Work Text:
Opening up is the same as always, at eight in the morning on the dot. Tomura props the door open with a rubber stopper, just to let the spring air breeze through. He leaves his bag at the front desk and walks to the back, throwing open some of the ornate windows then heading upstairs and doing the same thing. A sunbeam is bound to shine through to the armchair hidden in the alcove next to a bookshelf going up to the ceiling, the short stories section. Maybe someone will take up the real estate there today. Maybe Tomura already knows somebody will.
He heads back downstairs, the library flooded with tepid morning air, not stagnant enough to make breathing difficult, just floating by enough to make the library feel like a living organism in and of itself. Tomura tucks his bag below the desk, flips the slim switch on the small blue lamp sitting next to him there even though he doesn't need it. It's about presentation. He pulls one of the various keys from the lanyard looped around his neck and unlocks the topmost right drawer, and retrieves the paperwork he'd been slaving over most of yesterday. Garaki had convinced Tomura's father into purchasing quite a large collection of encyclopedias and scientific journals on what seemed to be every physical disorder under the sun (much to Tomura's chagrin, seeing as none of that fits into their established niche), and as one of the few employees here, the task of recording each one, its projected value, and where it will be housed has all been placed on Tomura's bony, awkward shoulders.
He sighs. Griping about it won't get him anywhere, so he pulls his favorite fountain pen from his pocket, refills it from the small screw-capped bottle of ink he keeps to the side by the lamp, then wipes it off and gets to work. He doesn't think about anything other than body deformities and multiple sclerosis. Curved spines and feet with six toes each. Genital mutilation of newborn babies, performed in secret. Men and women and others with mouths full of teeth. Sharklike.
It's around nine am when Hikiishi-san walks in, yawning against her palm, her round glasses perched precariously at the tip of her nose. Tomura murmurs a greeting, still absorbed in figuring out where the fuck they'll have space for all this, and she nods at him and smiles. Today, her dress is flowy and loose, like she can't seem to wait for summer. The short sleeves flutter above her biceps, and the hem ends just halfway down her calves. As usual, she wears a pair of unassuming black mary janes, and white ankle socks. Tomura wonders if someday she might wear heels. She's tall enough as is, but isn't that some sort of rite of passage, for women? Tomura wouldn't know. He doesn't even know if there are male rites of passage he's missed. It's not like there's anyone to ask; is there?
The tours begin at ten-thirty, at which point Hikiishi-san will be too wrapped up in being a beacon of knowledge in addition to a wonderfully polite Japanese citizen to keep an eye on Tomura. She insists that she knows he knows how to do his job, since he's been working there since he turned fifteen and his father decided it was time he learn the ropes on his own, but Tomura is too perceptive to miss the way she sometimes hovers around his desk with nothing to say, busying herself with dusting spines and shelves. It's not that she doesn't trust him. It's that Hikiishi-san has always been too compassionate for her own good, and she's taken quite a shine to young Tomura, and he's almost 100% sure she knows he doesn't have a mother around. His father never married; Tomura is not of his blood, but he is still his son. He is still the next in line to hold the library carefully in his palms, for as long as he can until his fingers turn to bone.
It is ten-forty-five when Dabi swaggers in, immediately wandering over to where Tomura is hunched over at his desk, eyebrows furrowed. Hikiishi-san is audible from the second floor, with the library's open floor plan, and her voice flows just as gently as the dress she wears, as the slight wind that blows through and musses Tomura's mop. Dabi crouches down to get him to notice that someone has arrived. Tomura glares at him when he flicks him on the forehead. "Bad posture." Dabi says. "Y're gonna end up with a hunchback." Tomura rolls his eyes. Dabi, with his shoulders always drawn into himself and his awkward way of walking so his feet are always angled inward, has little room to talk.
Still, he doesn't expect conversation from Tomura when he's on the clock, though Tomura's fairly certain there's nothing bad that would happen even if he did indulge every now and then and shirk his responsibilities a bit. His father might be disappointed, though, or worse, frustrated. So Tomura works. He doesn't think about Dabi heading up the staircase and making a beeline to the alcove by the short stories. He'd opened the window by that chair earlier. Maybe Dabi will be able to smell the flowers outside; blooming in their prime, like winter never came at all.
Still, when noon hits and the ancient clock hanging above the front door rings twelve times to signal it, Tomura caps his pen and hooks it into his breast pocket. Shuichi will be by in a couple minutes, to bring the bento Tomura pays to have delivered every day. Shuichi's mother and older sister run a cute little cafe about a mile or so down the road, a bit closer to where more people tend to gather. Their tea menu is extensive, and their coffee isn't as perfect but it keeps Tomura upright on the days his insomnia rears its bruised head. They sell sandwiches and some simple pastries too, but Tomura has developed a taste for the bentos they've offered since day one, and he doesn't even order any specific one anymore. He tells Shuichi, bring whatever looks good. Bring me your favorite. Bring me that new one I saw.
And sure enough, the store moped comes to a stop just before the cobblestone path winding up to the entrance. Shuichi removes his helmet, freeing the violently purple mane he calls hair and hurrying over to where Tomura is resting his eyes at his desk for a moment, taking in the sounds around him. He doesn't usually bring his handheld with him to work, since the temptation of having it within reach makes it difficult to focus, so when he needs a break, he does this. Still, Shuichi's footsteps against the hardwood flooring are familiar, so Tomura deigns to open his eyes and accept his lunch. He presses a 1000 yen bill into Shuichi's palm, as thanks. He and his violet head smile and thank him, like he does every day, then he runs back out to his scooter and whirls around back down the road.
Against his better judgment, he takes his lunch and walks soft-footed to the back patio, where Dabi is usually found around this time of day. In his lap are two onigiri, and one clutched in his right hand, half eaten. Tomura folds his legs below himself and sits beside him on the stone, the slight shadow of the library casting a translucent darkness over their heads. Tomura breaks apart his chopsticks and unwraps the plastic cellophane, then begins to poke at karaage and diced fruit salad. He lifts a clump of rice to his mouth, and it is seasoned with something like pickled ginger, almost reminding him of sushi. But not quite. He looks out at the coast that stretches out before them, far enough that grass is still growing around them without issue, but close enough that Tomura can make out the waves coming into the shore, toppling over against the lukewarm sand like a toddler learning to walk.
He blinks, and Dabi has held something out to him. It's one of his onigiri. Tomura makes a face, at the reminder that Dabi never quite eats enough to ever seem nourished, especially when Tomura quite obviously has his own bento right there, but Dabi's hand stays outstretched. "It's umeboshi." He says, as if that's all it is. Umeboshi is Tomura's favorite. He takes it and places it on the discarded cellophane so it doesn't get dirty, then holds out a piece of karaage between his chopsticks. Dabi looks at him like he's stupid, but Tomura gives him a look, one he uses only when Dabi's being a bitch. "In exchange." He says firmly, so Dabi grimaces and leans forward, his lips wrapping around the ends of the chopsticks for a moment to take the chicken in his mouth, and then leaving them hovering in midair. There is a crumb that didn't quite make it, stuck to his lip. His tongue swipes out and captures it before Tomura can point it out.
When they have both filled their stomachs as much as they feel like, Tomura stands to throw away his trash and leave Dabi be while he goes back to his desk. He empties his hands into the garbage can tucked into a corner of the patio, and Dabi is still sitting on the steps, staring up at the sky with a faraway look in his eyes. Tomura follows his gaze. Spread out above them is periwinkle as far as the eye can see, and there's no clouds anywhere to be found. No sign of rain at all. Just the sun burning into his gaze and the light making him need to sneeze. He does, into his elbow, and Dabi looks over at him. "Getting sick?" He says, with a tiny smile dancing across his mouth. He has the smallest, most imperceptible dimples when his face moves like that. Baby indents in his smile lines, ones that make him look younger than he is. Like there has been nothing that's happened to him up until now. Like there's no particular reason he comes to the library near daily, just to tuck himself away into whatever book he picks up that day, and to bother Tomura when he finishes it.
Tomura isn't so stupid as to believe that. Everyone has a past. Him included, because he's not special. Everyone's got one, and that includes you.
"You wish." Tomura retorts, and Dabi's eyes crinkle at the corners, like he's holding back a chuckle. "'ve been told I'm a lovely nurse, I'll have y' know." He drawls, and he stands then, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up just barely, revealing the pallid, pale skin of Dabi's stomach. Tomura forces his eyes away and walks back inside after him.
It is seven pm by the time Tomura decides okay, this is enough for today. There's still thirty minutes before the library formally closes for the day (but not really, since if you're already inside, you can stay as long as Tomura does), but Hikiishi-san has already left, having finished the tours for the day around six. She had waved goodbye to Tomura, hunched over at his desk again, squinting down at the papers before him, and he had murmured a goodbye without even thinking about it. The soles of her mary janes had tapped ever so quietly on the wood before she stepped outside.
So Tomura caps his pen, turns off his lamp, and locks up his desk before he grabs his bag and walks upstairs, hand trailing along the delicately carved banister as he ascends. Dabi has abandoned the short stories section, and he has scrunched himself up onto another small armchair in the poetry section. He's nose deep in some anthology when he hears Tomura draw near, and he peeks out above the edge of the book. "Closing time?" He asks, and Tomura shakes his head, but pauses in the middle of doing so. "I decided to close early." He says before he can stop himself. He'd already pulled the rubber doorstop out from the entrance and tossed it aside for tomorrow. "Do you want to join me?"
Dabi looks a little incredulous after hearing Tomura, diligent and studious and hardworking Tomura closed early, but a grin inches its way onto his face easily enough. "Where we goin'?" He asks with a smug expression, snapping his book shut and shoving it into a random spot on the shelf. Tomura grimaces, but he keeps it to himself. "There's an oden stand by the beach, they stay open late." He says, and he slings his bag over his shoulder and starts to walk downstairs again. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Dabi is following a few steps behind.
He uses the tarnished golden key on his lanyard to lock the door when they leave, already having closed all the windows and the back doors earlier. Him and Dabi walk in silence for a moment, and they're walking close enough together that Tomura's right hand keeps brushing against Dabi's left. Tomura is content to keep it that way, but Dabi mutters a quiet motherfucker and grabs at Tomura's hand, twining their fingers together. His thumb, calloused from everything that happened before now, brushes against the side of Tomura's hand mindlessly. He can feel a blush rising to his cheekbones, so Tomura turns his head away and watches the sun sink into the sea, dyeing it shades of orange and pink. Purple like the tender bags beneath his eyes. Sleep, as I said before, has not always been kind to Tomura. He wonders if Dabi has any problems falling asleep in an empty, silent room. If Dabi wakes up at the quietest noises, like he does.
They get oden, and they eat it leaning against the handrails of the walkway down to the water. Dabi polishes his skewers clean, so Tomura hands over one of his, since he's not super hungry from a big lunch. They toss their trash in the public bin closer to the sidewalk. "Hey," Dabi says, breaking the clean silence, and Tomura looks back at him. His head is silhouetted by the last tendrils of sunlight snaking out into the sea and the horizon, and it makes it hard to meet his eyes. It would look picturesque, if Dabi were anyone else. Tomura still thinks, I guess he is handsome. "Let's take our shoes off."
They strip off their socks and sneakers, tucking the former into the latter and holding them loosely with their fingers as they sink their bare feet into the sand. The grains feel strange and a bit uncomfortable getting stuck between Tomura's toes, but he isn't even thinking about it, so he doesn't notice. Instead, he's watching Dabi, who is watching the waves just barely get close enough to wet the sand they stand on. "Do you," Tomura starts, and Dabi looks over at him, meeting his roadkill-red eyes with a bluebird gaze. At Tomura's pause, he raises an eyebrow. Tomura grinds his molars together, and opens his mouth again. "Why do you… come here?" He chokes out.
Dabi looks at him for a long time, so long that Tomura feels picked apart by his eyes, flayed like a dissected frog. Eventually he shifts his gaze down, resting it on the mole by Tomura's chin, then the scar splitting his lips towards the side. "I just do." He says. His voice sounds full, maybe from the oden; Dabi looks whole, right now. "Kinda… you probably figured, but there isn't really, anywhere else, y'know?
This is what Tomura knows: He is freshly eighteen, with no plans to enter university after having finished his education remotely, with tutors his father had been keen to provide. Dabi is probably… sixteen or seventeen, definitely still in high school somewhere. But Dabi doesn't go to school, because he's always at the library. He has three silver studs in his nose, and a ball in his tongue. He has hair too dark to be natural. He probably doesn't even have a last name, at least, not anymore. It's fine, because Tomura doesn't want his either if given the option, so it's fine.
Still, Tomura can't let the words sputter out there. "You," He says, and his throat locks up again, but he forces his vocal cords to vibrate. "You can… I mean, if you don't have anywhere permanent to stay, I could probably, work something out?" He feels stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth. Who is he to presume Dabi wants his help? Who is he to presume Dabi doesn't already have a home, somewhere to return to, in his new life nearby?
But the silence just extends. The water gets close enough to kiss at their feet, and Tomura shivers-- it's spring, but that doesn't mean the ocean has quite warmed up yet. When he looks back up at Dabi, the other boy is watching him, observing him as if he thinks a crack will open up in Tomura, and he'll take it back, what he said. Tomura stands his ground. He holds tightly to the sneakers hanging off his fingers.
Dabi looks to the ocean again, and the sun is just barely still here, its fingertips slipping off the horizon one by one as the sky fades into violet. The dying scene reflects in Dabi's eyes, like a movie. His eyelashes are clumped with mascara, Tomura notices, just as he turns to look at the other again. Tomura flushes at being caught staring, but Dabi just cracks a smile, that spreads into an ear to ear grin, until he's doubled over laughing, holding a hand to his stomach. Tomura stares at him lamely. Did he say something funny? He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. Soon enough, Dabi's laughter subsides, and he wipes a stray tear from his eye. "Man, Tomura, y're just full of surprises, aren'tcha?" He says mirthfully, his lips still twisted into something like joy. Tomura feels the breath leave his lungs, and he struggles to draw it back in. So Dabi draws closer for a moment, and, like he's only speaking for Tomura, he asks, "You wanna know?"
Tomura nods mutely. He does want to know. Dabi grins like he's already made up his evil plan, and grabs Tomura's hand again, tangling their fingers together and holding tightly to him, like he can't fathom letting go. "C'mon." He says, tugging Tomura away from the sea, back to the walkway, back to the town, the library, the cafe, the warm sidewalk. "Let's go." He says, and Tomura follows after him when he starts to run, pushing himself forward if only to keep up with Dabi. Not letting himself just be pulled along.