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If someone had asked Dabi nine years ago how he envisioned himself in the future, he would’ve laughed in their face. At the time, he hadn’t thought there would be any future to speak of. Much less one where he was walking the straight and narrow in a reformed society devoid of heroes. Or one where the League was still attached at his hip like a particularly clingy pest.
Life as a civilian is boring. Even between apartment hunting with Fuyumi and his ex-convict nuisances showing up at the parlor “for old time’s sake”, it’s far too mundane. How do people cope with minor annoyances without resorting to extreme violence?
He supposes that most of them don’t share a shift with Shigaraki Tomura. That’s an unfair advantage. His ex-boss turned co-owner—a decision Dabi regrets every day—has been whining about customers all morning.
“If I have to tattoo another ‘United States of Smash’ on someone’s ass I’m gonna become a villain again,” he grumbles under his breath, not even waiting for Kurogiri to finish ringing up his client first. Dabi shoots him a glare. One of these days he’s gonna send them out of business with his lack of tact.
Not that Dabi is much better. Good thing this isn’t about him.
“It pays the bills, doesn’t it?” he drawls, purposefully not taking his eyes off his phone to annoy Shigaraki more. Success lies in the details. It’s not like Shigaraki can fire him. Hah. Take that.
He almost considers telling him to leave early too—it’s a slow day anyway—but that would mean covering for him. There’s a reason why Dabi only sticks to doing piercings, despite being a decent artist. His twitter feed isn't gonna scroll itself.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” a voice pipes up as Dabi’s busy wrinkling his nose at one of Hawks’ selfies on his feed. A sepia filter? Who does that?
It’s not until Sako elbows him roughly that he realizes the customer had been addressing him. He blinks and looks up slowly, making the mistake of meeting Toga’s eyes as he does. She’s slumped on the counter, expression all too knowing as she watches the scene play out. Flirt back, she mouths, trying and failing to be subtle and betraying herself with a girlish giggle. Trust her to enjoy Dabi’s anguish.
“Nope,” Dabi tells them both, popping the ‘p’. His phone buzzes and he returns his attention to Hawks’ stupid selfie. He scrolls past it and sees a reply from the rabbit chick roasting him for using beauty filters. His lips quirk up. He taps like.
“Are you sure?” the customer continues, nonplussed by Dabi’s disinterest. “You look really familiar. It must be the staples and scars.”
If that’s how people flirt nowadays, Dabi's glad he looks like a reanimated corpse. Not that he’d date someone nostalgic enough for Old Age Heroes to tattoo that shit on their body, anyway. He has standards. “I’m sure.”
Shigaraki—the prick—laughs at him.
“Come to think of it, all of you look familiar. Are you famous or something?”
Dabi looks up, his body tensing.
Oh, fuck no.
He hopes the idiot won't name-drop the League of Villains in the middle of the shop. It might be a slow day, but there are two teenagers on their phones eyeing Shigaraki’s portfolio at the other end of the room, and Dabi’s still on parole. He’d never hear the end of it with Natsuo if he ended up in Officer Ojiro's office again. Their sister is really enjoying the family dinners.
The guy snaps his fingers in recognition. “You were on You’re a lizard, Harry’s channel!”
“What?” Dabi says dumbly, mind still chasing the worst case scenario.
“Ah, yes, that would be correct,” Kurogiri interjects, turning his head in Dabi's direction. “You filmed that video about quirk prejudice, if I’m not mistaken.”
“To think that young Iguchi would become a heteromorphic rights activist!” Sako comments, shaking his head, and really, that's a big word for an influencer. "Give this old man a break! You’re going to make me feel like a failure in comparison.”
“You all know him?” the customer gushes. “Could you—could you ask him for an autograph?”
Dabi doesn’t even hide his eye-roll. A hero fanboy and an unwitting supporter of an ex-criminal youtuber. Talk about a joke.
He takes his lunch break early.
Half an hour later, the parlor is blessedly empty of possible patrons, but containing an extra overgrown chicken. When Dabi re-emerges from the back of the shop, Hawks catches his eye and waves him over. Dabi begrudgingly obliges. He gets handed a pamphlet.
“The heck is this?” he asks instead of reading it.
The smile on Hawks’ face cannot be described as anything but patient. Dabi wants to smother him. “You said you were interested in Criminal Justice, right? That’s a good school.”
“I never asked you to do shit,” Dabi counters without heat, because despite his "progress" in therapy, it’s still hard to accept help. Or to say thank you. Much more so to an ex-hero.
“You never mentioned being interested in pursuing a higher education,” Kurogiri says.
“I’m not,” Dabi lies. He has yet to light the piece of paper on fire, though, and that betrays him. He’s going soft with these assholes, isn’t he? Once, he would’ve singed their faces off for even trying to pry into his personal life.
“Did he even get a degree?” Shigaraki wonders aloud as he busies himself cleaning up his tools.
“Did you?” Dabi retorts, earning a middle finger back.
“At least my little brother wasn't picking me up from night school every day.”
“No, the former Symbol of Equality just vouched for you when you had to take out a mortgage.” Dabi smirks. “How’s it feel to have Deku try to parent you?”
Shigaraki throws a pen at him, but he does shut up.
“I was thinking of going to college myself,” Hawks confesses, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know about a major, though.”
“Aw, getting tired of charity already? What happened to your dedication to the community?” Dabi mocks.
Truthfully, once heroics had become akin to charity work and quirk regulation laws changed, hero schools had seen a drastic decrease in applicants. When agencies and hero brands were abolished, and quirk licenses had become a better way to legally access public quirk use, most people had abandoned their dreams of glory. Most, except Hawks. He’d remained a hero even after the job description had changed so drastically.
“I don’t mind helping people. It's silly, right? Deku's Reform is all I thought I wanted from my life. Crime rates are lower than they've ever been and I have more time on my hands that I know what to do with… Yet it still doesn't feel right,” Hawks says with surprising honesty. He looks to the side, avoiding everyone's gazes. “What if—what if all along I was just… avoiding a choice?”
A heavy silence follows his words, and Dabi regrets asking. At moments like this, when they're all gathered together like some dysfunctional family, it's easy to forget that none of them ever had their life together to begin with.
“Talk about depressing,” Sako jokes, dramatically touching his heart. “Take it from an old man, but it's never too late to turn your life around.”
The heavy mood is shattered as soon as Toga jumps on Hawks’ back, draping herself all over him.
"Hawksiee," she whines into his ear as he reflexively catches her. "We could be roomies! And have movie nights every day! Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't think Fashion would be my first choice."
"Why not? You used to model, right? I could dress you up. You'd look so cute in pink. Will you let me try your makeup? Just once?"
Hawks laughs good-naturedly. "I reckon I’ve had enough of people dolling me up, but thanks."
Toga gives him an exaggerated pout he can't see, given how she's still clinging to his back like a particularly aggressive koala.
"Booo-ring. You'd be a better model than Tomura-kun. You can sit still, at least."
Shigaraki clicks his tongue, but doesn't refute her claim.
Dabi smirks, opening his mouth around a dry remark—
"And you wouldn't twitch as much as Dabi-kun."
—that morphs right into a frown.
That was one time, he almost snaps, but bites his tongue. She'd take it as a freebie to stab his eyes with eyeliner again. Once had been enough, and he'd only relented to make Fuyumi stop pestering him about the importance of supporting your friend's passions.
Dabi should've just set Toga and her stupidly dusty makeup palette on fire. Maybe even blocked Toga's contact on his sister's phone.
"I bet no one ever tried to dress you up as a vampire," Toga continues. "You wouldn't even need to file your talons! And fake fangs would look good on you."
"Vampire?" Sako enquires, grabbing her attention.
She climbs off her victim in order to bounce on the balls of her feet. “Yes! It’s for my photography elective!”
“Wouldn’t Dabi be a better candidate? He’s got the brooding down already,” Hawks attempts to deflect.
“And the aesthetics,” Shigaraki adds, like the hypocrite he is.
“Keep going and you’ll test your own immortality, assholes,” Dabi warns.
Kurogiri tuts in that annoying way of his that means Language, young man. Amazing how nearly two decades of babysitting Shigaraki and nearly as many of crime haven’t yet corrupted his stubborn clinging to common decency.
Hawks laughs. The sound’s so unexpected it makes all their heads turn to him, and he stops, but not before Toga has gathered his face in her hands like she’s studying an interesting specimen. He cowers self-consciously under her intense stare.
“Hawksie,” she says seriously, “You’ve been in a bad place, I can tell. Even Jin-kun worried all your overthinking would make you split.” Her expression softens. “But you won’t, will you? ‘Cause you got us, even when life’s so hard you just wanna cut it up, right?”
Hawks’ eyes fall to his feet. Slowly, he gives an unconvinced nod.
Toga coos and lets him go.
“That reminds me,” Sako says, clapping his hands for attention. “I had you all come here to arrange a surprise party for Jin! No offence, but none of you ever pick up your phones.”
“First, no alcohol. Second, not at my fucking place,” Shigaraki declares, at the same time as Dabi mumbles, “A party? But his birthday isn’t for another three months.” They share a look, each silently amazed by the astral conjunction that manifested in their rare agreement.
“I believe his latest case has been stressing him out,” Kurogiri interjects. “He has grown attached to his client. A regrettable situation.”
Dabi isn’t surprised. Jin had always been a bleeding heart for all the sad little fuckers that had nowhere to fit and no one to trust. Those——
… Like them.
The realization hits him like a punch on his staples.
The League—No, these morons—
They’re all still sticking together because of their pasts, aren’t they? Not out of some weird nostalgia for their past of crimes, but because for all their oddities and bumps along the road, they’ve always had each other’s backs.
Huh. Once he sees it, he can’t unsee it. It’s Toga checking up on Hawks in that clingy way of hers. It’s all of them saving up money from odd jobs to start this business, and Shigaraki agreeing to co-own it.
It’s the pamphlet still in Dabi’s hands.
Chatter resumes, and Dabi feels an heavy weight settle on his ribs. It’s belonging, and Dabi regards the feeling like he’s seeing it for the first time. And maybe he is.
Dabi can picture his therapist in his mind’s eye, clicking her pen with a smirk. Took you long enough, she’d say.
Nine years, some in jail, others spent in a domestic, tedious routine with his siblings and coworkers, and it had never occurred to him—that the future he’s been dreading had been right beside him all along.
That boring could mean safe.
Dabi tucks the pamphlet safely in his jean pocket. Yeah.
Maybe—maybe everything is gonna be alright, this time.