The city breathed smoke again, but not the kind that came from villain attacks. This was quieter: exhaust from traffic, fog curling in the alleys, the sour tang of winter air.
Hawks perched high on a radio tower, golden eyes tracking movement far below. His feathers shivered against the wind, restless. It wasn’t a mission tonight. He told himself he was just patrolling. Just watching.
But the truth sat heavy in his chest: he was waiting for him.
Dabi.
Every time Hawks swore he wouldn’t go looking, he found himself drifting back toward the edges of blue fire. And every time, the villain was there—like smoke that always found a way through cracks.
The sky shivered faintly, and Hawks caught it: a flicker of unnatural light in the distance. Blue.
He was already moving before he could stop himself.
The rooftop was quiet this time. Dabi sat on the ledge, one leg dangling over the side, flame flickering weakly in his palm like a cigarette. His face was turned away from Hawks, but the glow lit his scars in sharp relief.
“You’re late,” Dabi said without turning.
Hawks landed softly behind him, wings folding in tight. “Didn’t know we had an appointment.”
“You always come.”
The words were simple, but they hit Hawks harder than they should’ve. He leaned against the railing a few feet away, studying the blue flame in Dabi’s hand. It wasn’t an attack this time. Just… something to hold.
“You burn too much,” Hawks murmured. “One day, there won’t be anything left.”
Dabi finally looked at him, pale eyes sharp under the shadows. “And what’ll you do then, birdie? Cry over the ashes?”
Hawks’s grin faltered. His feathers twitched behind him, restless, uncertain.
“No,” he said softly. “I’d be the idiot who tried to put the fire out with his bare hands.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The city hummed below, alive and unaware.
And when Dabi looked away first, Hawks knew he’d struck too close to something real.
