Chapter 45 - Shadows in Motion

The house had grown quieter over the days, the creaks of its old bones less jarring and the shadows less imposing. Dabi, to your faint surprise, had proven to be a decent host. Despite his rough edges and sharp tongue, he seemed to make an effort for your comfort. You'd come to anticipate his return each evening, the smell of ash and cold wind preceding him, and more often than not, the faint scent of whatever food he'd scavenged.

Chilled fish was his usual offering, sometimes still fresh enough to flake apart under your teeth, other times dried and salted. On rare days, he brought softer things—a piece of bread, some fruit, anything he could find or barter for that he knew you favored. It wasn't much, but it was enough to quiet the gnawing in your belly.

Tonight, though, when the door creaked open, it wasn't just food he carried. A second figure followed him in, his golden hair catching the faint lamplight like the glint of a hawk's eye in flight. You lifted your head, blinking once in recognition as the scent hit you—sharp, clean, and bright, a stark contrast to Dabi's burnt-wood undertones.

"Well, look at you," the newcomer said, his voice teasing and light, though there was a warmth in it that lingered long after the words. He crouched slightly, meeting your gaze with a grin. "There you are, little ugly. I was worried when I couldn't find you in the woods."

The nickname made you snort softly, but it was the way he reached out that struck you. His hand, calloused but careful, cupped the side of your head, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw in a gesture as familiar as the wilds you once roamed. Without hesitation, you leaned into the touch, rubbing against him like a feline greeting an old friend.

Dabi, who had been setting his haul on the rickety kitchen counter, paused to watch the interaction, his mismatched eyes narrowing. "You know each other?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion but also a flicker of curiosity.

The golden-haired man—Hawks, you remembered now—straightened, letting his hand drop but not before giving your head a final ruffle. He turned to Dabi, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, we go way back," he said with a laugh, though his tone carried a note of genuine fondness. "Found her wandering the woods ages ago. Thought she might make a good intern for a while—had her all lined up to join me in the skies."

He sighed dramatically, his hand pressed to his chest as though reliving some great tragedy. "But no," he said, shaking his head with an exaggerated pout. "She chose Best Jeanist instead. Guess denim's more appealing than feathers, huh?"

You let out a short laugh, the memory of Hawks' antics warming you even now. Dabi, however, snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, well, she's got better taste than I thought."

Hawks raised a brow, his grin widening. "Oh? Jealous, are we?"

"Hardly," Dabi shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a smirk.

The tension, if it could even be called that, dissolved as quickly as it had come, leaving the room filled with an odd but not unpleasant sense of camaraderie. Hawks' presence was a spark of light in the otherwise shadowed corners of the house, and for a moment, even Dabi seemed less heavy, less haunted.

"Dinner's still cold," Dabi muttered, gesturing toward the pile of food on the counter. "You staying or what, birdbrain?"

Hawks laughed, a sound that filled the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Well, since you're offering..."

And so the evening unfolded, the three of you sharing the small, fragile space like a truce between storms.

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The days had settled into an odd rhythm, a mix of quiet moments and bursts of chaos that somehow felt natural in the peculiar life you now shared with Dabi and Hawks. One such evening found you sprawled on the floor, your claws idly scraping through the paint-streaked wooden planks as you surveyed the crude design you'd scratched into the surface earlier—a cat, or at least your best impression of one. It had a feline grace, but the wild angles you'd etched gave it the air of a predator, a shadow among trees.

Dabi had muttered something sardonic about it being "night fire," an apt title for the glowing eyes and sharp curves of the creature. Hawks, on the other hand, had tilted his head, grinning as he called it "artistic chaos." His laugh was light, warm enough to thaw the chill in the house, but there was something knowing in his tone, as if he saw meaning in your work that even you hadn't intended.

That night, they'd teased you relentlessly, Hawks mimicking your growl with his best imitation of a big cat while Dabi flung a coat lazily over his shoulder, pretending to be weighed down by an invisible beast. The memory still lingered as the house settled into silence, both men quiet for once, their usual sharpness dulled by the creeping weight of night.

Sleep found you soon enough, a restless doze interrupted by Hawks rising from his spot with a stretch that sent his feathers trembling. The soft rustle pulled you from your dreams, your eyes cracking open as he crouched to pull on his boots near the door.

"Don't worry, Y/N," he said softly, glancing back at you with a familiar grin as you let out a half-conscious whine, low and plaintive. "I'll be back soon."

He patted your head as if to seal the promise, his touch light but comforting, and with that, he slipped out into the night, the door creaking shut behind him.

You groaned, stretching as you turned toward the door, already missing the energy Hawks brought with him. Dabi, sprawled on the couch, barely spared you a glance. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low and lazy, laced with a hint of curiosity but no real concern.

Ignoring him, you shuffled closer to the door, your claws clicking softly against the floor. Dabi didn't move, but his mismatched eyes followed you as he leaned his head back, his arm draped over the couch's edge.

"You're not gonna follow him," he said, but his tone lacked conviction, as if he already knew the answer.

Your grunt was answer enough.

He sighed, sitting up and ruffling his hair, the motion irritated but resigned. "Fine. If you're going, I'm coming too."

He grabbed his coat, slinging it over his shoulders in a motion so familiar it seemed to take no effort at all. His movements were sharp, purposeful, but when he stood, there was something unspoken in the way he lingered, his eyes on you as if weighing the decision.

"In case you get yourself into trouble," he added, his voice gruff as he gestured toward the door. "Let's go."

You huffed softly but waited for him to follow, the two of you stepping into the cool night air together, the house shrinking behind you like a forgotten dream.