his jacket. Back on his feet, Hawks laughs with the other man about the narrowly avoided incident, smiling and waving off apologies.

So he really is drunk, he's just covering freakishly well. The knot in Dabi's stomach loosens, replaced with annoyance. Why the hell does Hawks have to be so fake all the time?

Hawks slows to a stop in the middle of the empty street, and after a moment of awkwardness, his groupies stop too. Hawks glances around like he's trying to remember which direction will take him home. Dabi realizes that's his queue and raises his hand to catch Hawks' eye.

Despite the shadowy corner he's taken residence in, Hawks spots him. He waves goodbye to his admirers, making some sort of excuse when they beg him to stay, then detaches from their group.

The man who had thrown Hawks off balance follows after him. He says something that doesn't carry and reaches out his hand—Hawks dances out of reach, entirely too graceful. Dabi looks at Hawks' feet, to see if he'd pushed himself out of the way with his feathers again, but if he did he's already back on the ground. He's good at this. Hawks laughs, but it sounds off, strained. It clicks for Dabi, then.

It's a show. The better the act, the less people realize he's vulnerable. Dabi knows what that's like, though his weapons of choice are threats and fire instead of lies and smiles.

But if he has so many friends here, why call a villain of all people to give him a ride home?

The concerned man stares after Hawks long after everyone else has forgotten him and turned back to their own conversations. Given how smoothly Hawks is walking, and the amount of distance he's already put between himself and the group, the attention is unwarranted. Something about it seems off; but by the time Hawks reaches Dabi's side of the street, the man has finally looked away.

Hawks' approach is languid, his expression is easy and open. Even knowing it's fake, Dabi can't see the cracks in the façade. Horrifying, really.

"Hey," Hawks greets as he enters the shadow of the alley. He then proceeds to crash against the brick wall at a glacial pace, face smooshed up against the brick and his shoulders and torso slumping to follow.

In half surprise, half genuine glee, Dabi cackles. Hawks' arm twitches at his side like maybe he'd flip Dabi off if he had the strength.

Dabi's still chuckling when he asks, "How ya feelin', hero?"

"Like shit," Hawks grumbles into the wall. His chiseled perfect smile has dissolved into something tired and grumpy, and his wings droop. That he's not bothering to pretend anymore loosens the distrust in Dabi's chest.

"You look it," Dabi assures him, grinning and pulling out his phone.

Hawks glares as Dabi takes a dozen photos at different angles and distances.

"If these end up on tomorrow's news..." Hawks says, trailing off. It sounds less like a warning and more like too tired to think of anything worth threatening Dabi with. His golden eyes, usually clear and perfect, are tired and bloodshot, and wow, someone's gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. It's almost a shame Dabi won't be sticking around to see it.

Deciding Hawks can wait a few minutes, Dabi switches applications to marvel at his camera roll. This was worth coming for. He chooses a handful of the least flattering images to send to Toga with the caption, Look at this asshole lol.

She responds almost immediately, because of course she does. Goddamn teenagers and their phones.

🙄 you and your weird hate boner for pro hero hawks, but OMG he's so pretty 🥺

What the hell? He does not have a hate boner for Hawks. He's in the middle of typing that out when her second message pops into view.

cut him up a bit and he'd be just my type 🤩🤩😋

God. Why is Toga such a freak? Dabi makes a face and returns his phone to his pocket, deciding he's better off not responding.

Hawks, meanwhile, has turned himself around so his back is against the wall, but he's still leaning against it heavily. If Dabi had to guess, that means his balance is shot and he won't be walking very far without Dabi's help.

Dabi's not looking forward to being up close and personal with a man who has a hundred sentient knives strapped to his back, but like this—drunk, exhausted, and grumpy—it's hard to consider Hawks a threat.

"Alright, come on," Dabi says, grabbing Hawk's right wrist and using it to maneuver Hawks' arm around his shoulders. He was right about the suit; the fabric feels silky smooth and expensive as hell. Why is it always the assholes who get the nice things? Dabi briefly wonders how much it would sell for online.

The easy way Hawks falls into him is closer to bonelessness than it is to willingness, but it leaves them closer together than Dabi had expected. He mentally prepares himself for the wave of alcohol he expects to smell on Hawks' breath. All he inhales is a faint trace of cologne.

One of Hawks' wings drapes over his back, warm and heavy. The solid line of him pressed against Dabi's side without resistance does funny things to Dabi's chest. Dabi willfully ignores it.

With one arm looped around Hawks' back and his free hand gripping Hawks' forearm to keep him in place, they take their first few steps down the alley. Hawks grasps at the shoulder of Dabi's jacket to anchor himself, but his fingers don't have any grip strength. His hand shakes noticeably at the miniscule effort before he gives up. As they walk, Hawks periodically stumbles over nothing—over flat, smoothly paved sidewalk with no weeds or trash or obstructions. It's like he's not even bothering to try anymore, and it kind of pisses Dabi off.

It's an understatement to say that Dabi ends up doing most of the work. The only positive is that at least the asshole isn't heavy. Hawks is the opposite of heavy, actually; he's uncomfortably light. Dabi half remembers decades old science classes about birds and hollow bones. He thinks about asking, then decides he doesn't care.

Regardless, dragging Hawks through the streets of downtown Fukuoka still isn't Dabi's idea of a good time.

"I didn't think I'd have to actually carry you home, god damn," Dabi complains, and he'd like to say he's not panting, but he's not built for cardio. So sue him. "How much did you have to drink?"

"You know, birds can't drink alcohol?" Hawks says, not answering the question. "Well I mean they can but their organs—fragile as shit."

"Are you saying you're alcohol intolerant?" Dabi asks, incredulously.

"What? No."

Dabi shakes his head and gives up.

It's not far to the train station, but they're moving at a glacial pace. They should still make it before the last train, but it'll be close.

Then Hawks trips over his own feet and the sudden shift in weight almost makes Dabi drop him on the concrete.

"Fuck," Dabi swears, tightening his grip on Hawks and taking a minute to regain their balance. "For real, how much did you have?"

Hawks goes quiet in that suspicious way of his, and if they weren't literally attached at the hip, Dabi would accuse him of falling asleep again. The silence lasts long enough that the back of Dabi's neck prickles and tells him he's missing something. He bends his head down to try and catch Hawks' bloodshot eyes. When he manages it, they look weirdly large—the pupils are blown out, he realizes. It's not that dark, and there should be enough light around from the nearby shops and street lamps. Hawks darts his gaze away, breaking eye contact.

When Hawks does answer, all he says is, "Enough."

What kind of asshole goes to a work party and gets drunk enough that they can't even walk themselves home? But whatever. He's not Hawks' keeper, so Dabi lets it drop.

They're almost to the train by the time Dabi remembers to ask, "Hey, where do you live?"

He already knows, but Hawks doesn't know he knows and he'd like to keep it that way.

Some weeks ago, Dabi had gotten a tip that led to an address. So one opportune day, he'd hung out out in downtown Fukuoka listening to the hero scanner radio on his phone for a few hours, until a sidekick from Hawks' agency had come on the line requesting backup for collapsed building. The location was on the outskirts of town, and reportedly, Hawks was already there extracting civilians. Taking advantage of the guaranteed time, Dabi used the fire escape to scale a frankly ridiculous number of flights, which soured his mood, but the unlocked window attached to the apartment purported to be Hawks' made up for it.

He'd let himself in. The inside was modern and high end, high ceilings, but smaller than he'd expected. Only a single bedroom unit. Expensive, but not to excess. The walls and furniture were largely white and pristine, with minor chrome accents.

It was also completely devoid of personality. No photos, no books, no identifying documents or paperwork. It might have been depressing if Dabi weren't so convinced it was on purpose. Either Hawks had cleaned it out, expecting Dabi to break in sooner or later, or it was just a safehouse.

Dabi's hoping for safehouse, and that maybe Hawks is about to tell Dabi where he really lives.

Hawks groans. It feels existential rather than physical. "I hate that you'll know where I live," he complains, but even this far gone, he rattles off the same address that Dabi already knows.

Either Hawks is more aware than he should be, given how drunk he appears to be, or... could that sterile, empty shell of an apartment really be Hawks' primary residence? Even Dabi's shitty apartment has some personal touches—magnets on the refrigerator from the utility company, an old digital clock he'd found in someone else's trash, some ratty throw pillows. If Dabi had the kind of money that Hawks must, he'd sure as shit use it on crap he didn't need.

They hit their first real hurdle right after arriving at the train station. The line they need is down a flight of stairs, and Hawks is no more coordinated than he was when Dabi peeled him off a wall fifteen minutes ago. It's annoying, but at least Hawks isn't heavy.

In preparation for their descent, Dabi puts Hawks between himself and the guardrail and tells Hawks, "Grab on." Normally, he thinks Hawks would have taken issue with that. He would have been offended at the order, or made a snarky remark about... Dabi being unstable or something. He doesn't know.

This Hawks nods silently and takes hold of the metal bar without hesitation. His hand shakes.

There's a weird knot in the pit of Dabi's stomach, and it tightens as they take their first tentative steps. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Hawks is supposed to... to argue with him, to fight back, to be suspicious and difficult about everything even while pretending to be gracious and helpful. He isn't supposed to be this meek, useless thing.

Hawks is unsteady on his feet. The guardrail does help stabilize him, but their progress is painfully slow and Dabi grumbles about it under his breath. If they miss the last train when they're literally right here, Dabi'll be pissed. Hawks, for his part, either willfully ignores Dabi's complaints or can't spare the concentration to snark back.

Halfway down, one of Hawks' feet comes down too close to the edge of the stair and it slips out from under him. The force of it knocks his grip off the railing and then suddenly he's pitching forward and pulling Dabi down with him. As Dabi stumbles, Hawks' arm slips over the top of his head.

Oh shit.

Dabi has just enough wherewithal grab the railing himself, then reach out to grab the back of Hawks' suit jacket and yank. Hawks' momentum is successfully diverted; he tumbles back instead of forward, but he lands hard, half sprawled over his own wings. After a few seconds of delay, he groans. 'Drank too much' Dabi's ass.

Panting, Dabi releases his grip on Hawks' suit and descends a few steps so he can properly glare at Hawks. Hawks stares blankly back, head not fully raised, body limp against the linoleum.

How did Dabi not see it before?

The blood shot eyes, the dilated pupils, the shaking hands. And on the phone, hadn't Hawks said something about not being able to feel his fingers?

When Dabi had asked how much he'd had to drink, Hawks hadn't answered. Because this fucking jackass hadn't been drinking at all.

"Were you planning on telling me you were high?" Dabi says, pissed. Does Hawks think he's an idiot?

Hawks tries to use his elbow to push himself off the ground and visibly fails. He settles for propping his torso up slightly. "Wasn't planning on it, no," he pants.

Dabi grinds his teeth. "Why the fuck wouldn't you say something?"

"Because it's illegal," snaps Hawks. He rubs his hands over his face, and when he mutters, "Fuck," under his breath, he sounds genuinely distressed.

It might be funny in any other circumstance.

"No shit it's illegal!" Just possession of pot can get you five years in jail, and whatever the fuck Hawks is on would get a civilian way more time than that. Goddamn heroes, always thinking they're above the law they enforce. "Fuckin' hypocrite. I should just leave you on your tweaker ass, you can make your own way home."

Hawks' head lifts lethargically, but there's true panic in his eyes. "Please, I'm sorry." His lower lip trembles when he inhales, and for the first time, Dabi's seeing an emotion on Hawks he isn't sure is fake. "Please don't leave me here."

Pathetic fucking asshole. Dabi can barely swallow around the indignity rising in his chest. Hawks begging on his knees should give him a rush, should make him feel giddy and superior. All he feels is sick and irrationally betrayed.

Dabi blows out an angry stream of air, and it comes out as smoke. He makes himself look away from Hawks, takes another deep breath, and reminds himself to calm down before he literally combusts.

When he looks back, Hawks' eyes are wide and scared and shiny. He says again, "Please."

It shouldn't matter. Dabi shouldn't care. And he doesn't, but it's hard to reconcile the cocky, unflappable jackass he knows with the tired, subdued man in front of him, miserably collapsed on the dirty train station stairs. As pissed as he is over Hawks' hypocrisy, it's worse to bear witness to Hawks' fallibility; his humanity. Dabi hates heroes, but it's hard to look at Hawks and see a hero right now.

Dabi sighs angrily and runs a hand roughly through his hair as he pretends to think it over, but really, he already knows what he's going to do.

"Fuck, you're pathetic. I'm not gonna fuckin' leave you here," he grumbles, already leaning down to collect Hawks.

He pulls on Hawks' free arm to extend it and duck underneath, wrapping his own arm under the suit jacket and around the small of Hawks' back. He hoists Hawks up with a grunt. Hawks is still light and easy to maneuver but he's somehow even more of a dead weight than he had been before.

"Thank you," says Hawks quietly.

"Shut up," says Dabi.

Dabi restarts their slow, now slightly painful journey down the stairs. His right knee twinges at every step. His new hold on Hawks is much more secure, but it means he can feel the hero's every shallow breath against his neck. Dabi hasn't been this physically close to another human in a long time, and now he remembers why: other people are the fucking worst.

They reach the bottom of the stairs without any additional incidents, though Hawks' wings seem to be dragging even more than they had been.

The digital sign overhead informs him that the next train will arrive in seven minutes. Not bad for this time of night; at least they won't be waiting around for half an hour.

Ideally, Dabi would dump Hawks on a bench so he could take a mental—and physical—breather. Then he thinks about what a hassle it would be to get Hawks back up to standing again. Better to not risk it.

Hawks hasn't said anything since his quiet 'thank you' on the stairs and Dabi sure as hell doesn't have anything he wants to talk about. They stand together in sullen, awkward silence. He said he'd get Hawks home, and he will—but after that Hawks can choke on his own vomit for all Dabi cares.

Dabi figures they're on the same page with the 'not talking to each other' thing, but then Hawks inhales with clear intent. Dabi grimaces, bracing himself.

"It's just..." Hawks croaks, then has to clear his throat. "'s so fucking lame."

What's lame? Not knowing his own limits and getting so high he can't get himself home? Dabi agrees wholeheartedly, but he declines to say anything about it. Hawks doesn't take the hint.

"It's, y'know," he continues, then shrugs, but only one shoulder moves; his left. Did he wrench his right arm when he fell? "Usually there're other high rankers there... Takes some of the pressure off. Less crazy. This year, thanks to somebody," —Here, he swings his head to the left and glares weakly at Dabi—"'m Number Two. Like that means anything, god, what a mess. I just..." He frowns, contemplative. "Wasn't thinkin', I guess. I us'lly know better."

Hawks says that kind of shit all the time; oh, woe is me, Number Two hero in all the land, boo-fucking-hoo. Must be rough to make a shit ton of money and have adoring fans everywhere you go. This is the first time the complaint has sounded like anything other than a humble brag, but it still pisses Dabi off. What, too many people at the party ruining his vibe so he had to do some drugs to get it back? Dabi will never understand these assholes.

Dabi hears the train before he sees it, the static of heavy rumbling and the chk chk chk of metal wheels on metal rails. The overhead speaker announces the arrival of the train as it slides into place and comes to a stop. The doors slide open. Dabi drags himself and his now-silent dead weight on board and heads for the back of the car.

Now that they're on the train, he can finally stop holding Hawks up. He dumps Hawks onto a cushioned bench more roughly than is really necessary. Hawks grunts but otherwise doesn't complain. Dabi sits down next to him a short distance away, staying just close enough that he can stop Hawks from falling over if it comes to that. Every part of him that had been plastered to Hawks feels cold. Dabi crosses his arms and stares sullenly off into the middle distance.

Their car is not as empty as Dabi would like. A pair of high school girls whisper and glance between Dabi and Hawks suspiciously; an unblinking middle-aged woman a little further down wears a death glare; an old man at the other end of the car can't stop fiddling nervously with his cane. Then there are the scattered handful of drunken salarymen, but they're too wrapped up in their own misery to pay attention to anything else.

The middle-aged woman smacks a salaryman and gestures jerkily in Dabi and Hawks' direction. The group of them, dazed and heavily intoxicated, sober up enough to glare accusingly in his direction. Dabi watches with alarm as they all start to remove their ties. The old man scoots to the edge of her chair. One of the teenage girls not-so-secretly starts recording them with her phone while the other reaches slowly into her purse.

What the actual fuck. Are these random train passengers about to try and fight him? When the hell civilians get proactive?

He and Hawks had received several glances and a few outright stares on their way here, but of course they had. That's what happens when you're lugging around three meters of useless, bright red wingspan.

Hawks would be painfully recognizable even if they weren't in Fukuoka, Hawks' literal base of operations. That's why Dabi wore the mask and the hood. What he hadn't accounted for was being trapped in close quarters with a bunch of antsy civilians itching to smack down their good Samaritan cards and take their local hero back from the clutches of the suspicious man dressed in black.

Dabi considers his options. He could always just light the place up, Hawks be damned, but fighting in close quarters like this isn't ideal. It's less about if he could and more about how much oxygen would be left to breathe afterwards. Even if he could make it out of the train car, then what? They're in an underground tunnel. There's only so much air to go around.

So where does that leave him? Hand to hand combat?

Screw that. Maybe if he can time it right, he can wait until the train starts to slow down, throw Hawks at them as a distraction, and then escape right as the doors open for the next stop. If they decide to come for him before that, though—

Hawks’ knee bumps against his, and Dabi looks over just in time to see Hawks' arm swinging clumsily towards his face. He ducks mostly out of the way, but Hawks' knuckles still scrape against his triple helix piercing, which in turn jabs painfully against the skin behind his ear.

"What the hell," Dabi hisses. "Get off." He'd shove Hawks away himself if he weren't convinced any sudden movement would cause the crowd to tip over into a mob.

Hawks leans over to lay a loud, exaggerated kiss against Dabi's medical mask-covered cheek. Dabi's eyes go wide.

"Thanks f'r pickin' me up, baby," Hawks says loudly, slurring more obviously than he had been a few minutes ago.

Dabi struggles to stay upright as Hawks leans heavy against his side, but he finds himself frozen when a puff of breath and soft skin brushes against his stinging ear.

"They still lookin'?" Hawks mutters, low and directly into the side of his neck, and that's when Dabi catches on.

He's surprised Hawks noticed the situation unfolding around them, given his current state. His chosen solution to their problem is embarrassing, but much less dramatic than anything Dabi had in mind.

Dabi risks a glance at Hawks' would-be rescuers only to find that every one of them has settled back into their seat. The only stares left are curious instead of hostile. The pair of teenagers burst out into giggles and begin sneaking unsubtle pictures with their phones.

"They're still looking," confirms Dabi, "but they're not gonna do anything about it. You're definitely ending up in tomorrow's papers, now."

"Yeah, well," Hawks says before thumping his forehead onto Dabi's shoulder. Dabi's breath catches in his throat, and he stiffens. "Imma... close my eyes for a bit..."

Hawks' hair smells clean and a bit like sunshine. If Dabi had more feeling in his neck, would he be able to feel Hawks' lashes flutter shut?

"Don't fall asleep," Dabi hears himself warn automatically. His own voice sounds strange and far away. Sure, he'd physically lugged the dumb bird all the way to the train station, but there's a world of difference between that proximity and this proximity. Dabi's finding it oddly hard to think.

Oh shit. Oh hell no, is this going to be a whole thing? Is this going to be a problem?

No, Dabi tells himself firmly, it's not. There is no thing. He won't let there be.

"I know," grouses Hawks. The words hit Dabi's neck as an exhale, and he suppresses a shiver.

Fuck.

The train ride isn't a long one, but every second drags by. Dabi is hyper-aware of Hawks' weight on his shoulder, strands of blond hair brushing against his chin, and the undue attention of the entire car.

Arriving at the stop for Hawks' apartment is nothing short of divine providence. Dabi doesn't bother shaking Hawks awake before looping an arm around his back and hoisting him up so they can get out of there as quickly as possible.

As the train doors close behind them, Hawks mumbles something and his eyes flutter open. The way he looks up at Dabi, tired and confused and open, twists something in Dabi's gut.

"Oh," mutters Hawks, head slumping forward again, "right."

Hawks is more stable after his short nap, but no more able to support himself. Dabi counts his own panting breaths as he lugs Hawks to the station exit. Just a little more, he tells himself, unduly exhausted. Just a little more and then you can pretend this never happened.

Luckily, Hawks' place isn't too far from the station. There really isn't far to go, now, and the streets are largely devoid of people so they make their way without disruption.

A block away from Hawks' apartment, they pass a McDonald's.

The thing is, Dabi has (illicitly) been to Hawks' apartment. All the idiot had in his refrigerator was a half-used bottle of ketchup and a molding loaf of bread. He can't imagine conditions on that front have improved. Dabi's exerted a lot of effort over the last hour, and he's hungry.

Dabi props Hawks up against a wall, holding him up with one hand pinning his shoulder to the brick, and goes fishing through his pockets for a wallet.

"Kinky," Hawks says, but whether it's sarcastic or flirty is lost in the thick drowsiness of his tone.

The wallet isn't Hawks' jacket or front pants pockets. It must be in his back pocket.

Dabi wedges a knee between Hawks' legs to keep him stable and wraps his arm around Hawks' back in a loose embrace to keep him upright. He refuses to feel awkward about it, even when he palms at Hawks' ass with his free hand, feeling around for the wallet. It can hardly be counted as sexual harassment if Hawks doesn't have an ass.

He comes across a flat, solid square in the back left pocket, but the small opening and the awkward angle makes pulling it out more of a challenge than it should be.

In the long seconds it takes Dabi to work the wallet free, Hawks' breath hits hot against his neck in a shallow but even tempo and he slumps further into Dabi's chest. Dabi can feel a flush working its way up in the way his eyes get hot. Hawks smells faintly of sweat and expensive cologne. It rushes straight to Dabi's head and sends it spinning.

Despite his best intentions, the implications of their position hits him all at once. Anyone looking at them right now would think they were making out against the wall—at a minimum. Dabi's heart rate kicks up at the thought. It's ludicrous. It would never happen. But after Hawks' stunt on the train, he can't get it out of his head. The warm line of Hawks pressed against him, head tucked into Dabi's neck. The way he'd gotten heavier and heavier against Dabi's side as he'd drifted further into unconsciousness. They're facing each other now. With his arms around Hawks and their legs pressed together, it would be easy, so, so easy to lean down and—

The wallet slips free of the pocket and Dabi snaps back to awareness. He hurries to detach himself from Hawks, horrified at himself. Hawks looks sleepy and resigned. There's nothing in his expression to indicate he picked up on Dabi's line of thought. Nothing to indicate he'd been thinking anything of the sort from his end, despite their closeness.

It's a well-needed reality check that nothing is ever going to happen between them.

"Stay here," Dabi orders. His voice comes out unsteady, and he clears his throat trying to cover it up.

Hawks nods, not bothering to look up. He says, "'kay," even as he starts sliding down the wall.

Dabi watches warily, ready to intervene in case he takes a nosedive towards the concrete, but Hawks slumps almost gracefully to sitting. His eyes slip shut. Dabi forces himself to turn and walk away, not wanting to risk sticking around the pathetic temptation that is Hawks when he looks so vulnerable and soft and human.

There are no other customers inside the McDonalds at this time of night. Dabi pulls money from Hawks' wallet—Endeavor themed. He should burn the damn thing—and uses it to buy four burgers and two large fries. He considers getting chicken nuggets, but he knows Hawks would like that and can't bring himself to be that nice. He's already past his quota for the day. If Hawks wanted chicken nuggets, then he shouldn't have gotten himself so fucked up that he couldn't buy them himself.

As he's waiting off to the side of the counter for his order, his pocket buzzes. He pulls out his phone to find he's missed a dozen or so texts from Toga. Most of them are from when he first started ignoring her, but a few are from just a second ago. He opens up Line and skims past most of her whining.

i can't find those pictures anywhere where did you get them
daabbiiii
im looking on literally all the gossip sites and there's NOTHING did he send you those??
wait did you TAKE those
dabi are you with pro hero hawks right now?? 11pm on a school night????
were you his date to the ogino gala????

But then, in the most recent text, she says:

HOLY SHIT YOU TOTALLY WERE

It's followed by a series of low quality images. All of them feature Hawks in a train car in the same gray suit he's wearing now, slumped next to a suspicious looking man in a black coat with the hood pulled up, a medical mask, and—oh hell. That's him. How are pictures already circulating? How does Toga of all people have them?

Fuck. Nothing he can do about it now. He shuts off the display and puts his phone back in his pocket without replying.

His order comes up, packaged neatly into two bags. Dabi grabs them both with one hand and stalks out of the building.

Hawks is exactly where Dabi left him. If it weren't for the giant pair of bright red wings, he'd look exactly like every other drunk salaryman, passed out as he is against the brick wall in his rumpled suit. As Dabi draws closer, his ears catch on Hawks' breathing—too heavy and deliberate to be asleep.

Dabi shoves the bags of food underneath one arm and bends down to thread his other arm underneath Hawks' armpit and around his back to pull him up off the ground. Hawks' eyelids flutter open. He seems to struggle to focus on Dabi, even though he's right in front of him.

"Oh hey," Hawks mumbles, eyes falling shut again. "You didn't ditch me.”

"A lotta faith in me, huh?"

"Mm."

Dabi doesn't know what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't ask.

He grunts as struggles to maneuver Hawks' arm around his shoulders. It's harder than it was earlier, now that Hawks is more out of it, more limp. Hawks huffs a laugh and leans into him, and Dabi does his best to not think about the way it feels like trust.

By the time they make it to Hawks' front door, Dabi is sweating all over and he badly needs a drink of water. His body is no longer built for extended physical effort of any kind, even if Hawks only weighs like 50 kilos. His staples pull with a dull aching pain against his skin and he would like to sit down, or maybe take a nice, long bath.

"Keys?" he asks.

Hawks doesn't answer, and Dabi looks down. His eyes are closed. Dabi shakes him, and he grunts.

"Hawks. Keys," Dabi says again.

With the arm that's not around Dabi's shoulder, Hawks pats clumsily against his front pants pocket. Dabi knows from recent experience there's nothing there. "Ah, crap. I don't..." He trails off. "Screw it."

Something darts underneath the door and a few seconds later the lock clicks. Hawks reaches for the handle, misses, and Dabi bats his second attempt away to do it himself.

Once inside, he lets the door swing shut on itself. He tightens his hold on Hawks while he shifts from one foot to the other to kick off his boots, then uses his foot to kick them into the corner where they'll be out of the way. Finally, he leans Hawks against the wall.

Hawks starts slumping in on himself immediately, so that isn't going to work. Dabi's hands dart out by themselves to latch on to Hawks' upper arms and help direct his descent to the lip of the entryway. Once seated, Hawks slumps sideways against the wall, but seems relatively stable.

Dabi crouches to untie Hawks' fancy black shoes. To his credit, Hawks makes an effort to shift his weight to one side to help facilitate the shoe removal, but it's barely any movement at all.

Hawks is too tired, too out of it. His physical state is deteriorating. Even sitting down he sways like it's difficult to support himself.

This isn't crack, or pot, or a dozen other drugs Dabi has seen addicts react to. This is something else. Dabi's not saying he's worried, but.

"What was it?" Dabi asks. A beat later he remembers to clarify. "The drug."

Hawks shrugs with one shoulder again, but this time Dabi wonders if it might be due to a lack of motor control. He tries not to be annoyed by the lack of response, but fucking hell. If Hawks won't say what drugs he took, how is Dabi supposed to know what reactions are within expectation? How will he know if he should have dropped Hawks off in front of a hospital?

"This isn't a fucking game, Hawks. Just tell me."

"Can't," Hawks says simply. The single word drags out of him like he's too tired to form more of them, but Dabi is going to need him to.

"What do you mean 'can't'?"

"I dunno," Hawks says.

Dabi sighs, drawn out and angry. Why does Hawks have to make everything so difficult? "You don't know—"

But Hawks doesn't sound like he's trying to be difficult. He doesn't sound like he's trying to lie, or avoid answering. All evening he's been talking backwards nonsense. Dabi had written off as part of his altered state of mind, but... The inconsistencies have been adding up, one by one, and suddenly they all click together.

What if Hawks isn't dodging the question?

"Hawks," Dabi says slowly, "how did you take the drug? Was it a tab? A needle?"

Hawks shrugs again. "'Was in my drink, I think." He huffs a laugh. "Drink. Think. That... rhymes."

In his—in his drink?

Fuck. Fuck, was Hawks fucking roofied?

Now the feeling twisting in his gut can't be mistaken for anything other than guilt. Several incongruencies slot into place all at once, and Dabi is used to being an asshole but he isn't used to feeling like one. The way he'd yelled at Hawks earlier, the way he'd almost left him on those train station stairs—god damn it.

There's nothing to be done for it now. If Hawks was drugged, if someone else did it, that explains the exhaustion. It's an intended side-effect, not a result of an overdose. Hopefully. Assuming whoever drugged Hawks had some idea of what they were doing.

What the fuck was someone intending to do? Get Hawks weak and sleepy and vulnerable like this and... take advantage?

God, Dabi wants to go home already. Empathy is fucking exhausting.

Well, Hawks hasn't passed out yet. Dabi can still try to get some food and water into him, maybe toss him into bed. Then he can wash his hands of this entire ridiculous evening.

He kneels in between Hawks legs, wanting to get Hawks out of his jacket while he's sitting down. Maybe he should have considered how close it would put them, how suggestive the positioning would be—but dwelling on that won't get Hawks' jacket off any quicker. Hawks is too out of it to have any opinions on the matter. As long as Dabi doesn't make it weird, it won't be weird.

Dabi doesn't look at Hawks' face as he slides his hands under the fabric of his gray suit jacket to push it from his shoulders. At the current angle the fabric is stretched too tight, and he has to tug Hawks forward so he can maneuver an arm out of a sleeve.

Clearly, he should have thought that through. Hawks can barely support himself as is, and his forehead makes heavy contact with the crook of Dabi's neck. Dabi freezes.

It's painfully intimate. Hawks is leaning bodily against him and Dabi's hand looped around his back under his suit jacket. Hawks' arm bumps against his stomach and fingers grip at the hem of his shirt, and it's probably just for purchase but Dabi can't help but feel like it's on purpose, like Hawks wants to be here. His heart thumps painfully hard inside his chest, flooding his ears with maybe, maybe, maybe.

There's a wet pressure against his collar bone, but Dabi's brain can't be bothered to pay attention to it with everything else that's going on. At least, not until the pressure shifts, and Dabi's higher thought processing phases out for a stuttering two seconds as he realizes what it is. It's Hawks' mouth. Hawks' lips are against his skin. Hawks is—kissing him.

Dabi grabs the back of Hawks' shirt and yanks him back. Their eyes meet for a brief moment—Hawks' are bright with intent and more aware than Dabi would have expected—before Hawks cups his jaw, tilts his head up, and presses their lips together.

Dabi jerks away.

"What are you doing?" he tries to demand, but his voice comes out weak. He can't think. He can't catch his breath. He wants to—he doesn't know what he wants, but he's sure this isn't right.

Hawks looks at him again, expression calm and blank. Dabi can't make sense of it. Hawks' hand is still on his face, thumb stroking a patch of undamaged skin on his cheek.

"'s what you wanted, right?" Hawks says, his soothing, matter-of-fact tone at odds with his words.

Dabi feels as though he's been struck, and he burns with the embarrassment of being caught out in his unwilling attraction. Apparently he'd been so obvious that Hawks had been able to notice it even while drugged out of his mind.

"'s'okay," Hawks continues in that awful, understanding voice. "You can." He leans in again, but this time Dabi has the presence of mind to put a hand to his chest and hold him at a distance.

"I'm—" Dabi says, and then he has to swallow because his mouth is so dry. "I don't want to."

Hawks looks him in the eye, hard and sure. "You do. I know you do." He says the words with such certainty that Dabi is mortified all over again.

"I don't," Dabi insists more strongly.

Hawks still looks doubtful, but he shrugs weakly. "I'd rather you do it while 'm still awake, but okay."

"I'm not going to!" Dabi snaps, reeling, rocking back on his heels.

But what's to stop him?

You're not a rapist pervert, is what, says a voice in the back of his head.

But Hawks had offered. It's not like Dabi is the one who drugged him. It's not like Dabi was the one to initiate. He'd barely have to do anything at all, just tell Hawks he changed his mind, lean forward, and—

Fuck, he hates himself for even considering it. No. He's not doing it.

He stands so he's looking down on Hawks; so he can feel like he's in control, so he can distance himself from Hawks mouth— "Get up," he demands, and Hawks blinks up at him slowly. Shit. That's right.

Dabi sighs angrily and grabs Hawks' upper arm to hauls him to standing. Hawks' free arm fumbles at the wall, trying to support himself. When he looks like he's got it, Dabi lets go. He can't bear to touch Hawks more than absolutely necessary right now. He grabs the bags of food from the floor and marches to the dining table without looking back.

He dumps the bags' contents onto the table, not caring that fries spill free of their containers. Then he sits down and busies himself with tearing open one of the burgers, focusing on that instead of Hawks' slow lumbering shuffle towards the nearest kitchen chair. Hawks fumbles with the chair, struggling to pull it out from the table, and Dabi shoves half the burger in his mouth in an effort to look like he doesn't care.

When Hawks finally manages to sit down, he slumps back in the chair and heaves a great and weary sigh. Several seconds pass without Hawks making a grab for any of the food. Dabi begrudgingly pushes half of it closer to Hawks' side of the table.

It takes another minute before Hawks even looks at the food, and when he does he just sits there glaring at the burger like it's personally wronged him. Finally, he reaches towards yellow wrapping. It's like watching a recording in slow motion.

Dabi doesn't even pretend not to be staring as Hawks pulls at the edges of the wrapping with both hands. It's like he can't get a good grip. He'll catch a bit of the paper between his fingers, but when he moves his hand away the wrapping doesn't follow.

This process repeats itself four times before Dabi can't take it anymore.

"God, just—give me that," he says, leaning over the table to take the burger. He unwraps one half of it, folding the wrapper back on itself, and then puts it back in front of Hawks. "There."

There's a begrudging pause before Hawks mutters, "...Thanks."

He moves slowly, so slowly, to pick up the half-wrapped burger with both hands. It's a clear struggle to do so, and he almost drops it. Then it's in front of his mouth, and he moves it towards his face—and it must not go like he expects it to, because he startles and pulls his hands back. There's a spot of red on the tip of his nose, and before Dabi can think better of it, he laughs. Hawks glances in his direction to glare briefly before trying again. This time he hits his lower lip before adjusting and clamping his teeth around bread. He gnaws at it ineffectually, eyelids drooping. Chuckling, Dabi finishes his own burger in a few bites and starts in on the fries.

A handful of seconds later, Hawks lowers the burger down to the table. Thinking he wants fries, Dabi slides one of the small bags across the table to him. A few tumble loose from the container, stopping near Hawks' hands.

Hawks doesn't move to pick them up.

When Dabi finishes his own container of fries and bothers to look up properly, Hawks' head is tilted down towards the table. His bangs obscure his face, but his eyebrows are knit together.

"What?" asks Dabi, but Hawks doesn't deign to answer. "You're so picky." Dabi rolls his eyes and fishes another container of fries from the bag. "You don't get to choose the food when you can't even buy it yourself."

Hawks lets out a quiet, shaky exhale, and Dabi looks up again. This time, he notices a strangely shiny patch on Hawks' skin. The patch spreads downwards as if pulled by gravity—and Dabi realizes it's a tear track.

"Are you crying?" Dabi asks incredulously.

Hawks sniffs, then warbles a weak, "No."

"Why the fuck are you crying?"

"Don't yell at me!" Hawks cries, using the cuffs of his sleeves to rub clumsily at his leaking eyes. "'m not crying!"

"Jesus. I came and got you, I brought you home, I fed you—what the fuck do you have to cry about?" Dabi feels his throat strain with the words, and realizes he is, in fact, yelling. The words sound familiar in an uncomfortable way, and it takes them a moment to place them. It's the exact sort of thing Enji would say, and had said often to his children; to his wife. The knowledge that he's someone capable of saying something like that, even if the person he's saying it to is Hawks, settles unpleasantly under his skin.

A single hiccup breaks through Hawks' struggling inhales, and he hunches into himself.

Shit. Just like always, just like Enji, he'd managed to make things worse. God fucking damn it.

Hawks is disturbingly quiet about the whole affair. Dabi knows exactly why he learned to cry silently, when he could physically produce tears. Applying the same logic to Hawks makes Dabi deeply uncomfortable.

"Is this because I didn't get you chicken nuggets?" Dabi demands.

Hawks presses the back of his hand to his mouth and lets out a smothered, broken sob, and Dabi swears. He takes a deep breath. The tears make him irrationally irritated, but he is not his father. He is not his father.

So Hawks is being annoying and emotional; so what? Figure out what the problem is. Don't get mad about it, asshole.

Dabi stands and grabs Hawks' wallet from the table. "I'll go get your stupid chicken nuggets, okay?" he says, struggling to keep his voice calm and at a normal decibel. Now that he's made himself calm down, Hawks’ tears feel distinctly like his fault. Once again, he feels like shit. He just has to make this right so Hawks will stop crying and they can both forget this ever happened.

As he skirts around the table to head for the front door, Hawks' hand shoots out latches around his wrist. It's damp. Dabi doesn't pull away, but he does grimace.

"It's—" Hiccup. "It's not about—" Another hiccup. "—the chicken nuggets."

Dabi looks at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, and wonders how, exactly, he ended up in this position.

"Okay," Dabi says as calmly as he can manage. "Are you sure? Because I can go get chicken nuggets." A beat later he forces himself to add, "I don't mind."

Hawks shakes his head. He's staring at the ground, but his face is all scrunched up and tears are still dripping down his chin.

There's still a spot of ketchup on his nose.

With his free hand, Dabi snags a napkin from the table and swipes at the spot. Hawks startles but otherwise doesn't react. Dabi folds the dirtied napkin over on itself, and, figuring he's already here, wipes at the rest of Hawks' face, mopping up the messy tears. It helps only marginally because water continues to fall in a steady stream from Hawks' eyes.

"Come on, stop crying," Dabi says impatiently, grabbing another napkin to start again.

"Don't tell me what to do," Hawks warbles. His face scrunches up.

Dabi has a split second to realize that his night is about to get a hell of a lot worse before Hawks is ducking his head down to press his forehead against Dabi's stomach.

Shit. Well. Okay.

Dabi accepts his fate with a long-suffering sigh and discards the wet napkin onto the table. After a moment of hesitation, he drops his hovering hand to the back of Hawks' head. Hawks inhales raggedly.

"Fine," Dabi says. "Dehydrate yourself for all I care."

"I will," Hawks mumbles into his shirt, because even drugged up and crying he's a contrary asshole.

In short order, Hawks' tears bleed through Dabi's thin shirt and the skin of his stomach grows uncomfortably damp. There's a slight, persistent tremor to Hawks' shoulders, and the tears don't seem to be stopping any time soon. Not knowing what else to do with his hands but not wanting to make things worse, Dabi tentatively cards his fingers through unsurprisingly soft blond hair. He feels like he should say something comforting, but no words come to mind.

It's hard to say how long he stands there, awkwardly petting Hawks. At some point, Hawks' breath hitches and he says in almost a whisper, "I'm tired."

He certainly sounds it. The exhaustion and barely concealed sadness in his voice does something twisty and uncomfortable to Dabi's chest. He's been touching Hawks for so long that it feels natural to squeeze the back of Hawks' neck and stroke the skin behind his ear with his thumb. A second later he realizes what he's doing, how intimate and disgustingly gentle it is, and awkwardly pulls his hand back.

Embarrassed, but reasonably sure Hawks won't notice, Dabi clears his throat and pretends nothing is wrong. "Come on then," he says gruffly, and pulls Hawks up by the armpits like a child.

Hawks stumbles to standing and leans against Dabi's chest, hair tickling the side of Dabi's face. He's dead weight, but it's comforting, somehow.

Dabi lugs a nearly unconscious Hawks into the bedroom and deposits him onto the bed. Hawks stays upright for a valiant few seconds before slouching into himself and slumping onto the mattress. Dabi helps his feet up and feels distinctly like he should pull the covers over Hawks, except Hawks is laying on top of them.

"Hey," Dabi says, even though Hawks' eyes are closed, because he realizes he never did get an answer. "Why did you call me?"

They aren't friends. Dabi wouldn't even consider them allies. If he'd been out and fucked up and needed help, Hawks wouldn't have even made the list.

He waits for Hawks to answer him for so long that he starts to feel awkward just standing there, staring down at Hawks, who has likely already passed out. But then Hawks inhales with intent and his lips part.

"Accident," Hawks mumbles, huffing a quiet laugh. "I was tryin' to..." He trails off, and when he picks back up it's not in the same place. "Didn't want the Commission t'know."

"Thanks for clearing that up for me," Dabi says dryly.

"Mm," says Hawks, and then he falls silent. His next breath is deeper, and his face is smooth and free of tension.

Asleep, Dabi realizes. He's finally fallen asleep.

Dabi leaves the room and closes the door behind him as quietly as he can.

When Dabi wakes, it's to a cold, dangerous voice saying, "Dabi."

He cracks open his eyes and glances across the room. The ceiling and walls are the wrong color at the wrong angles, and they shift and meld with what his brain expected him to see. A second later, he spots Hawks standing in the doorway to the bedroom and Dabi remembers where he is.

Hawks bares his teeth, more threat than smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

It's too early for this. Dabi groans, flopping his arm over his eyes. "Why do you think? I missed the last train by a mile, asshole." And Ujiko must have gone to bed, or maybe he was just annoyed enough that he stopped answering Dabi's texts. There was physically no way to walk to Deika from here, and he didn't have the cash for a hotel.

"Explain to me how that equals breaking into my apartment."

Dabi moves his arm enough to looks Hawks up and down judgmentally. He doesn't say anything for long enough that Hawks' jaw clenches and his wings give an agitated twitch.

The bags under Hawks' eyes are deep and purple, and his face is a little too pale. He's standing at an odd angle like he's struggling to keep himself upright, but his eyes are sharp and aware and angry. Dabi has no doubt Hawks is preparing to fight him, if necessary. Which, rude.

Sighing, Dabi sits up and runs his hand through his hair. He could use a shower, but with the way Hawks is acting that seems unlikely to happen. "That's a funny way to say thank you."

Hawks' expression doesn't give anything away, but the pause before he next speaks is a bit longer than normal. "You'd better start making sense before I stop feeling so hospitable."

Dabi hadn't accounted for Hawks having a total blackout of the previous night's events, but it makes sense. It's sort of funny to think anything could have happened and Hawks wouldn't remember it. Guess that's what roofies are for.

Shit, that thought was a mistake. His chest twinges with guilt for something he hadn't even done. Dabi barely feels anything over the people he's killed, but when he thinks about Hawks last night, about what might have happened if Dabi hadn't shown up...

Maybe it's better this way. There's a lot of shit from last night he'd rather forget. If Hawks already doesn't remember, then that makes it easy. Hawks wants him out? Fine. He'll leave.

But at the same time, he can't just let Hawks' assumptions about him lay.

"You called me, dumbass," Dabi snaps. "You're welcome, by the way." Dabi's not charitable on the best of days, but being woken up at the first crack of morning after only a handful of hours of sleep? Fuck that.

There's a second where Hawks' eyes are wide and his mouth works without making any sounds. Then he finds his voice and says, "Are you actually insane? Why the hell would I call you?"

His eyes dart wildly around the room like he expects the rest of the League to be hiding there. It pisses Dabi off, even if in any other circumstance it would be completely in character for a villain.

"Check your fucking phone records then." Dabi pushes himself off the couch and stands up. When Hawks doesn't immediately attack him, he wanders into the kitchen. Here's hoping Hawks at least has some instant coffee powder for that fancy-ass coffee maker of his.

The fancy-ass coffee maker already has coffee in it. Dabi isn't sure how long it's been there, but there's a Keep Warm button, and it's lit up. He opens three different horrifically empty cupboards before he finds one with mugs in it. He pours himself a cup and at the sharp smell of it alone, his brain works a little faster.

He thinks about drinking it as is, scalding hot, just to prove a point. The problem is, Hawks isn't looking at him. He's too busy poring over his phone. Dabi watches his fingers flip through several applications like he's looking for proof that Dabi is lying. It's kind of fun watching the color drain from his face.

Dabi takes a noisy slurp of coffee just to be annoying—maybe to try and get Hawks' attention, god he's pathetic—and grimaces at the taste. It's incredibly bitter. However long it had been sitting on Hawks' counter, it was too long.

"Why—" says Hawks, voice cracking. Dabi focuses his attention, but Hawks gets quiet, like he's talking to himself. "Why did I do that?"

Dabi shrugs. Then, because Hawks isn't looking at him, he says, "You didn't specify." Hawks doesn't acknowledge him, just keeps on looking down at his phone, horrified. The memory of Hawks crying into his shirt is still fresh in his mind, and that's probably why Dabi takes pity. "Look, nothing happened. You were in a bad way so I helped you get home after your fancy-ass party. You're fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Hawks' head snaps up to look at him, his eyes wild.

"What?" says Dabi, defensively.

"Why the hell are you being nice to me?"

"I'm not," Dabi denies automatically, and then realizes he is. Shit. He slams his half-drunk mug of terrible coffee on the counter and marches the few paces into the dining room to grab his coat. "I'm leaving. Make sure you drink some water or something."

Hawks gapes. "Drink some water?"

Shit. "I mean,"—Come on, backpedal, he can fix this—"you didn't really eat anything last night, and—" Shit, he's doing it again. He says the first thing that comes to mind that might knock Hawks as off balance as he feels. "Hit me up later if you were serious about that offer to make out."

There's a long pause.

Hawks actually calms down and gives him a hard look. "You're lying." Dabi's heart rate slows, and he's feeling fairly confident when he raises an eyebrow. "Tell me you're lying," Hawks insists, face taking on a pink tinge.

They both stand motionless, hovering at the newfound impasse. Hawks' wings grow steadily fluffier and Dabi enjoys the feeling of having successfully tipped the balance in his favor. Hawks looks like he's again considering attacking Dabi, and honestly? Good. At least then Hawks won't mistake him for nice anymore.

They're spared from the inevitable fallout by a loud buzz that startles them both. It turns out to be Hawks' other phone, which is sitting on the table, vibrating against the wood. Hawks grabs it, takes one look, and blanches.

"Oh, god," Hawks says weakly. "We made the news."

Dabi feels his heart stop for all of two seconds. Then he remembers the pictures Toga sent him last night. He laughs.

"You can't blame me for that one. You were the one being all clingy."

Dabi doesn't feel gracious enough to mention that it was to get the oddly threatening civilians off their backs.

"And you just let me?" Hawks demands.

Shit. He fell right into that one.

Dabi looks away, hoping the heat on his face is obscured enough by his scars, shrugs on his jacket.

Then he realizes the right response, and turns to Hawks, smiling. "Like I said," he says sweetly, "let me know if you still want to make out later."

Hawks face turns bright red and he uses a handful of well-placed feathers to shove Dabi out of the apartment. Dabi laughs the entire time, even as the door slams behind him. Pleased, he brushes himself off and whistles an off-key, happy tune all the way down the too-many flights of stairs.

Hours later when he's back at the base and fending off a hundred annoying questions from Toga, he gets a text. The contact name on the notification says "birdbrain", and if Dabi's heart skips a beat over it, well. He'd never admit to it, which is basically the same as if it never happened.

you're an asshole
but thanks for whatever you did last night

Dabi rolls his eyes and texts back,

I'm the asshole? You're the one who got so messed up he couldn't even walk

He intends to leave it there, hoping Hawks is embarrassed. Dabi is embarrassed. He can only hope they never talk about this ever again.

The problem is, he still hasn't managed to shake the gross, soft feeling after seeing Hawks cry last night. His fingers tingle at the memory of petting through Hawks' hair, and his chest goes tight when he inadvertently remembers how warm and heavy and solid Hawks had been leaning against him. And that horrible, awful kiss. He doesn't want to think about it but he can't stop thinking about it, about how it might have gone if Hawks hadn't been drugged out of his mind and trying to pay off some imagined debt.

God, he can only hope he gets over whatever the fuck this is soon. Hawks is too much of an asshole, not to mention too much of a goddamn hero.

Grimacing, and before he can change his mind, he tacks on,

But you're welcome