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“You’re moving it, Twice.”
“No, you’re moving it, Spinner. Demons are moving it, and we’ll all be cursed for messing with this stuff—haven’t you watched any horror movies?”
“Both of you, shut up. You’ll scare the ghosts away before I get to ask them anything.”
“Himiko, honey, I don’t think the ghosts are the ones likely to get spooked in this situation.”
“Why are we using a board with English letters? I mean, I do remember the basics from school, but that was some time ago. Wouldn’t it be easier to play Mr. Kokkuri or something?”
“I can read it.”
“See? Dabi knows English.”
“Yeah, but what if the ghosts don’t?”
Like he was watching a tennis match, Tomura turned his head to and fro, following the bickering as it volleyed around. Just a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined such a scene: his friends gathered on both sides of the hideout’s bar, playing a game better suited to middle school kids. Then again, a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined using the words his friends in any context.
The game had been Toga’s idea. A fun way to celebrate Halloween, she'd said. Tomura didn’t care about some imported holiday, just as he hadn’t paid any attention to Bon when it came and went a couple months back. But he did enjoy seeing the others participate, learning all the different ways they interacted. So, silent, he watched from the edge of their circle as they finally settled down, cramming their fingertips on the planchette in the middle of the Ouija board Toga had picked up from who-knew-where.
A lack of holiday spirit hadn't been the only reason he'd sat out. The sight of so many hands squeezed into such a small area sent a chill rolling down Tomura’s spine. He wasn’t about to risk Decaying someone over a silly party game.
“Okay…” A quivering note had crept into Spinner’s voice despite his earlier accusations of Twice moving things. “What do we ask first?”
Toga bounced on her heels. “I know, I know! Who am I going to marry?”
A collective groan filled the room. Nevertheless, the heart-shaped plastic pointer gave a jerk, like an eager dog tugging on its leash, and began to slide across the board. Everyone held their breath. Tomura squinted in concentration, sounding out each letter chosen in his head.
D…E…K…U.
“What’d it say? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Toga demanded the second the planchette stopped.
“Deku,” Tomura answered, wrinkling his nose. Maybe demons were rigging the game.
Toga held a differing opinion. With a squeal, she hugged herself and collapsed into a fit of maniacal giggles.
“Oh? Shigaraki speaks English too?” Even through his ever-present ski mask, Mister looked impressed. “A man of many talents.”
Tomura shrugged. “It can be useful sometimes.” Mostly for online games, but still.
“Hey, it’s spelling something else,” Dabi said.
Instantly righting herself, Toga watched with huge, shiny eyes as a second name emerged.
“Ochako,” announced Dabi, triggering a second giggle explosion. “Congratulations, vampire girl. You’re a bigamist.”
Spinner snorted. “What a load of crap…”
“Let’s ask it what unlucky slob gets stuck with you then, lizard lips.”
Toga was on it like a shark on a baby seal. “Yeah! Spinner next!”
Heedless of stammered protests and long-suffering sighs, the planchette launched into action. Tomura smiled wryly as the next name took shape.
“I knew it.” Dabi clicked his tongue. “Mandalay.”
“Total bullshit.” Spinner’s entire face had flushed deep forest-green, the edges of each scale almost black.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape. Not like you’re the first nerd to be into catgirls.”
“Get fucked, staple-face.”
“Let’s ask the board whether he does. I’ll do it if no one else gets the honor!”
“You’re making me blush, Twice.”
“Dabi’s true love next!” declared Toga, mercifully taking the reins again.
The planchette went to work. Tomura craned forward, curious despite himself.
T…O…
That could be the start of hundreds of names, Japanese or otherwise.
…M…U…
Wait—maybe he was separating the syllables incorrectly?
…R…A.
“Well? Who’s the one destined to tame the Blue Flame?” Mister asked with a laugh.
Not Tomura. It couldn’t be. That was simply impossible. The stupid board had to mean someone else—without kanji there wasn’t any way to tell one name from another if the sounds matched.
Except when he looked up, he caught Dabi staring straight at him.
Dabi, whose blue eyes burned hot and electric as they met his.
Dabi, the only other person in the room who knew English.
Dabi, his true love, according to the board.
In one smooth motion, Tomura pushed away from the bar and spun on his heels. He didn’t look back despite the bewildered and shocked questions the others pelted him with as he marched out of the bar. It was a miracle he didn’t accidentally Decay the door in his haste.
He’d gotten as far as the top step in the upstairs hallway before he heard pursuing bootsteps.
“Hey, wait up.”
Tomura refused to give in to weakness and look over his shoulder. If he hurried, he could make it to his room in time.
“Fucking hell, mophead, come on. Don’t make me run. I’ve got shitty lungs.”
A switch flipped in his brain, killing power to all rational thought. Tomura halted and did a sharp one-eighty. Dabi skidded to a stop just out of reach. A good thing too—there was no telling what might’ve happened if one of Tomura’s hands, fingers hooked into talons, had been able to grab him. Dabi read the other warning signs with a neutral face: tensed shoulders, narrowed red eyes, breath hissing in and out.
Only two words managed to bob to the surface of the stew of rage and humiliation Tomura’s mind was boiling in, but they were enough. “Not. Funny.”
“Who’s laughing, mophead?”
Slowly, the question and its serious tone sank in. Tomura blinked, his roiling emotions thickening into a sludge of confusion. “You…you rigged the game.”
“Guilty. The girls were in on it too. Toga was going to ask fluffy stuff about her crushes anyway, so I only had to bribe her to keep quiet and not gush to anyone else. Magne used her quirk to tug everyone’s hands in the right direction. Her English is even better than mine, as it turns out.”
“You had her spell my name.”
“Yup.”
“B-but…”
Dabi arched his eyebrows. “But if I wasn’t making fun of you, why on earth would I do such a thing?”
“Yes.”
“Because I think you’re interesting and smart and hot in a gangly, goth sort of way. I like you is what I mean.”
Tomura opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. So, he closed it with a click of teeth. Then he tried again. Same results.
With a sardonic smile skewing his lips, Dabi shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been dropping hints for months, but they flew over your head every time. So, when Toga suggested the stupid Ouija board, I figured I might as well literally spell it out for you. Speaking of dropping hints, Spinner wasn’t embarrassed about the catgirl thing. He was pissed because your name didn’t pop up. Just thought I should mention it, you know, in the spirit of fair competition.”
Though Tomura glanced all around the hallway, there was neither a convenient couch to faint on nor a hole to crawl into. So, he settled for the next best option: directness.
“I…don’t know what to say.”
Dabi’s smile softened as he shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything right now. When you’re ready, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever. I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”
He turned to go, but some unknown impulse spurred Tomura into grabbing his wrist, two fingers safely tucked away. Both red and blue eyes widened in identical degrees of astonishment.
“Uh…” Tomura scrambled for a reasonable follow-up. “Do you want to, um, talk about it?”
The way Dabi’s staples followed the curves of his smile did warm, strange, fluttery things to Tomura’s insides. “About which part? Telling me to fuck off or being my one true love?”
“I-I-I—”
“Relax, mophead. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Oh.” Tomura looked at Dabi’s hand, which had come out of his pocket to link fingers with two of his. It's solid grip and weight certainly felt serious. “Does that mean—”
“Yeah, let’s talk. Up on the roof fine? Kurogiri hates it when I smoke inside.”
“Sure. Okay.” He definitely wasn’t the former, but something in the back of his mind assured him the latter would stick eventually.
Warm fingers on a scarred hand gave his a squeeze. “After you.”