Went and Googled a February Prompt list and am using it to practice writing daily (or more often at least) and learning how to characterize these guys, since I've never written for this Fandom before. This whole month is going to revolve around Dabi and Hawks. A hotwings AMV kicked me down this rabbit hole of a pairing, and I came just in time to watch them burn (not gonna stop me from pairing them anyways).
Day 5: Tiny Doodle
It's been a slow day today, an incredibly slow day, and Hawks shouldn't be happier. After all, this is exactly the kind of future Hawks wants for heroes. Days with nowhere to go, no one to save, and nothing to do. Hawks would be happy; however, Hawks doesn't get to have those days. Because when noon came around and nothing happened besides some petty theft Hawks took care of easily, the Hero Commission called him in for a 'physical'. His next physical wasn't for a few months, so Hawks dreads what this could be about. He can't argue with them, though.
However, he knew the moment he walked in that something is up. The workers are stressed, more stressed than they really should be for such a slow day. He has yet to figure out the why, but he guesses it involves him. Based on the glances they keep shooting his way before they dart away the moment he turns his gaze towards them.
And the silence. It's extremely eerie, and he can't even use his feathers to eavesdrop (…not that he would…maybe…what the Commission doesn't know won't hurt Hawks). The workers he's passed have either been strangely quiet or stopped talking the moment they realized Hawks is in the area.
Honestly, Hawks finds himself wishing the League would do something—anything, even something stupid like attacking Yuuei High—just to get Hawks out of here before he finds out what's going on. He bets he won't like the answer.
By the time he makes it to the President's office, he feels like a child again. He knocks on the door, forcing his shoulders to stay straight and his wings folded, unmoving, behind him as he waits for her to invite him in. He shuts the door behind him before the President even asks.
"What's up, Madam President?" he asks, trying for a nonchalant tone. He doubts it works. Even more so when her eyes narrow from where she stands behind the desk.
"Sit."
He winces at the curt order. She knows he hates that damn high-backed chair in front of her desk. Just as he knows she only orders him to sit in it when he's messed up. He can't for the life of him figure out what he's done recently, but he still walks over and sits. His wings fan out just enough for him to not sit on them, but not quite enough for them to hang over the arms of the chair; she hates when they do.
"No physical today?" he says with a grin, settling in the chair the best he can with how it makes his wings fold and twist uncomfortably, almost painfully. He keeps his weight forward, slight enough that she can't notice. She would get angry if she saw him trying to ease any sensations when he's supposed to be punished.
She stays silent as she walks around her desk, picking up a tablet as she passes it. He tilts his head curiously. He then swallows harshly when she disappears behind him. He's not allowed to move his head to follow her. He only relies on his ears and feathers to tells him where she is.
He keeps his wings from flaring at the unspoken threat, but he can't prevent his shoulders from tensing, his hands clenching together on his lap. She's testing him. There's a camera somewhere focused on his face, recording so she can observe if there's even the slightest tale of deceit.
"What is the nature of your relationship with Dabi of the League of Villains?"
He forces a grin, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Is there another Dabi I should be aware of?" he jests. Pain shoots up his spine when her fingers dig into the arch of his wing. It doesn't really surprise him. She doesn't seem like she's in the mood for jokes. He clenches his jaw tightly to keep any pained noises from escaping.
"This is not a joke, Hawks," she hisses in his ear.
He gives a jerk of his head that should have been a nod, but it does get her to let go of his wing. It shudders, aligning his feathers. His smile drops. She doesn't want Winged Hero: Hawks. She wants the nameless, will-do-anything-for-the-greater-good, emotionless agent the Commission raised. He relaxes his face, staring straight ahead at nothing.
"There is no relationship between us. If…" he hates that he pauses "…the villain believes there is, it works out better for us. He would not suspect someone appearing close to him to be a spy."
While he speaks, he feels her pacing behind him. He really hates people being behind him. He can't tell how they're feeling, what they're thinking when he can't see their faces.
When he finishes, her pacing stops. For pain or praise, he can never tell.
A hand gently lays on his head. His eyes slip shut.
Praise.
He tries not to, but he leans into the touch, relaxing when her fingers card into his hair. He always falls for this…
"Good job," she says softly. He inwardly coos. Expressing that outward will always turn that pleasure into pain quickly.
He thought he did good, which is why he hisses, his eyes flying open when those gentle fingers carding through his hair suddenly grips and yanks. His head jerks backwards, and he fights to stay still—he hates baring his throat. She pulls his head back until he can make out her face. It's twisted into an extremely ugly expression. Not cute at all, as Toga says. Angry. No…furious.
"Then explain this." He almost falls out of the chair when she shoves his head forward. Once he regains his balance, he jerks back as she shoves the tablet under his nose.
His eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat at the image. A recent one. The image is zoomed in, but Hawks would know that hand anywhere, even without the blue flames surrounding it. There's a splash of red that wasn't there last time he saw Dabi three days ago. But it's not blood. It's a drawing. Of a feather. A very familiar feather. Dabi could have drawn it himself, even, since it's on his right hand, on the back right next to the thumb. A red feather.
"Hawks."
His eyes snap away from the image, his throat dry. Her nostrils flare. Shit. Ooh. She's pissed.
Hawks asks Dabi about the feather later, since it's gone by the time Hawks manages to go see him. Dabi rolls his eyes at the question.
"Toga doodled it," Dabi sighs. "I should have known better than to trust she wouldn't draw something idiotic. She even went over it with a permanent marker when I was asleep, so I couldn't wash the fucking thing off."
Somehow, that statement hurts more than the welts throbbing on Hawks' back.
