Work Text:
Flicking the crooked switch mounted by the door way, watching the warm tinted light slowly pour into the room, illuminating the bar; it doesn’t take a genius to know when something’s amiss.
“Wha…”
Atop the narrow table, hanging barely by the edge of it, a single white rose, he recognized, and what looks like a dozen of forget-me-nots lay. Sitting there, it looked out of place– rather it looked too obvious– a stark contrast to the dull and darkened bottles of alcohol that decorate the counter cabinets.
Is this a joke? What insolent, impertinent idiot would dare step into what is virtually the most dangerous bar establishment in the city? To provoke the soon-to-be king amongst the villainous– nay, challenge him?
“Kurogiri!” he all but yelled, walking forwards to inspect the suspicious flowers that lay. Grating at his neck, jagged nails rake at dry skin. He wonders if this is an attempt of a threat; if it was, it wasn’t remotely frightening. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to touch them.
Time ever growing still, and no person came at his summon. He clicks his tongue, growing impatient as the clock ticks. For the second time, he called the name of his most trusted friend– adviser? He didn’t know where the line draws.
“Kurogiri! Where are you?” Now looking around, lazily shuffling to peek from the tattered velvet curtains into the bar’s narrow hallway. “Oi!” he bellows, the sound of his voice reverberating through the barren walls and vacant room. Still, nothing. A small sigh escapes him when the person in question was not anywhere to be seen.
Giving up, he pulls the curtains down. What to do… what to do… These flowers, they annoy him so. Without Kurogiri, he couldn’t possibly know what they were doing here or if the bartender was responsible for it. Why else would there be flowers if not for decorative purposes—or…
Well…
..
Ah.
No, that’s simply not it. That’s not possible…
Now growing wary and on edge, he ought to maybe stay and wait for the misty being to come back. Strutting to return to where the bar stools stand, vision clouded by a seething temper; he walks back. Unbeknownst to him a rounded corner on the counter, just waiting to strike. Letting out an unpleasant hiss when it sharply stabs the right side of his abdomen.
“Fucking hell…” he mutters, curling in to clutch his right side. The light-haired villain groans in frustration. “Stupid Kurogiri, stupid bar, stupid fucking flowers!” colorful strings of curses tempt to escape him– just itching to be uttered, loud and mad for the whole building to hear. But no sound leaves him; instead distant and soft scuffling of feet could be heard from outside the bar’s entrance.
He breathes a sigh of relief, already familiar with what those footsteps meant. The pain all but forgotten when the door swings open revealing a joyful and blood-stained blonde, giggling intensely, and a manic grin plastered on her youthful face.
“Wahh! Tomu-kun! You’ll never guess what happened!!” She exclaims, skipping and jumping uncontrollably– like a toddler on Christmas Eve, impressing the other when no bottles nor glass broke at her incessant bouncing and overall loud personality.
“Oi! You’re going to piss Kurogiri off if a single drop of blood stains the flo– and… there it is...” A deep disappointing sigh caught his attention.
He tears his gaze away from the young blonde to look at the taller man– seemingly appearing out of nowhere– when did he get here?– standing behind the girl, looking boorish as he always did. He examines him, enigmatic and irritating. The same unknown and inexplicable feeling settles in his stomach. Strange yet not unwelcomed.
“Stop that!” The pyro sneers at the girl, swatting at her as she nears him, crunching his face in apparent disgust. Annoying, he assumed.
“Aww, Dabi-nii!” The girl interrupts, a mock pout, then- “You’re so harsh!” she accuses, a playful tone laced in her voice. It was almost sweet and filial with how close the two looked.
“I told you not to call me that-“ the raven barks, smoky cinders escaping his lips, kindling fires.
“Anyway- Tomura-kun!” The teen calls, forgetting the now-enraged fire-user. Shigaraki grins, a smug feeling brewing in him as he looks at the ignored pyro standing after her. It was always a joy to see the usually-suave raven so visibly bothered.
Toga sways, a puddle of blood dirtying the floors where she stands, tarnishing the clean polish of the wooden surface; how she’s always so animated and alive– Shigaraki could never understand.
“On the way here, there was a cute kitty!” She squeals an ear-splitting sound, barely able to contain her excitement. Was it really something so great to have her vibrate with such enthusiasm? “It was small and cream-colored and oh OH-“ Her smile widens– if that was even possible– and pulls out her phone from her right pocket, ”Look! Look! Isn’t she cute?” Shoving the phone towards him, it being mere inches away from his face. A small kitten, lightly colored and a bit brown on the edges, dust perhaps; pawing at the pavement.
He had intended to examine it more, though she had already pocketed it. Now a small pout settled on her. “We stopped to play with it, but Dabi…”
A pause…? But Dabi what? What did he do?
Strange.
This day was really and awfully strange, Shigaraki concluded. Toga never stopped in between sentences, lest intentionally disrupted or–…
His eyes widen and hastily, he whips his head to look at where she’s now staring.
White roses and forget-me-nots lay on the counter.
Fuck.
“My, my...” she giggles, a knowing grin etched on her face. Whatever she was going to say, it was now all thrown at the window, never to be retrieved.
He grunts, feeling the initial irritation claw back at him. “I know what you’re thinking,” he scoffs. How could she imply such a gut-wrenching accusation? “It really is not you think what it is.”
“Oh, but Tomura-kun! Why else would there be gorgeous flowers here if we were all out?” she snickers, a relentless taunt still woven in her smile. Behind her, Dabi snorts.
But it was true, however vexing. Though it would imply it wasn’t Kurogiri’s doing either.
“So it wasn’t you?” He asks, curious. If not Kurogiri, who? If so, then why?
“Silly oaf! Of course it wasn’t me! No offense Tomura-kun, but you’re not exactly my type– Blegh!” She feigned disgust and lets out a sicken cackle. .
“Now, now, Crazy. What a rude thing to say,” Dabi mocks, he looks as if tethered at the edge of a full-blown laugh. It was enough to make the shorter man agitated.
“Asshole!” Shigaraki snarls, not liking being the center of all mockery and shame, not even if playful.
Yet somehow, that got Dabi to laugh. The villain leader wonders briefly, what kind of twisted and screwed humor must the scarred man have, for him to laugh such a boisterous noise, and find amusement in such circumstance.
But it was simple really, he concluded. Of course, he should have known. He was just an asshole as he said he was.
“YOU!” He pointed, eyes widened in recognition and now-fury. He could faintly hear the sound of a fake gasp behind him. “It was you, isn’t it?” He yells in accusation, charging at the smug arsonist.
“You were the one that brought those damned flowers!” The villain tightly grips the lapels of the taller man’s coat, thumbs raised, yet still harsh all the same. It would be unfortunate to clean the bloody mess should he accidentally dust his subordinate out of much bitterness.
But Dabi laughs still, unfazed and unbothered, yet he stands by Death’s doorsteps. What fuckery–
“Did you like them?”
. . . ?
“Excuse me?”
The pyro rolls his eyes, a playful grin still stuck to his scarred lips. Carefully, he places both damaged and stapled hands at the younger’s wrist, completely enveloping it in a tight, yet surprisingly painless grip. Warm, Shigaraki had noted.
“Come on creep. Thought you were a genius. You can’t be that stupid can you? Did you like them?” He asks, expecting something from him. An answer maybe. But what would he say– what could he even say? “I spent actual money on that you know,” he stated, proud even– as if he didn’t find the whole thing ridiculous. Even more stupid.
The younger wanted to thrash and punch him, wanted to just throw something at the raven. But he couldn’t; his wrists were locked in a vice grip. However movement he made, what could a caged bird do? So long as his steel grip remains, the bars stays closed.
Nothing…
Letting his arms loosen and his hands letting go of the dark coat, he lets himself be held. He would dust him, he could, but that’s one less subordinate and three steps back. He sighs a breath of annoyance, allowing himself to resignation. How frustrating…
“You done?”
“Shut up.”
Dabi chuckles, the sound ostensibly vibrating with how close he stands next to him, but he was warm and Shigaraki supposes that he doesn’t mind all that much.
“I’m still here, you know!” Toga whines, arms crossed– though she doesn’t look all bothered by… well– whatever is happening now. When nothing happens, she leaves, entering the bar’s common room through the velvet curtains by the bar counter.
He stares at the floor when the fabric completely envelopes the high-school girl, now muddied with dirt and grime and the blood smeared all over by footsteps. He can already imagine the disappointed eyes of his adviser and friend, the tired sighs for when he retrieves the mop from the back door to wipe and clean all the contamination within the bar room.
He momentarily forgets where he was as his mind wanders off to the flowers on the narrow table; Dabi had bought them, his mind supplied. Why go through this much trouble for some stupid flowers anyway. He tried to think of all possible reasons, but he simply could not understand. Breathing a labored sigh, he lets his head rest and fall on the taller’s warm coat, not caring for how stupid he had looked doing it, nor the pyro’s surprise.
“You like it that much?” he teases, but it was all bark and Shigaraki knows he could bite. “Mmm’shut up... tired,” is all he says, words garbled as he mumbles in between the course fabric.
It was silly and awkward, nothing sort of vile as was expected when hearing of the League of Villains– in any case, it was everything but that– domestic and civilian. Standing in the middle of the bar, two persona non grata, not quite an embrace yet not unpleasant either. Shigaraki’s wrists were free of the warm encasing, though he made no effort to move, growing to feel quite comfortable just resting his head at the crook of his subordinate’s chest.
“Mmm.. you’re warm…” he declares.
“Yeah, yeah…” Dabi dismisses, betraying the increasing heat of his body, raises his free hand to comb through locks of baby blue hair, threading through it like silk.
“I thought there was an intruder,” he admits, trying to dig his face deeper to hide the increasing embarrassment.
“Because of the flowers?” Dabi surveys, not quite believing it– though now as he says it aloud, it does sound absurd, even to his own ears.
“It’s stupid.”
“Duh…”
Shigaraki could only groan at the humiliation, much to his dismay– still rough and calloused fingers brush his hair, occasionally feeling the tangles in the pyro’s staples.
“I mean... flowers in the league? Unheard of.”
“But not impossible.”
“Maybe, decorative purposes I guess, quirk-related? Other than that, there isn’t much purpose.”
“Admiration? Confessions?”
“But You?” Shigaraki gapes, lifting his head to look at the taller man. It was really strange.
“Unbelievable, is it?”
“A bit. Surprising I guess? Why so? For whom?” Yet Shigaraki couldn’t believe it to be true. He bows his head, now averting the fire user’s uncharacteristically soft gaze.
“Should I be offended? I feel like I should be. First of all, why not? Secondly, I’m starting to think I may have been blindly following a stupid leader.”
Okay wow– rude… He glares at the fire user’s shoes, playfully stomping them in teasing offense.
“Me? Flowers?” He spits them like venom, truly incredible.
“Now was that so hard to realize?” Dabi grins, now playing mindlessly with his hair, no longer the same smooth combing, while the other comfortably settles around his waist.
“We’re villains, Dabi,” Shigaraki points. “We don’t do this sort of things. Not usually anyway,” he adds as an afterthought. Perhaps to lessen the unintended insult, or to just deny the fact that this happening– at all.
“So what? We’re human too,” the raven counters, then stops his combing. The shorter disappointed at the loss of the pleasant sensation and warmth, only to be replaced by both hands now planted to cup the leader’s cheek, forcing him to stare at the arsonist’s eyes.
“Dabi– shtop! Thish ish embarashing…”
He tries to wiggle free, but the firebug was determined.
“Oh, but you look cute like this.”
Shigaraki couldn’t tell if the heat in his face was because of the pyro’s hands or his own doing.
“So did you like it?” Dabi once again questions. “The flowers I mean.”
On the well-kept wooden finish lies a single white rose and a dozen of forget-me-nots, a neat knotted string holding them together. It looked beautiful– how he could think of such criminal intentions then was now simply laughable in comparison.
“Yes,” is all Shigaraki says, but Dabi smiles all the same.
