Chapter Text
“Christmas isn’t all that great,” is a nice way of phrasing things. Nicer than what you were recently told. You sincerely wish Touya had more tact, but there’s not much you can expect from a guy like him. The best reasoning you got from him — the crude response that had you overthinking for days — came in his usual burnt timbre.
“It’s a holiday for overly optimistic scum to pretend presents fix everything. You really think I want to spend it with you?”
Ouch.
Guys like Touya don’t like to be considered anything but “hard.” Tough guys. Guys that have insecurities and probable daddy issues they never ironed out despite wanting to be called daddy themselves. He’s ridiculous, really, and his excuse to not spend a holiday with you?
“Bullshit.”
Dabi raises a brow at your tone.
“Keep it up and you’ll be spending every holiday alone.”
He scoffs, then nearly laughs like you’ve said the merriest thing — a Christmas joke. It’s only when you don’t sway that he stops, still grinning, but he realizes you meant every word. “Sure, sure, I don’t care. You’re not the only person out there for me to spend the holidays with.”
Ouch. Maybe that one stung a bit more than the last.
You give him a once over, purposefully picking apart his dark jeans that hang loosely off of him, the loose t-shirt that’s cut too low for his mother’s liking, and the piercings adorned in his singed skin. Chances are, he’d spend the holidays with lots of other people besides you. If they’re all guards of Tartarus, that is.
“I’ll be sure to post alllllll about my Valentine’s Day.”
His grin melts right off his skin, the whole charade landing in a puddle on the floor of this rundown bar. Christmas is one thing, but Valentine’s Day is different. Touya is great at remembering anniversaries — deep-seated grudges and a taste of vengeance make you remember every little detail and when exactly they happened. He never forgot the way you carried yourself that day, as ridiculous as that sounds.
His villainous record had been somewhat excused earlier this year — he was allowed to walk through the city as long as he didn’t get too far from his house. Granted, the only places he frequented were the dimmest, most familiar, hole-in-the-wall dumps. A change of scenery should’ve been nice. That whole “starting anew” bullshit was something he tried for one (1) week and it just happened to be the week of Valentine’s.
Of course, they shouldn’t have expected him to change immediately. He had specific intentions when he chose that club to spend his aromantic holiday on.
Despite that, you showed up. You paraded past him with subtle hints of amber perfume wafting off of you, confidence and boredom mixed in your eyes that bore into a mixed drink in your hand. You. You were the one he picked for the night, yet things didn’t go how he anticipated.
It should’ve been brief. It should not have led to binge eating and accidental naps, puff-puff-passing, musings of crime, light scoldings of his “new life,” and waiting for the next time. He wasn’t interested in making friends, especially with the stigma he wears, but you were fun. He had everything his parents could give him to help him change his ways for the greater good, but he didn’t have you.
Not until Valentine’s Day.
“Fuck you,” he says firmly. Apathetically. He doesn’t know which emotion to put behind it because he’s feeling them all.
“That’s what I thought.” The triumph on your face isn’t grandiose, but it shines a little brighter under the dim lighting when you tilt your chin up in defiance. “We’re doing Christmas. I’m not coming over — your parents freak me out, sorry — but you can come to my place.”
He can’t look at you anymore, his jaw tensing and a tick in his temple giving away his agitation. “Whatever. Don’t expect a present.”
“Won’t count on it,” you answer right away. After seeing how he dresses for the past few months, you don’t exactly want a present from him.
Your stare is palpable but he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, he leaves you like he always does, a cold shoulder, hands in pockets, and a gruff “See ya” slipping past his lips. The most minimal of goodbyes, yet there are still so many of them since he can’t stay away.
Should he feel ashamed? It’s weird how comfortable he feels with these expectations, and no matter how he skins the cat, it’s still a cat. He’ll turn his brain inside out before he figures out why he wants to be with you, but first he’ll knock on your door on Christmas. Two times, and then he searches with his eyes for a spare key out of sheer habit. That’s what he’s always done with flings, he tells himself, but… Some fling, huh?
He snorts when you open the door, the ghost of Christmas Past hanging under your eyes. “All nighter without me?”
Why did he say that?
A Grinch scowl curls on his face right away. You usher him inside, eyes lingering a bit too long on his unwelcome display of emotional turmoil.
“Yeah, I was waiting for Santa Claus to come by all night and the bastard never showed.”
With the intention of leaving soon, Touya doesn’t take his shoes off, just walks past you and throws himself into his usual spot on the couch. Considering you’re the one that wanted him here, you sure didn’t decorate much besides the stuffed reindeer toy that almost got a tour up his ass. He pulls it out from underneath him and tosses it aside.
“You invited me but you stayed up all night waiting for another man? Not surprised.”
The reindeer hits him square in the face, much to his surprise. You don’t even have the decency to give him that sarcastic laugh or the coquettish giggle that makes heat sear through his stomach. Instead, heat bursts in the wrong place. Everything about this is wrong in his book, but Touya’s never been one to do the right thing. Maybe that’s just an excuse for him to accept the way you now run your hand through his hair and leave a kiss on his forehead.
It’s so wrongly innocent that he feels exceptionally tainted now.
Your lips are as soft as they are fleeting, a frown adorning them when he looks up at you. It’s obvious that you’re straddling him, the pressure at the sides of his hips so familiar, yet all he can really see is the decadent disappointment in your eyes.
“What?” he sighs, covering up his lovestruck daze like hiding an elephant.
“I had to get you to shut up somehow,” you tell him, voice just as calm as his. When he rolls his eyes, you continue. “Today should be a good day.”
“Should it?” Honestly, should it? His baby brother’s birthday is coming up, another reminder that he’s not the hero child his father strived for. Today was always worse than any other day in his home, and he can only imagine it’s regressed further down the line of shitty days. Now, his family has to face the music and welcome him as part of the festivities. There was a stocking hanging in the main family room with his name on it that he hadn’t seen since he was a kid, and he’s sure it hadn’t seen the light of day since the day he stopped being their kid.
Christmas has always just been a show of gifts to make up for unforgivable shit.
Suddenly, your gaze is too rich and he’s suffocating under you, trapped against the back of the couch with a tongue too thick for flowery words. He doesn’t have the patience to be nice right now.
“I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Touya starts sitting up, using an arm to push you aside, but the next thing you trap is his wrist in your hand.
“If everything goes as planned,” you grit, “then today should be a good day. Are you gonna ruin my plans now?”
So what if I do? You? Planning something? Laughable. It’s piquing his interest, but whether out of curiosity or caution, he doesn’t know.
“Hurry up and do whatever you have planned so I can leave.” Yanking his wrist from you, Touya gestures for you to get up. You’re usually not stubborn with him… whatever the hell it is matters enough to you to get under his skin. If you’re hellbent on having your way then he’ll let you, but he’s leaving as soon as he feels you’ve had enough fun.
You’re off of him soon after, grabbing gifts from under the tree and a mug from off the counter with what he can only assume is hot liquid sugar inside of it. One gift was more than enough, honestly, but you’ve placed one large box and a few smaller ones in a stack at his feet. Really, it gets on his fuckin’ nerves.
“Always had to outdo the people around you, huh?” Touya continues grumbling while he unwraps each gift, glancing over new clothes, some toiletries, candy, and other small things. It’s obvious that you’re not much of a gift-giver, but who’s he to talk? The box in his pocket is burning a hole through his leg right now, begging to be let out and opened up.
“Sure,” you shrug nonchalantly. There are days you make him do his laundry at your apartment and you’ll see him ungraciously ball up the clothes in his fist even after they’re clean. No surprise — he clearly doesn’t care about appearances, but you figured it would be nice to care for him. Still… “If you don’t like anything then the receipts are inside.”
“Mm.” Touya places the small stack of clothes back inside the box just like he found it, pausing for a moment to eye the mug. Just one sip and he’s outta here. Back to some bar that’s worse for wear to clear his head. Grabbing the ceramic from the top, he tilts it back against his parted lips and lets heaven roll across his tastebuds. His entire body temperature rises in a good way — he’s not burning, he feels at ease. And as nice as it is, as much as he wants to gulp it all down, he doesn’t intend on staying.
The magic of the moment is lost when he sets the cup down and stands up from his spot. “Thanks,” he mutters, “but I’m leaving.”
Again, stubbornness isn’t common with you. It leaves a weird tickle in his chest to see you put up a fight about him parting ways. You stand and lean on one leg, a hand on your hip with sass in your eyes. “After drinking my hot cocoa?”
Huh…? He glances at the mug and then back at you. “Your name isn’t on it.”
“Pfft, yours isn’t either!”
“Want me to spit it back up?” An evil smirk tugs at his lips even though he really doesn’t want to show any form of enjoyment about being here.
That’d be a sight to see — Touya’s best impression of the Number Two — but given your company, birds aren’t exactly your type. You shake your head in disbelief before walking away in silence. Your back disappears behind the kitchen wall, leaving Touya only with questions.
Why’s he still h-
“Hurry up,” you call. Homely sounds of drawers opening and closing follow. The fridge rattles slightly when you shut it, and his boots on the tile coming up behind you somehow doesn’t sound out of place.
“What?”
You point to another mug on the counter, one that looks just like yours but with a black base instead of white. “That’s yours. How much whipped cream do you want?”
“Don’t need it.”
“Touya, seriously, I’m not gonna drink thi-”
He’s already picking up this mug and repeating the same actions as before but… much better. This one isn’t as sweet. It’s a little hotter than yours, but soon enough he’s halfway through it before he realizes he had closed his eyes in enjoyment.
The mug is nearly slammed down from how quick he is to correct himself. Should he… leave now? He doesn’t look at you, but he can feel you staring at him. Just like how he can feel hot cocoa cooling on his upper lip and his heart rate getting faster in his chest.
“Good?”
“Whatever.”
You smirk and leave him in the kitchen to “have some privacy” while you clean up the wrapping paper. The desire to grab your attention and slam the little box in your hand is ringing throughout his body, like pressing so softly on a piano key that there’s no harmonic tone, just the dull thud for the ears of one. And now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t know such a sound if it weren’t for you showing it to him over summer.
“Hey,” he speaks up a little bit louder, not leaving the kitchen so you can’t see him. “I need to show you something.”
You’re silent in there, probably with a smile of satisfaction. Yeah, yeah, he’s a fuckin’ sap, he gets it. He can’t tell what’s worse, you being quiet to force him to fill the silence or you taunting him. He’s already doing a lot by bringing this up — he’s not going to say any more. You’re not the only one who can be stubborn.
The last of his hot cocoa is finished off, and this time he sets the mug down without any noise or aggression, as if the sound would give him away. You, on the other hand, remain mousy, not a peep leaving you. Brat.
“Hey, when someone gets you a gift you’re supposed to-” he walks into the living room now, seeing that the wrapping paper has disappeared and so have you. “-say thank you…”
“Uh, thank you?” You’re standing in the hallway wearing new clothes and confusion. “What gift?”
Fuck me. He takes in the frizz on your head, no doubt caused by the shirt you pulled over your head — his shirt — and then notices the red and green Christmas pajama pants. You’ve always made his shirts look good even though he knows you hate how they look on him. Maybe it’s because you secretly want to wear them yourself, not that he minds. And if it couldn’t get any worse, now he’s tactlessly mentioned your gift,
“Nothing. What are you wearing?” He lazily gestures at your attire. “Why the change?”
Thankfully, you let it go. “Felt like it. I can show you more in my room.”
That’s more like it. Don’t get him wrong, Touya wants to leave, but at least this could be him leaving on a high note. You don’t even have to ask him to follow you — he nearly leads the way there, right on your heels until you get to the bed with… another gift.
“Put it on,” you say simply, but he sees that appeased smirk on your lips. Of course, this was intentional.
“Fuckin’ tease,” he hisses, snatching the matching pair of pajama pants from you. “I’m not wearing this shit.”
“Then why are you holding it?”
“To throw it out.”
“Just stay long- what? No!” You grab at the pants and miss when he moves away just in time. It’s playful at the same time that it’s desperate, the way you lunge and he dodges. A mere hand on your forehead would easily keep you away, but it wouldn’t be cat and mouse if he didn’t have you diving after him.
It’s just a pair of pants, but you’re smiling again, uncaring as you jump to reach his hand and uncaring when you slam into his chest. His other arm winds around you naturally, holding you close just so you can’t move anymore. Cementing you to him, you wriggle as much as possible, laughter leaving you from toes up; filling him from head down.
“At least try them on,” you bargain, nearly climbing him now.
Touya holds you tighter, making it harder to leave. “So I can look like you? No.”
“You’d be lucky to look like me. I might kill you in your sleep one day, y’know,” you snap like a newborn kitten, giving one last attempt to reach above his head. It’s a little painful trying to jump up against such a tight grip, especially when you feel something hard almost scrape against your thigh.
Instantly, you both widen your eyes, looking at each other for confirmation. Except what he’s thinking is definitely not the same as what you’re thinking. And he can tell you’re headed down that track when your heart pounds against his.
“Touya…” you murmur carefully, pulling away from him with no resistance this time. Your eyes dart downward, not expecting to see a small velvet box fall out of his pocket onto the floor. “Oh.” Your cheeks warm up.
“Yeah.” He snatches it off the floor and keeps it in his fist, but your eyes are so prying… what’s the point anymore. Somehow it’s like you’re looking through his hand right now, but this isn’t the first time. There have been times where you steal a glance and take a peek into his heart. No matter how guarded he is, you get to him without trying. Hell, he doesn’t even know if you want to be that close to him, and that’s exactly why this Pandora’s box should stay closed.
You definitely want to know more — clouds of curiosity swirling in your eyes — but you don’t ask. Of course. Why would you? You’re not one to pry — never have been. If he wanted you to know about this then he should speak up himself.
There’s a wall — that shitty, heavy tongue of his — blocking his speech. This would be a good time for those embellished confessions and promises for love, but all he can do is clench the box tighter. Today should be a good day, but it won’t be if he gives you this prematurely.
“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you, shoving the gift in his jacket pocket now. “It’s not what you think.”
“I wasn’t thinking about it,” you answer, and he almost hates how honest you sound despite how he should appreciate it. “I was thinking about the pants.”
“Can’t you fucking think about me for once?”
You fall hush, body still, and hair on end. Now he’s fucking done it.
A sigh of aggravation leaves him and he runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it. I’m leaving.”
And you don’t stop him. It hurts, but this might be the pain he needs — the pain he’s familiar with. If you chased after him and begged him to stay he might just say or do something much worse. Touya is crude, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Tactless, but always truthful. Isolated but-
“I’ll go with you.” You push past him, beating him to the door and putting your shoes on. There’s no following, just leading. “Let’s get something to eat and pick up liquor to hold us over until tonight.”
Right, alcohol and food is a safe zone — that’s what it should’ve been this whole time. Something brief.
You grab your keys off the hook in the wall and swing the door open, nearly leaving him in the door as it closes. There’s that tangible silence again, but this time he’s desperate to keep it that way. He takes steady paces beside you and each step hopefully builds the distance between now and his short-fuse moment.
Distancing yourselves from each other is naturally practiced now — you two always grow ever closer, but there’s a small padding of safety just in case. To think he nearly broke through that… What an idiot.
The next door you swing open is the apartment building’s front door, this one whipping you both in the face with wintry air and sending blood rushing to his nose and ears. No longer is it quiet when the snow crushes beneath your steps or the bustling bystanders move around you two moving in tandem. Just like before, the sound of his steps don’t feel out of place, but they don’t feel at home either.
He steals a glance at you and instantly softens, irritation laced in his worries. It’s the dead of winter and you were stupid enough to come out with only that hated-by-mother shirt and hated-by-Touya pants. Taking his jacket off, he places it around your shoulders.
“Won’t you get cold?” You look up at him in shocked appreciation, almost stopping in your tracks when his hand meets your lower back to usher you onward. He keeps his eyes forward, face getting a little warmer by the second.
“Keep it. Merry fucking Christmas~,” he mocks, giving you a lopsided grin and a glance.
If it were any colder, maybe this moment could freeze over — a picturesque confection of two could-be lovers. Every angle gives it away, but it’s a good thing you two don’t have to view anything but the road ahead and each other.
“Can I keep it forever?” Your tone is playful once more as you put your arms through the sleeves, hands traveling through a tunnel of warmth until they land in their final destination: the pockets.
“Sure, it’s all yours.”
His jacket, his gift, and him.