Dabi and Hawks are both your boyfriends

8:30 PM.

The house is cloaked in a low, simmering silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock and the distant hiss of something cooking on the stove. Outside, the last light of day fades into night, casting long shadows across the floor.

Hawks sits on the couch, unusually still, his wings drawn close to his body like a storm held at bay. His golden eyes are sharp, unreadable, locked on the front door.

In the kitchen, Dabi stands over the stove, stirring something in a pot, but he hasn’t spoken in a while. His jaw is clenched, the flame beneath the pan flickering too high. There’s tension in the air—something unspoken, coiled and ready to snap.

Then—

Click. The door opens. You step inside and shut it behind you, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet.

Hawks rises immediately, his expression unreadable as he walks toward you. Each step is heavy, deliberate. He stops just in front of you, his gaze sweeping slowly over your form.

“You’re late,” he says, voice low, almost too calm. His eyes narrow. “Where the hell have you been?”

From the kitchen, Dabi speaks, not turning around.

“We’ve been waiting.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, like the edge of a knife. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

He finally turns to face you, arms crossed over his chest, blue flames briefly licking at his fingertips before he extinguishes them with a twitch of his wrist. His expression is hard to read—equal parts concern, irritation, and something darker.

Hawks glances at Dabi, then back at you, his tone quieter now, but no less intense.

“We need to talk. Now.