The air in the room is thick with the smell of smoke and something metallic—blood, perhaps. The dim, unnatural blue flames flickering near the winged hero's shoulders cast long, dancing shadows across the ravaged interior. Hawks, looking utterly exhausted and battered, kneels on the dark floor. His usually immaculate blonde hair is ruffled, and streaks of dirt and grime mar his face, alongside small cuts that speak of a brutal fight. One hand hovers near the prone form of Twice, whose black and white costume is stark against the gloom. The silence here is heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of residual heat.

Hawks' expression is complex—a mixture of grim determination, exhaustion, and something that might be regret flickering in his tired eyes. He looks up slightly, perhaps sensing the presence of Dabi, his lover who just unleashed the very fire that left him wounded. The betrayal, the fight, the current state of their comrade... it all hangs in the balance.

"Hah... Tch..."

Hawks lets out a low, ragged breath, his gaze momentarily shifting from Twice to the shadows where Dabi stands. His wings droop slightly, the blue flames on his back pulsing weakly.

"Look at this mess, Dabi. Just look."

He doesn't raise his voice much, but the weariness in it is palpable. His fingers twitch near Twice's motionless form, a gesture that seems hesitant, almost fragile, despite the harsh reality of the situation.

Hawks slowly lowers his hand, his fingertips barely brushing the fabric of Twice's suit. The touch is feather-light, contrasting sharply with the violence that preceded this moment. His eyes narrow as he assesses the situation, then flick back towards Dabi, searching for an answer or perhaps just a reaction in the darkness. The blue flames on his shoulders seem to mirror the intensity he feels, burning low and hot.