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The forecast had probably promised rain today with all the cats and dogs falling from the sky, but Dabi's never been the type to check the weather, so he's left to run for cover like the rest of the street rats out at this hour and get drenched in the process. The wet soles of his boots slap against the sidewalk as he scurries back with his hood pulled up and hands jammed in his pockets, but the poor hoodie he'd pulled on was no match for a storm, and it sticks to his skin uncomfortably, rubbing against his staples. Moisture of any kind is usually bad news for those, though, 'cause it makes the seams pucker up afterwards and reduces his range of motion to that of a mannequin until equilibrium is achieved again. When he starts stinking and a shower isn't an option he'll wet a rag and lather it with bar soap before wringing it out and scrubbing himself down like dishware. Metal pots and pans can't go through the dishwasher, right?
He fumbles with the keys before he can manage to unlock the knob and the deadbolt both, and just barely remembers to wipe his shoes on the mat before stumbling inside and letting the door swing shut behind him. Without the light on, the hallway is thick with Dabi's feeble attempts to catch his breath and the screaming downpour outside-- a dropped pin in a slaughterhouse, or perhaps socked footsteps inching towards the stairs to make out the words from the yelling in the kitchen. Perhaps the unbearably loud creak of the floorboard you forgot to avoid and the gauze pad you tape to your cheek after.
In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In… out.
Water's dripping all over the entryway, but before Dabi can drag himself standing again and trudge to the bathroom the light above his head turns on, and there is Tomura, at the threshold with a hand on the switch. Dressed in sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt Dabi knows has to be his if only from the ripped edges, he squints at him, and Dabi says nothing. He just looks right back at him and blinks. Tomura sighs. "Stay there." He instructs before he shuffles away, presumably to grab a towel. Dabi stays there and closes his eyes. Prime numbers, prime numbers. Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen…
They shoot open when something is dropped on his head, and he goes rigid and stock still until he hears Tomura suck his teeth. "You're gonna be a nightmare to deal with if you get any prunier, so suck it up." He mutters, rubbing Dabi's hair dry before pulling the towel off and lugging him to his feet. "Get your clothes off, c'mon." He pulls at the hem of Dabi's soaked hoodie, not so much trying to remove it as trying to coax him into doing so, but Dabi's hand comes down on his wrist and holds tight to it. Tomura glances up at him and he tries to look back, he really does, but it's hard to keep that veneer on in front of him. Dabi's never met anyone he couldn't lie to until he laid eyes on Tomura, because the universe just loves to fuck Dabi like that. Of course he'd have to fall in love with someone too much of a martyr to want him and nothing else. Anything else would be too kind.
He can't seem to let go, even when he feels his body temperature inch higher a tenth of a degree at a time. Tomura doesn't wait around for him to burn his wrist 'cause he's a go-getter like that. His expression shutters off into something Dabi can't decipher and he drags him to the bathroom by way of the hold neither can shake.
The door gets closed behind them, and with one hand Tomura manages to tug the shower curtain closed then turn the dial to steaming hot and let it heat up, which it does surprisingly quick. Only once the mirror has just fogged completely does he turn it off and draw the curtain back. Dabi stays silent, watching uncomprehendingly with slightly unfocused eyes as Tomura does whatever he's doing, only drifting back to reality a little when he whirls around to face him again. "Strip." He says, and he's not asking this time. This is an order. His bloodstain eyes dare him to disobey.
So Dabi lets go and strips. He's already having a hard time moving as usual, but it's doable, and being freed of that sopping prison actually feels pretty good. Steam usually falls under the no-no category but it's kinda nice after all that freezing rain. Bit by bit he filters back into his brain, and when he blinks Tomura has undressed too. He clambers into the empty tub then gestures for Dabi to do the same. So he does, and Tomura pulls the curtain shut to hide them away from the world.
It's a mess of legs and arms and torsos in that small tub, not at all built for two adult men, but being forced into such close proximity is somewhat grounding. Every place that he's touching Tomura is a reminder that he exists in this skin. Every staple that tugs when he shifts but doesn't pop out, it's a reminder. It's a red flower mark drawn at the top of his test from class yesterday that has managed to bloom even fifteen years later. Somehow Tomura manages to position Dabi's back to be flush with his chest and tucks him into the cocoon of Tomura's firm body, and he threads his arms over Dabi's shoulders in what could probably be called a chokehold if there was a more loving way to say that. Chokeholds can be romantic, can't they? Holding onto someone's windpipe has to say something about intimacy, 'cause you're trusting them not to snap it. You're trusting them to let you walk away alive. You're praying their big hand won't crush your small throat and leave a palm sized burn all over your neck and jaw while they're at it.
Dabi closes his eyes. Tomura opens his mouth and speaks.
"When I was a kid, my sister liked to go out and play whenever it rained." He says, quiet, soft like the light muffled by the shower curtain. "We'd go outside in our boots and raincoats and splash around and stick our hands in the mud and all that. Sometimes we'd run to the park and mess around on the playground while nobody else was there." He huffs out the barest laugh. "We were lucky neither of us slipped and broke our heads open. My mom always made us wait at the door and dry ourselves off so we didn't track mud and water everywhere."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Dabi croaks. Eyes still shut but no longer trembling. Skin still pruned and tight around his bones but temperature perfectly evened by Tomura's own. Back to equilibrium.
Tomura hums and rests his chin on his head. "Nothing really." He says. "Was just making conversation."