Chapter Nine

                                    

                                          
Hawks straightened up with a small grunt, his head spinning slightly as the whiskey burned its way down his throat. He blinked a few times, feeling the warmth spread through him, but it wasn't enough to clear the haze clouding his mind. When the pressure on his shoulders lightened, he shifted, his vision swimming for a moment, before he turned to face the last person he expected—Dabi. His heart thudded harder than normal, and he couldn't figure out why. It had only been a couple of days since he'd last seen the villain, but the way his pulse raced made it feel like a lifetime. "Hey, creep," he muttered, the words slurring more than he intended, his voice distant as he tried to keep some distance from his own thoughts.
The weight of Dabi's gaze settled over him like a thick fog, and Hawks felt his skin prickle, a chill running down his spine. The room felt too small, and in this state, the hero couldn't help but feel exposed, vulnerable, as though Dabi could see right through him.
Dabi's eyes flicked to the empty liquor bottle behind him, and Hawks watched as his expression shifted—briefly softening before tightening once more. "I thought you didn't drink?" he asked, his voice low and laced with an edge of amusement.
Hawks blinked a few times, confusion clouding his thoughts as he tried to focus. "How would you know that?" he slurred, the words coming out a little too slow, a little too unsure.
Dabi stepped back, releasing his hold on Hawks's shoulders, his gaze moving to the side as he motioned toward something behind him. "When I went through your fancy-ass cellarette, none of the bottles were opened," he said, eyes returning to Hawks with an unreadable look.
It wasn't the first time Dabi had picked up on something small, but for some reason, it felt like too much. Hawks's mind was foggy, but he could still feel the fluster rising in his chest, his head swimming in confusion and alcohol. "A hero can have a drink every now and then, can't they?" he asked, his voice a little sharper than he meant, trying to hide the embarrassment of being caught.
Dabi raised an eyebrow, a smirk flickering at the edges of his mouth. "What about tomorrow? Don't you have some heroic duties to attend to or something?"
The conversation flowed easier than Hawks expected, the alcohol loosening his tongue and pulling down some of his usual walls. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or just drunk enough to be honest. "I don't plan on showing up at the agency," he mumbled, shifting his weight, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. "A lot's been going through my mind lately."
Dabi hummed thoughtfully, his eyes wandering back to the empty bottle on the counter. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Hawks found himself swaying slightly, trying to stay upright. He just needed Dabi to say something, anything.
Then Dabi took a step closer, his attention still fixed on the bottle, and Hawks stiffened. Without warning, the villain grabbed it, examining the label as if he had all the time in the world. "Whiskey?" he asked, a touch of mockery in his voice.
Hawks snorted, rolling his eyes, his words coming out slurred and unsteady. "No, orange juice," he quipped, the sarcasm slipping from his tongue without thought. Dabi's eyes flicked up to meet his for a moment, his smirk fading into something sharper before returning to the bottle.
It was clear Dabi wasn't in the best of moods, and whatever had happened before he came here clearly wasn't good. But Hawks couldn't focus on that. His head was too fuzzy, the room spinning around him.
"How drunk are you?" Dabi asked suddenly, his voice blunt and almost accusatory.
Hawks laughed, the sound breathless and shaky. "I'm not sure the alcohol's even hit me yet," he muttered, his vision swaying as he tried to keep his balance. The words felt heavy, like they were coming from someone else.
Dabi sighed deeply, setting the bottle back down with a soft clink. His hand didn't move away from the counter though, and before Hawks could blink, Dabi leaned in closer, trapping him against the counter with barely a whisper of space between them. Hawks's heart skipped a beat as Dabi's hand hovered, pressing down on the counter just beside him.
Dabi's breath brushed against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "Make sure not to stumble on your way to bed," he murmured, so close that the words felt like a physical touch.
The whisper lingered, and Hawks's chest tightened, his breath shaky as Dabi slowly leaned back, clearing his throat, as though nothing had happened. "I'll be asleep on the couch if you need me," he added nonchalantly, but Hawks couldn't ignore the tension in his voice, the weight of it hanging in the air between them.
Hawks stood there, dazed and disoriented, unable to shake the sensation of Dabi's presence lingering in the room long after he had pulled away. The alcohol was hitting him now, and his mind felt like it was drowning in it—swirling, chaotic, but still fixated on the villain who was far too close.