Work Text:
Counting Sheep plays in the background, the third song on the mixtape Himiko made Tomura for his birthday. She’s one of those people who still makes mixtapes and writes notes on the inside of her palm, even if they smudge throughout the day and leave grey marks all over her papers. He always thought Dabi would be more of the type to cover his skin in ink, but instead Tomura has a small box under his bed filled to the brim with little notes Dabi wrote him during classes, placing them on his desk with a wink and a lopsided smile. Tomura always thought one day his heart would stop fluttering against his ribs at the sight of it.
The body paint is still unopened and Tomura fidgets with the plastic packaging for a moment before it clicks open. A strong, artificial smell fills his nose. Despite wearing his gloves, covering only his thumb and pinky, his middle finger stays hovering in the air, because old habits die hard and this one kept Tomura alive for so long.
He looks at the reference photo they dug up on the internet, something that would go along with his pumpkin costume. It hangs next to the polaroid photos they took throughout the months. Their second year at UA started out even busier than the first, and often enough it was only Dabi and Himiko who kept him going. Especially since the suspicious glances people give him refuse to cease; the whispers don't let up when he walks past, allowing him to hear their cruel contemplations: was his quirk more suited for a villain? How could UA accept someone with such a dangerous quirk? While Tomura was scared of confrontations, Dabi and Himiko were not, and there were many times he watched them chase down other students through the halls on a mission to defend Tomura’s honor, leaving him speechless and flustered. When he entered UA last year, he didn’t expect it to be any different from middle school, and he especially didn’t expect to find people like these two.
While Himiko got in through recommendation, Tomura met Dabi in the entrance exam. He was the only one who didn’t look scared when Tomura turned the robots to dust one after the other; he looked impressed. He saw him again on his first day in class, leaning against his desk like he’d always belonged there, chatting Tomura up. If he noticed Tomura’s insecurity, he didn’t mention it, praising Tomura’s quirk instead. It was the first time anyone ever did, and Tomura still remembers the flutter of a bird’s wings against his ribs at Dabi’s bright smile, losing himself in his ocean eyes that day.
So much has happened since then, and the scars on Tomura’s neck have begun to pale.
Outside of his window, the laughter of children drifts into his room and Tomura is pulled out of his thoughts. He dips two fingers into the black paint, looking into the little mirror he took from Kurogiri’s bedroom and begins to mark the outlines of his makeup.
He can’t wait to see the others again.
-
“There you are! Took you long enough, mophead.” Himiko greets him, standing in the doorway to her parents’ house, beaming despite the fake blood clinging to her cheeks. Tomura smiles, tugging at his own costume, which they picked just yesterday — an orange onesie with soft green leaves around the neck and a wide hood, from which Tomura peeks up at the murder angel , at least that’s how Himiko described her costume idea to him. When she steps out to hug him, plushy feathers from the wings strapped to her back get caught in his hair and her halo lightly bobs with every move. Most of her white dress — at least Tomura assumes it used to be white — is covered in bright, red blood and Tomura imagines her just pouring a whole canister of it over her head.
“Wow, you look creepy as hell,” he says, allowing her to pull him through the door. “Did you parents help you with the blood?”
“Nah, they’re not even home. Dabi did!” She leads him to the bathroom and Tomura freezes in the doorway when he catches sight of the tub, which Himiko must have sat in as she gave her costume the deciding murderous touch.
At the mention of his name, Dabi turns around, a black kajal still in hand. “Hey, Samhain,” he greets, grinning at Tomura, his makeup creasing with the motion. There are crude stitches drawn onto his face, trailing along his jaw and creating half circles under his eyes. They must have done something to his hair, because what’s already an unruly mess of black looks even worse, bits of plastic spider webs caught in the tips. They must have also redyed it, the smell of ammonia tickling Tomura’s nose. “Looking good in your PJ’s, I bet they’re comfy.”
“Damn right,” Tomura smiles, moving to sit on the edge of the tub.
“I’m getting the bags,” Himiko announces, before vanishing around the corner and out of sight. Tomura hears her jump up the stairs to her room, which he knows is covered in Halloween decorations. It was her idea to go trick-or-treating after hearing Tomura mumble something about never having gone, both boys having watched with slight alarm as her eyes turned glassy, lips splitting in an excited grin. Tomura shouldn’t be surprised; after all, Himiko was the horror enthusiast of the group, it’s probably mandatory for her to be this much into Halloween.
They listen to her padding around upstairs in silence while Tomura watches as Dabi carefully drags the kajal along his lower lashline. In the mirror, Dabi catches him staring, a smirk pulling at his lips. Tomura hopes his own makeup covers the blush creeping into his cheeks.
“Looks good?” Dabi asks, putting the pencil aside to smudge his work around a bit, before turning around to face the other boy. Tomura nods, unable to keep the smile from his lips.
“Yeah,” he replies, his heart excitedly pressing against his chest. “It suits you.”
“Put in extra effort just for you,” Dabi says and there it is again, that damned lopsided smile. Comfortable silence falls between them, and Tomura feels more at home sitting on the edge of a bathtub covered in fake blood than he ever did in the walls Kurogiri and his adoptive father built for him. The smell of ammonia and cheap body paint fills his nose, and there’s a strange affection growing between his bones.
“Got ‘em!” Himiko calls as she rushes in through the door, holding three plastic bags in her hands, all of them a bright, flaming orange. “Alright, time to go, or the best candy will be gone.”
They leave the bathroom as it is — a mess — and slip on their shoes before step out into the night. Despite being the end of October, a warm breeze brushes over Tomura’s cheeks and he breathes in the smell of another summer coming to a peaceful end, the leaves crunching under his shoes with every step. As they walk, Himiko skipping ahead to scout out the best houses, Tomura’s hand bumps against Dabi’s. He utters a small sorry , smiling at Dabi from under his hood when he bumps his hand back at Tomura, deliberately.
“Trying to make contact?” Dabi asks, his other hand shoved into the pocket of his black, torn jacket. Despite it being a Halloween costume, Tomura can see Dabi wearing this for after-school hours. It fits his aesthetic of someone who sends poems to Tomura through text messages with the handle gh0st boy . Tomura knows there’s a lot of show about Dabi, colder things hiding behind easy smirks and cigarette-kissed laughs, but every word he ever sent to Tomura drips honesty in the worst way. He’s glad Dabi never asked him to reply to his works, simply revelling in the fact he’s allowed this insight to Dabi’s innermost. He opens his mouth for a witty remark to Dabi’s question but is interrupted when Himiko flings herself at him, the air around her almost vibrating with energy and joy.
“Come on, come on! You two are so slow! You can still make out once I get my candy.”
There’s no room left for protest as she drags the boys along to the first house of the night. The decorations are spare, but the door’s brightly lit and they pass a group of younger kids on their way to the man standing in the doorway holding a large plastic bottle.
“Trick or treat!” Himiko calls, holding open her bag, her halo bopping excitedly. The man eyes them for a moment, before slowly reaching into his bowl of candies.
“Aren’t you kids a bit too old to go trick-or-treating?” he asks, his look hanging onto Dabi for a moment too long.
Dabi makes a face. “Would you rather we ask for shots?”
“Ah,” the man mumbles. “Nevermind, enjoy your night.”
He hands each of them a handful of candy, still looking after them when they head back through the front yard. Tomura weighs the bag in his hand. “Quite generous,” he comments.
“For a douchebag,” Dabi adds, his remark earning a biting laugh from Himiko. “Oh, by the way, mophead — how much do you even know about Halloween? Do you know the three golden rules to survive the night of the living dead?” He throws him a glance over his shoulder and the glint in his eyes is weirdly familiar. Dabi’s scheming again.
“Tell me,” Tomura says, hoping his tone fakes enough confidence.
“Okay, number one,” Dabi begins, falling back so he can wrap an arm around Tomura’s and Himiko’s shoulders. “This is the most important rule — always wear a costume on Halloween. If you don’t, the spirits of dead villains will come to drag you down to hell with them, making you suffer in unimaginable ways.”
“That’s stupid,” Tomura mumbles, knowing it’s just a cheap scare, but nevertheless being unable to suppress the shiver running along his spine.
Dabi shrugs. “I didn’t make the rules, I’m just telling you because it would be a shame to see you go to waste like that.”
The next shiver is definitely not from the cheesy urban legend, and Tomura can’t even blame it on the night’s temperature because he’s sweating a bit under his pumpkin costume.
“Okay, enough of that, Dabi, here comes the next house. Try to be a decent human being for like two minutes, okay?” Himiko drawls, shaking off his arm. This time, nobody comments on their age. There’s a small girl and her mother handing out candy, the girl shyly mumbling into her mother’s skirt, asking if she can touch Tomura’s plushy leaves. He bends down so she can feel the fabric, smiling when she smiles. When he waves them goodbye and turns around, he catches Dabi’s warm gaze clinging to him like honey and his heart stumbles for a second. Flushing underneath his makeup, he tugs a strand of grey behind his ear — a gesture he learned from the boy still looking at him like he’s something special, like a promise whispered from ear to ear, something the wind carries away to return it next spring.
Sensing his struggle, Himiko gently takes his hand, leading him back towards the street. “These bags are getting quite heavy. Let’s sit down and eat some well-deserved candy.”
They heave themselves onto a small brick wall, their legs dangling along the red stones as they look through the treats they received. Tomura just plopped the first piece of chocolate into his mouth, the taste of salted caramel exploding along his tongue, when Dabi slightly leans in to him.
“Rule number two,” he begins ominously. “As nice as it is to receive candy from strangers, always check it for razors and pieces of glass. Or you might end up with a mouth full of your own blood, as the sharp sides of the razor dig into the roof of your mouth. Dig, dig …”
The piece of chocolate in his mouth feels very heavy all of a sudden, and Tomura struggles to swallow around it. On the other side of Dabi, Himiko elbows him into the ribs.
“Idiot,” she hisses. “Can’t you see you’re freaking him out? Not everybody’s into the disgusting stuff you like.”
When Dabi looks at him again, rubbing the sore spot in his side, there’s guilt swirling in his eyes. The taste of salted caramel turned weirdly dull, and the fact he can’t quite pull his teeth apart unsettles Tomura in the weirdest way — but then a lean arm wraps around his shoulders and Dabi offers him a soft bump of their heads.
“I’m sorry, mophead,” he mumbles, the sincerity in his voice worming all the way through Tomura’s guts. “I didn’t mean to scare you. No more stupid rules anymore, I promise.”
As Dabi speaks, his warm breath ghosts over Tomura’s cheeks, and this time Tomura’s glad for the caramel sticking his teeth together, or a very embarrassing sound would have risen from his throat. He allows the tender gesture, smells Dabi’s perfume, which he got from his sister as a present for making it through their first year at UA, and the now smudged makeup clinging to his skin. The moment is over too soon when Dabi pulls away again, popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth and winking at Tomura. Next to him, Himiko rolls her eyes, but the smile on her lips betrays her. They sit in comfortable silence, chewing on their collected candy and watching younger kids walk past them, most of them dragging their parents along by the hand. There’s an empty space between Tomura’s lungs as he watches a small girl dressed like a fairy slip and fall on the sidewalk, her father rushing to pick the crying child up. He cradles her in his arms, brushing aside maroon locks as he coos to her. Quickly, she calms down, clinging to her father for a moment longer before starting to kick her legs, running again as soon as her feet touch the ground. Tomura remembers watching these scenes every year from his window, sitting in a dark house because Kurogiri didn’t approve of Halloween and didn’t want any trick-or-treaters to knock at his door. Sometimes, Tomura wonders whether Kurogiri didn’t like kids, or just didn’t like the way other kids looked at Tomura and the gloves covering his frail hands.
He’s pulled from his thoughts when Himiko stretches and yawns, her canines covered in the remains of sticky chocolate. “Alright, let’s go knock on some more doors before the best stuff is given to the little brats,” she says, slipping from the brick wall they’re sitting on. Tomura lands rather awkwardly, glaring at Dabi when he snorts.
“I can’t wait to see you as a pro hero,” he chuckles, laughing when the pumpkin-clad boy reaches to tickle his sides, chasing him down the sidewalk.
As Himiko anticipated, the further they walked down the street and the later it got, most houses had already given out their candy to the younger kids, but at the sight of the strange trio, they all dug up something from the depths of their cupboards to put into the waiting plastic bags.
“You’re from UA, aren’t you?” one woman asks as she lets a handful of pink-wrapped candies glide into Tomura’s bag. “I saw you walking down this street in your uniforms. You guys will make great heroes, I’m sure. Whatever happens, just remember the people of this house will be cheering you on.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Dabi says politely, gently pulling on Tomura’s arm as he stares at the woman in silent admiration. He turns his head now and then as they walk down the street and away from the house, the woman watching them until they disappear around the corner.
“Dude,” Tomura breathes, still flabbergasted. “Do you know who that was? She’s a former pro hero!”
“Really?” Himiko peeks up, craning her neck but the house is already out of sight. “I didn’t even realize. How do you know?”
“I have a book about former pros, and there’s a whole chapter just about her. She lost her husband and son during a fight with a band of villains, and never really recovered from it.”
“Oh God, that’s so sad,” Himiko mumbles.
“And yet people are busting their own asses to become pro heroes,” Dabi says, the bitterness dripping from each word. “If you think about it, it’s really messed up. Pros give so much to other people, only to be forgotten by the public in the end. All these kids who knocked on her door tonight — I bet none of them knew who she was.”
“You recognized her?” Tomura asks, trying to get a glimpse of Dabi’s face. But when Dabi turns around, looking at him with cold resentment in his eyes, he almost rears back.
“My father used to work with her,” Dabi says. “Back when I was still in kindergarten. I don’t think she knew who I was, but I remembered her face. Sometimes, she would stay over, to discuss work and stuff, and I’d draw pictures of her. When she lost her family and retired, my mother threw them all away. I don’t think she wanted me to remember her and what happened to her husband and kid, but I did.”
As Dabi spoke and the joy drained from his eyes, the air around them turned much colder. Quietly, Himiko reaches for Dabi’s hand and squeezes it.
“I’m sorry,” Tomura mumbles, the words heavy on his tongue.
Dabi shakes his head, and when he looks up again, the resentment is gone from his eyes. He tries a crooked smile, his makeup creasing with the motion. “It is how it is,” he laughs. “Let’s not think about it anymore. We still have some houses left.”
The mood is somewhat dulled for the next two houses, but then they interrupt a very indulgent Halloween party, the woman who opens the door obviously tipsy. She almost cries at Himiko’s outfit, telling her she’s the cutest angel in the world.
“I murder people,” Himiko replies coldly, and the woman laughs and pours the rest of her candy into their bags.
“This lady gave me a shot,” Tomura says, pulling a small glass bottle, which was filled with amber liquid, from his bag.
“What, really? Gimme.” But before Dabi gets the chance to reach for it, Himiko grabs it from Tomura’s hand and tosses it back into the woman’s front yard. The disappointed mutter that follows falls on deaf ears.
It’s close to midnight when Himiko yawns again, asking to go back. Their bags are heavy, most houses darkened already, and Tomura can’t wait to get out of his sweaty costume. They walk back to Himiko’s house, both boys receiving a blood-stained kiss on the cheek when saying goodnight. After, they head back to their own places, which lie in the same direction. They walk in silence for awhile, before Tomura plucks up all of his courage and reaches to intertwine his fingers with Dabi’s. The taller boy gives him a surprised look. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” Tomura says, smiling when for once it’s Dabi who blushes under his makeup. When they reach Tomura’s home, it’s past midnight already. There’s a single jack-o-lantern still burning on the step to the front door, and Tomura realizes with a blooming heart that Kurogiri must have put it there after hearing about his plans for tonight.
“That reminds me,” Dabi begins, bending to pick up the pumpkin with careful hands, holding it between them. “The last rule of Halloween. Never blow out a jack-o-lantern before midnight or it makes the spirits mad. But if you blow it out together with someone else after midnight, you will be bonded for life.”
Tomura looks up from the jack-o-lantern and catches something lost and small in Dabi’s eyes. His heart clenches, but this time it’s not melancholy that’s gripped him. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he says, his voice cracking just the slightest bit. They both dip their heads, never looking away as they gently blow into the jack-o-lantern, the little flame flickering before going out, leaving behind the smell of smoke. Dabi rubs his eyes at the sting of the smoke and Tomura laughs, which turns into a small choke when Dabi leans forward and pecks him on the lips.
“Good night, mophead,” he whispers against Tomura’s lips, and if he notices the shudder running all the way through Tomura’s body, he doesn’t comment on it. He waits until Tomura unlocks the door and slips inside, waving him goodbye one last time. As soon as the door closes behind him, Tomura kicks off his shoes, diving up the stairs as quietly as possible, dashing into his room and towards the window. He arrives just in time to see Dabi leave the front yard, walking in the direction of his own home and Tomura swears there’s a spring in his step which hasn’t been there before.
Inside his chest, his own heart skips happily, and the memories of old Halloween are replaced with halos dusted in glitter and caramel-flavored kisses.