Touch Pt. 12 - The Long Night Pt. 2
Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader
**18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI**
OVERALL FIC WARNINGS: Soft Dabi, F!Reader with a fictional backstory, fanon version of past events, manga spoilers, canon deviation, drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, violence, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, pining, slow burn, eventual (emotional) SMUT, all characters will be written with complexity (i.e., no one-dimensional/hateful representations). *please pay attention to specific warning tags within each chapter!*
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Descriptions of limb loss, sensory overload, vomiting, bodily injury, introduction of some adult NSFW themes (in passing; don’t get your hopes up yet 😉).
Chapter Song: Can You Feel The Sun by MISSIO
Part 1 Part 11
Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)
CHAPTER 12: THE LONG NIGHT PT. 2
A day passed and the two of you had yet to speak to each other outside of brief questions and answers surrounding Dabi’s care. It wasn’t for a lack of effort on your part; you made lighthearted jokes, comments, and even tried to ask questions, but Dabi was having none of it. His walls stayed up, his snark and playfulness absent from his persona.
And so it went, into the next day, and the day after that. You kept trying to connect, to dismantle his defenses, but to no avail. Each time your efforts failed, you deflated and retreated into yourself. At first it was just with a frown, a silent, tight-lipped anger at his treatment of you. But over time the anger faded to sadness until eventually, by the fifth day, you’d developed a stoic mask of your own that you only wore when you were in his presence.
It was working. Your connection with him was disappearing, fading away under the forced malnourishment that Dabi inflicted on your delicate bond. He was both grateful and bitter.
Dabi didn’t like seeing the hurt on your face, and he liked it even less when you became withdrawn. But he kept his eyes downcast and his jaw clamped tightly shut to the point of aching. It was fine, he told himself. This was what he wanted, after all.
He hated the way he felt around you, the nausea mingling with the aching desire that swirled like an angry snake in the pit of his stomach. He’d let himself get careless, let himself get used to you. You had too much power over him now, he’d realized, making him feel things he didn’t want, thoughts of you occupying his damaged brain more than they should. They were a swirling vortex of conflicting dreams, daydreams, and intrusive thoughts - nightmares of you on the receiving end of his uncontrollable violence, thoughts of you and Compress, and worst of all, fantasies of you being his, of being able to drown in your soft gentleness in a way that he’d never been able to experience before, and likely never would. It was teasing, it was pointless, and most of all it was cruel, leaving him to feel battered, confused, and angry.
Dabi despised it. If he could burn the thought of you from his mind, he would.
He just needed to survive this – let his wound heal and wait for his meds to be back in his own hands. Then he’d go back to his isolation, like he should have done from the beginning, building his walls taller, stronger, ensuring that nothing would ever get in again. No more distractions. Just him and his determination to take down the one man he hated most, to expose him as the false idol that he was before turning him to ash. How he missed that single-minded focus, that all-consuming obsession to immerse himself in the fantasies of his father’s downfall. He’d lost sight of it over the past week, distracted by the pain of withdrawal and your addictive touch.
This was what he wanted.
So why did it feel like a knife was twisting slowly in his chest every time he looked at you? Why did he hate himself a little more every time you reached out to him, and he responded with coldness?
Every time your cool hands left his scarred skin, his gut twisted at the realization that he was one step closer to losing you. That eventually, he’d be healed, and that would be the end of it. Then he’d never be able to feel you again, and the peace your touch brought him would become nothing more than a painful memory, another broken thread added to the rotting tapestry of his short life.
It was fine.
Dabi could handle this. He was used to not getting what he wanted, anyway. You were a nice distraction for a bit, but now it was time for him to come back down to reality. He was Dabi, a ruthless killer. Not Touya, a soft weak-hearted fool.
Which made it only that much more difficult when you finally said the one thing he hated the most.
“I’m sorry.”
Dabi‘s eyes met yours in stunned silence. He couldn’t understand why those words were coming out of your mouth. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to give up. Why were you still trying?
“What?” he said.
“I said I’m sorry.” You had a frown on your face, eyebrows knitted together, and lips pulled down into a pout.
How easily those words fell from your lips, as if a thousand seeds were planted there, blooming endlessly to fall at his feet like an offering.
“For what?” his voice was harsh, harsher than he’d intended; but he couldn’t hide his frustration. It angered him, seeing that weakness in you, that need to appease at the cost of your own pride. You had nothing to be sorry for. It was him. He was doing this. Surely you knew that. If anything, you should be angry.
If anything, you should hate him.
So why didn’t you?
He watched your face transform from one of frustration to wide-eyed vulnerability, and he could see the answer written across the lift of your eyebrows and your slightly parted lips: ‘I don’t know...’
You opened your mouth to speak, but before the words could leave your lips, a black portal opened up in the middle of Dabi’s room, interrupting the first real conversation the two of you had had in days. Not a moment later, Kurogiri poked his head through.
“There’s been an incident. Compress needs you,” he said.
Your eyes widened and blood drained from your face, leaving a deathly pallor in its wake as you stood up.
“I’m coming,” you replied without hesitation.
Before Dabi could even react, you walked through the portal without so much as a glance in his direction.
A deafening silence fell over Dabi’s room as he sat in sudden isolation. An inner battle waged inside of him, one part jealousy the other part concern. Neither were feelings he welcomed, but that never seemed to make much difference.
It must have been bad if Kurogiri came and retrieved you himself. Time was of the essence, which meant Compress could be mortally wounded. No doubt they needed your medical experience, limited as it was. And your quirk…
Dabi went rigid.
You couldn’t use your quirk right now; you had just finished treating Dabi’s scars, and he knew... he knew... what happened to you when you overused your quirk. He’d seen firsthand how you’d cower against sound and light, your nose wrinkling against odors, how your body would become trapped under the sensory bombardment after your sessions with him.
So, what would happen to you if you pushed yourself past that? If you were forced well beyond your limits?
“Shit.”
His body moved on its own, spurred into urgency as he realized what you were about to do. As he threw on his shirt, his mind screamed at him.
Don’t do this.
He grabbed his shoes.
Let her go.
He put them on, not even bothering with the laces.
You’ll regret this.
He didn’t care. He bolted out of his room to the stairwell, taking the steps two, three at a time, nearly stumbling into the wall on his descent. The sound of loud, panicked dialogue could barely be heard up into the stairwell from behind the closed door at the bottom.
Toga’s voice rang through first, shrill with panic. “Shouldn’t you use your quirk??”
“There’s no time for that! I can’t stop the bleeding. He needs a real doctor!” – your voice.
“Dr. Garaki isn’t responding.” Shigaraki replied. “We may have been out of range of Johnny.”
“I’m so sorry!” Twice cried. “They said they’d only meet in their territory!”
“It’s fine, Twice.” Shigaraki muttered.
“Keep trying.” You said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Dabi burst through the door to see you kneeling in front of Compress. His hat and mask were off, his curly hair matted to his forehead with sweat. His skin was deathly gray as his eyes glazed over on the verge of death. Dabi instantly saw the reason why – his shirt and vest had been ripped off, exposing the ghastly wound where his arm should have been, meat and bone exposed. It dripped with blood, a slow ‘tap tap’ that soaked into the old, dirty rug beneath him.
And you… you were already struggling. Dabi could see it in the way your hands shook, the squint of your eyes against the light, the flare of your nostrils and tightly clenched jaw as if you were holding back the urge to vomit. Even from where Dabi stood, the metallic stench of blood was thick in the air. For you, it must have felt like you were swimming in it.
“Dabi!” Toga exclaimed and then she looked at you, eyes wide with hope. “He can cauterize the wound, right??”
You shook your head. “It’d just cause more damage and risk infection. Spinner, hold him up and try to keep him still. Toga, put pressure here.” You placed Toga’s hands where they needed to be, pressing down on the arteries in an attempt to stop the bleeding. If Compress felt any pain from it, he didn’t show it. His glassy eyes were distant as shallow, slow breaths rattled through his parted lips.
“I need belts,” you demanded. Everyone hesitated, confusion written across their faces. “Belts, NOW!” you bellowed angrily.
The clinking of buckles being undone and handed over to you echoed throughout the room. Even Dabi removed his white belt, spurred to action by the firmness of your tone. His pants sagged slightly, barely held up by the bony jut of his hips.
“I’m going to try to make a tourniquet, but it won’t be easy.” You explained. “He’s lost his arm nearly up to the shoulder.”
You worked swiftly, connecting the belts and wrapping them around Compress’s chest and shoulder, pulling the straps tight. As you worked, Dabi took inventory of who was present.
“Where’s Magne?” he asked.
Toga was the one who answered, fury in her golden eyes. “Dead. They killed her.”
Your movements froze for the briefest moment before continuing. You never looked up, never responded as you kept yourself focused on Compress’s wound. Still, Dabi was close enough to see your eyes water slightly as you struggled to keep your composure. Dabi recalled the first night you had treated him – how you’d said it was your job to keep everyone alive until the end. He’d known back then that it was a foolish wish, and he’d wondered how you’d react when inevitably you wouldn’t be able to save someone.
Now he had to watch it firsthand, to watch you struggle to save a life with practically no resources and a quirk that could only provide relief. And the victim was Compress, of all people. Compress, who accompanied you on your outings, who you talked to and laughed with; Compress who you were obviously close with.
Dabi’s jaw clenched and his vision blurred for a brief moment.
When he refocused, your hands were placed on Compress’s shoulder, determination in your scared eyes. Dabi’s eyes widened. In that instant, he knew what you were setting out to do, and the distance that he’d been so strict on implementing the past few days erupted into smoke.
The yell tore from his lips. “STOP!”
He grabbed your shoulder and yanked you back.
But it was too late. You let out a pained cry as you fell to the floor, your body trembling.
Everyone froze as they stared between the two of you with wide, confused eyes. The moment dragged on as they waited for you to get back up.
But you didn’t. Instead, your curled into yourself, your entire body shaking as your arms covered your ears and your hands wrapped around your head. Your eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, and teeth bared in a grimace.
“Dabi, what the hell is wrong with you??” Spinner spat.
But before Dabi could answer, the familiar sickly smell of Johnny’s teleportation quirk permeated the room.
“About fucking time.” Shigaraki grumbled.
You wretched immediately, your senses overwhelmed by the stench mingled with the blood, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor, coughing and gagging.
Toga grimaced at the sight, but before she could say anything, dark goo burst from everyone’s mouths, enveloping them to whisk them away to Dr. Garaki’s lab.
Everyone except you, Dabi, and Kurogiri of course.
A silent pause as Dabi and Kurogiri stared at each other over your curled form.
“You’re still here.” Kurogiri stated.
“Yeah, we’re still fucking here.” Dabi cursed. “Looks like the crazy doc only took those who were at the run-in with the Yakuza. I told Twice not to get involved with them, and I told Shigaraki too. But apparently this place is run by fucking idiots.”
A sob forced its way from your throat before another round of coughing and gagging racked your body. The air was thick with the putrid stench of vomit mingled with the lingering odor of the teleportation quirk, and it assaulted you to the point of delirium, forcing colors behind your closed eyes, and needle-like sensations across your skin.
Dabi bent down to try to help you up, to move you away from the mess you’d made on the floor, but a cry escaped your lips at his touch. You forced your trembling body out of his hands and shoved him away from you, before scooting as far back as possible on your haunches until your back was pressed against the tattered couch, knees drawn up to your chest and head buried.
Dabi stared at you speechlessly, his body frozen stiff.
You shook your head in your hands back and forth. “Don’t...” you whimpered. “Don’t touch me. I can’t-” Another round of dry heaving took over your body, stealing your words.
“What’s wrong with her?” Kurogiri asked.
Dabi’s jaw clenched as he realized his error. “She used her quirk too much.” Dabi muttered. “Like a damn idiot. What the hell were you thinking??”
Your arms tightened around your ears at the sound of his voice. A pained moan bubbled past your lips before turning into a dry sob, spit dangling from your lip. Dabi grappled with his temper and inwardly cursed himself. Fuck, he was bad at this. So bad at this. His tongue was too sharp, his voice too rough. And he had no idea – no idea at all – how to be... sensitive. That was your strength, not his.
Dabi racked his brain for solutions but had none. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He hated to see you like this, suffering, trapped. He felt useless.
And Dabi hated nothing more than feeling useless.
It was Kurogiri who went into action, kneeling before you.
“What do you need?” the nomu asked, his voice calm.
Dabi watched in thinly veiled envy.
There was a moment of heavy silence before your voice came through in the softest whisper. “...bath.”
It was the only clue you were able to give before you went under again. You fought against the overload, struggling to keep yourself above water. But you were failing, drowning in every little experience, every minute detail of simple existence. You felt everything, heard everything, smelled everything, could see everything, even the mists of color dancing behind your eyelids when you squeezed them shut. It incapacitated you, taking you hostage and locking you in a cage you couldn’t escape from.
You needed your room. Your bathtub. And judging by the look of you, there was no way you could get yourself there on your own, even with Kurogiri’s portal. Someone had to help you.
“I’ll take her.”
Dabi realized it was his own voice that said those words, and he stood there, dumbfounded. The words had fallen from his lips so easily, without thought, committing him to take on a task that he immediately knew he was ill-suited for.
But it was too late, he couldn’t undo it. Kurogiri was already nodding his agreement and opening up a black portal to your room. “Very well. I will clean up the... mess.”
Dabi stared down at you, assessing. There was no way you were going to stand, let alone walk. He’d have to carry you. He wasn’t the strongest, but he certainly wasn’t weak either. He could do it. For you, he could do it.
Dabi knelt down in front of you, his body poised inches from your own. You sensed him as if the heat from his skin was a fire licking against your flesh, and you struggled to press yourself further against the couch to no avail. He stared at you, his eyes unreadable, his mouth solemn.
The regret of what he was about to do ached deep in his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he thought. He meant it.
The shaking of your body froze as if you had heard his silent apology, could feel the tension building in his body the same way he did. It was a petrified fear that stilled your muscles, made you hold your breath with a sharp intake of air.
You knew what was coming.
Before you could escape him, he scooped you up into his arms and dashed through the black portal.
It’d been less than ten seconds, but it’d felt like thirty as you writhed and kicked against him, cries and protests ripping from you throat as you fought to free yourself from his hold. An instant later, you were both through the portal. Dabi barely managed to get you to your bed before he dropped you onto it with ungraceful hands thanks to your thrashing.
As soon as you landed on your bed, you curled into a fetal position as your body racked with sobs. It was nearly pitch black in your room, your dark curtains drawn closed. The faintest hint of city light trickled through the cracks.
Dabi kept his composure, his stoic mask tightly in place despite the screaming fury in his mind. Everything about this was fucking misery. Why? Why did he sign himself up for this? His skin was shit, his body temperature was too hot, and he wasn’t gentle. He was the worst person to do this.
But you needed him.
The voice was small and distant in his head, and he scoffed at it. You didn’t need him. You needed help. That didn’t mean you needed him. He should have let Kurogiri help you.
Dabi let out a huff of air. It was too late now.
He took a final glance at you to make sure you were okay before retreating to your bathroom to begin running the water. He turned on the light and closed the bathroom door to help ward off the light and sound. He knew it wouldn’t help much, though, not with your quirk going full haywire. You could likely hear a pin drop down the hall. Dabi wondered if you could hear Kurogiri scrubbing the rug downstairs.
What temperature did you like? How high was he supposed to fill it? Was he supposed to add anything to it? He knew he wouldn’t be getting any more answers from you, not with the state you were in now. He’d have to figure it out himself. He turned on the faucet and let the tub begin to fill. For the next five agonizing minutes, he sat on the closed toilet seat with his elbows on his knees, his fingers tightly intertwined and pressed against his lips.
He had no plan, no strategy; in short, Dabi had no idea what the hell he was doing.
As soon as the bath was full enough, he turned off the water and exited the bathroom. He froze, his eyes wide, to see that you’d stripped down to nothing but your underwear, all other clothing items strewn across your bed and floor. Even your bra was gone, sitting on the floor a mere foot away from him, highlighted by the light of the bathroom flooding across the room. It was so unexpected, that the simple cotton pattern lodged itself firmly in his memory before he even had time to blink.
He tore his eyes away and stared at you. You were curled tightly into a fetal position, your back facing him, and now he could see it – your scar, stretching across your lower back like a map; a map that led to a story he didn’t know, a past that you kept under lock and key.
He didn’t have time for that now, though. He walked forward slowly, until he was standing over you. Your face was wet with tears that had soaked into your sheets; your eyes still tightly closed. Your teeth chattered against the cold of the room, your skin covered in goosebumps. Your brow was furrowed, and in that moment, it was as if you were unaware of his presence, the sound of him lost amongst the noise of everything else; the drip of the bathtub faucet, the howling of the wind outside, the rattle against the old glass windows.
He’d have to pick you up again, and no doubt you’d fight him.
Fuck, he hated this.
He took a deep breath as he braced his body in preparation, then picked you up in his arms. This time his hot hands were in direct contact with your bare skin, and it made the second attempt so much worse. A pained scream ripped itself from your battered throat, your arms thrashing wildly, fingernails catching on the staples in his cheek. He felt one tear, the dull tug of his flesh followed by the tickling trickle of blood. There was no pain - your quirk was still in effect on his skin, a fact he was grateful for.
Dabi could feel his grip slipping, and a curse escaped his lips as he half dropped you, the heels of your bare feet landing on the ground with a thud. His body was strong though, his reflexes quick and he caught the rest of your weight in his arms before the rest of you went crashing down to the hard floor. You cried out again in agony, incoherent pleas babbled from your lips.
“No, no, no, please, no, STOP!”
Dabi’s jaw clenched, lips pulled back into a grimace.
“Damn it, stop fighting me.” He growled.
Somehow it seemed to work, the sound of his words cutting through the sensory bombardment to register in your brain. Your body mellowed just enough, even though your sobs and shaking continued, your arms crossed protectively over your exposed breasts. Dabi got his free arm behind your knees and lifted you up again to carry you the rest of the way into the bathroom, blood dripping from his chin to land on your arms. Each drip caused you to flinch in his arms, as you sucked air in through your teeth, tortured moans gurgling in your throat.
As soon as he set you down in the water, you submerged yourself like a sea creature returning to its murky depths, until only your nose and mouth stayed above the water.
Once you were safe, Dabi turned off the bathroom light and sat back against the bathroom wall, water dripping from his wet arms onto the tiled floor. His chest heaved with heavy breaths as he took a moment to recover. The blood continued to drip from his chin, and he fingered at the hole where the staple had been. It was likely somewhere on your bedroom floor now; he’d find it later. Dabi grabbed some toilet paper and held it to his open wound. Then he leaned his head back against the cold surface of the wall.
The intensity of the past ten minutes gradually faded like a receding tide, taking with it all the signs of distress. The dripping bath faucet finally fell silent, the lapping water from your shifting beneath the surface stilled, and Dabi’s breaths mellowed into quiet puffs. He finally opened his eyes and stared at the bathtub a couple feet in front of him. From his slouched position, he couldn’t see you. In fact, in the darkness, he couldn’t see much of anything; just dark shapes where objects were. The toilet, the counter... But he could hear you, ever so faintly – the quiet in and out of your breathing and the smallest sound of water sloshing against the tub when you moved – the only signs that you were alive.
The world around him fell into silence, and for a bit, time lost its meaning. It was as if the world around him froze with bated breath, waiting, watching as he danced on the knife’s edge of indecision.
Should he go now that you were safely where you wanted to be? Or should he stay in case you needed him again?
Did you need him?
He thought of getting up and leaving, letting you have your privacy; it’s what he would have wanted if he were in your position.
The night of his overdose flashed as a reminder in his mind, and he gave a silent wry scoff to himself. He had asked to be alone back then, but you’d refused. And in the end, it had paid off – you might have saved his life that night with your stubbornness and quick thinking.
Stay or go. Stay or go. The thought bounced in his head, a coin flipping endlessly in a void but never landing. It wouldn’t land, not until he made a choice.
Up to this point, he had committed himself to putting distance between the two of you, to put an end to whatever this budding feeling was that you had somehow nurtured within him. He’d lost count on how many times he’d promised himself not to get wrapped up in you, to not care how you felt or what you did. And he’d come so close to finally cutting those ties, to let the frayed thread of your tether to him wither and snap away strand by strand.
But now here he was, like a goddamn lady-in-waiting, hoping you’d call on him.
Dabi choked back a dry laugh as realization dawned on him.
There was no choice here. It was all a lie, an illusion he wove for himself to give himself some semblance of control over a situation he’d already yielded to. It had happened in an instant, without deliberation, without thought. In your hour of need, Dabi had acted, committing himself to you the way you had done for him. It didn’t matter whether he wanted to or not. It didn’t matter how he felt, what he’d done before, or what would happen next. All he knew was he had to do something.
Maybe it was because he felt indebted to you. Or maybe it was because he felt guilty.
Or maybe it was simply because you were someone who didn’t deserve to be abandoned.
He was going to stay. He was going to stay and wait for you, for as long as it took for you to need him again or dismiss him.
So, he waited. And waited. The bleeding had finally stopped, so he took the opportunity to peek in the cabinet beneath your sink for a first aid kit using the light of his phone. He heard the water shift slightly, and he glanced over at you, waiting. But it had gone quiet again, and he returned to rummaging through your cabinet. His search was rewarded when he found the plastic container with the red plus sign on it. He opened it up and he grabbed two bandages. Then he opened both of them and placed them over the wound in the shape of an X to help keep the skin together. It probably wasn’t as great as the care you would have given him, but he’d dealt with ripped staples before. He just needed to let it heal, then he’d put a new one in.
He returned to waiting, turning off the light of his phone to join you in the darkness. And as he waited, his mind rolled over the memories of you, of him, of conversations and laughter, confusion and hurt. For the first time in days, he stopped fighting the thoughts of you, instead letting them flow in and out of him like a breeze through an open window. It caressed him, soothed him, and for at least a little bit, he lost himself to it.
“....Dabi... are you still there?”
The whispered hush of your voice felt like a shout, ripping him from his daydreams, causing Dabi to instantly sit up. He hesitated, waiting.
“...Dabi?” your pitch went up slightly, a sign of distress.
“Yeah.” He answered. “I’m here.”
You voice shook. “C-can you turn on the water? It’s getting c-cold...”
Had he really been sitting there for that long? Dabi checked the time on his phone. It’d been almost an hour.
“Yeah, doll...” he replied.
He came over to the tub, and despite your vulnerable state, he couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye. It was dark – too dark to see anything of value. Your features were lost, washed out in shadow. But he could see the outline of you, the faintest hints of form that showed him that you were sitting up. You were shivering, body shaking slightly. Every now and then he could hear the chattering of your teeth before the sound disappeared again as you struggled to keep your jaw still. It must have sounded like a jackhammer to you.
“It’s gonna be loud.”
“Okay.”
He turned on the hot water and pulled the plug on the bathtub drain to allow some of the cold water to leave. The sound was loud and obnoxious as it gurgled, and he heard the familiar painful moan come from your throat again. He plugged the drain again and let the hot water fill.
As soon as the water was warm again, he turned it off. This time, he made himself comfortable against the bathtub, his back to you. Not a second later, you were back under the water, allowing your senses to be swallowed up in the blackness.
The room once again fell silent, and Dabi leaned his head back against the tub, knees drawn up so he could rest his forearms on them. He played with the inside of his cheek with his tongue, tasting the metallic flavor of blood there, feeling the flesh already begin to swell like canker sore. You’d really done some damage...
So, it continued. Dabi sitting alone in his thoughts while you disappeared to your underwater world of silence and darkness. Every now and then you’d resurface to ask for his help, and he’d do it, adjusting the water temperature for you before returning back to his spot on the floor once you were satisfied.
Time ticked by slowly, and Dabi felt stuck, trapped in a loop that he couldn’t leave. How long did it take for you to come down from your sensory overload? How many nights did you have to endure this alone after you’d treated him, or anyone else in the League? He’d had no idea... even when he’d first learned what your quirk did to you, he hadn’t really understood what that meant, how severe and long-lasting the effects were.
The sound of the tub filling up without his help caused him to jump slightly before he realized you’d initiated it this time with your foot. He repositioned himself back against the bathtub.
“How’re you holding up?” he finally asked. The undertone of concern in his voice sounded strange, foreign, especially after days of hardly speaking.
His eyes stared forward. The faintest amount of light trickled in from your bedroom where the atmospheric city light managed to sneak past your curtains. It allowed the objects in your bathroom to gather form against the blackness.
“I’m... okay...” you whispered. “It’s... manageable. Barely.”
Another long awkward silence, before Dabi found the right words again.
“Do you need anything?”
“A hand towel?”
The only one Dabi saw was the one hanging next to your sink, it’s lighter shade barely visible. He snatched it down and handed it back to you. He didn’t turn to look at you, but he could hear you place the towel in the water, likely to cover the parts of yourself you didn’t want him to see, despite the darkness surrounding both of you.
“Anything else?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Another long silence, and this time you were the first one to speak.
“...can you stay with me a little longer?”
Dabi released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Yeah, doll.”
More time passed, and yet Dabi couldn’t bring himself to pick up his phone, to scroll through the internet or stream videos on mute. It all felt unimportant, useless. Instead, his eyes wandered around the bathroom, taking in all the little details of you. Even in the dark, they somehow managed to make this old decrepit space feel lived in and cared for. It was a sharp contrast to his own bathroom that held only the barest of necessities.
After more time passed, you sat up slightly, your head adequately above water. It’d been a few hours now since you’d first gone under water, and Dabi’s back was aching. He didn’t complain, though, and he didn’t try to leave. Instead, he glanced back at you. It bothered him that he couldn’t see your face very well. He wanted to see your eyes. He gave up and looked forward again as his fingers began picking at the threads on his pants.
“... Do you think Compress is going to be okay?” your voice was barely above a whisper, the fear tight in your throat.
Dabi’s eyebrows drew together, and he was glad you couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m sure he’s fine. I hear that crazy doc can fix anything.”
Another long silence before you spoke again.
“Magne is gone....”
Dabi could hear the tears in your voice before you even sniffled. His attention on the thread between his fingers faltered. “...yeah.”
Another sniffle, and he glanced at you to see your dark form wipe at your cheeks. “It was too soon...” you whispered.
More sniffles, and Dabi watched you with an unreadable gaze before looking away again.
“Oh God,” you muttered. “Toga... Toga must be beside herself, she loved Magne.”
“Toga loves everyone.” Dabi said dryly.
His attempt at humor to ease his own discomfort backfired.
“Don’t do that.” you scolded. “Aren’t you the least bit sad?”
Dabi hesitated. Was he? It would feel strange without her around from now on... but was Dabi ever close with her? No. Dabi wasn’t close with anyone. So, could he say he was sad about it?
Not really.
He gave a half-hearted shrug, unwilling to let the blunt truth fall from his lips. “I dunno what to say, doll... when you’ve been doin’ this villain thing for so long, ya get used to it after a while. It’s easier to just not get attached.”
“I... I don’t think I could ever do that. Not get attached.”
If anyone else had said that to him, he’d have scoffed and called them an idiot, told them that they weren’t going to make it as a villain. But this was you. You were different. Even if the same held true – that you weren’t really made for this villain life – he couldn’t bring himself to be so callous towards you. He had to find different words, words that wouldn’t hurt.
“I know.”
It was the only response he could think of, but it seemed to be the right one, because you continued talking, your voice hushed.
“I don’t think I’d ever want to get used to it... to learn how to stop valuing people.”
Dabi tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.
Was that what he did? Learned to stop valuing people? To stop valuing life? Was that why he felt so numb most of the time? Maybe that was why he didn’t know how to handle his emotions ever since he’d come off his drugs. He’d gotten so used to feeling nothing for so long, that now even the smallest things felt like too much.
No wonder he felt like he was drowning all the time.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” you asked. “Am I just going to keep losing people I care about?” Your voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Everyone getting picked off one by one until...” your words choked your throat and you swallowed. “Are we going to lose?”
Dabi hated to hear that fear in your voice, fueled by the despair of an inevitable violent future, and lurking beneath that, the fear of isolation, of abandonment – the fear of being the only one left to suffer loss, the only one left to mourn those who would be forgotten.
He turned around to look at you. “Hey.” You didn’t respond, and he nudged your shoulder with his hand. “Hey.” You jumped a little at his touch and he could tell by the movement of your head that you were looking at him. “We aren’t gonna lose, okay?”
“You don’t know that.” you replied.
Dabi couldn’t fight you on that. You looked away from him again, and he rolled his eyes as he let out an annoyed sigh. “Okay, fine. You’re right. We might lose. But we’ll go down fucking fighting, just like I’m sure Magne did.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Do you want me to lie to you? Tell you everything’s gonna be okay?”
“....No.”
“Good. ‘Cause you’re too smart for that.”
You averted your eyes. “I’m not even really scared of dying, to be honest...”
The mental picture of that statement flashed in Dabi’s mind and his jaw tightened as he fought down the protest that sprung to his lips. The thought of you dying...
You continued, unaware of his shift in mood. “I just... I don’t want to end up alone again...”
Again. So you’d been through this before.
He thought of your scar, and the curiosity – the need to know – itched inside his skull. But this wasn’t the right time to ask – not when you were already vulnerable, on the verge of spilling more tears.
Fuck, he hated to see you cry. It didn’t suit you. Your face was too kind for tears.
“Hey.” He muttered. You didn’t respond, so Dabi took your chin in his finger and tilted your face until you were facing him again. “Look at me.” He leaned in closer to you until he could make out your eyes. They stared at him, wide open, and he wondered if you could see better with your heightened senses. “You won’t be alone,” he said.
He could hear the glimmer of hope blooming in your voice. “I won’t?”
“Of course not.”
“...Promise?”
Dabi hesitated. If there was something he hated nearly as much as apologies, it was promises. They were too easy to make, and too easy to break. And this was a promise that could be easily broken. After all, what happened in the end was anyone’s guess.
You knew this. You weren’t a fool. But the look in your eyes... the way you hung onto the open-ended silence, waiting for him to answer, silently begging him...
Dabi’s throat suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed. “Promise.”
He wished could take it back as soon as he said it. He could already feel something shift within himself; the surrender of a long battle that he’d been fighting, the slow death of his resistance.
A bittersweet feeling bloomed within his chest, beautiful and aching. You’d won. There was no pushing you away now, no removing you from his life. The invisible tether was renewed, forged by that single word of commitment. A part of him was grateful. It felt simpler, easier to give in to. And yet, he still felt the familiar ache of longing that danced to the slow beat of his heart, an incongruous blemish on his renewed friendship with you.
Because that’s what this was, right? This deep connection he felt? You’d used the word before, but he hadn’t quite grasped its meaning. Even now, he still wasn’t entirely sure he understood. It was supposed to be something good, something that eased the loneliness from both of your shoulders.
So why did you still feel so untouchable?
“Dabi...?”
Your voice cut through his haze, soft and nervous. He realized he still held your chin in his fingers, his thumb tucked into the nook just below your lip. The insane urge to draw his thumb across the skin – to feel its plump softness – overcame him. He resisted, just barely, before finally releasing you from his hold.
“You ready to get out?”
“...just a little more time. It feels safe here. But you can go if you want... you don’t have to stay anymore.”
“Do you want me to go?”
You hesitated, sucking air into your lungs as you held your answer on your breath.
“No...” you finally said.
“Then I’ll stay.”
“Really?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Sorry...”
Dabi gave your nose a playful pinch. “Stop apologizing for everything.”
“Sorry.” You said automatically, then giggled when you realized it.
“You’re ridiculous.” Dabi muttered. “Why do you always do that?”
“What? Apologize?”
“Yeah.”
“I dunno...” you hummed. “I guess it just... feels easier sometimes. Even if it’s not my fault, all I want is for things to get better.”
“That’s how you get taken advantage of.”
“Oh, c’mon. I don’t do it that often, do I?” you sulked. Dabi could picture the pout of your lips perfectly.
“All the time.” He replied.
“Really??”
“Oh yeah.”
You hummed again. “Maybe your view is biased. I only really do it with people I wanna keep around.”
“You wanna keep me around?”
“Yeah, of course. You’re a good person. A bit of a dick, but deep down, you’re good.”
This time Dabi let out a laugh. “Well, that’s just poor judgment on your part.”
You scoffed and gave his shoulder an annoyed nudge. “I mean it, Dabi.”
Dabi fell silent as his grin faded away. “I treated you like shit,” he finally said.
“Oh, you totally did,” you agreed. You pointed your finger at him. “And we’re gonna talk about that later, when I’m not half naked in a bathtub, trust me.”
Dabi raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Yeah, we’ll see about that..’ he thought. Last thing he wanted was to get into the reasons why he had been pushing you away.
“But...”- you continued, your tone becoming solemn – “when it mattered most, you were there for me. So, see? Good person.”
Dabi shifted uncomfortably, his lips drawn into a stubborn pout that he hoped you couldn’t see. “Now you’re making it weird again.”
“Not sorry.”
Dabi could hear the smile in your voice, and a small smirk curved the corner of his mouth. “Ha ha, very funny.”
“Thank you, I thought so...” you beamed.
Dabi scoffed at you, then took the opportunity to change the subject. “How’s the water?”
“A little cold,” you confessed.
Dabi turned on the tap until you were satisfied. You still covered your ears against the noise, but once it was done, you didn’t disappear under the water like you’d done before. Dabi returned to his position against the tub.
Minutes ticked by as you shared the silence. Finally, after some time had passed, your voice drifted up.
“Talk to me...”
Dabi kept his eyes trained on your ceiling with his head tilted back.
“About what?”
“I don’t know... anything...” you replied. “I like the sound of your voice...”
Dabi struggled to suppress the smile that threatened to split across his face. You liked his voice, huh?
“Maybe... maybe a funny story?” you suggested.
A funny story? Dabi searched his brain to see if he had any of those. He didn’t interact with the League very often, but every now and then...
“There was the time that Twice and I got shitfaced and went around and changed the locks on everyone’s doors...”
“Really??” A laugh bubbled from your throat, and Dabi basked in the sound.
“Yeah. Shigaraki almost disintegrated his door.”
“What stopped him?”
“Kurogiri. He ruined all the fun by teleporting everyone into their rooms so they could unlock the doors from the inside.”
“Pft, party pooper.”
Dabi let out a chuckle. “Then there was the other time Toga and Twice decided to mess with Spinner and switched everything in Spinner’s room with Toga’s room.”
“Oh no...”
“When he went into his room all of Toga’s shit was there, and she was hanging out in there like it was her room. Spinner lost his shit, of course. I don’t like her much, but I gotta give her credit - she kept up with the act, insisting it was her room and had been the whole time. He thought he was going fucking crazy.”
Another laugh rippled past your lips.
“Then there was the time Spinner drank too much and passed out. Both Toga and Magne had fun with that one. You should have heard the scream he made when he saw himself in the mirror the next morning.”
You chuckled. “Spinner gets picked on a lot, doesn’t he?”
Dabi shrugged. “He’s an easy target. He’s a lightweight when he drinks, and he’s easy to rile up.”
“Any other stories? I didn’t realize everyone was so silly together. Sounds more like a college dorm than a League of Villains...”
“Toga almost got herself killed by Shigaraki one time....”
You leaned forward, completely invested. “What happened?”
“She managed to get a hold of one of his hands while he was asleep and painted the nails pink.”
“No.”
“Hot pink.”
You gasped. “How did she even get a hold of it??”
A mischievous grin spread across his face that gave away the answer instantly, and in that moment, he realized you did have sharper eyesight with your sensory overload.
“You??” Your jaw hung open. “But why? How?”
“I got some skills of my own, doll. Years of experience picking pockets doesn’t go away, y’know.”
“Yeah, but why did you even help her? I thought you hated Toga.”
“Oh, I do. It was a win-win for me. Either she gets caught or Shigaraki is gonna show up with nail polish on his dead hand, right over his face.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I know.” He grinned devilishly.
“So, what happened?”
“Kurogiri again... he probably saved Toga’s ass, to be honest. Used some smooth excuse to get the hand from Shigaraki and then removed the nail polish himself.”
You let out a sigh.
Dabi looked back at you. “How about you? Any wild stories I should know about?”
“Me??”
“Yeah, college girl. You gonna tell me all of you med students didn’t have some crazy shit happening on the sides? I always hear that college is where all the fun happens.”
“Oh, well, yeah that’s true I guess, but I didn’t really... you know... participate much.”
“Why not? Shit, if I was in college, I’d live it up.”
“I dunno... school was too important for me. I didn’t want to do anything stupid that’d come back to bite me later.” Your eyes darkened and your tone changed. “A lot of good that did me in the end, though...”
It was the first glimpse you’d given Dabi into your troubled past, and he latched onto it instantly.
“What happened?”
You pursed your lips together before answering, choosing your words carefully. “According to the records, I forged my application to the program. The real reason was that that they didn’t like my research thesis.”
“What was your thesis?”
Your hesitation was more palpable this time before giving the truth. “The impact of quirk suppression on physical and mental health.”
To say your thesis would be controversial was an understatement. Limitations and rules on quirk use were the foundation of how the Hero Society operated. To call that golden rule into question was to question hero society as a whole.
Dabi let out a low whistle. “Really hitting the hornet’s nest, huh?”
You gave a half-hearted shrug. “Can’t make a profit off hero work if you stop treating people like villains, right? They’d rather let people get sick from quirk suppression until it either kills them or manifests itself violently, then label them as a villain and let them become fodder for heroes.”
The way you talked about it, it made villainy sound like something that was forced rather than becoming a choice. It was too simple; it missed the bigger picture.
Dabi frowned. “Do you really think that’s what villains are? Just a buncha sickos who couldn’t help themselves?”
“Not all of them, but definitely some of them.” You caught on to the shift in his tone. “I wasn’t looking to save everyone, Dabi. Just the ones who’d lost themselves to their quirks when the suppression became too much.”
Dabi fell silent for a few minutes as he thought over your response. “So that’s how you ended up joining the villains, huh?”
“More or less…”
There was more of course, but you weren’t willing to share it just yet.
A sigh left your lips, and you leaned your head back against the tub. “I wanted to be a hero in my own way of sorts... but now here I am, playing for the other team.”
“Yeah, same.”
“What??”
Dabi froze as he realized what he’d said, the confession he’d just made in passing. He fumbled. “Nothin’, forget about it.”
He hoped you’d let it go. And maybe if you’d seen the look in his eyes, you might have. But this time, too much had been shared, and your curiosity got the better of you.
“Wait... you wanted to be a hero?”
He could hear the amusement in your voice, and he didn’t blame you. Dabi was as far from a hero as one could get.
Dabi looked away ashamed. He hadn’t meant to open up, let alone expose something so... weak. So stupid. An awkward silence fell as he tried to figure out how to get out of your question and still salvage the connection he felt in this moment.
Fortunately, your powers of perception kicked in. You heard his silence and understood.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to pry like that. You don’t have to answer...”
Your words released the pressure sitting on his chest and he let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They allowed enough space for reflection, for Dabi to make a choice.
Maybe it was the bond you both shared, or maybe it was simply the darkness of the bathroom. But for this first time, he felt... safe. He felt the words begin to form on his tongue like the slow unfurling of flower petals, to allow you the first glimpse at who he was – who he really was – to allow himself, for the first time, to be seen.
His voice came forth, quiet and deep. “...a long time ago. When I was a kid.”
“What happened?” your voice was soft, a soothing balm.
An angry smile crept across his damaged lips as he stared at the staples on the back of his hand. Then he turned has hand over, palm up, and brought forth a small dancing flame. It lit up the bathroom with its blue glow, causing shadows to shake and jump along the walls. You squinted against it, blinded by its beauty.
“I got my quirk.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Yeah.” Dabi closed his fist and the flame extinguished, once again throwing the bathroom into blackness. You were grateful – the flame, while beautiful, hurt your sensitive eyes.
“That must have been hard...” you sympathized.
Dabi let out a dry laugh. You didn’t know the half of it. He stared at the wall in front of him as painful memories – fresh memories, that had resurfaced over the past week - played in his head.
“Imagine being told ever since you were born that you were born to be a hero. That it’s your destiny, like some goddamn Chosen One. It’s all anyone ever talks about. Follow in daddy’s big footsteps. And of course, being a dumb kid, you believe it. It’s all you want; all you care about. And then you wake up one day with a body that destroys itself.”
Dabi leaned his head back. “I kept thinking that there was something I was doing wrong, that I could change it somehow... that was what he kept telling me, for years. It was my fault; I could fix it if I just tried harder.
“But I couldn’t. Y’know why?”
You shook your head, but Dabi didn’t notice.
“Because,” he continued, “I inherited my mom’s ice resistance.” He gave a weak laugh. “How fucked up is that? A fire user whose skin can’t handle fire.” Dabi shook his head. “All those years wasted chasing an impossible dream. His dream. And my dad, he...”
Dabi’s words faltered, unable to finish his statement. He swallowed, forcing down the unwelcome stone of emotion that had lodged itself in his throat.
The pause gave just enough time for his words to sink in, the invisible puzzle pieces beginning to click into place in your head. Your eyes widened.
“Your dad was a hero?” you asked.
Dabi didn’t hear the slight change in the pitch in your voice or sense the tension emanating from your body. He was too busy wrapped up in his thoughts to notice, nursing old wounds and watering his hatred. Even you were nearly forgotten in the moment, your voice disembodied, floating in the ether of his awareness.
“Yeah.” He said bitterly. “Only on the outside, though. Behind closed doors, he was-” Dabi’s words froze as a myriad of descriptions swirled on his tongue. Abusive. Manipulative. Obsessive. They were all too raw, too vulnerable. He buried them with a swallow before finding different words, easier words. “He was a dick.”
You sat in stunned silence, your thoughts torn between your budding realization of who he was and the emotional distress currently emanating from the man next to you. You wanted to ask questions – so many more questions. You could feel the panic start to coalesce in your throat like a newborn star, threatening to explode, and you struggled to tamp it down.
This was not the time for this.
Finally, Dabi was opening up to you. Finally, he was letting you in. You stared at the slope of his shoulders, at the stiffness present through every muscle in his body. You weren’t sure if the tension was from his newfound vulnerability with you, or from the painful memories that his words were bringing forth. Either way, you focused on the emotions rolling off of him. Anger. Resentment. And, heaviest of all, a deep and profound sadness.
The panic you’d been feeling ebbed as the ache in your own heart echoed the silent suffering of the man in front of you. You understood what he meant, even if he didn’t say it outright. And if your theory was correct – and you bet money it was - then you had no doubt on the kind of man his father was.
You placed your hand on Dabi’s shoulder, your touch gentle.
“I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. You didn’t deserve it.”
Without looking at you, Dabi’s hand came up to cover your hand with his own. Your skin was wet and cold, and his fingers tightened around it slightly.
He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t want to do anything that would take him out of this moment where your words wrapped around him like giftwrapping, the touch of your hand like a bow tying it all together. It was a gift – this single apology that he had been denied his entire life, lending credence to his experience. He’d wanted to hear those words for so long, that he'd given up that it could ever be a possibility. He basked in it, committing the sound of your voice to memory, letting the warmth enter him to chase away his rage.
If everything fell apart – if the League was discovered by heroes and he died tomorrow – these would be the words he’d carry with him to his grave. In his final moment, this would be the memory he’d relive in his mind, repeating it to himself until he took his last breath.
The conversation fell silent, neither of you willing to break the peace with new words. But everything ended eventually, and finally, your hand left his shoulder, sliding out from under the warm touch of his fingers. It forced Dabi to move his own hand in acknowledgement, returning it to his lap where his fingers clutched together as if they could hold onto your lingering heat a little longer. Time moved forward, and the moment was gone, leaving an ache of longing in its place.
“You want more hot water?” he asked.
“No. I think I’m ready to get out.” You replied.
Dabi stood up. “Good. My ass is numb from sitting here.”
You pouted. “You didn’t have to stay this whole time, you know.”
“I know.”
Dabi looked down at you over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the dark. But your vision was just heightened enough that you could sense the sharpness of his gaze, as if he were trying to cut through the darkness to see you with molten blue eyes.
A strong sense of vulnerability washed over you as you realized the state you were in. You curled yourself up even further, trying to cover parts of yourself you didn’t want him to see.
“Um... can you get me some clothes?” you asked, your voice timid.
Dabi laughed. “You shy, doll? You know I can’t even see ya, right?” Then he added, “Besides, I’ve already seen everything...”
You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you felt your skin grow white hot.
“Dabi!!” You splashed him with bathwater, and he narrowly dodged it, laughing, before he stepped out of the bathroom.
A moment later, the light to your room turned on and you heard your dresser drawers opening and closing. He was getting your clothes like you’d asked. Was he going to remember underwear too? You flushed at the idea of his scarred hands touching your undergarments, his keen eyes looking over the patterns to pick one he liked...
Your eyes widened in panic.
Oh God, you kept your vibrator in that drawer.
You quickly stood up from the tub and grabbed your bath towel from the hanging bar. You dropped the hand towel into the tub and wrapped the dry, soft fabric around your chest before stepping out onto the bathmat that you kept outside your tub. It was still warm from Dabi sitting there for hours, but you had no time to enjoy the feel of it.
The sound of the drawers shuffling had gone quiet, and your skin prickled with trepidation.
Please don’t find it, please don’t find it....
The last thing you needed was him teasing you over that.
“Just some pajama pants and a shirt is fine!” you yelled, hoping against all hope that he hadn’t come across it yet. After all, you kept it buried, tucked into the back of the drawer beneath your clothes. Maybe he didn’t see it, maybe...
You took a step toward the open bathroom door and instant regret washed over you when stepped onto wet tile. Maybe it was from when you had splashed at him. Or maybe it was your wet underwear that you still wore, small rivulets of water snaking down your thighs to pool at your feet. All you knew was that one moment you were upright, and then next moment the world was tilting as you felt yourself fall backward. It happened so quickly, there was no time to scream, no time to gasp.
But before you could crack your head on the edge of your tub, Dabi was there, his strong arm wrapped around your toweled figure.
“Fallin’ for me already?” he teased, but his panting breath betrayed how quickly his body had moved to catch you. He must have entered the bathroom at just the right time, his reflexes taking over.
You were pressed up against him as he held you steady, and you froze as your eyes locked. Cerulean blue stared at you as if searching for something and yet hiding everything. His hand spread across the curve of your back, holding you closer, and for the briefest of moments, you felt his thumb caress the cotton fabric of the towel as if secretly exploring the shape of you. Your hand clutched the towel against your body as your other hand clutched his shirt, the cotton balled beneath your fist. His eyes dipped to glance at your lips, and your heart pounded heavy in your chest.
“Dabi...” you whispered.
Your eyes lowered to watch his own lips, to stare at the scarred tissue there.
That was when you noticed it - the makeshift butterfly bandage on his cheek, the flesh there swollen and bruised with the hint of dried blood crusted beneath the patchwork. You hadn’t noticed it before... it’d been too dark, and he’d always kept his left side from facing you when he was sitting against the tub. But now, it was all you saw.
“Oh my God, what happened??”
Dabi blinked. “What?”
He straightened up slightly, unaware that he had been slowly dipping his head down towards you.
“Your cheek...” you released his shirt and stretched your fingers toward the wound. “Did... did I do this??”
Dabi’s hand caught yours before it could make contact. “Don’t worry about it, doll. It’ll heal.”
“Dabi, I ripped out a staple.”
“I said don’t worry about it. It’s not my first time. What were you hollerin’ about, anyway?”
You pulled away from him slightly and readjusted your towel tighter around your chest. “Oh, um.... nothing. Nevermind, forget it.”
Dabi thrust some clothing into your hands. “Here’s your stuff. Try not to fall again. I didn’t hang out with you for four hours straight just for you to crack your head open at the end.”
Before you could give a retort, he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
You waited silently for a couple breaths before finally removing your wet underwear and drying off your body. Your hands and feet were completely pruned by this point, your hair limp. You checked the clothes that he’d brought you. A t-shirt, pajama pants, and... underwear. They were a simple cotton pair, nothing to be embarrassed about. But your heart pounded wildly in your chest regardless. You dressed yourself quickly.
Now you stood in front of the mirror and stared at your reflection. You looked haggard. Your hair was a hot mess. Your eyes had dark circles under them. Your lips look chapped. All in all, you couldn’t find one single attractive thing about you.
You’re not his type. The mean voice echoed in your head.
You pushed this intrusive thought aside with a frown, and towel dried your hair as best you could before attempting to fix it into something manageable. Once it was adequate, you moved on to brushing your teeth, the tacky taste of bile from earlier in the evening still thick on your tongue. The sharp zing of the toothpaste made your eyes water and made you gag, but you forced it down until you were able to rinse using the tap. Then it was lotion, unscented deodorant, and finally clothes. Dabi had managed to pick out good ones – an extra soft, lightweight set that wouldn’t irritate your sensitive skin too much.
As you prepared yourself, your mind returned to your realization earlier.
Dabi’s father was a hero. Dabi had a fire quirk. Endeavor had a fire quirk. Endeavor’s eyes flashed in your mind and your eyes widened. They were the same. The exact same.
It had to be...
No wonder you’d been scared of Dabi after the night of his withdrawal... no wonder you’d been plagued with nightmares of shifting faces and dancing flames.
There was the tickling of an old memory in the back of your mind, of years past when you were much younger. Of a warehouse engulfed in blue flames, and the sudden loss of Endeavor’s son... It had played on every news station, the tragedy shaking the hero world. Pictures of the damage were on the front of every newspaper, and next to it was the photo of a boy...
What was his name...?
For whatever reason, no matter how hard you tried to remember, it wouldn’t come to you. Your mind was too foggy now, exhausting creeping in like vines to choke you, threatening to pull you under.
You needed sleep.
With a defeated sigh, you left the bathroom, half expecting Dabi to either be long gone, or waiting with a smug smirk at his recent discovery in your underwear drawer.
Instead, you found something entirely unexpected, causing you to halt in your tracks.
Dabi was sprawled out onto one side of your bed, his arm draped over his eyes. His phone rested on his chest, forgotten. You could tell instantly by the slow rise and fall of his chest that he’d fallen asleep. And really, you couldn’t blame him. It was plenty late into the evening, and you knew neither of you had been getting good sleep lately.
A warmth spread within your chest as you stared at him. He’d stayed with you the entire time and never once complained. He’d checked on you, helped you, and confided in you. It was a monumental shift from the past few days, when he’d completely closed himself off to you. You still weren’t sure what had caused that, or why it seemed to no longer be an issue now... and you had meant what you said – you were going to talk to him about it. You had a right to know.
But not tonight. Fatigue pulled on your shoulders, and the bed had never looked more inviting.
Except one problem – what to do with Dabi.
You tilted your head as you watched him sleep. He looked so content, his mouth parted slightly, his body finally relaxed. His shoes were still on, and you debated sneaking over to remove them from his feet but decided against it; you didn’t want to wake him.
Instead, you settled in next to him on the bed, careful not to disturb him. There was just barely enough space for you, and you curled onto your side, your arm tucked under your pillow. You watched Dabi quietly for a moment, waiting to see if he would wake up. He never did, so you carefully took the phone from his hands and placed it on your nightstand before turning off the light. You curled yourself up with your back facing him, your body temperature finding equilibrium between the natural heat emanating from his body and the cold of the room.
It wasn’t long before you’d fallen asleep to the steady sound of his deep breaths.
____________________________________________________________________
Part 13
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