burn me to my ashes i'll rise from the ground

The first time Dabi stays over long enough to feel out of place, he watches as Hawks pads gently across his wooden floors to his bed and curls into himself.

Dabi watches as Hawks' nest of gold smushes against the pillows, hair splaying out against the covers between two. His blanket pulls up to his chin, his knees come up toward his chest, and his wings tuck in one after another as it curves against him in a sort of cocoon that makes up the entirety of the upper half of the bed.

It's almost… cute in a terribly animalistic kind of way. And it looks absolutely inviting.

But the dilemma presents itself and it is still obvious—Dabi's out of place.

The remaining space besides Hawks’ wings is awkward at best, his wings more or less like a feathered wall shielding him in a cave to where he curls in the middle against the pile of pillows and blankets.

Hawks leaves no room for villains to snuggle up onto his bed, and that thought in itself is enough to be conflicting.

What is he doing here?

Perhaps he'd misunderstood horribly, and it isn't an invitation into birdie’s bed, it's…

Hawks’ voice comes muffled beneath his comforter, but the words are clear enough, “Coming?”

Dabi blinks as he considers, where is there room for him? Should he curl up too… like a new house cat at the foot of Hawks’ bed?

Is that what Hawks meant?

Dabi, apparently takes too long to decide, because in the next moment two feathers zip out of Hawks’ wings without any warnings and scoops him up, fast enough it takes his breath. He's floating, it feels like motion and it's—over.

Dabi is flipped ungracefully before Hawks’ curled body as Hawks chuckles in his ears.

“Sorry, couldn't wait,” Hawks murmurs, closer than they've ever been before and suddenly he's acutely aware of what an invitation to sharing a bed actually means.

Dabi is but another accessory to Hawks’ bed, as Hawks makes to get comfortable once more. Hawks’ hand goes to scoop against Dabi's belly, curling around him and holding him firmly against his chest, leaving his arms and legs hanging off.

Like he's some… giant plushie.

The lights dim with another baby feather dutifully flicking a switch, leaving Dabi to blink into the empty space before him, Hawks's heart radiating beneath his back.

“Good night, hot stuff,” Hawks says, far too soft and content, sleep already heavy.

Dabi blinks into the unfamiliar darkness, the feel of Hawks’ hands and wings around him in a kind of warmth and security that he doesn't ever remember having.

“Good night, birdie,” Dabi murmurs back, still uncertain.

But Hawks tucks himself in further, face nuzzled right into Dabi's hair as his breathing evens out and soon enough, everything is soft and warm and Dabi finds his eyes slowly growing heavy too.

It's the best sleep he's had in years.