Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s all so infuriatingly obvious to him. A lie resting just beneath a veneer those who buy could never hope to crack through and involve themselves into the thick of it, and those who scrutinise simply have to come a little closer to get a glimpse of what’s hidden. Dabi has an eye for these things, you know? He sees. He observes. He catches on everything. His obsessive disposition has made him vigilant and a good read of character. If he hates something hard enough, he’s bound to learn everything about it eventually. And he could tell, from the moment those boots hit the pavement of that backstreet and ruby plumage invaded his vision from that sudden fall from the skies, that Hawks moves through life like the world is going to explode tomorrow.

The average person wouldn’t be able to see what Dabi sees. Hawks is fast, but careless. He’s engaged, but relaxed. He’s strong, but he’s taking it easy. Dabi sees it in the way his gold-plate eyes shift quickly. He sees it in the way he steps restlessly. Hawks drawls his words, but all Dabi notices is how his thoughts run endlessly behind his eyeballs. He slouches in his seat and spreads his knees, but his thighs are tense under his pants. He smiles stupidly in conversation, but when he turns away, his expression falls into hardened severity and this blank, bird-like stare.

Dabi has never met someone so outwardly disingenuous in his entire life and so secretly invested in competing with time itself.

He’d done his assessment of Hawks fairly quickly, not even in a day after their first meeting. Joining the League? Meeting the boss? Supporting the cause? Out of the damn question. Dabi was the most unforthcoming of them all and even he was more transparent and devoted. No amount of patrol schedules and inmate information could convince him that Hawks wants this. He’s too bright. Too hopeful. Too obvious to someone like Dabi. All this means is that he’s desperate, or whoever holds his leash is barking out ruthless commands he can’t refuse.

Hawks is just another peon in his grand plan. The question is: can Dabi keep wringing him out for more information without giving him anything in return? It seems the answer is no. And he’d been fine with that – the hero would become ash before he becomes a liability, but then he had to go and buddy up with none other than the sole pro outranking him. Dabi would be a liar if he said he didn’t feel sick seeing him fall into step with Endeavor in the streets. Jealousy… Should’ve been him in Hawks’ shoes. Should’ve been him, winning over his father’s favour and fighting alongside him. Instead, his own flesh and blood couldn’t recognise him, even though his heart pounded hard at the thought of finally facing him for the first time in a decade. It hurt in ways Dabi couldn’t possibly describe.

So, now, it’s personal. Now, Dabi won’t be happy with simply burning Hawks to death once he does reach that delicious line where the hero speaks with urgency instead of that measured, ice-cold tenure of someone who must have been broken and rebuilt young to be able to handle this mission of his. Oh, no. Now, he needs to wreck him in any way he possibly can. Has to bring him right up to that line, before letting him in, when it’s already too late. When Hawks would be helpless with his hands tied.

The side effect of that is that Dabi has been spending too much of his time with him. It’s hard to avoid idle chatter when they frequently have to sit in each other’s presence. Usually, he can ignore even the loudest people without problem, but Hawks has a way of demanding the attention be on him at all costs. Dabi regrets that he has been getting to know him – his veneer, he means, and getting to know him with his underwear stuck around his ankles too.

He’s not proud of himself for that, but you know, he’s only human after all. Sex was never of significant interest to him, and he can’t say he has much experience either, but even he admits that maybe not having to cum into his own fist sometimes is pretty alright. Besides, he likes the feel of Hawks’ sheets against his skin. There are no stray threads that catch onto his staples and there are no questionable stains littering his mattress.

He finds himself like so this late afternoon, following a quick rest – naked, his head sinking into a large, overstuffed pillow, bare shoulder brushing his scarred cheek and his fingers curled into the wrinkled up fitted sheet that had detached itself from one corner of the mattress and bunched up around its elastic.

Hawks’ spine curves as he rises from the godly fluff of duvets and Dabi watches in disengaged interest as the hero’s back muscles contract with the roll of his shoulders, a tantalising motion that makes the line between his traps deepen and Dabi’s gums ache to have his teeth sink into his flesh. Yes. That’s all that it is. Disengaged interest. Hawks is nice to look at and he fucks him just right, but if tomorrow he presses a blade against his chest, Dabi wouldn’t be surprised or hurt.

Really.

He wouldn’t.

“You can let yourself out whenever you want. Just be stealthy,” Hawks tells him and Dabi sighs through his nose quietly as the hero’s diminished wings call for their discarded feathers with a small bend of their joints and another flex of his traps.

One by one, they come flying his way, reattaching themselves to their respective spots – a pair of growing carnations. God, what a vision, he is... Dabi wants to kiss and bite him all over and sink his nails into the plumage and brittle bones of his wings. Hawks would never let him. He would skewer him on the spot if he even tried, and he has. Dabi will never forget the pain that bloomed in his hand for as long as he has that white scar in the middle of his palm.

“And you?” he rasps inquisitively as his arms squeeze around the pillow and he nuzzles his face into it in an obvious sign of contentment.

The hero reaches for his underwear with a slide of his arm along the bed to grab it from where it’s hanging off. Once he snatches it up, he stands and Dabi tries to angle his head to get a better look at his ass and the way the band of the boxers catches on it as they slide over, but the large wings are blocking the view. Tsk.

Hawks still doesn’t look at him when he responds, “I’ve got the terrace, Dabi.”

He hates how fast he collects himself after sex. Dabi admits, he tires quickly. His stamina is low, yet, he takes far too long to cum. Too much on his mind to relax. Too fucked up either from pain or pain killers for pleasure to wash over. Hawks fucks him through it all anyway and Dabi takes it because he likes seeing him so human. So wanting. No façades. No pretences about heroism and justice. Just proof that like everyone else, he wants to get his fucking dick wet and get off. It makes him seem less unattainable, less like an idea, more like a person. 

Dabi lifts his head off the pillow after planting his hands flat against the mattress, his spine curving outwardly making abdominal muscles stretch. His black hair is hopelessly tussled, framing his face formlessly in sticky clumps, thanks to the melting hair gel in it.

“I meant, you’re leaving now?” he clarifies and one of his hands balls up into a fist before bringing his arm up in the air to stretch while his spine twists and one of his pierced, sharp hipbones extracts itself from the bed in his torso’s sluggish rotation.

“Yeah.” Hawks finally shoots him a look over his shoulder, then turns around to face him. “What? You wanna cuddle, Dabi?”

The hero quirks an eyebrow at him and gives him a quick once-over. Taunting. He’s not always this mean because for the most part, he wants something from Dabi. But when he’s done getting it, he’s no longer nice. Dabi doesn’t want him nice anyway. He wants him honest.

And desperate.

“No,” he says and his arm drops back down with a smack against his hollow hip.

Hawks follows the motion with his eyes and for a while, his gaze doesn’t move away. He’s looking for the vague, blotchy, red outlines of his handprints decorating the curve of Dabi’s ass. The villain begged him to not take his rings off this time and Hawks was a bit too eager to indulge him. Freak. Who would’ve thought Number Two likes hurting his fucks?

Dabi brings his knees up to get on all fours and crawls slowly towards the edge of the bed before Hawks even has the mind to move away. Too late. He has already sat on his calves in front of the hero.

“Wanna suck your dick before you leave, though,” he murmurs lowly and slides his hand – the one Hawks had stabbed – along the inside of his thigh, fitting the space between his thumb and index finger against the junction where his leg ends and his groin starts.

Hawks looks hesitant and there’s tension in his shifting, cut jaw, but he doesn’t move away. Dabi takes that as permission to keep going and puts his mouth over his crotch, exhaling hot air that makes Hawks’ wings quiver ever so slightly and a hand come up to hover behind his skull. Turquoise eyes slip up, mouth unmoving, obediently still, and he bats his white lashes at him slowly.

It’s not as seductive as he hopes it to be. Dabi knows he’s ugly. His scars take up a good majority of his body and when he uses his quirk, his skin unfailingly blisters and bubbles into a disgusting, red mess. Before Shigaraki levelled Deika city and the League gained immediate access to showers, the stench of smoke and burning flesh used to cling to his clothes, his hair, and the inability to keep his festering body clean had made him predisposed to infections around his stitched up seams and the open wounds left around his staples. He recognises how revolting it is. He recognises that he’ll probably never sleep with another person who doesn’t hesitate to touch him, who doesn’t close their eyes and gag at the texture of his scars. He has accepted that this is the body his burnt up soul resides in.

But it does it for the hero, evidently. Whatever it may be. People like him, heroes in high positions tend to have fetishes and desires around what they lack in their everyday life. Not always, but it’s a frequent enough phenomenon to take note of. If they have control, they’ll want to give it up. If they have to play nice, they’ll want to be rough. If they have to be put together, they’ll want to fall apart.

Maybe Hawks just needs to fuck somebody ugly because he’s so often surrounded by conventionally attractive bodies. He gets off on it. Dabi knows that for a fact because Hawks always folds him into positions that make his staples bend painfully in his meat and tear through his flesh. He likes it when they draw blood. He likes how Dabi could just about fall apart beneath him.

Or maybe there’s something else entirely. God knows Dabi doesn’t understand the first thing about him.

It’s embarrassingly validating having someone like Hawks want him so bad that a little heavy petting gets him excited. The hero is sick in the head. Anyone who wants to bed Dabi is, but Hawks in particular has been the worst of them all. To touch him with this confidence where Dabi’s body is deformed, to let Dabi’s own deadly hands run over the hero’s skin without wariness. Something has to be wrong up there.

Dabi turns his face to rub his cheek against the clothed cock in front of him performatively. Gives Hawks this placated, doe-eyed look, like he has become soft and malleable. Like he’s all his, all submission, all sweet and good and ready to listen. There’s a power to handing over control to Hawks. He only has it because Dabi is letting him. Because the hero is weak for this. Needs it. Needs to be in charge of someone else, for once, and Dabi, inadvertently is holding the reins in some capacity. It’s strange how that works.

He mouths at his crotch through his underwear, running his wet lips over the steadily hardening outline. He catches the weight of the hero’s cock in his curled tongue past the fabric, rubs the wide, flat surface against it. He hears the hero’s soft breathing change. Sees his eyes stare him down with an intensity that could swallow him whole. Dabi searches for the tip of his cock with his lips, uses his hands to push his balls up, then wraps his mouth around the head and sucks. It makes Hawks groan and step as close as he can to the bed, till his toes hit the frame, bucking his hips against the villain. Dabi moans a pleased moan, showing him how much he loves this, tongue peeking out and pushing his burnt lower lip down while he works on leaving an obscenely wet spot on the hero’s underwear. The hand behind his head has buried its fingers into his hair and Hawks is rocking into the heat of Dabi’s mouth. Dabi pulls off, but presses enthusiastic kisses over his twitching cock. He exhales harshly.

“Please. Need it. Give it to me, Hawks,” he pleads sweetly between desperate kisses while staring up with glassy eyes. “Fuck my face, hero. Make some good out of me…”

His tongue lolls out, leaving his mouth hanging open invitingly.

Waiting.

Goading.

When Hawks squeezes his eyes shut and curses quietly to himself, Dabi knows he has won.

***

Getting the MLA under their boot was a major move and it has made Dabi busier than ever. His responsibilities as ‘lieutenant’ are unimportant in his opinion, of course. He can navigate a small team, but he’s not made to be a leader, and he’s sure Geten would rather sink his claws into the position in his stead. He can whine all he wants about Dabi not pulling his weight, but he knows the little frosty fuck loves that he isn’t around to argue. So, it’s not his new schedule that’s keeping him occupied and away. It’s the possibilities that the current PLF has opened for him. Power has granted him freedom and freedom has granted him just the tools he needs to get the gears turning.

Dabi is going to get what he wants.

“You’re never around anymore, man, what’s going on?”

In the present, he’s making coffee in one of the recreational rooms. His coat has been discarded on the backrest of the couch in the middle of the room, leaving him to move around in his loose, cropped tank top in the little kitchen corner. Twice is here with him, looking at him from the couch with his arms folded over the backrest. The slight inclination of his head is endearing.

“I was at yesterday’s meeting, Twice,” Dabi reminds evenly as he throws out the used ground coffee from its little nest in the bin next to the counter.

He grabs his plastic cup and walks around the couch before slumping down on it with a close-mouthed grunt.

“I mean outside of those.”

There’s concern in the other’s voice when he scoots his ass across the pillows until their shoulders bump together. Twice always sits dangerously close to him and Dabi lets him. Sometimes he’ll sling an arm around him and Dabi will tense, but he wouldn’t blow up at him. He’s never mean to Twice. He likes him, maybe in more ways than he knows. And Twice always asks if he’s okay. Dabi thinks it’s nice only because he knows he means it, really wants to know, even though Dabi would never out and say the truth.

When he ignores him and takes a careful sip of coffee, Twice leans his body forwards and clasps a hand over the backrest.

“Something on your mind?”

Oh, plenty. It’s nice Twice notices. For a wackjob, he’s very in tune with people’s feelings.

Dabi looks up from his steaming drink and shakes his head no at him before making a motion with two fingers next to his mouth for a cigarette. Twice deflates slightly. Dabi bets if his mask were off, he’d look like a kicked puppy. He has seen him cry over smaller things. Still, he grabs Dabi’s coat and places it in a messy ball in his lap where he searches the pockets for a cigarette box. As soon as it’s out, Dabi leans over his thighs to put his coffee away on the low table in front of the couch and then snatches the box out of Twice’s hands. He slides two cigarettes out and waits for Twice to roll his mask up until it bunches up beneath his nose. He places one between the other’s pouting lips with care and balances his own with two fingers while pressing the tip against Twice’s. A hand comes up between them and a small flame blooms from his index until the paper catches and the nicotine glows red spots.

Twice’s stubbly cheeks hallow out after they part and he huffs out smoke.

“Thanks, Dabi. You suck.”

Dabi hums around his cigarette with a small smile and reaches for his coat in Twice’s lap to spread it over the other’s chest and shoulders. He complained about it being cold a few minutes ago and unlike him, Dabi has no problem lounging around in just his tank.

“Well, that wasn’t a tender moment at all.”

There’s a laugh that comes from his right and it snaps Dabi out of his unusual doting. He whips his head around in the direction of the door that had been left slightly ajar. Hawks, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest. Dabi’s smile immediately falls off his face.

“Mind your business, chicken,” he grumbles and makes a grab for his cup.

Incredible that Hawks can ruin coffee with cigarettes for him.

The hero pushes himself off the doorframe and puts his hands up in defeat, going to take a step back. He’s not even a little offended.

“Hey, don’t pay attention to me. I’m just passing by.” He points behind himself with his gloved hand to signal his departure. “Thought I’d let you lovebirds know everyone can see you cosying up on the couch, though.”

The tenor of his words is generally harmlessly playful, so it flies over Twice’s head, who takes what people say to him at face value, but Dabi discovers a very interesting grit of his teeth there.

“No, stay!” Twice exclaims desperately and practically drapes himself over Dabi’s lap to scoot as close to that corner of the couch as possible and subsequently to Hawks, who halts in his steps. “We’ve got room for one more friend. Fuck off!”

Dabi watches the hero smile out of the corner of his eye while he sips on coffee. Fake. He knows when it’s for show – his eyes are a fraction wider and his mouth is closed. When Hawks smiles for real, his lips thin and pull over his gums in an obnoxious grin. He closes his eyes too or they crinkle up. To everyone else, that wouldn’t leave an impression, but to Dabi, who is paranoia incarnate, who obsesses over what he hates, this is as blatant as day and night.

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. Hawks glances at him briefly. The hero knows Dabi noticed something he didn’t like, but he wouldn’t be able to put his finger on it with so little to go by. Besides, there isn’t much he does that pleases Dabi anyway.

“If you insist...” Hawks trails off as he walks into the room and closes the door behind himself.

“I didn’t say I want you here,” Dabi grouches around the rim of his coffee cup and takes another too-hot sip.

“It’s not always about what you want.” The hero rolls his eyes behind his tinted visor and walks around the coffee table to sit on one of the tabourets across them while Twice, in synch, pulls himself off of Dabi’s lap and straightens out.

It’s never about what he wants, but Hawks wouldn’t know that.

“Majority wins, Dabi. Suck it up.” Twice props his elbow up on Dabi’s shoulder and almost makes him spill his coffee with all the weight he leans against him.

Across them, the glare of the sun conveniently hits Hawks’ visor, hiding his eyes away from Dabi’s, who seek answers. The smile on his face is still tense, so Dabi tests the waters by knocking his knee against Twice’s, creating yet another point of contact. He sucks in a drag of his cigarette as he watches the hero’s wings draw even tighter against his back and his hands curl into fists atop his thighs.

Ah. Bingo. 

Dabi has a bad feeling about this. Hawks is going to shatter Twice’s heart into a million hopeless pieces and all everyone will be able to say to him when that happens is: ‘I told you so’. You get too close to someone like that and it’s only a matter of time before they draw blood. Dabi knows that for a fact because Hawks tastes like a death sentence on his tongue. He kisses with teeth, always, and his nails bite where it’ll hurt. He’s mean. He’s sharp. He’s focused and goal-oriented. He’s like Dabi.

But that’s why Dabi will come out of this fine. When it’s time, when he has made sure to destroy him thoroughly, he won’t bat an eye at burning him alive. Because Hawks is never nice to him, but he is nice to Twice. He’s giving it to him – friendship, camaraderie. Like an angler fish, baiting him with something Twice couldn’t possibly resist. Not for someone like him, who craves to be understood and accepted so desperately.

...Crack.

His mask took damage when he offered that uncomfortable smile at being called a friend. That’s right, there it is. Just like when Hawks wants, like a human, he also feels, apparently.

And here Dabi thought there was nothing pumping in the hero’s ribcage.

“You want a smoke, Hawks?” Twice asks, shaking Dabi’s cigarette box at him; Dabi guesses those aren’t his anymore, but the community cigarettes.

The hero shakes his head and hands no.

“Nah, man, not my thing.”

Dabi exhales smoke up to the ceiling through his teeth, then leans close to Twice’s ear. His scrutinising blue eyes don’t leave Hawks’ face.

“Don’t you know?” he starts conspiratorially. “He needs to keep his teeth white for that fake hero smile.”

A moment of annoyance. Then understanding follows. Hawks puts two and two together about where Dabi’s initial gripe lay with him. He can’t stand it when the villain is being difficult. It’s the quickest way to get him to lose his cool, inch closer to that line. Dabi just grins at him and runs his tongue over his front teeth. Twice shifts around uncomfortably at the tension.

Hawks breaks it, because of course he does.

“Not for long!” He kicks his shoes off and plants his feet on top of the tabouret. “Been looking into a career change, you know?” He tilts his head and slings his arms over his knees.

Ugh. So fucking fake. Dabi rolls his eyes and Twice jumps to Hawks’ defence.

“Yeah, Dabi!” He shakes him slightly with the elbow resting on his shoulder. “Don’t be a dick.” Dabi puts a hand up in surrender and Twice turns towards the hero. “Tell you what, Hawks. Once all of this is over, you can smoke all the cigarettes you want.”

Hawks bursts into laughter. Now, this is half-fake. He thinks it’s funny – they have the same sense of humour, but his wings still haven’t relaxed. Dabi bites back a smile. Oh, little bird, when did this start happening...?

“That’s not what I meant.”

It’s cute when Hawks plays along with Dabi’s favourite game: corrupting the hero. Makes him seem innocent, when in reality, he’s anything but. The bluing handprints on Dabi’s ass still ache after all.

“We can teach you,” Dabi drawls.

“Not sure that’s a habit I wanna pick up.” Hawks sounds significantly less lovely addressing Dabi, his voice comes out chilly, and when his visor is pushed up in his hair, his eyes’ sternness is revealed. “I need oxygen to fly that fast.”

He flutters his wings carefully to punctuate his sentence, barely spreading them in the cramped space. Those things look ridiculous indoors and Dabi has seen him consciously have to rotate his body with his wings folded tight to his back in order to be able to navigate a small room without becoming a spatial hazard.

“Hey, hey, hey, now, let’s not push him,” Twice reasons and brushes Dabi’s fringe away from his eyes with his free hand, flattening it back against his skull with an affectionate caress. “Peer pressure always works!”

Hawks hasn’t blinked for as long as he has been watching them, but that tender brush of black hair makes him shift his gaze away to the side. It almost feels like he shouldn’t have seen this. Dabi catches himself gloating. Something about all this is making Hawks reactive and there’s nothing he enjoys more than making the hero lose a little bit of that meticulous control he has over himself.

“I’m not pushing,” he argues petulantly while smoke spills past his lips. “I won’t even give him one of these.” He stretches his arm till his hand is no longer hovering over the couch and he flicks his cigarette to ash it. “Twice, help me demonstrate?”

That seems to call Hawks’ attention back to them.

“Demonstrate what?” Twice’s mouth has twisted into nervous perplexity.

Dabi removes his elbow from his shoulder and takes his face into his hand. The tips of his fingers push at the edge of the mask and Twice immediately grabs at his frail, scarred wrist.

“W… wait, Dabi, don’t–” His voice is wavering, quickly edging closer to the point of bursting into tears.

Dabi almost feels bad for pulling him into his selfish, petty schemes, and there isn’t a whole lot that makes him feel guilt in recent times.

“M’not taking it off. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he whispers, gentler than he ever has to anyone in all 24 years of his life.

“Dabi–” Hawks chimes in urgently and a hot anger bubbles up dizzyingly in Dabi’s chest at the gall of him to think it’s his place to say anything in this situation.

He doesn’t deserve to be concerned.

“I wouldn’t,” he interrupts, his voice rising sharply over the hero’s, then mellows out when he continues on, “...I promise.”

He sees Twice’s Adam’s apple bob nervously, but his fingers loosen their clammy grip on Dabi’s wrist and travel along his arm to cup over his elbow. Dabi breathes out a sigh as he slowly comes down from his momentary anger. He slips his index and middle fingers beneath the mask up to their first joints and slides them along the seam as he works it over Twice’s sharp nose. The other’s body is completely tense and alert, his facial muscles are twitching with their uncontrollable ticks caused by upset nerves. Dabi finds himself wanting to smooth his face out with kisses and that sudden revelation surprises him.

When did this start for him, too...?

“Is this okay?” he mumbles as he looks between Twice’s grey-blue eyes; framed by his black mask, their colour looks even more stark.

Twice nods shyly, still unsure of what’s going on, and Dabi smoothes his thumb over the seam of his mask before cupping his hollow cheek into his hand. It feels scratchy and warm in his palm. Dabi can practically hear Twice’s heart beating erratically.

He sees Hawks watching them intently from the corner of his eye and it makes him want to put on a show.

“Okay,” he mouths soundlessly and gives him an encouraging smile before addressing the hero all of a sudden, “Watch closely and don’t even blink, bird.”

Dabi turns his face away, although he doesn’t let go of Twice’s, and takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He holds the smoke in his lungs and bumps his nose against the other’s when he faces him again. He tilts his head to the side and lets his chapped lips brush against Twice’s soft, quivering ones, teasing what’s to come. His lashes flutter, casting shadows over his scars as he looks between them and Twice follows his gaze just as Dabi seals their lips together. His hand drops from the other’s cheek and takes hold of his jaw, giving it a tug to signal he lets him in. Twice’s lips part obediently and Dabi feels a tentative, gentle hand on his back as he exhales into his mouth. Some of the smoke comes out of his nostrils and Twice is mostly frozen against him when the improvised way of smoking a cigarette devolves into a delicate kiss that he’s too shy to return. Dabi can imagine blowing cigarette smoke into his mouth isn’t too nice of an experience. No point in it, besides getting under Hawks’ skin.

By the time Twice discovers any courage, they’ve already parted and Dabi notices the other’s eyes are glued to his lips. He pulls away and Twice involuntarily follows after them. It makes the corner of Dabi’s lips twitch up. He lingers close to his mouth, seething in their shared, unresolved feelings. Twice’s hand has curled into a fist, bunching up the white tank top in it and pulling the front of it tight against a patchwork chest. It’s a small action, one driven by anxious desire, but it makes Dabi want to climb into his lap.

Twice drops his own cigarette on his thigh suddenly and lets go, putting some space between them.

“Shit, that’s cold!” he gasps and Dabi chuckles as he picks it up and hands it back to him.

His eyes drag to the hero. Hawks is fucking pink in the cheeks. Aw. Dabi sinks his teeth into his lower lip and his staples pull at his skin while his eyes, wide and overly bright with excitement, travel downwards, then back up to his russet face after Hawks tries to casually press his legs together.

“Your turn, little bird,” he invites slyly and curls his finger at him in invitation.

“I–” His throat is dry. “I think I’ll pass,” the hero breathes out.

Twice seems to have relaxed again, but his wrist still shakes when he takes a drag. Dabi is holding his cup and cigarette with the same hand as he drinks the rest of his bitter espresso. He licks the crema off his lips.

“You’d rather watch? Man, you’re a freak!” Twice tugs his mask back over his nose.

“Yeah,” Dabi agrees and stands up to go throw out his cup, “a serious pervert.”

With Twice’s back to him, he sticks his tongue into his cheek and flicks his wrist in an offensive motion at Hawks, rolling his eyes back into his skull until only the bottom of his irises is visible. The hero shoots him a glare that looks properly fed up with him and his bullshit.

“You know what, I think I’m done with you two.” Hawks laughs and puts his feet back down, trying to brush this off as being playfully irritated; for the bit, or whatever.

Dabi’s eyebrows pinch in concern and his lower lip juts out mockingly. His hips rest against the edge of the kitchen counter.

“No, stay. We want you,” he coos sarcastically and makes a grabby hand at him.

“Dude.” Hawks deadpans, shaking his head at him while putting his shoes back on.

“Sending out some crazy mixed signals, Dabi,” Twice sings and gets comfortable lying down on his back, head on one of the armrests and Dabi’s coat keeping him cosy. “It’s not cool to string a guy along, that’s how you get dumped.” His fists ball up and he shakes them like a schoolgirl while kicking his feet in the air with a little squirm of his backside against the couch cushion. “Ooh, but maybe you can play a little hard to get, that’s exciting!”

Hawks tries to bite back a laugh and fails when he releases it into his fist.

“What, I can’t change my mind anymore?” Dabi snaps and props his elbows up onto the couch’s backrest while he waits for Twice to finish his cigarette so he can pass it to him. “He’s entertaining now, he can stay.”

Twice flips him off and tugs his mask over his mouth after Dabi snatches the butt out of his hand.

“Gee, thanks.” Hawks zips his boots up and rolls his eyes into another universe. “Is entertainment all I’m good for?”

“Barely,” Dabi tells him and puts both cigarettes out onto the counter top before tossing them into the bin.

“Asshole,” the hero bites out.

“Don’t listen to him.” Twice sits up, hands sinking into the couch cushions. “I want you around. But maybe a few metres away, I can’t stand you!” He gasps and slaps a hand over his mouth in shock. “I– I didn’t say that. Are you sure?” His breath hitches and he brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his head to curl up on himself. “Wait, am I sure?”

Dabi narrows his eyes at Twice’s sudden neurotic outburst and the way Hawks’ eyes soften. There’s guilt in them. Stupid hero, cruel man... What gives you the right to become another important person in Twice’s life? Dabi is no better. If he were, he’d warn him about Hawks. He’d tell him to keep his distance, even though he knows he wouldn’t listen. Twice has to be the most loyal man in the whole wide world when he cares, but at least, Dabi would be at peace knowing that he tried to knock some sense into him.

Except, he’s not supposed to care.

“That’s alright, Twice,” Hawks conciliates with a smile he seems to have reserved only for Twice, who peers over at him. “Dabi doesn’t like anyone, does he?”

An immediate rise in tension. The bristles of his feathers compact themselves to a sharp point out of habit as Dabi approaches suddenly, but beyond that, he doesn’t budge from his spot even as the villain looms over him.

“Yeah. I don’t. And especially not you.”

***

In fact, Dabi dislikes him so much, that he lets Hawks barge into his private shower in one of the suites in the villa with murder written all over his face that very same night. He hates him so much that he lets the hero bend him over and have him scrambling for purchase over the wet bathroom wall when he fucks him open on his fingers under the working showerhead. He can’t stand him, so he lets the hero throw him over his shoulder and stretch his asshole open proper with lube they should’ve gotten rid of half a month ago (what else is new?) on his dampened sheets, where he twists his hands into them and kicks his heels against Hawks’ back where his ankles had crossed.

That’s right. He does not like him, he doesn’t, and his touch had felt wrong for weeks after the incident in Kyushu, his kisses made Dabi viscerally angry, but god, his fingers feel nice rubbing against his sensitive rim, pressing in knuckle after thick knuckle, and Dabi is just the type of fucked up to enjoy getting dicked down by someone who hates him back. At least he’s transparent about it. Hawks is the one who’s having problems admitting that to himself. So wrapped up in his lies, he has started lying to himself too. That’s alright. Dabi is here to remind him he’s sick in the head, in case he forgets.

“So, you and Twice, huh?”

Leave it up to Hawks to ask inappropriate questions while he rolls a purple-tinted rubber over his hard dick. (He had long since learned that the hero hates coloured condoms, but that’s what they have right now, so he’ll live.) Dabi can’t help but chuckle as he props himself up on his elbows, chin low on his chest while watching Hawks between his legs. His chest and his one shoulder that still has healthy skin are flushed from the heat of his shower and the arousal that has been making his body temperature rise. He doesn’t even feel clean anymore and every inch of him sticks to his bed with sweat, his hair has unwashed shampoo in it and it’s wet and warm between his ass cheeks where lube had trickled between them and pooled beneath him. He’d already come once in Hawks’ fist in the shower, but he’s sporting a quickly growing semi already.

“There is no ‘me and Twice’,” he clarifies, amusement shimmering in his eyes.

He thinks. Maybe. He’s not sure. He... would like to kiss him a second time. He’d like that a lot, actually. Without the cigarettes involved. And he wouldn’t mind if Hawks watched again too. The thought makes butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“Oh,” he hears Hawks say faintly.

The hero looks mildly unhinged on top of him with his normally wavy hair out of place and winding up into tighter, even lovelier curls from the moisture, wings shaking water off their darkened feathers like morning dew over Dabi’s skin, and his compression shirt is soaked and practically glued to his torso in a way that’s undeniably mouth-watering. Dabi is perfectly happy ogling him.

“Why? Wanna have a three-way?” he asks offhandedly as Hawks scoots his knees across the bed and tugs Dabi’s hips over his lap, forcing his spine into an arch.

“Shut up,” Hawks hisses and takes hold of the base of his cock.

“What is it, Hawks? You hung up on wanting to be the only one who fucks m– mm, ah!” He groans and his brows knit together at the exciting pressure of Hawks breaching his entrance. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he pants and parts his legs further before flexing his thighs to tip his hips to let him work his way in easier and less painfully. “Yeah, yes, yes, put it in, Hawks, fuck me.”

“I really couldn’t be assed, for the record. I don’t care who fucks you,” he grunts, voice straining as he bottoms out.

His fingers squeeze at Dabi’s waist when the villain falls backwards and lolls his head against the pillow.

“I love it when you’re honest.” He sighs happily and his eyelashes flutter in pleasure as Hawks starts rocking into him carefully. “C’mon, make me cum again. I’m off my painkillers,” he whispers and turns his face to press into the arm he’d thrown over his head.

Hawks grins at that and rises until he’s sat up on his knees and Dabi feels tension in his neck from having only the upper third of his back and shoulders pressed into the sheets while his legs wrap around the hero’s waist for balance.

“Yeah?” Hawks utters breathily over the rising sound of his balls slapping against a bruised backside.

Dabi returns the gummy smile and splays his hand over his scarred stomach, trailing his fingers up in teasing shapes until he reaches his own nipple to toy with beneath the lovely circles drawn by the pads of his index and middle finger. Hawks’ eyes look a little wild witnessing Dabi touch himself and his imposing wings spread out fully when he gives a harsher thrust against him. Then another. And another. Until he’s maintaining the pace and Dabi is struggling to speak between his involuntary gasps and the insane buzz of having his dribbling cockhead smack against his pelvis.

“Uh-huh. Need it,” he manages to squeak out, mouth open and perpetually contorted in a pleasurable ‘o’.

He tries to tilt his head to watch his own cock bob and Hawks’ at work between his legs, even though he knows his sanity wouldn’t be able to stand the sight.

“Show me how badly then,” the hero tells him in a harsh voice and his hands greedily roam over the outside of Dabi’s thighs.

Hawks looks gorgeous like this – looming over with his massive, warm shadow, with tremulous wings that demand Dabi’s attention never leaves them, with heat colouring his cheeks. He looks big on top of him and so human, it hurts. It hurts because he’s only like this when he’s fucking him. Because the rest of the time, he will always be someone he hates and he’ll always be just a hero. Just an idea. Just an unreachable concept.

“Wanna cum on your cock,” the villain moans pathetically and his hand leaves his chest to rest atop Hawks’ nape.

“Show me,” Hawks repeats. “Fuck yourself on me, Dabi,” he continues on to say and manhandles Dabi until he’s sitting up in his lap and his cock is punching out the rest of the air from his lungs; how the hell is it pressing up right where he needs it to?

Dabi is a goner at that point. He might’ve went a little blind for a second there and his cock, drooling precum all over Hawks’ abs, throbs so intensely, he swears he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Wa- wait, oh my god...” His thin thighs tremble at the sudden pressure on his bladder and his sensitive little hole tightens up around Hawks’ cock involuntarily.

The hero’s nails dig into his hips in alarm.

“Don’t squeeze like that, fucking hell–”

“Give me a second, unghh, you feel so good, oh, fuck,” he whines and throws his arms around the other’s neck.

He looks over his shoulder to see if he can catch glimpse of what it looks like from behind to sit all the way down on Hawks’ dick as he shifts around in his lap with close-mouthed whimpers but a wide-eyed stare. The perpetual, gentle pressure of Hawks’ cock on his prostate makes his stomach tie into ecstatic knots and his dry eyes sting, like he could just about cry from pleasure.

He feels Hawks’ hands light up every single one of his nerves where they roam, leaving a path of buzzing electricity on their quest to slide over Dabi’s backside. A little sound gets stuck in his throat when the hero squeezes his ass in his palms and pale flesh bulges out gently between his fingers. There’s nothing novel about Hawks grabbing his ass, but it’s still such a turn-on he can touch him without disgust or fear, that Dabi whips his head around to meet his eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze. It’s that lack of hesitation that always gets him. Nobody does it the way Hawks does it. Nobody will ever be able to do it the way Hawks does it.

Dabi pushes his chest against the other’s in his search for complete closeness and the wet fabric of the compression shirt feels so heavenly cold. He moans softly when Hawks’ hands migrate to his ribcage and slide to push his pecs together while gold irises slip down to watch between them. He thumbs at Dabi’s sole nipple and rolls it up gently while the villain slowly starts rocking down on his cock, taking his time to calm down but keep indulging in this pleasure. A small smile starts tugging at his mismatched lips and his arms fully embrace the hero. His mouth brushes over the shell of his ear when he speaks in his breathless gravel:

“You like to fuck guys like me but you’re also into Twice, huh?” The startled jump of Hawks’ shoulders nearly punches his chin in. “Is that it? You into him, Hawks?” Dabi prods gleefully.

He’s vaguely aware of the hands that leave his pecs and end up planting themselves behind the hero for added leverage when he bounces him in his lap with his next words.

“Dabi, I swear if you don’t. Shut. Up–” Hawks grits out roughly after each punishing thrust.

Even his wings, which had previously relaxed behind him like a sanguine river dripping down the edge of the bed when they sat up, look tense.

“O- oh, so it is that!” Dabi gasps out around a laugh and squeezes the other’s shoulders when he pulls his face away, the staples at the heels of his palms scraping at freckled skin while his body is bounced like he’d become boneless. “You want a nice guy like him to wreck your world?” he keeps going, his grin vicious and his eyes widening in realisation when he grasps Hawks’ face in his hand. “Or do you want him to fix you?”

And Hawks doesn’t respond to that. His hips falter and his teeth squeak where his molars are gritting together. He tries to turn his scrunched up face away, but Dabi holds him tighter and grinds down on him. He pulls him in for a kiss and Hawks almost... doesn’t let him seal their lips together. His sudden stubbornness is very telling. The hero isn’t the temperamental sort, not even the slightest, and yet he gives into the aggression of the kiss like he doesn’t know how to rein his complicated feelings in. It’s intoxicating. Dabi is swallowing down every single one of his frustrations leaking down his throat and now he just has to live with the truth.

“I bet you do,” he exhales into his mouth as his hand settles around the base of Hawks’ neck. “He’d be real sweet to you in bed too. He’d do anything you tell him to. Once he likes someone, he’s like a fucking puppy dog.”

“Dabi, fuck, cut it out. I don’t want to talk ab–”

The hand at Hawks’ neck drops to the middle of his chest and shoves him onto the bed with a bounce, causing the other’s arms to collapse from beneath him during the fall. Dabi sighs to himself and rolls his head from shoulder to shoulder, running his hand through his sticky hair as he stares down at the frustrated hero beneath an upturned nose. There’s red feather fluff entangled in Hawks’ blonde curls and his shiny lower lip is caught between bright, sharp teeth. He looks hopelessly conflicted and hopelessly succumbed to the perfect squeeze of Dabi’s hole. The villain perks his ass up a bit when he gets on his knees and reaches between his legs to make sure the head of Hawks’ cock doesn’t pop out of him while Hawks takes the hint and slides his folded legs from beneath himself to prop up at an angle Dabi can use for support.

He clutches onto the other’s knees and inclines his torso backwards, splits his legs even wider to show him how heavy his cock looks, how hard the hero is making him. He feels the seams of his stapled thighs strain and his biceps burn with the effort of dragging the weight of his body up and down at this rapid pace, shifting Hawks’ knees in a slight scissoring motion as he works on fucking his own brains out. He’s leaking like a faucet at this point and his balls are already drawing in tight. He swears his toes feel numb from the constant tingling spreading to the end of his limbs, the heat tying and untying his stomach into knots.

“Yeah, you like that?” he barely manages to ask amidst unrestrained, squeaky moans and quiet screams. “You like it when I use your pretty cock, Hawks?”

“Holy shit– ah, yes, don’t stop, fuckkk...”

Hawks can’t look away from the mesmerising roll of his body, the delayed bobbing of Dabi’s cock.

“But he’d be the opposite of me, you know?” he whispers when he suddenly seats himself on the hero’s hips with a filthy smack, his eyebrows pinching into an innocent look. “So you’ve gotta be gentle. You can’t hurt him like you hurt me, hero. You’d have to hold him, like so...” He lets go of Hawks’ knees and takes his wrists to place those hands at his sides and lead them up his front. “Like you treasure him... You’d... take your time with him, because he knows how to be patient...”

There’s hurt in Hawks’ eyes and it seems he’s consciously quieting his panting. His pupils are the size of donuts, but his eyeballs have a glaze over them that Dabi knows is proof Hawks is going to withstand this emotional cruelty, if it means he’ll get off. It makes the villain’s chest swell with an irrational feeling of pride. He finally has Hawks at his most human – wanting and hurting.

“He’d be a good boy. I bet...” He lets go of Hawks’ hands and feels the other roll his hips up to meet him in this new, sensual rhythm, allowing him to experience the delight of savouring each second of how his cock tugs at his sensitive rim. “Ahhh... He’d ride you… just like this...”

Hawks turns his hands so their outsides are brushing against his waist, caressing him as if this means anything. As if this isn’t Dabi he’s touching, but someone he might care about. Someone that, in another world, in another universe, he could...

“Dabi…” the hero mouths at him pleadingly, a thin line of drool trickling past the corner of his lips, and Dabi has never heard the commanding edge in his voice slip this much before.

“And he’d be real lovely, and call you every nice thing under the sky, pretty bird.” The edges of his smile are shaking, his cheeks are burning. He reaches for Hawks’ face and pets it with a trembling hand, forehead to cheek to chin. “He’d say… that he wants to make you happy… and then he’d call you beautiful.”

There’s a wet glitter in Hawks’ eyes. His short, dense lashes look dewy. And Dabi just knows that the poor bird is fucked. He’s fucked, himself. And Twice is not too far behind.

“You ever seen him with his mask off?” Hawks shakes his head at him and Dabi laughs breathlessly and licks his lips as he takes his own twitching cock into his hand. “He’s real fucking cute, you have no idea. In a pathetic, scruffy way, but really cute.” A faraway laugh escapes the hero too. “And he’s so handsome when he smiles... His right cheek dimples right around here.” He swipes his thumb over a little ways away from the corner of Hawks’ mouth and the hero’s lips quiver. “You’d never want to look at another man or woman.”

Something terrible aches in his chest the more he listens to himself talk about Twice. He means every damn word and Hawks believes him with heartbreaking hopelessness.

“You know, he’d die for the people he loves. That kind of devotion is hot, isn’t it?” he moans and the illusion breaks a bit when he speeds himself up, when Hawks is grabbing at him harshly again, when he starts stroking his cock with an urgency building up to a blinding orgasm. “He’d die for me. And he’d die for you. The question is,” he goes on as he addresses the ceiling instead of Hawks at his peak, “would you die for us?”

Hawks’ breath catches and he squeezes his eyes shut. He might’ve whispered the villain stops talking like that, but neither of them hears it. He has caught Dabi’s hips in a cage of nimble fingers, because it’s all instinct at this point, all desperation and grunts and gasps, and this is the only way he knows how to fuck Dabi, how Dabi knows to fuck himself.

Dabi doesn’t look down at Hawks even after they’d both come and he’s sure Hawks isn’t looking at him either. This time, it’s not the hero that moves on from the afterglow first. It’s Dabi, who climbs off his cock so quickly, he hears the other hiss beneath him, but it barely registers when he’s too preoccupied with his nose feeling slightly clogged up and his eyes stinging. A hand covers his face as he storms off with harsh stomps against the floor, hiding the wetness pooling beneath the scars under his eyes.

The door to the humid bathroom is slammed shut and locked. He hears an indistinct thud from the outside over the sound of him pissing and a string of indecipherable words spoken in frustration by the abandoned hero. Dabi’s racing heart fills his ears. His chest is still rising and falling; he’d barely given himself a minute to come down from his orgasm. His bones ache badly and he feels faintly hot beneath his skin.

Dabi decides that showering properly is not in the cards tonight, but he does finish taking his leak and shakes his dick off before cleaning the mess between his cheeks with some baby wipes. The rest is tomorrow morning’s problem. For now, he just wants to crash in his bed and sleep forever, so that’s what he does once he swaps out with Hawks who takes his turn in the bathroom where he tosses out the tied up condom. Dabi doesn’t speak another word to him, meaning he can stay if he wants to, which he does.

He pointedly ignores the awkward tension and just lies on his side with the plan to eventually, hopefully, maybe get some sleep. And eight minutes into him resting his eyes, it almost starts feeling achievable, but then Hawks emerges from the bathroom and the bed dips under his weight. He hears his feathers wisp away, probably gathering all over the edges of the room, then the bed shifts more when the hero lies down. Dabi’s back is to him when he hears him speak up.

“What the fuck was all that, Dabi?”

“Mmh,” he grumbles unintelligibly against his pillow.

And says nothing more.

“...Stop pretending you’re asleep. I can hear your heartbeat.”

Dabi opens his eyes. Stupid, shitty, voyeuristic feathers. He feels too tired to talk, but once Hawks starts pushing, he knows he won’t be able to shake him off. He’s persistent like that.

“Sorry, I’m trying to enjoy that post-sex bliss, but sure, ruin it for me,” he grumbles flatly.

Hawks doesn’t dignify his bullshit attitude with a reaction.

“You need your painkillers?”

There’s no answer for a full minute. Hawks sighs to himself and the villain hears more shuffling from behind. Probably sitting up.

Dabi’s joints are exploding with pain.

“...Yeah,” he concedes reluctantly after yet another minute and rolls onto his back heavily.

His head turns in his pillow to watch Hawks scoot over to the edge of the bed to look for his medicine in the bedside table drawer. A metallic slide across the wooden surface, then some rummaging. The hero’s arm pauses and whatever it is that he discovers must be making him unhappy because his face twists into a grimace.

“There’s only liquid ketamine in here,” he says and looks at him.

“Mmm, you see any syringes?” Dabi slurs sleepily into the pillow.

Hawks’ gaze falls back on the contents inside the drawer and he frowns disapprovingly.

“They... don’t look sterile.”

The villain blinks his bleary eyes and lifts his head off the pillow to try and peek.

“But I still got syringes left?” he asks while sitting himself up.

Apparently, his question strikes a nerve because Hawks snaps at him:

“You want to die from an infection, you idiot?”

Dabi bares his teeth in a sardonic grin.

“Look at me; I’m a walking open wound. Hell, I think I might even have an infection around a staple on my back right now.”

Hawks pulls a face like the situation he has found himself in is indescribable and slams the drawer shut.

“They’re just sitting fucking loose in here–”

“Ughhh, forget about it,” Dabi groans over the other’s bitching.

Hawks deflates slightly. Now they’re just both sitting in bed saying nothing, side by side, maybe a little mad, not looking at each other like there’s an invisible wall separating them right in the middle of this mattress. Hawks doesn’t care he’s taking intravenous ketamine in a way that could give him a lethal infection. He’s just wound up because of the shit Dabi blabbed to him while they were fucking and now everything is frustrating him.

It’s stupid, really. This isn’t about loyalty or what’s right or any of that sentimental crap that just doesn’t matter in their circumstances because what they have going on isn’t really a thing. It’s about Dabi knowing Hawks wouldn’t betray his side, no matter how much it hurts him or anyone else around him. Hawks is like him and he’s like Hawks. Dabi would be a fool to not recognise a man on a mission when he’s one himself. He guesses that it just fucking sucks that he does care a little bit about the League. It fucking sucks that he can’t stay with them either. That he won’t be covering Twice in his coat for very long and that he can’t love him because Dabi is just as guilty for being another person who’ll be taken away from his life. He knows Twice will grieve him and that thought settles heavy like lead in his heart. In a lot of ways, his planned suicide would also be a betrayal. He’s hypocritical, giving Hawks shit for it, but also... he likes to think that at least he gives Twice the honesty he’s owed, unlike the hero.

“He’s too good for you,” Dabi murmurs all of a sudden.

“...What?” Hawks asks, even though he knows who the villain is talking about.

When Dabi looks at him, his expression is almost as carefully schooled as Hawks’.

“He’s too good,” he repeats. “For all of us, probably, but especially you. I’m not gonna stop him or you from doing what you want, but just know, that I know, that you’re too rotten, little bird. You don’t deserve him.”

Part of that statement is just Dabi speaking truthfully. The rest is a call to a challenge. Seeking a reaction, give him a reaction. And he does get it, but it doesn’t go beyond a hand rubbing at the hero’s suddenly very tired face and a waver in his normally clear voice. His back has peeled itself from the propped up pillows.

“It’s... it’s not like that, I don’t...” Hawks sighs and drops his hand. “It’s just not like that,” he concludes and shrugs his shoulders surlily.

Dabi isn’t sure where it comes from, but his next words taste bitter on his tongue.

“It’s never like that with you, Hawks. You couldn’t love even if you tried.”

There’s hesitation in holding the icy judgement of Dabi’s gaze. He steadily settles into the pillows and his shoulders slump while the villain regards him carefully.

“Is that so bad?” he asks in the quiet room. “Could you love if you tried?”

Dabi scoffs.

“Are you asking me if I could love you?”

The corners of Hawks’ lips curl downwards.

“Anyone.”

Dabi doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Sure I could. I can do whatever I damn want and I’ll keep doing what I want until the day I die.”

Theoretically. Letting someone love this dead boy would be too cruel. His time has passed. He should’ve been loved a decade ago. But he could. He could do whatever he wants and Dabi may say there’s nothing left in his numb heart, but he has always been someone who loves as hard as he hates. It’s at his core. It’s what had him pushed away. It’s what killed him.

“Could you, though?”

Hawks sounds small and fragile. He doesn’t have to finish the unwittingly spoken question for Dabi to understand what he means by that and he must’ve whispered it in hopes it’s not heard. It’s uncharacteristically vulnerable. Hawks doesn’t let himself get to this point and neither does Dabi. But today has been a strange day and for a second, Dabi’s edges soften.

“If I wanted to, I could…”

Gold irises dart around microscopically.

Dabi leans towards him and tucks a stray blonde ringlet behind his ear. Hawks’ thick eyebrows twitch into a heartbreakingly fraught expression. Another crack in the mask that Dabi sees split longer when his busted knuckles brush the side of the hero’s darling face. The seam of Hawks’ full lips quivers, yet the rest of his face remains carefully stilled. Dabi feels like he’s kneading that normally stony expression into malleable clay with each gentle swipe of his thumb over his lip, each caress of the back of his hand, following the outline of his face. The hero is falling apart in his hands.

To be loved.

Dabi yearns for it harder than the hero could imagine. Harder than anyone knows. Dabi wants to be loved, but he can’t be. Nobody loves the dead and the dead can’t love back. That’s why... he can’t keep leading Twice on when he doesn’t have much longer. That’s why... Hawks isn’t worth the trouble. It’d take too long to make it work, and before it does, Dabi would be decomposing in the soil, where his place is. Where it always has been.

“You’d make me miserable, though,” Dabi tells him in an intimately low voice.

“And you’d make me miserable back,” Hawks whispers in response.

Dabi exhales a quiet, shaky breath and Hawks’ expression crumbles completely. They both go to bed deeply hurting that night. Longing for something they’ll never have.

***

In hindsight, a little heartache changes nothing about what must be done. At the end of the day, Hawks is another thing he wants to rip apart with his teeth and use for his own grand funeral pyre. His feathered corpse would burn well and Dabi will make sure to orchestrate a death fitting for Japan’s Number Two hero.

So, it’s business as usual for him. He’s selectively ignorant of his responsibilities and fully devoted to what is of interest to him, personally. He sees Hawks when he sees him, but doesn’t go out of his way to carve out time for him. The League is the League. They’ve been a little more separated than usual with Shigaraki gone, but they still give him his daily dose of shit and Dabi bullies Spinner about any mundane thing he can. Beyond that, he spends much of his time thinking about what’s to come. Planning. Training...

“Why do you keep hanging around me like an aimless fly?”

…And bothering Skeptic.

Unlike Geten, Skeptic is a lot more likeable in his opinion. Not universally, of course, his backwards attitude is an acquired taste. He’s perpetually in a bad mood, awkward and insanely neurotic, but he’s hardly as big of a freak as the majority of people here. Dabi likes him because he has great potential to be useful and unlike Hawks, he unfailingly gives the best reactions to his jabs. Everything sets him off. It’s like watching the human personification of a train wreck if it had a lot of hair, a lot of nerves and potentially a pretty nasty coke addiction.

It’d been bad luck for Skeptic to enter his surveillance room when Dabi had just happened to be there. The panicked look in his eyes showed that he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake him off. And Dabi sure lived up to those concerns, shoving his way in unceremoniously past a seething Skeptic and taking his nice chair too on top of everything. He puts his feet up on the desk while the other grits his teeth and curses him out. Dabi is pretty sure he sees a thick vein bulge out in his neck when he deliberately kicks his mouse off the desk as he makes a reach for it.

They don’t say a whole lot to each other for the first fifteen minutes. Dabi is simply enjoying the better air conditioning in here, which he guesses had to be set up because of all of the running machines. Having cold air blow directly into his face is exactly what he needs after a gruelling quirk training session and his damp tank top finally starts feeling bearable against his skin. The minimal lighting is also a bonus. Seems only the screens are illuminating the space they’re in, which is quite kind to his sensitive eyes as long as he doesn’t stare at them directly for too long.

On one of them, Hawks is making an older woman with mousy brown hair laugh until her sides hurt. Dabi knows the hero isn’t even half as funny as that. She just thinks he’s cute. He doesn’t blame her. That’s kind of the general consensus amongst the major population of Japan... It kind of dawns on him that Skeptic probably watches them fuck.

Dabi blinks at him slowly like a cat that had just done something bad. Skeptic’s gaunt face is halfway in the shadow and halfway shone on by the flickering light of the screen lowest and closest to him, bathing his pale face in a desaturated blue. He barely sees his eyes peek past his long, inky fringe, but he knows they must be glaring at him.

“I have something I want you to do,” Dabi finally announces, completely disregarding the previous question.

Skeptic throws his arms up in defeat and Dabi becomes witness to the most emotionally unstable facial expressions in the world, and he has spent almost an entire year in the League’s company.

“Oh, good, I don’t get a choice!” he yells as he gestures at himself animatedly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dabi sees Hawks sling an arm around that older woman’s shoulders as he rambles on to her about something with an obnoxious grin decorating his face. She’s cupping her own cheek in mild embarrassment while she struggles to figure out what to do with her other hand when Hawks is this close. Jesus, this fucking guy is going to give her a heart attack.

“Need your help with a background check.”

Having his sarcastic complaint ignored just makes Skeptic unspeakably angrier. Dabi calmly watches him devolve into furious puffs and huffs. There it is. Train wreck. Choo-choo, his reddening ears and nose would be going with steam if this were a cartoon.

“You think I have time for your frivolous demands?” he snaps hysterically. “Why don’t you go do actual work for once!?” He turns towards the screens and his long fingers fly over his keyboard again, hitting each key aggressively and progressively faster and faster. “Damn shitty brat. This is what happens when you hand control over to children.”

Dabi slides his boots off the desk and catches Skeptic peeking at him past his perfectly straight hair, as if checking whether he’d won an argument finally. He lifts himself off his seat and takes that one step to close the distance between them when he grabs Skeptic’s backrest and forces his swivel chair to turn till they’re facing each other. The abrupt motion warrants a freaked out little noise from him. Skeptic is trembling in that big chair he’s trying to cower into. He swallows thickly. Dabi’s eyes look luminous in the dark room and the space fills with the faint smell of smoke. It feels hot behind his teeth.

“I’m not gonna ask nicer than this, so...” Dabi is all but looming over Skeptic. “How about that favour, hm?”

***

There’s no way he can deny it anymore. Dabi is deeply obsessed with Hawks and deeply obsessed with the idea of ruining him.

He has a name. He has his background. He has him. He knows about his deadbeat father. About his unstable mother. About the dirty floor he was born on and the leaky rooftop he spent the first years of his life under.

He knows what Endeavor is to him.

It makes Dabi hate him even more. He has been letting this hero fuck him for months while Hawks has been worshipping the man who ruined his life. Who ruined his mother. Who treated his offspring like projects or trash. And out of anyone, he’s sure, it’s not Fuyumi or Natsuo or the woman he broke who Enji sees as equals. He probably doesn’t even see perfect little Shouto as equal. And certainly not Touya, because Touya is dead to him. It’s Hawks. Todoroki Enji doesn’t even know the first thing about him and yet, he lets him walk on even ground. The world of heroes... He may act like he’s turning over a new leaf with those child soldiers he brings to the estate, but at the end of the day, he’s still there. He still only recognises people who are a part of his twisted, rotten, maggot-infested world of heroes.

Dabi is reeling.

He has been dancing and snapping at everyone and laughing all morning. If he’s generally unapproachable, then today he’s like a hurricane. Unpredictable and aggressive. It was only a matter of time before all that endless manic energy led him to the main hall where he’d hunt down the two men he’s looking for.

Seeing Hawks interact with Twice makes something in him scream to go and save him from it, but there’s a dead boy whose cries are a lot louder than some faux loyalty to people he was never supposed to get even remotely attached to. Still, he hopes Twice never has the misfortune of tasting Hawks’ death sentence kiss. Nobody close to that man could possibly be on his side. Their side.

They stand next to each other at a closeness which would fool one into thinking that they’ve known each other for years, leaning in as near as it’s appropriate to listen to each other speak in the full hall. Twice has his shoulders hunching over and his head dipped low to inch closer to the hero’s height, partially caging him into one of the large pillars in the premises with the way he’s leaning his forearm against it. Hawks has a familiar hand resting on Twice’s back and his mouth is pulled into a brilliant smile that only shines brighter with every word spoken by the lips hidden behind Twice’s mask.

Dabi thinks of that last time he rode him. How he’d found out the truth about Hawks’ feelings, but also the truth about himself. How badly it stung. The amount of blood that pooled out of his eye scars once they went their separate ways the next day and Dabi had a few moments to himself.

No more crying. The end is imminent and Dabi intends to have as much fun as he can.

He strides over to them confidently and swings an arm around each their necks from behind, breaking up that private closeness they’d created with the hero’s touch against Twice’s spine and Twice’s body’s inclination towards the pillar. Hawks definitely sensed him coming and didn’t register him as a threat, but Twice jumps in his skin and would’ve practically been ready to square up if Dabi wasn’t shoving their faces against his like they’re best buddies or something.

“Fuck’s sake, Dabi!” Twice squawks.

“Wow, okay, hi?” the hero huffs out, a little confused.

“Hi yourself, Hawks,” Dabi snips back as he lets go and slaps their backs harshly, then smiles at Twice lazily in greeting.

They quickly form a tight circle to talk. Hawks slips his hands casually into his pockets while Twice crosses his arms over his chest. It’s always harder to read him with a mask in the way, but he’s so expressive, that Dabi can tell he’s regarding him with some suspicion. Besides, Twice knows his behavioural patterns a little better than Hawks.

“Funny you join us now. Twice was just telling me about how you’ve been hanging out with Skeptic instead of us,” Hawks shares and nods over at Twice with raised eyebrows; probably a little curious about what has been going on too.

“Not cool. He’s an asshole! You better explain yourself.” Twice bites the tips of his fingers and looks at Hawks with worry written in his eyes. “I hope I don’t sound too clingy.”

The hero just shakes his hand in a sort of gesture that says ‘nah, don’t worry about it’.

“Oh, ‘us’? There’s an ‘us’ now?” Dabi asks as he looks between them.

“Dabi,” Hawks grumbles warningly.

“What, I can’t ask?” Dabi meets the hero’s narrowed eyes with played up innocence in his.

“Hey, man, you feeling alright?” Twice gives him a friendly shake by the back of his neck. “You’re acting kinda crazy. Long Hair get you on some of his fairy dust crap?”

Dabi straight up beams at him. It just makes the other two men share a look and Twice shift around uncomfortably on his feet.

“I’m feeling really alright. So fucking alright, Twice, I’m glad you asked. Also, Skeptic’s not that bad. I think we’re friends.”

“Why don’t we take you somewhere to sit down, huh?” Hawks offers as he grabs him by his elbows and almost lets him go when he makes contact with his burning skin. “Maybe cool off a little in the process.”

The laugh that rips out of Dabi’s throat is downright feral. It definitely turns heads.

“Why don’t you both sit down?” he counters and tries to tug his arms out of the hero’s hold, but he’s not even half as strong as him, so they just fall limply by his sides in surrender.

“You sure he didn’t give you anything?” Twice questions, seemingly askance. “Parents didn’t teach you to say no to candy from strangers?”

Dabi scoffs.

“He’s not a stranger.”

“But he’s still a dick!” Twice insists stubbornly. “Tell him Skeptic is a dick, Hawks.”

The hero purses his lips and shakes his head with a serene expression.

“I have the right to remain silent.”

“You’re supposed to have my back!” Twice gasps, fist clutched at his chest into his own skintight suit.

“We’re all dicks, how about that?” Hawks offers diplomatically, but Twice doesn’t seem satisfied with his answer.

While Hawks and Twice have their extremely intellectual debate over whether Skeptic is a colossal dick, Dabi, who had lost interest in the high IQ discussion, is the only one who notices Himiko’s space buns approaching them.

“Hey, crazy.”

Himiko makes a face at his greeting and elbows him out of the way. Dabi complies, but it does move Hawks to the side as a consequence too because he’s still holding onto him like he expects the villain to bolt. Dabi is kind of impressed. He’s unpleasantly hot to the touch today.

“No, nope! I’m not talking to you,” she states pertly and takes Twice’s hand. “I just came to grab Jin. Oh, hi, Hawks.”

“Yo.” A nod of acknowledgment from the hero instead of a two-finger salute, because, again – Dabi is his prisoner still.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’d this guy do to you, huh?” Twice demands and throws Dabi a scalding look.

“He’s been unbearable all morning, are you kidding!? Woke me up at 5. 5! Singing!” She punches Dabi in his arm, to which he has absolutely no reaction. “And you got your stupid shoes on my bed, you freaking jerk! Stupid! Ugh!” she rages as she pounds her small fist against him.

Apparently, rolling Himiko into a burrito of her blanket and tying the bottom and top around with her long socks to keep her trapped in it wasn’t a fun thing for her to wake up to. Especially when he bounced his knees against the mattress, only to have her be confused and slightly dizzy when she rolled off the bed, still incapacitated in her blanket burrito. In his defence, this is extremely tame compared to what he has done to his sister as a kid.

“Your reaction was funny as fuck,” Dabi teases as he tries to shield himself from her weak hits, but Hawks isn’t making it any easier.

She bares her little fangs at him.

“There’s nothing funny about what you did! What are you, a toddler!?”

“He’s a handful, isn’t he?” Hawks sighs.

“Well, you deal with him if you wanna. I’m takin’ Jin with me.” Himiko’s expression mellows out and she rocks on her feet, swinging Twice’s arm back and forth excitedly. “Come on, come on, let’s go!”

“Ooh, what is this escapade we’re going on?” he asks as he crouches down close for Himiko to whisper something in his ear that makes him perk up. “Sorry, gentlemen, my priorities lie elsewhere.”

When did he develop a Compress-adjacent personality?

“Hey, you guys have fun. I’ll try to take care of Dabi and make sure he doesn’t wake up any more people.”

Hawks is still firmly holding him by his elbows when the other two take their leave. Once they’re out of sight, Dabi meets Hawks’ eyes with a mild smirk.

“Aren’t you gonna let me go? You’re being too rough with me, hero.”

Hawks’ brow twitches. Dabi doesn’t get it. Nobody is forcing the other to babysit him.

“Absolutely not. You look out of your mind.”

Dabi releases an amused breath.

“So serious.”

Hawks looks around them and lets go of one of his arms so he can drag them to a more secluded corner of the hall.

“What the hell are you on again, you stupid junkie?” he hisses out at him, clearly trying to get a better look at the size of his pupils.

“Nothing.”

And that’s the honest truth. Dabi doesn’t take uppers anyway.

“Then why are you like this?” Hawks shakes his arm as he asks, his leather-clad fingers digging into his scarred skin; it can’t be nice to have the fabric of his gloves heat up like that.

Dabi tilts his head from side to side, pretending to think about it.

“Having a day, I guess.”

Hawks scoffs and releases his arm.

“You were having a day yesterday and the day before that, Dabi.”

“Yeah, I guess I have been,” he agrees cryptically and takes to running his hands over the hero’s front, up and down, barely focused on what Hawks is saying.

What does it matter anyway? Does he really expect him to care when the other is always in that stupid, tight little shirt?

“What’s up with you hanging out with Skeptic anyway? Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” he murmurs distractedly as he tries to strip Hawks of his fluffy jacket.

“Hey, hands to yourself,” Hawks gripes as soon as the jacket is off his shoulder and tries to fight off Dabi’s constantly returning touch. “We’re in public, you maniac.”

“Holy shit, I don’t care.” Dabi grabs him by his wide belt loops and bumps their hips together. “I want you.”

The hero blinks at him incredulously and drops his voice into a whisper.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Hawks fucks his damn skull so hard, Dabi swears his head is going to go through the wall. They couldn’t make it upstairs to the suites, or rather, Dabi didn’t have the patience when he started getting handsy with him in the hallway, even though Hawks did everything to negotiate he behaves for 30 more fucking seconds, until the last of the hero’s patience withered away and he pushed him inside the closest restroom and locked them in a stall. It was routine from that point on – belt off, Dabi’s knees hitting the filthy floor hard enough to bruise and then he was going to town. He’s never this eager, that’s what’s strange, and Hawks was hesitant and unsure the entire time, even though he was pissed.

...Until Dabi got his mouth on him.

It’s fast and sloppy and the sound of the villain slurping his own saliva off of Hawks’ cock is practically bouncing from the walls in the echoic bathroom. He’s only being this loud because he’s off his fucking rocker and the place is empty, but not everything can go their way.

When someone walks into the restroom, Hawks buries himself all the way to the hilt and Dabi chokes and slobbers around him. Tries to pull away but the domineering hand in his hair just grows tighter. Hawks’ eyes are bright in the dim light. Sharp. He puts a finger up to his own lips to signal he quiets down. Dabi just wants to moan and hump his ankle but he knows better. He tries to keep his throat open, keep his slight panic under control so he can breathe through his nose without gagging.

He can’t imagine how he looks, obediently holding onto Hawks’ pant legs and trembling all over with his own dick hard between his legs. His small mouth is stretched impossibly wide around the hero and he can taste him leaking down his throat when he swallows carefully and makes Hawks mouth curses. He’s popping bloodied staples and he can distinctly feel one of them hanging off his skin. It must be one hell of a grotesque sight, especially with his eye scars bloating up imperceptibly where blood tries to escape beneath them.

Once again, Hawks is getting off on his ugliness.

The stall next to them flushes. Then a sink starts running. Dabi sniffles pathetically and it’s immediately punished by having his nose pinched. Now Dabi panics for real. His eyes grow huge, begging Hawks for a sliver of mercy, but the hero just grinds against the back of his throat languidly. He can’t breathe. Dabi feels his nerves spike with fear and he struggles uselessly in Hawks’ grip as his spasming throat gets abused. His eye scars deflate when a disgusting amount of blood spills down his cheeks. He’s getting lightheaded.

Dabi starts seeing spots as Hawks rocks into his hot mouth. His eyes blur. He can’t see from crimson and he’s white-knuckling the tan fabric in his fists. When the water shuts off and the door closes, Dabi is convinced he’s going to pass out while Hawks cums down his throat.

“Fuck, yes, take it... Take it,” the hero moans up at the fluorescent lamps and lets go when Dabi tries to scream around his cock.

The villain pulls off as quickly as he can and miraculously, the staples hanging off the corners of his mouth don’t catch on anything delicate. He immediately tries to gasp for air, his nostrils flaring wildly to get the oxygen he needs, but chokes on all the saliva and semen in his throat. His chin is slick with it, a wet, pink disaster mixed with blood. His hands slip off Hawks’ pants and slap onto the floor and he retches for a good minute or two.

He watches his nose drip and add to the red and white mess on the tiles. He’s still shaking after he’d calmed down and his tongue is hanging out and stringing drool down the floor. Dabi sniffs. He raises his head slowly and gazes up at a panting Hawks past his blood-stained lashes.

“Don’t give me that look,” he grumbles. “It’s what you get for acting like that out there.”

When the hero starts tucking his dick away, Dabi wraps his arms around his thigh and bodily glues himself to Hawks’ leg.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” he whines.

Hawks looks down at him in slight disbelief.

“Not here.” He zips up and reaches for the door handle.

“You’re not going anywhere until you get me off.”

Dabi is smoking past his seams. That defiant, aggressive mania from before peeks past the curtain of submission the hero fucked into him. Hawks considers him.

“Get up here.”

To his credit, he does haul Dabi up to his feet and let him cling onto him, but when he slots a knee between the villain’s thighs and reaches for his cock, blue fire lights up around just as blue eyes. Hawks freezes. Something about Dabi’s mood is unpredictable today in a way he doesn’t feel confident challenging and Dabi knows and fully intends on exploiting that.

“You’re not going to make me cum with a pathetic fucking handjob. We’re going to go up to my room and you’re going to fuck me, hero,” he spits out with a little more contempt than usual. “This might be your last chance, so make me remember it.”

He doesn’t come out of that room until evening rolls around and he has made sure Hawks has fucked him until neither of them knows which planet they’re on anymore. Dabi does know he’s starving, though. He’d spent all day on a coffee, cigarettes and mania, and unfortunately, there are no nutrients in any of those things, nor sex, so it’s time he pays the cafeteria a visit. Hawks tells him he’ll be down after him. They don’t need more people talking.

Dabi knows he must look like hell coming into that hall. His hair sticks out everywhere, his upper lip is an abused red and his eyes are puffy where they aren’t scarred. He’s missing staples around his mouth and he’s definitely covering up a limp. But at this point, everyone knows not to pay him any mind, or at least, to not stare too hard. You don’t want to get into an altercation with Dabi.

It’s the end of the day, meaning there isn’t an abundance of leftovers and definitely no comforting, warm soups or brothy foods, so Dabi settles for some soggy tonkatsu and a dry looking puff pastry he fully intends on chewing through with gusto. Definitely not enough food for a grown man that forgot to eat all day, but he isn’t exactly looking to live a long and fulfilling life over here. The two chilled bottles of mineral water are a must, however.

He carries his tray to the closest table, not paying attention to who’s sitting there and who leaves their spot around him. Cowards and pussies. Dabi has never been safer company than when he’s fucked out, drained and hungry. He plops his flat ass down and the water bottles roll towards the edge of his tray. He picks up one of them, uncaps it and tips his head back as he works on downing the whole thing in one go.

A pair of judgemental grey eyes meet him across the table when he crushes the plastic and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Blowing that hero again, Dabi?”

Geten is one of the former MLA’s members that deeply loathes Hawks. Re-Destro quite likes him, Skeptic is rightfully suspicious, but placated by Hawks’ work, and Trumpet plays mind games within mind games with him while they talk. But Geten… Geten cannot breathe the same air as him. It’s pretty funny. Dabi definitely gets it, but he has no room bonding with him over it when he’s busy poking around the hero’s crotch all the time.

“Do you really want me to answer that question truthfully?” he grouches in his broken voice while splitting his unpolished, wooden chopsticks.

Geten seems to be picking at an equally dry meal. He’s not in his coat and his hair is strewn across his shoulders, unbrushed. He has a really young face. Dabi wonders if he’s even eighteen.

“You ought to have more self-respect than that,” he murmurs.

Dabi grins crookedly, but weakly and snorts as he picks up a piece of meat. The tonkatsu sauce burns and stings where it lathers over his cut, swollen lips.

“You know, wanting to get my shit rocked by an attractive guy isn’t that deep.” He chuckles and rests his chin on his open palm.

Geten makes a face. Hey, if he’s going to be instigating a fight, Dabi isn’t going to censor himself.

“Is that truly all it really is?”

“Yeah.” He nods curtly and looks at him like it’s obvious before stuffing another piece of meat into his mouth.

His stomach growls while he chews and he exhales through his nose in mild embarrassment.

“Hm.”

Geten lowers his pretty lashes and continues eating in silence.

Dabi never tries to have real conversations with him because he’s a piece of shit scum with a pathetic outlook on life, but he decides his attitude has been fucked out of him for today, so he entertains the idea.

In another five minutes or so, Dabi asks:

“What do you think of him?”

“His stance is too watery,” Geten answers readily. “Commit or don’t show your face around here at all. You think heroes who climb that high up could switch their alignment this dramatically?” His eyebrows furrow and he rolls his eyes. “Please.”

Dabi hums thoughtfully. It’s a reasonable opinion to have, because he’s of the same belief. Although, now he has more proof to back that up. He’s sure there are others who’d agree.

“Skeptic claims he’s doing his part.”

Geten’s round face twists into a scandalised scowl.

“I knew your brain was fried, but you can’t be seriously defending him.”

“Watch your mouth, you little bastard,” Dabi shoots back and throws him a tired glare; there’s minimal bite to those words and they’re just fighting for the sake of it now. “Trust me, I’m not. And it pains me that we agree on something.”

“Good. I don’t like him.” Dabi scoffs at that because yeah, no shit, and opens his second bottle of water after finishing up his tonkatsu. “I look at him and all I see is a dog whose leash got a little loose. But ultimately, he’ll be running back to his owners with his tail wagging once the pieces start moving. You’ll see.”

Dabi doesn’t doubt Geten is right.

“Are you worried he’ll fuck this up for us?” he asks before taking a more modest sip of water.

“No. He’s one man.”

Dabi immediately thinks of Twice. He thinks of Shigaraki, too. Of Stain. They’re all ‘one man’ and they can make his dream come true. They can change the world. They changed his world.

“...One man is enough to turn the tide.”

Geten pushes his tray out of the way and folds his arms over the table so he can lean towards the other.

“Then make sure he eats that boot he likes to lick when the time comes, Dabi.”

***

Bubaigawara Jin’s corpse hangs mutilated and limp off the staircase.

Dabi has seen and been responsible for plenty of dead bodies, but they never get the chance to cool down before they crumble into scorching piles of ash. And he is familiar with the cold. His mother’s palms had thick, dry, yet smooth skin, and her fingers were like icicles. But whenever she used to run them through his hair and brush them across his scalp, he never once thought ‘dead’. He thought that’s mom. That’s mom that I love. Then that’s mom that I hate. And finally, that’s mom that I miss.

But Bubaigawara Jin is definitely dead. Dabi has never touched someone so spectacularly cold before in his life.

It’s late. The heroes and police force still haven’t had the chance to regroup after the war that had transpired during the day, so Dabi... Touya. Yes, he can reclaim his name now. Touya has decided to return to the scene of the crime. He’s kneeling down on scorched wood in a pool of blood and holding Jin’s weirdly shiny face. He’d died with an expression of anguish.

Touya’s fingers sink in further than they used to before into his uncannily soft and loose skin. He closes his eyelids gently over those bulging eyeballs and pulls his blonde head over his lap with some struggle. He doesn’t remember him being that heavy. Touya just stares at him with a blank expression on his badly burnt face. Jin is nothing but a sack of useless meat now. No thoughts and feelings. No tears, even. This is just a body.

Touya’s relationship with death is unique. Most of the League’s is. For Touya, death is something he’s willingly running towards. It will be his reward, his release. But for Himiko, for Jin, death didn’t hold the same meaning, therefore, his death is premature in Touya’s humble opinion. So he’s going to bring him back, just for a bit. After all, he has unfinished business with a traitorous friend and a sad girl to appease.

Touya never really did get to have that second kiss either, did he?

He wonders what he should be feeling right now. He’d lashed out harder than he has in years earlier today, but all that’s left now is numbness. Simmering excitement... Aching. Touya curls his fingers into his tank top in front of his heart. Jin used to do that sometimes when he was in the throes of his melodramas. A part of him wants to believe in the delusional thought that maybe the real Jin escaped, but he knows that logically, this corpse would be mush instead of rigid flesh.

He pets along his face more firmly. His thumb follows those lips that were always curled into a pout. Nothing feels right. It doesn’t feel like Jin because it’s not him. Just meat. Just skin. Just a stupid corpse that’ll never laugh with him again. Touya feels an awful pang in his heart. Irrational, stupid feeling.

“Get your shit together,” he grumbles and feels around his pockets for cigarettes and finds about three, loose.

One goes between his lips and he lights it with his index finger like he always does. His brows scrunch up the more he stares at this... not-Jin.

“Jesus, okay. Fuck. Least I can do after desecrating your corpse...” he keeps talking to himself and fishes out a second cigarette from his pocket.

He plucks it between dead, blue lips and takes hold of Jin’s jaw to try and clench his teeth around the cigarette to balance it. His hands hesitantly pull away once he’s sure it’ll keep sitting upright. He lights it for him. Then smirks and puffs out smoke. Now that looks like Jin a little more. He has definitely seen him pass out while smoking before.

“Not bad.”

The nicotine at the end glows red, as if he’s really taking a drag. Touya looks up at the night sky. It’s dreadfully starless, but the moon is right there. Present. It’s just the type of quiet night Jin would’ve liked. Touya raises a small, blood-filled vial in front of his face and rotates it between his fingers. He looks down at the corpse. At not-Jin. There’s ash littering his skin and Touya brushes it away carefully.

“S’for Toga,” he explains, like a crazy person, “so I know you’ll be okay with it.”

The cigarette between the corpse’s lips slides all the way to the side and Touya... almost loses his shit. What the fuck is he doing? He throws both cigarettes away in a fit of anger. He’s wasting time. Mourning the dead. As if he won’t see him in passing in Heaven before he gets dragged down to the deepest depths of Hell.

Touya delivers the vial with his friend’s blood to the one person who really deserved him.

***

The universe has a pretty shitty sense of humour in Touya’s experience. He’s not sure who this is for. If it’s for the Devil or God to laugh at. If it’s for people from another planet or another universe. If he’s in The Truman Show and he’s entertaining people or what. Whoever this is for, then they’re not fair. Strange how people are brought together amidst death and destruction. Family. Friends. Lovers.

Enemies.

Takami Keigo has never looked better than with his wings crippled and his beautiful face scarred. It’s fitting for a killer. They all bear their marks. It was only a matter of time Keigo got his. And Himiko had been right. Touya’s fire would get them found. But only one man would’ve come running towards the flames like he didn’t learn his lesson, and it’s not his dear, old dad. The kid got away before they could get caught and Touya promised he wouldn’t be far behind. That he’s stronger than whatever flies the heroes have left. And a fly came buzzing along.

It’s reminiscent of the first time they ever made contact. A drop from the skies. Feathers in his vision. Except this time the killer hero’s boots hit the broken up pavement harder and Touya’s vision isn’t overwhelmed by vivid ruby, but his very own excellent handiwork. And here he thought Hawks looked good with that full set of bird of prey wings in those cosy afternoons in bed. Touya stands corrected.

God, he wants to see his bare back again more than ever. He bets it looks real ugly.

It’s a starless sky again, like the one that welcomed Jin’s soul home, and Keigo is mostly shrouded in darkness. It’s only thanks to the fire consuming Himiko’s childhood house nearby that his outlines are visible. Touya’s arm stretches out to the side all of a sudden and Keigo immediately readies himself to fight with the way his knees drop and his sorry excuse for wings rise. But all Touya does is light the contents of a nearby trash bin on fire to give them more visibility.

Ah, there he is. So, so serious, as always.

“Dabi.”

And his voice is just as severe, if a little thicker.

Touya laughs so fully and so unabashedly, he ends up squeaking inwardly.

“Oh, please!” He spreads his arms away from his body. “‘Touya’ is perfectly fine, isn’t it, Keigo?”

Keigo goes to draw. So those things sheathe actual swords. How the mighty have fallen. Touya loves every fucking second of this.

“I’m going to take you with me,” he announces and while nothing gives away his emotional state, that declaration lacks conviction.

“How?” Touya wonders. “Practically wingless? You sure you want a rematch?”

That’s not why Keigo is here and they both know it. The hero’s hands drop from the sword handles and his burnt wings fold themselves up. Touya decides he wants to take a closer look. So he does. Keigo keeps his eyes on him the entire time he gets circled like a little sparrow would be by a restless alley cat.

“Nice scar,” he remarks delightfully as he makes a motion towards his own jaw.

“You look worse.”

A weak counter in the face of Touya’s overwhelming win against him.

“But I’ve never felt better.”

He stops in front of the hero as he says that. Now Keigo takes the time to study the new damage on Touya’s skin. Very little of his body is healthy. His staples don’t do much for him in many places.

“You’re... dying.”

Keigo all but croaks that out. He pushes his visor up in his cropped hair, revealing the glitter in eyes that dart all over Touya’s violently marred face.

“I know.” Touya steps dangerously close to him. “And you’ve known for a long time, too.”

His deadly hands are at the nape of Keigo’s burnt neck and Keigo catches his wrists between loose fingers. Touya is having trouble reading him, more than ever. They’re both in uncharted waters here. Touya meets Keigo and Keigo meets Touya...

“You said it’d be the last time,” the hero says faintly.

“And I meant it.” Touya’s arms are serpentine around his neck. “But I didn’t die.” He kisses Keigo’s cheek; it’s soft, in a way that feels disgusting, and his lips travel to his ear to whisper, “Maybe you could kill me too.”

Keigo plants his hands onto his chest and shoves him away until he stumbles back over the pavement stones. Touya laughs loudly.

“Hey, now, why are you angry? I’m not the friend killer.”

The look on Keigo’s sullen face is priceless and equally infuriating. Desperation? Regret? Pain? It’s the same as it always was. What gives him the right to care? What makes him think he’s worthy?

“Dabi, about Bubaigawara–”

Touya’s voice rises over Keigo’s.

“Want me to show you where you can stick your apology?”

He’s still smiling. The fire in the trash bin keeps raging and the smoke from the burning garbage smells more and more rancid by the minute. Incidentally, Keigo’s face contorts itself with just as rancid emotions too.

“You don’t care anyway,” he snarls at the villain and it’s just the type of thing you say when you want to hurt someone. “You don’t– You act like you cared about him more than I did, but in reality, you’re the selfish one.”

Touya smiles brighter. Unfortunately, it does get to him.

“Sure! I don’t care! I don’t care about anyone, Keigo.” It hurts to say those words, like a kid that doubles down on a lie. Misunderstood, again. “That’s the kind of person I am!” he shouts and turns around to hurl an aggressive stream of fire at a nearby window.

The glass shatters and explodes over them.

“What the hell do you think you’re do–”

“And you cared about sooo many people, you had to kill a good guy.” Touya laughs so fucking hard in Keigo’s face, he wheezes, then repeatedly and frantically tries to catch his breath. “Funny how I wasn’t on your hit list instead! Kinda counterproductive, don’t you think!?”

Touya’s rage is infectious like a disease and it has Keigo flattening his hands over his hair in pure disbelief before bending his knees and staring up at Touya beneath his brow bone with a wild expression.

“You want to die that bad? Then die!” He straightens out and gestures around the shitty alleyway. “I don’t see anyone begging you to live!”

The first mask is off. Touya is poking around exactly where Keigo has exposed his soft, beating heart and now he’s just playing one of Touya’s many emotionally taxing games: Who can say the most hurtful thing? He’s holding his own well. The only difference is that Touya is used to the hurt and Keigo is new to it.

“Trying to, hero.”

Keigo falters and Touya’s smile drops.

“Jesus fucking Christ...”

The hero steps away and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Stop it. What’s with that face? It’s gross.”

“Did you have to go to these extremes, Dabi?”

If Keigo is offering to be the one person who tries to understand him, then he’s a few years too late. Just like his family. Just like everyone in his life. Still, it feels bittersweet and it makes Touya hate him a little less in some ways, a little more in others. Because, he has always been that easy. Action, reaction. Love and hate are interchangeable in his world.

But how does he explain to Keigo what it’s like for no one to hear him unless he forces them to look his way? Crying when they won’t take his pain to heart. Raising his voice when they won’t hear him. Hurting himself when they don’t see him. And when nothing does it, nothing works, he does everything else. He hurts them. He destroys everything around them. He forces the issue. How does he explain this desperate destruction to him? How does he explain why he self-mutilates in front of the entire world to be noticed, to expose what’s rotten with this society?

If only anyone had listened, we wouldn’t be here. It could’ve been so simple.

Touya is simple. He loves. And he hates.

Simple.

“Have you never begged to be noticed when you were at your weakest?”

A vulnerable question. Touya guesses that since it’s the end, he can be open. He can talk, and hope Keigo does too. This conversation is meaningless and Touya thinks he understands why nihilism is so liberating now. Keigo looks like he really doesn’t want to be having this discussion, however. They’re at different wavelengths. The hero is prepared to die, but he longs to live.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone enough for that.”

Touya hums. He wonders if Jin could’ve been that for him.

“Figures. You’re fuckin’ emotionally stunted, hero.”

“I probably am.” Touya hates that he aches for him. “You...” Keigo looks down at the ground and his lips part, shaping around words he doesn’t know how to put. “Loved your dad.”

The word ‘love’ sounds so odd coming from Keigo’s mouth. So fragile and unsure, like he still has to learn the meaning of it.

“Yeah,” Touya says softly, “but he didn’t have room in his heart for me. Or anyone who wasn’t useful.”

“That’s not true,” Keigo protests, but he doesn’t even sound like he believes himself.

It makes Touya bristle anyway.

“Shut the hell up! Like you know what paternal love is supposed to look like.” His eyes narrow into vicious little slits and his staples cry for mercy when he grins up to his ears. “Yeah, I heard from your mommy about how you used to get your ass beat black and blue.”

“Dabi,” Keigo utters darkly, “I’d tread very carefully with that line if I were you.”

Touya doesn’t heed the warning. He doesn’t heed any warnings anymore.

“How’d it feel when you found out that your hero is a wife beater? A child abuser? Familiar?” he taunts. “Maybe it made you feel a sense of comfort.”

Keigo rubs a hand all over his face, then fucking snaps.

“It felt like shit, you bastard, how do you think!?”

Well, that’s a lot more honest than Touya expected.

“And you’re still on their side.”

Keigo leers at him when he gets directly into his face and grabs him by the popped collar of his coat. It’s like watching Touya’s own inferno reflected in Keigo’s irises.

“Would taking yours be better? You’re fucking killing people that never had anything to do with you, or your father–”

“He needs to experience the consequences of his actions!” Touya screams desperately and his voice cracks. “The world won’t understand what monster they’re letting have all this power! You don’t understand–”

Keigo stares at him in stunned silence. He lets go of his coat and Touya just... slumps down onto the ground. He covers his face and sighs into his palms. Surprisingly, Keigo sits next to him, but not without putting a reasonable amount of space between them. With the height of their emotions crashing down, Touya starts noticing the stench of the burning garbage again.

“I wouldn’t have been able to, for the record,” Keigo murmurs.

“Wouldn’t have been able to what?”

“Kill you. If it were you instead of Bubaigawara.”

Touya puts his hands down and turns his face to make eye contact with Keigo.

“Why?”

Keigo looks at him pleadingly. Like either he doesn’t want Touya to make him say it or because he truly doesn’t fully grasp why. He’s not sure which is worse, but they both hurt pretty damn bad. It’s also a load of crap. Keigo would finish the job, like he was trained to. The question is why the hell does he think he’d care enough to hesitate?

Touya guesses that... that conversation about making each other miserable meant more than he let on.

“Yeah, okay. You wouldn’t have. Because you only kill friends. And that’s not what we were. Ain’t that right, Keigo?” he spits out spitefully.

Keigo seems to have finally reined himself in, though, and doesn’t give him the reaction he’s hoping for.

“Just... stop it already,” he drones lifelessly and drags his gaze away to focus on the dumpster fire in front of them. “I have dreams about him all the time. You don’t have to go out of your way to torture me.”

He thinks of Toga Himiko and the small vial of blood she holds. Touya’s death is nigh but there’s still much to look forward to. Much to laugh about. If only Keigo knew what was awaiting him. Touya hopes he gets to see the look on his face.

“If you saw him again, the real Twice, what would you say to him? What would you do?”

Keigo blinks blanky, then hangs his head low.

“I’d... I have nothing good to say to him, except sorry,” he decides carefully. “I don’t think he’d really want to hear why I did what I did either. I fucked him over and words don’t really go far, so... He’s not alive for me to do right by. This is all I can... would say.”

What a boring answer. He’d rather hear something fucked up like ‘I love you’ or ‘I cared about you’. He wishes Keigo could just commit to being the bad guy.

Touya’s lips curl back and he clicks his tongue.

“Liar.”

“If you’re just going to call me a liar, why ask in the first place?” Keigo questions irritably.

Touya heaves a sigh and stands up to get ready to leave. He dusts his backside off and the hero looks up at him. The dumpster fire has weakened considerably and Keigo has steadily shifted into the dark silhouette he arrived as again.

“What’s horrible about this, Hawks, is that you truly believe yourself.” Touya smiles down at him bitterly and his eyes travel to his pathetic little feathers while his boots start leading him away from the hero rising to his feet. “...But I know you better than you know yourself and you...” Touya points at him as he stops when he’s at the mouth of the alleyway, where he will disappear into the night. “...You wouldn’t say that.”

‘I’m sorry’?

Hawks wouldn’t apologise.

Hawks would kill him again.

And a million more times if he has to.