Work Text:
Dabi’s eyes slip closed as he breathes out, feeling the wind blow away the smoke that comes out of his mouth. His hand drops from in front of his face, hanging off the railing of the balcony and holding the lit cigarette in between his pointer and middle fingers.
The bustle of the city fills the night air beneath him, and without looking, he knows the stars are drowned out by the streetlights. His old man would kill him for smoking, he muses, but that bastard hasn’t seen him in years.
Still, his sad excuse for a father isn’t the only one who would get on his case about it. Shigaraki, who lays asleep back inside the apartment, has made it plenty clear what he thinks of the ‘cancer sticks,’ he called them once.
The memory makes a laugh escape Dabi’s lips. It had been a few weeks ago, maybe months. Shigaraki had scrunched his face up, said something about Dabi’s shit health. Had sighed in exasperation when Dabi’s only reply was, “hasn’t killed me yet.”
Dabi takes one more drag before he turns and grinds the cigarette into the ashtray by the sliding door on his way inside, making sure to step in as quietly as possible.
His eyes drift to the boy in his bed. The light from outside illuminates Shigaraki’s form perfectly, all pale skin and blue hair. He looks so frail, so small, even though Dabi knows from experience how fiery he can get.
Dabi’s careful not to make too much movement as he sits down, holding his breath for a moment before he lets it go when he knows Shigaraki won’t wake.
It feels weird to just be staring, but Dabi finds it strangely calming, watching the art major’s chest rise and fall rhythmically.
Dabi’s hand comes up to brush against Shigaraki’s cheek, something in his chest twisting as he brushes a piece of hair behind the boy’s ear.
He feels a smile twitch at his lips as Shigaraki sighs in his sleep, nuzzling into the pillow gripped in his arms. If Dabi found him pretty when he was awake and scowling, then he was beautiful when his face was relaxed.
Dabi barely catches the thought as it crosses his mind, and he wants to scoff at how cheesy it is. He’s starting to sound like Toga, at this point.
He keeps quiet as he stands up, tries not to make any noise as he opens and closes the door to the hall.
His feet lead him to his makeshift studio, where a guitar and some notebooks lie in the corner, calling his name.
It occurs to him that he probably should just go to bed, but he opts to stay up. Not like it would be the first time, he thinks, chuckling softly.
The first notebook he opens is full, the pages covered with his handwriting. Some are song ideas, some are actual lyrics, but with barely more than a glance, he can tell that none of them have been followed through with.
Dabi shuts the notebook closed after he reaches the last page, tossing it aside and sighing softly.
He has better luck with the second book, this one more than halfway blank.
As he flips through the book, skimming the words, he notices that many of the songs have something to do with crimson eyes, paper skin, or slate-colored hair.
A couple are blatantly about Shigaraki, with entire verses about his quirks or flaws, or choruses that describe how he can fluster Dabi without even trying.
Most are more subtle, referencing Shigaraki’s voice or looks without completely giving Dabi away. Even then, if you reached a little bit, you would know who the song was about.
God, he has it worse than he thought, huh? Dabi smiles before shaking his head and picking up a pen, flipping to a random blank page.
He’s not sure how long he works, but it’s long enough for the sun to come up, apparently. He doesn’t notice it for a while, but the realization that the light is warm rather than cool is like whiplash.
When he looks up at the clock, it says that it’s 8 AM. If he remembers correctly, he came in here at around 3 AM...
“Shit.” He was planning to go back to bed, but unless he’s feeling like fucking up his newly fixed sleep schedule, he supposes he’s better off just grabbing a coffee.
He scribbles down the end of a verse before shutting the notebook and setting it on the floor, opting to check on Shigaraki before he makes breakfast.
As he expected, the boy is still knocked out, if more spread out than before. Cute, Dabi thinks with a soft smile, and doesn’t bother closing the door as he pads his way into the kitchen.