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Hawks isn’t blind. Far from it, actually. “Eyes of a hawk” and all.
But that doesn’t stop him from being willfully blind. That is, the inability to see what’s right in front of him because his feelings somehow muddle his vision.
And that, precisely, is how Hawks misses all the signs that Dabi is incredibly insecure.
Because, in Hawks’ mind, how could he be? He’s lovely. Beyond that; he’s incredible, he’s gorgeous, a sight to behold in all the best ways.
So he misses it all. Dabi’s little ducks and blushes, the way he deflects compliments and rolls his eyes at praise.
But it all catches up with him one night.
Dabi texts him to say he’ll be over after a League meeting, but plans to swing by the store to pick up some ingredients for dinner first. Hawks cautiously asks if maybe it’s better if he go — considering he is not the wanted criminal out of the two of them — but Dabi insists it’s fine, that the place is in a shady enough area that he probably won’t stick out or be spotted.
Time passes. Hawks is getting anxious.
It’s now about twenty minutes after Dabi’s estimated arrival time, and he’s gone radio silent over text. Hawks raps his talons on the arm of his couch, fighting the urge to take out all his stress by shredding the cushions to pieces.
The relief he feels when the back door slides open is indescribable.
“Right on time,” he teases as he stands, fighting the shake in his voice. Dabi walks in from the balcony, first setting down a paper bag of food, then slipping off his boots and hooded jacket, leaving him in just his jeans and a white t-shirt. The last thing to come off is his black medical mask, which… reveals a woefully somber expression.
Hawks frowns. Something’s off.
Willfully blind as ever, he ignores it, flitting over and welcoming Dabi back by cupping his cheek and leaving a little peck on a staple right by the corner of his lip.
Dabi snorts, but there’s no humor in it, and no smile to accompany it. He picks the bag back up and moves it to the counter, before muttering faintly, “I can’t believe you like kissing a face that makes little kids cry.”
Hawks freezes up, trying to ignore how strangely defensive that comment makes him feel. Yes, something’s very off; he makes his way over, closing the gap between them.
“Kids are dramatic little monsters,” he scoffs, “I had a little girl ask me to flap my wings, and then she cried once I did. Like, she literally asked me to do it.”
Dabi doesn’t look convinced.
“I think they’ve got more reason to be scared of my appearance than yours,” he deadpans.
Hawks picks an eyelash off of Dabi’s cheek, a soft, teasing smile on his lips.
“When have you ever cared about the opinion of a child before?”
Dabi hums dryly, eyes following Hawks’ gentle fingers. “Fair enough.” His expression quickly grows more solemn before he continues, “It’s just, um. A little… demoralizing? When things like that do happen, I mean. Y’know?”
Hawks cocks his head, brows drawn because he, as a matter of fact, does not know. Dabi picks up on this, and his face displays increasing frustration, color creeping high on his cheekbones. He starts to walk away, back towards the couch.
“Never mind,” he says quickly. “Forget I said anything.”
Hawks simply cannot do that.
“Hey.” He catches Dabi’s wrist as he brushes by. “Where’s all this coming from, huh?”
Dabi’s gaze flicks over and — his eyes.
Deep within the sea of blue, there’s such an obvious, palpable hurt. It's bubbling dangerously close to the surface, like it could burst out and rear its ugly head at any moment.
No, Hawks cannot ignore that.
“Hey,” he murmurs, rubbing a thumb over the seam of Dabi’s wrist. “Come sit, okay? We can talk.”
Dabi looks away. “No.”
Hawks really should have expected that response. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise. I’m here to listen.”
“The one thing that it won’t do is make me feel better-”
“Then we can just sit,” Hawks insists. “If you feel like talking then talk, if not then don’t. But at least sit with me, yeah?”
Dabi wavers for a second, scrunching his lips up to the side and closing his eyes. Finally, reluctantly, he relents.
“Fine.”
With a gentle tug on his wrist, Hawks leads him over to the couch. Dabi crams himself in on the side opposite from Hawks, folding his arms and looking a bit like a disgruntled cat. Hawks takes no offense, letting him go and angling his body to face him a little better.
It’s quiet for a while, something visibly eating at Dabi. Hawks furrows his brows.
“Doing okay?”
Dabi parts his lips with clear intent to lie. But he pauses, shuts them, then drops his head.
“Not really, no,” he mutters.
It’s confirmation of something he already knew, but Hawks still feels anxiety creeping up his throat.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
From his dark expression, it seems like Dabi is leaning towards no, so it surprises Hawks when he actually begins to speak.
“I went recruiting today,” he starts slowly, “and they- a couple of them made… comments about the way I look.”
A hot feeling flashes through Hawks’ chest. “Motherfuckers-”
Dabi waves his hand in a lazy motion. “It’s no big deal; I’m used to it. A lot of them are wannabe thugs who feel they need an intimidation tactic, and that aspect of me… it’s an easy target, y'know?”
He takes a breath and steadies himself. “It didn’t bother me until, um.”
He swallows, breaking off suddenly. Hawks reaches over and rubs a soothing hand over the scarred skin of his arm, a silent form of encouragement. He knows Dabi doesn’t have sensation there, but he also knows that he appreciates it regardless.
(“It doesn’t matter that I can’t feel it,” he’d once admitted in a haze of sleep deprivation, “I can see it- I know you’re doing it, and that’s- that’s enough for me.”)
“I went to the store,” Dabi continues. “The one I always go to so… I thought it’d be fine? It’s usually just, uh. Assholes like me in there.”
Hawks huffs out a laugh, warranting a tiny smile from Dabi. It’s fleeting, though, fading the moment he speaks again.
“For some reason, there was a mom and her kid in there. No idea why — maybe they were tourists who got turned around, I don’t know. But I- I didn’t see them, and I pulled down my mask for just a second to catch my breath and-”
He pauses for a second, closing his eyes.
“She just… lost it. The kid, I mean. Crying, freaking out. She was so-” He sighs. “She was so afraid of me. Just from my face, y’know? I wasn’t even trying to frighten her, it just… happened. Naturally.”
He presses his lips together for a moment, a bitter expression overtaking his features. “Shit like that’s happened before. A lot. But I guess... that combined with how recruiting went, it just- I don’t know. It really got to me today.”
Hawks hums in understanding, scooting closer and working a gentle hand over Dabi’s bicep, up and down motions repeated soothingly.
“I’m sorry, Dabs,” Hawks says sincerely. “I’m really, really sorry.”
Dabi turns his head away, hazy and looking at nothing in particular.
“It’s just stupid,” he says, apprehensive to elaborate. “As long as I’ve looked… like this, nobody’s ever given me a chance. I mean, even before I was a villain, their instinct was always fear. It’s just-”
He pauses for a sharp exhale, then continues haltingly. “To be honest, it wasn’t something I really thought about a lot until… until you.”
Hawks cocks his head inquisitively, ignoring the churning in his gut warning him that he may not like where this goes. Dabi gets the memo, dipping his head sheepishly before explaining.
“The way I look… it worked for a while, you know? I wanted to be left alone, and it did that for me. I mean, people cross the street when they see me coming, and I- I didn’t mind, I really didn’t. For so long, it really was fine.”
His eyes flicker up, as melancholy as they are blue, brimming with a unique sort of ache.
“But… you’re so handsome, Hawks. Like, it’s sick how good-looking you are.”
Hawks would love to take that as a compliment, but all he can focus on is how miserably Dabi says it.
“And, um,” Dabi painfully trudges forward, “it’s not like it’s your fault but, it’s just- I- I never thought I’d ever… be with someone, let alone someone who looks like you. And now I…”
He sighs, flicking his gaze to the side, and says softly, “I’m so, so aware of what I look like.”
Dabi glances back briefly, looks at the rough purple skin of his forearm, then drops his eyes with a grimace. His voice is strained, like his own stray thoughts have caught him by the throat.
“I don’t- like that people are afraid of me anymore. All I can think about is that they’re seeing what you have to see and I just…”
He cuts off abruptly and moves to cover his eyes with his palms. But despite his efforts, he can’t stop the blood that’s begun to flow from his seams, dripping sluggishly between his fingers and onto his knuckles. Hawks’ heart pounds; he’s right here, only a breath from him with a hand on his arm, but he’s never felt so far away.
And useless.
So damn useless, staring at scars he can’t heal and hurt he can’t fix.
He has no idea where to begin. So, he says the first thing that pops up at the forefront of his mind.
“I love looking at you.”
Dabi slowly lowers his hands, revealing blood-soaked scars and upturned brows.
“You… what?”
“I said,” Hawks continues, leaning forward, “I love looking at you.”
He licks his thumb and begins to wipe the smeared blood from Dabi’s cheeks.
“I promise. I really do.”
Dabi doesn’t respond; he silently rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. It tugs at the staples, yanking and pulling at his tender seams. And before he can process what he’s doing, Hawks catches Dabi’s wrist; turquoise eyes gape, and it dawns on him what he’s just done.
“Sorry,” he mutters, guiding Dabi’s arm down and letting go. “Just… didn’t want you to, um. Rip yourself.”
He cringes. Smooth going there.
Dabi closes his eyes. Exhaustion sets in on his body, detectable everywhere, from his loose frown to his drooping shoulders.
“You see what I mean though?” he sighs. “I hate that that’s something I even have to think about. Normal people don’t have staples in their fucking face-”
“Or wings on their back,” Hawks cuts in, gentle but unwavering. “No one’s ‘normal’ , Dabs. Everyone’s strange in their own way, you know? Doesn’t make anyone worse than anyone else.”
Dabi looks up, and he asks, with the earnestness of a child, “But if no one looks normal, then why do I scare people, huh?”
Hawks isn’t a therapist or a philosopher; he has no idea how to answer that. He settles for shaking his head and saying, “People are dumb.” He perks up a little. “I was never scared of you. You know that.”
Dabi snorts. “Yeah, because you’re not normal.” His face falls. “I just…”
He trails off for a moment, wiping gently at his own cheeks to catch the stray blood.
“I think… I really wish my face wasn’t scarred.”
It's a statement that wounds Hawks in a way he can’t put into words. He wants to reach out, to comfort, to fix- but he knows he can’t fix that. He settles for moving his own hand to Dabi’s and rubbing his thumb over it, using soft, gentle motions.
“It’s just… it’s one thing when you can cover them easily, but…” Dabi brushes over the damaged skin of his own jaw with shaking fingers.
“I can’t really hide all of… this. And when I do, it’s so obvious that I am hiding something.” He closes his eyes, visibly fighting back more crimson tears.
“People… they judge you by your face, y’know? It’s the first thing they see, and I-” His lip quivers. “I… hate my scars. All of them. But I hate the scars on my face the most. They- they speak for me, I don’t even get a chance. I know when people look at me, they’re- they’re not really looking at me, they’re looking at them- ”
Hawks leans forward, using his knuckles to brush away the red droplets escaping underneath Dabi’s eyes.
“Oh, Dabs,” he breathes softly, chest aching.
It’s easy to forget, with how enamored he is with Dabi, that most people are very afraid of the way he looks. They don’t see the beauty in his patchwork body, the silver glimmer of his staples like moonlight on the ocean, the striking and incredible tenacity displayed in his scars. No, they see his face and they feel fear. It’s bafflingly backwards to Hawks.
Dabi’s sniffling, clearly trying to keep it together, but still hiccups through muted sobs as he speaks.
“It’d just be nice,” he continues unsteadily, “to go one day without some sort of- some- inadvertent reminder of how fucking ugly I look-”
“I like your scars.”
It tumbles from Hawks’ mouth before he can bite it back, juvenile in its simplicity. Dabi locks eyes with him, brows tipped up and lips parted in shock.
“Hawks,” he says slowly, voice dripping in apprehension, “if you’re just trying to make me feel better-”
“I’m not,” he interrupts firmly. “I’m not. I promise. It’s the truth.”
Dabi doesn’t respond and settles instead for wilting forward, bent like a willow in a breeze, tiredly shaking his head. Hawks tries to ignore the sinking feeling that’s so palpable in his gut, placing a hand on Dabi’s scarred wrist, tapping a talon gently on the staples.
“Why’s that so hard to believe, huh?”
There’s no malice in it, just genuine interest. Hawks is finding that, clearly, his perception of Dabi is wildly different from his own. It all boils down to one easy fact: Hawks simply can’t imagine any sort of world where he wouldn’t find Dabi beautiful.
But Hawks soon wishes his curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of him. Dabi interprets his question as a slight, snatching and clinging to it as proof that Hawks is too good to be true. He straightens up, face suddenly full of misguided clarity.
“You’re making fun of me.” It’s a statement, agonizingly sure.
Hawks flounders. “No, I-”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
He pulls his arm away and Hawks is so, wretchedly aware of the lack of warm skin against his palm once he does. Dabi rises from the couch, pacing and exasperatedly running a hand through his hair.
“You are, because why else would you ask something like that? ‘Why’?” He chokes out a dry laugh. “Fucking look at me, Hawks. Look at me.”
“I am,” Hawks replies, the heartfelt nature of his voice bordering on naïve, like a little kid seeing the stars for the first time.
“That should tell you everything you need to know.” Dabi folds his arms over his chest in finality, but if anything, he just looks very defeated and very small. His breaths are short and rapid, chest rising and falling like a cornered mouse.
It’s all wrong, Hawks thinks. It’s so backwards, so messed up; Dabi has things so, incredibly twisted, and he has no idea how to begin explaining that to him. Half the time, he can’t think straight when sees Dabi because of how lovely he is to look at. But Dabi really, truly believes that this is all some sort of mean-spirited joke, a ruse with the end goal of hurting him as much as possible.
No. It’s all wrong. Hawks needs to fix this.
He rises slowly, taking careful steps in Dabi’s direction. When he gets to him, he reaches up and cups both sides of Dabi’s face.
“Hey,” he murmurs, “look at me.”
Dabi drops his eyes, shakes his head. Hawks can feel the swift thrum of his pulse under his pinky finger.
“It’s okay, Dabs,” he assures softly. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just… look at me, yeah?”
After some hesitation, he does. The trepidation in his eyes breaks Hawks’ heart a little.
“Please don’t make fun of me.”
It's a whisper, but he’s begging.
Hawks holds his face a little more firmly, feeling every bit and piece of him: healthy skin, scars, and staples alike.
“I’m not,” he says fiercely. “I’m not. I would never, never do that to you. You’re far too important to me, you understand?”
Dabi blinks up at him, blue eyes glassy. Hawks drives the point home.
“I love looking at you. I love your face, I love you with your scars, because I-” He steels himself. “I just- I love- you, Dabi. I love… you.”
The gravity of what he’s just confessed doesn’t hit him until he’s closed his mouth. And as soon as it does, he feels like he’s made of stone, heavy and sinking to the ground, absolutely terrified-
“I love you, too,” Dabi whispers. It’s instant, a reflex, an unconscious reflection of something that’s true as true can be.
Hawks breathes out, wrapping both his arms and wings around Dabi, holding him close. Dabi hiccups, burying his face into the crook of Hawks’ neck, breathing raggedly. With tension freshly relieved from his body, Hawks rubs big circles into Dabi’s back.
“You’re okay,” he says softly. “I love you. Everything’s okay.”
Dabi’s breathing slows, then steadies. He leans a bit deeper into Hawks’ touch, taking calculated inhales and exhales to calm himself, an art that’s clearly been practiced. Hawks keeps his hand on Dabi’s back, pressing kisses to the top of his head, interspersing them with quiet “I love you” s.
“You’re stupid for loving me,” Dabi whispers into his neck. It’s such a recognizably him thing to say, negative and dry and bitter. “If you’re not messing with me, if you really do-”
“I must be an idiot, then,” Hawks says with a tiny shrug, “because I really am in love with you.”
“…Really?”
“Hopelessly.”
Dabi lifts his droopy head, expression still doubtful and somber, a bit difficult to read. But instead of pulling away, he drops his forehead, pressing it against Hawks’.
Hawks coos. His heart soars.
Yes. Yes. He loves him.
Hawks knots his fingers in Dabi’s dark hair and begins to affectionately card through it. Dabi straightens up a little bit, eyes darting to the ground, words clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue.
“…Hawks?”
“Yeah, Dabs?”
Dabi hesitates for a bit, clearly working up the nerve to continue. When he does, it’s hushed, voice hoarse with emotion.
“Why do you like them? My… scars.”
Hawks hums as he thinks, beginning to gently scratch Dabi’s scalp with taloned fingers.
“I mean, I never knew you without them. So to me, they’re just a part of the version of you I fell for. I like you as you are, and so what if that includes some scars?”
He tips his head in thought, then adds a bit cagily, “Plus… I dunno, I’ve always thought scars are kinda cool. Like… it means you lived, right? Something really bad happened, but you beat the odds and came out the other side. What’s more admirable than that?”
He moves his hand from Dabi’s head to his cheek, feeling the texture of his scarring beneath his fingertips.
“To me, they’re a badge of honor,” Hawks murmurs. He traces the seam from the corner of Dabi’s mouth to his ear for good measure.
Dabi’s eyes drop, rife with shame. “They feel more like a punishment for surviving something I shouldn’t have.”
Hawks murmurs, “Oh, baby,” under his breath, leaving a gentle kiss on Dabi’s forehead.
Dabi is quiet for a long while, eyes closed and face leaned into Hawks’ touch. Eventually he looks up, eyes round and innocent.
“You… you think I look cool?”
A grin overtakes Hawks’ face. He plants a kiss on the tip of Dabi’s nose, which immediately flushes pink.
“Yeah, hot stuff. You look cool. And, y’know, also,” he leans down to murmur into Dabi’s ear, “you’re really, really handsome.”
Dabi begins a strained argument.
“Hawks, be honest-“
“You are.”
Hawks cups both sides of Dabi’s face again, locking directly into the wavering turquoise gaze.
“You are,” he repeats. “You’re strikingly handsome. You’re beautiful, Dabs. You really are.”
Hawks watches the mental conflict flicker across Dabi’s face, and tries not to be completely heartbroken by it. This is all a shock, he knows, to someone like Dabi, who has lived for so long with the firm belief that he’s ugly and unlovable. But god, Hawks wishes that just for a moment, he could let Dabi into his thoughts so he could see himself from loving eyes. It would change everything, he thinks.
Eventually, Dabi sighs, drooping further into Hawks’ touch.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like you aren’t lying,” he says softly.
“Well,” Hawks replies, landing another kiss on his forehead, “I’ll just have to keep telling you then, won’t I?”
And for what feels like the first time all night, Dabi smiles, really smiles. It’s little, and shy, but it’s there.
“Okay,” he whispers. “That’d be alright.”