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It's summer, and that comes with all the annoying and sticky things that happen when there's heat. The cicadas are loud enough to hear them through the balcony door, and the air inside is humid even though every window is shut and every fan is running. Dabi's hair sticks to his forehead as he sweats over a pan of beef and vegetables. The rice cooker beeps that it's done.
He's never said it aloud, but Dabi's feelings on summer are quite vicious. It doesn't help that he's already being baked from the inside all the time, and the heat outside just makes him feel like he's going to melt. It's the time of year he tends to get sick more often, because of his inability to regulate his temperature. He hates getting sick; it means relying on Tomura. It's not that he doesn't want to rely on him, though, that's obvious, he just doesn't want to be a burden. Tomura would never call him one, even if he was, so Dabi's made it his mission to make himself as small as possible when necessary.
Speaking of Tomura, he wanders into the kitchen after smelling the food Dabi has cooked up, eyes sunken in and dark circles prominent after a six hour gaming session. Dabi has chided him for it, but he will never take away a source of Tomura's joy guiltlessly. So he prepares food for him to have after, because even with the tender skin beneath his eyes bruised with lack of sleep, Tomura is beautiful. He kind of makes Dabi wish he'd listened in church all those years ago when his mom took him, about salvation. Tomura is enough of that to last three more lifetimes. Dabi just prays this one ends alright.
Tomura eats his food greedily, but he pushes the vegetables to one side of his plate and finishes the meat and rice first. "You're 20-something, boss, eat your damn veggies." Dabi drawls, his tone humorous despite his words. Tomura glares at him and pointedly stuffs two snow peas in his mouth.
The world is lovely like this, despite the heat seeping into Dabi's bones from the outside for once. But, there's a way to make it even better. Dabi's nostrils probably look like a winter wonderland now despite the weather. It's fine, horse tranquilizers or not, it's fine. Tomura won't mind. Tomura will let Dabi lay his head on his lap and talk until his words run out, threading his fingers through his hair like there's nothing else he'd rather do. And maybe there isn't-- Tomura doesn't half-ass anything he does. Babysitting Dabi is surely the least of his priorities but he's never once complained.
The temperature outside is unbearable. Dabi's shirt sticks to his chest as he sweats, so he peels it off, forcing himself not to be conscious of how visible his scars are. Maybe the nipple piercings draw the attention instead.
Tomura puts on Netflix, chooses a drama about a Korean mobster. Dabi doesn't pay much attention, but he gathers that the guy escaped Italy only to immediately get drugged and robbed. Sucks to suck, he thinks mindlessly. Tomura looks invested, though, so he doesn't interrupt whoever's talking on the screen, and all the details fade away. He closes his eyes for a moment-- big mistake with ketamine fresh in his system-- and he feels himself float away, the last vestiges tethering himself to his body finally snapping. He feels like he could make it all the way to the moon, but, Tomura's fingers twitch in his hair. Dabi opens his eyes, uncomfortably present lest he close them again. He leans his head back a bit to get the least flattering angle of Tomura's face, and his boss's brow is furrowed. Dabi reaches up to massage at the area between his eyebrows with two fingers. Tomura allows him this, because Tomura is magnanimous, offering so much even when Dabi is comatose in his lap. Offering so much Dabi wonders where he keeps the last of himself.
"Tomura." He says, because he's feeling kind of ballsy. It's probably the horse tranquilizer. "Do you miss anything?"
The question hangs between them like a dead pig in a meat locker. Tomura glances down, but Dabi is too blissed out to realize the implications of what he's said. He doesn't mean to open old wounds, it's just--
Would Tomura have chosen this life, this cramped apartment and the drugs and Dabi, if he'd had the choice? He could've been a hero if All Might had kept his head on long enough to notice what Nana Shimura left behind. He could've been so much. Even if All for One had still laid his dirty paws on him, Tomura could've been so much. He could've had the world in his hands by now. But he has Dabi, high on ketamine in his lap with a K-drama on TV. He has a full belly, but he could get that anywhere. Dabi isn't that special.
Tomura seems to understand the question, though, and blows out a breath. Dabi's eyelids flutter at the action. "I don't." He says firmly. "Everything has happened for a reason."
And that's just the crux of it, isn't it? Dabi doesn't want to place any meaning on his dad beating him into the floor for the fiftieth time on his tenth birthday, but it led him to where he is now. Tomura sees right through him and knows that he wouldn't be here, on this same path, had he not killed his family. Had he not wandered the streets until the gracious All for One and the greasy doctor took him in. He sees these all as achievements leading up to who he is now, while Dabi just wants to act like he just happened to turn out this way. But that's not true, and it never will be, and Tomura has made peace with this. Dabi's currently working on it, in the deep recesses of his brain.
The mobster on screen just killed a guy. Tomura looks enthralled.
Dabi closes his eyes again, but he holds tight to his spine and his limbs so he doesn't fly off. He is painfully aware of Tomura scritching kindly at his scalp in the way he knows Dabi loves. Dabi wants to grab his hand and kiss his knuckles, kiss the deadly pads of his fingertips. Dabi wants to devour him, but he isn't sure he'd be the devourer in any scenario concerning Tomura. Tomura has already consumed every piece of Dabi he has left. Tomura hasn't meant to take it all; Dabi has given it, freely, like in the way he loves Tomura wholeheartedly, like there's nothing else in the world that could catch his gaze. Because there isn't. There's nothing like Tomura anywhere.
He doesn't mean to interrupt the TV again, but he does. "Hey, boss," Dabi says, with all the casualness of asking for a beer at a bar, "didja mean to make me fall for you, when you moved in here? Was this part of yer plan?"
Tomura huffs, but it sounds like a laugh is hidden in there somewhere. "You were already in love with me when you met me." He says, bold and without care for Dabi's reaction, which is to laugh aloud and cough up the rest of his mirth. "You're right, you're right, aren'tcha, boss." He agrees without hesitation. Because despite being 24 when he met Tomura, still stuck in his ratty old high school uniform, there had been no one else. There could never have been anyone else. Dabi was made to love Tomura, just like Tomura was made to be loved by all. To be revered by all.
Dabi reaches up, and he takes Tomura's hand from his hair and tugs it towards his mouth. He gets two kisses in on the stigmata on his palm before Tomura is snatching it back, cupping Dabi's face in both hands from above and leaning down to kiss him, Spiderman-style. Dabi smiles into it, and he moves one of his hands to cover Tomura's. Like a prayer. Like a promise.