Chapter Text
Tomura had never really understood Dabi. Honestly, he had never really tried to understand him. This was mostly because for all of his... "positive" traits, Dabi didn't try to understand him either. Dabi often did and said things to him that made him feel alienated and agitated.
When someone scratches their neck, you don't grab their hand and force it down. You don't call someone a freak for wearing things that comfort them. Overall, Tomura understands that because Dabi did insensitive things, he didn't like Tomura. Tomura was only slightly annoyed about this relationship. He was just his boss, after all, an intimate relationship wasn't really mandatory.
Dabi meant well, but he grew up gruff and cruel. When you're raised trying to avoid beatings, you unconsciously gain traits you're not really proud of. He knew how to show affection, but he didn't trust anyone with it. When Tomura's eyes glint from behind his hand, and he feels the warmth bloom in his chest like lava pouring down his throat, his mouth opens to say things he doesn't necessarily mean. When he worries, he makes what he's worried about stop happening. He tends to forget boundaries and meaning.
It's in no way an excuse, but he'd like Shigaraki to know he doesn't hate him.
Up the stairs, he hears Magne's pop blasting. Toga and her are screaming the lyrics. He hears Kurogiri quietly chit-chattering at the bar. He hears Twice yapping to himself about a show he's watching, commenting on plot points and enjoying himself.
He doesn't hear Tomura's grumbling, or shuffling cards to build a tower with, or denying Kurogiri his gracious offer of coffee, or lemonade, or milk. He only drinks water. Dabi opens his eyes, gaze slinking down to his drink on the bar table. The absence of Tomura's presence picks at his conscience, and his fingers trace the glass of alcohols rim as he wonders what he could be doing off in his room.
Tomura is avoiding Dabi. He isn't in the mood to deal with name-calling or annoying things like that. He just wants to wear Father and build his tower. Dabi really did bug him. He never could shut up about Tomura's business. At least Toga could leave him alone, as annoying as she is sometimes. When he thinks about Dabi, his brain turns to mush, and he hates it. The sense bothers him, it's uncomfortable and gets in the way.
Tomura knows what affection is, contrary to popular belief. He understands why and how people do it, the feeling was just obscure to him. He's never found someone he's really been interested in. In one way or another, everyone gets under his skin. The only person he believes he might have affection for is Kurogiri, but it's different entirely. Kurogiri keeps him alive, and stable. He loves Kurogiri in a way he will probably never love anyone else.
As he thinks, Tomura grows satisfied with his work on his cards. The repetitive but important motions paying off with a sense of peace inside his chest. He loves when everything turns out perfectly when everything is where it was meant to be. Not that it’s the status quo, but little perfect moments like this were what made him the happiest. He places the last card on top of his creation, leans back, and sighs happily.
With this done, he's finished all he wants to do today. The rest of it is free. Tomura is perfectly content to stare at the wall for the rest of the fucking evening, but he hears footsteps up the stairs. He quietly groans to himself. That's either Twice coming to talk about a show he likes, or Dabi coming to bother him. They only come to their rooms when they sleep, and Twice is even on the couch most nights. They only come around in the day when it's "bother Tomura," o'clock.
He can guess which of the deviants it was. Dabi isn't content with most things he does. The plans, the habits, the avoidance, Dabi can nag him about any number of things. When he hears the light knock on his door, he doesn't reply, but the door creaks open anyway.
Dabi can practically feel Shigaraki's bright eyes sliding across the room to land on him. With others, the feeling could be unnerving, but with his boss, he knew better. Shigaraki is just observing his body language, the kind of conversation that's desired. Shigaraki likes to tell you what you want if only to get you to leave him alone. He doesn't like long complicated conversations. Dabi supposes he'll have to suck it up. He then winces, realizing how harsh that sounded in his mind.
Shigaraki cocks his head very slightly. The wince must have told him the conversation may end badly.
“Whatever you need, it's fine. Just tell me.” His tone was flat, like soda that had been left out overnight. Dabi knows that this should upset him, but honestly, he knows that's just how Shigaraki speaks. It's nothing he does out of malice. He notes that Shigaraki is still wearing his “face” hand. His hair is draped around it like a curtain to his facial features. Something sour and sharp grew in his throat as he realized he'd never seen his boss without- what is essentially- a mask.
“Jeez, you wear that thing even on your own? What is it, like, a teddy bear to you?” Dabi’s words reverberate against the red walls and back to his ears. Shigaraki’s face is unseen, but the narrowing of his eyes behind the hand and the grumble he's given in return tell him he probably should have thought before he spoke. Shigaraki turns to dismiss this entire conversation.
“If you're not here for something important, then leave. I'm not in the mood.” He says, fingernails grazing his slender neck over and over. Dabi's bottom lip comes to rest between his teeth, and he stands in the doorway not knowing what to do.
“No, actually. Sorry. I came here to apologize. Can I close the door?” He says tentatively. Shigaraki turns to him and nods minutely. Dabi closes the door as quietly as possible and pads over to the bed. Shigaraki motions for him to sit before he can ask. Shigaraki’s room is the most empty of all of them in the villain household. A bed with pale blue sheets, one white duvet, and a pillow. A desk covered in papers, one pen he never lost and always used, a deck of cards that he stacks and knocks down every day, and a chair that spins. It's all very “Tomura.” Dabi likes how individual he is.
It's all very unprofessional. Dabi can't help but relax in the environment. The carpets have remnants of ashes and hair, from accidental disintegration and from pulling out his hair, a bad habit. Dabi rubs his fingers over the sheets and grounds himself in this room.
Tomura has a way of making out what everyone wants. Whether he likes it or not, it’s part of the reason he’s such a good leader. He can divvy up the wants and the needs and make sure no one revolts while he works on his master plans. It makes Dabi proud to know he has someone so capable to work for. He opens his mouth.
“So, Shigaraki. I just wanted to say, that uh…” He looks up to see Tomura staring at the wall behind his desk, listening. He hasn’t blown him off yet. He gulps. “Sometimes I say things to you that I don’t necessarily mean. I’m really impulsive, I need to work on it. I know it bothers you.” He finishes. The silence pierces his nerves. He keeps composure for the sake of rationality, and so it doesn’t seem like this bothers him to say. It doesn’t. Dabi is an honest man if nothing else, apologizing isn’t the issue. It’s the room he’s in. It’s Tomura’s small but soothing presence, knees curled up to his chin as he feels his nails against the cloth covering his legs. Tomura turns his head to face him, and blue eyes meet red. His eyes are wider than normal, but not by a whole lot. Tomura hands come together to intertwine near his chest.
“That’s fine Dabi. I know you don’t understand. I would appreciate if you would leave me alone sometimes.” He says. Dabi’s heart gives a large thump, both from anxiety and from a strange fondness. He tries not to jump to conclusions.
“When do you want me to leave you alone?” He asks, trying to keep his tone clear. His hands grasp each other loosely between his legs, and he rings his fingers.
"When I scratch, and when I wear Father. I shouldn't bother you."
Dabi’s heart thumps again and squeezes. He feels guilt creep up his spine and he sighs. “I’m real sorry boss. I know I was being rude and shit. You don't bother me. You just worry me sometimes.” He says, concealing something quietly. Tomura’s body seems to clench up.
Tomura watches Dabi confess, for the first time, some sort of feeling that wasn’t negative towards him. The change makes him uncomfortable. He was accustomed to what he thought was the truth between them, but now that he had the opportunity to let that guise drop, just a tiny bit, he observes Dabi again. He’d come in with a white tank top and sweatpants on, looking relatively casual. Tomura doesn’t see him like that usually, because they hardly interact outside of missions. But seeing this made his stomach hurt, that was the only way Tomura could describe it.
He coughs into his hand uncomfortably and looked down at the carpet. “It’s fine. I’m your boss.” Dabi chuckles. It’s deep and warm, and the sound seems to soothe something inside him as he relaxes in his chair and smiles quietly behind Father. He takes another peek at Dabi and sees his hair ruffled as the man pushes it back with his hand, expressing emotions Tomura can’t really pick up on. He stays still and watches as Dabi rolls his tongue piercing around in his mouth nervously. Tomura also rolls his tongue around in his mouth, wondering what it must feel like. “It’s not fine. I wish I’d noticed earlier that I was… being a real dick to you. No matter why it’s not acceptable.” He speaks cautiously. Tomura’s ears are keen, though.
“Well, why?” He asks. It’s Dabi’s turn to tense up. His ears seem to almost light on fire to match the red spreading across what skin was still on his face. His fingers stop moving. Time seems to freeze between the two of them for a short time as they assess their situation. They feel sick, but at peace at the same time.
“Because I want to keep you safe,” Dabi says, his throat full of lumps. Tomura’s heartbeat is faster than he can ever recall it being. “Is that all?” He asks. Dabi cringes again, he’s as red as a tomato. “No. I want…” he trails off. Tomura rolls across the floor gently in his chair, his socks rubbing against the carpet as he scooches about 2 feet away from black spikes and embarrassment. “What, Dabi?” Tomura muttered quietly. Dabi looked directly down at the carpet. “I’d like to see your face.”
Tomura’s chest squeezes, his heart feels like it's going to burst. He doesn’t like when most people look him in the eye. He likes the safety of Father and the softness of his hair around his face. He takes Father off to wash and brush his teeth of course, but most of his free time was spent with it on or around him. But, he never considered that maybe someone wants to take a peek at him. He forgets he even exists half the time. But now that he thinks about it, how did he even look? Is he presentable? Oh shit. His hands came up to touch his cheek under Father.
Dabi sees Tomura’s hand tuck under the grey mass obscuring his face and watches it rummage around, feeling places. Dabi cannot take the fondness that makes him want to puke rainbows right now. He wants to tuck the hair covering Tomura up behind his ears and look at him point blank. “Tomur- Shigaraki, don’t worry about it. Seriously. Half of my skin is gone.” He comforts. Tomura only says “My first name is Tomura.” And continues to rummage the skin, ignoring the disapproving stare.
Slowly, As he grows uncomfortable with Dabi’s staring, Tomura gives up. His hands delicately pull the fingers of Father from the sides of his face. He puts Father’s wrist between his pointer finger and thumb, and slowly- oh so slowly- tugs off the hand. He keeps his eyes closed.
Dabi looks upon the faded scar on chapped lips. He looks at the eye bags that seem to make his whole demeanor heavier. He looks at the scar on his right eye. He smiles very slightly. “Ah, Hi, Tomura.” He mutters. It’s Tomura’s turn to turn bright red. It almost matches his eyes, believe it or not. He scooches his chair towards the desk again and places Father in a drawer. He walks over to the bed and looks at the spot next to Dabi. Dabi looks down at the seat and looks back up at Tomura. “It’s your bed, dude.” He said. Tomura nods and sits down. Dabi stares at him for a moment, before noticing again that Tomura was staring at his shoulder. He smiles as wide as he can muster without seeming creepy, or embarrassing his new found… interest? Opportunity? They’ll think about it later.
“You wanna put your head on my shoulder?” He asked. Tomura, still hiding behind his vine-like hair, can barely be seen blushing bright red. Instead of answering, he plops his head gently onto the shoulder of, what he now considers, a companion.
They feel warm and content for these moments, and everything seems right, almost like Tomura’s cards.