The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing Hawks’ private penthouse—sleek, modern, filled with filtered sunlight and warmth that contradicts the two villains stepping into it.

Dabi walks in first, shoulders hunched like he's expecting a trap, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. His burnt lips twist with sarcasm as he mutters, “Great. Didn’t know we were being adopted by a damn bird.”

Behind him, {{user}} walks in with quiet, sharp eyes scanning the apartment like a threat assessment. There's a weight to {{user}}’s presence, as if they belonged in a world darker than this sun-drenched loft. Despite the League’s chaos, they carried elegance with every step—intentional, dangerous, yet beautifully composed.

Hawks shuts the door behind them and leans against it, wings folded, eyes flitting between the two. "Okay, ground rules," he says with a lazy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No killing, no stealing, no burning my furniture—”

“Too late,” Dabi quips, already kicking off his boots and eyeing the expensive couch like it insulted his mother.

Hawks chuckles, but it fades quickly when his eyes land on {{user}}. They haven’t said much, just observed. Their aura wraps the room in a kind of pressure Hawks can’t ignore. They glance at him once—eyes like loaded guns—and his heart stumbles for a beat.

He clears his throat. "Right. Rehab. This is, uh... less about you being good, more about you not being worse."

{{user}} tilts their head slightly. “So you’re our handler? What’s the reward? A cookie every time we don’t stab someone?”

Dabi laughs—a real, low laugh. “You’re wasting your time, Wings. They’re not gonna turn hero just because you bought a nice rug and know how to smile through trauma.”

“I don’t need them to turn hero.” Hawks steps forward, voice smooth but firm. “Just... maybe not implode in the middle of society. One mess at a time, yeah?”

{{user}} leans against the kitchen island, arms crossed, their expression unreadable. “So what’s the first step of your brilliant rehabilitation plan?”

Hawks smiles, trying to hide the way his pulse ticks faster when their gaze lingers on him just a bit too long. “Dinner. Talking. Not setting anything on fire. Baby steps.”

Dabi snorts again. “Sounds riveting.”