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You don’t bother looking up when you hear the door slowly unlock. Even though you who it is. Even though you know it’s just the only other person who has a key to your apartment announcing their presence. Instead, you continue to look at your phone. Scrolling and scrolling away as the now orange-tinted blue light of your night mode screen shows you another funny video of people playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes.
You’re comfortable where you are. You’re curled up on your own couch with some B-rated movie playing softly in the background. You tried to watch it at first, but after missing the first five minutes and the TV channel having commercial break after commercial break, you opt to just curl further into your blanket and zone out while you wait for him to come over. After all, he told you he would be here soon. He won’t leave you waiting long, right?
Except, he did. It’s long after midnight, long after your eyes started drooping, and long after he told you he would be over. You’re trying not to get mad at him. You know that you should like him enough at this point to be understanding that sometimes things like this will happen. That sometimes he might be hours and hours late. That sometimes he might not come at all. That he won’t give you a call. That he won’t give you a text as a heads-up. It’s happened to you before. More times than you can count at this point. But you were just so excited to see him when he called and asked if he could come over a couple of hours ago. So excited.
At least he’s trying.
Even still, is trying enough? He’s here now and your excitement has dimmed. You’re still looking forward to the hugs and the cuddles you know you’re gonna get. You swear you can already feel the warmth of his body spreading over you despite the fact that he’s still not inside yet. But you’re tired. And you’re not sure if it’s him that you truly want right now. A warm body, sure. But does it has to be his? Who knows.
But what you do know is that by the time he finally manages to unlock and open your door, you’ve already finished convincing yourself that it's too late to change out of the hoodie- his hoodie - that you’re wearing in a childish act of defiance. Twice .
Your door creaks open with little to no fanfare. Luckily for you, he has enough sense to not let your door swing all the way and hit the wall. You swear one more dent will have your landlady sending you a nice, new bill on top of your already ridiculous rent. But still, you don’t look up to greet him. You know you should, but you just can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do so. You just continue to scroll and scroll and scroll through your phone. All while you pretend like you’re not watching him pull off his boots and leave them by the door before walking to where you are.
Admittedly, this attitude of yours is harder to keep up now that he’s up close and personal. He’s standing mere inches away- his lower body in your direct line of sight if you were to take your face out of your phone for longer than one second. But you try your best to look mindless as your eyes scan over a video of a stupid fight taking place outside what looks like an American-style short-order breakfast joint. Any usage of your peripheral vision just shows him. No TV showing one of those annoying infomercials. No open-concept kitchen that you totally didn’t clean in case he wanted you to whip up something real quick. Nothing but him.
And because it’s your game and you’re winning it, you try not to break first. Even if that means sitting in complete silence as your flake of a boyfriend looms over you in complete silence
And because he doesn’t care for games and will always find a way to cheat if he can, he breaks easily. Because it just so happens to be the absolute perfect time to do it- to pull his trump card.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of getting all this if you’re just going to sit there and pout all night.” A low, rough voice remarks. A second later, you hear something hit your coffee table, and the sound makes you freeze. There’s a dull thud- no, there are multiple dull thuds. Like things were rubbing and hitting against each other at the time of the impact. Nothing that sounds expensive or fragile, but that’s entirely what catches your attention. It’s the telltale sound of a plastic bag rustling with movement. A sign that whatever is there was too much for two hands, or two pockets, to handle. “What do you think? Can I buy you for the night with this?”
You pursue your lips. Your thumb had stopped scrolling a while ago. Your screen had gone dim. In a few seconds? It’ll go completely dark. There’s no denying your curiosity now. Not in front of him at least. So you take your chance. He’s here, isn’t he? The least you could do is look up.
So you do. You slowly bring your eyes up and up and up until you’re met with a beautiful pair of blue eyes and a scarred face. He’s already looking down at you. He’s been looking down at you. And even though his usual stoic expression and the mess of purple skin and staples have always made it hard to tell what exactly he’s thinking, you have a feeling he’s a bit more on the triumphant side now that he has your attention. Your full attention, at least.
“Um…” You eye Dabi quietly, your expression taking a little more of a sheepish form as you subtly gesture to the bag he had just set on your table. He doesn’t let you off the hook- only offer the slightest movement of a raised eyebrow as you’re forced to look away from the very mysterious and tempting bag to address him again. “Is that…that’s for me, right?”
His gaze turns over to the bag that he brought, acting almost as if he’s surprised to see it there. You hate how he’s dragging it along. The bag was just positioned in a way that you couldn’t see anything where from where you were sitting. At least, nothing inside the bag. You could very clearly recognize the plastic bag’s emblem as it markets from a nice convince store down the street from your place. A place that just so happens to sell a bunch of your favorite things.
And now, your hands are itching to reach for it. The thought of being mad or teaching him a lesson has now gone out the door at thought of receiving a present. And you know he knows this. But you also know that he’s just going to grab it up and out of your reach if you don’t look over at him and give him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster. All so he can see that you have learned the error of your ways in ignoring him. At least, while he has a gift for you.
So once again, you turn your gaze up towards him and meet his eyes and he looks back at you. His amusement grows immediately as he sees your gaze grow sweeter and your bottom lip juts out the slightest bit. And because you’re already in one of his hoodies, and you did stay up by the front door to see him when he came in, you realize you have nothing to lose by performing one last move.
Your very own trump card.
“ Pleaseee, Dabi…?” You beg quietly, knowing exactly what to say and how to say it to get your way. “ Can I please have it now? Pleaseee!”
He takes one good look at your face. One good, good look at the now endearing smile you turned over to him to help sweeten the deal, and that’s it for him- you won this round. It’s your game, and you’ve just won it. And this victory can’t help but make your mouth water as Dabi snatches up the bag of goodies off your coffee table and moves to flop down on the couch beside you. He looks defeated. He looks like he can’t believe that it happened. Like he’s surprised that's all it really took. And you would be too if you were a big, bad villain who had just folded so easily to a few pretty words and one tiny smile. But you don’t think about that. How could you? Your spoils of war are seconds away from being in your lap. You finally get to see all that he bought you. You finally get to see if he truly remembers the little things you do. And you finally get to-
The moment stops short.
The dull hum of voices from the TV are there, and they’re moving. But that doesn’t distract you from what really matters. The bag is still in his grip. The treasures inside are still covered up. You’re still as clueless as ever. But he fixes you down with one hard look as he holds the bag just a little out of reach for a second long. And he opens his mouth.
“Only …only if you’re good for me tonight.” He bargains with you, his eyes staring back at you with a soft genuineness that never fails to surprise you. You already know your answer.“That sounds fair, yeah?”
“Yeah,” You agree easily, the bag being placed in your hands before the full word comes out of your mouth. And in those measly seconds in between, you think about how this night went. And how similar nights before this have gone. You think about all the times he showed up late. The nights that he hadn’t shown up at all. The nights he didn’t call or text. The nights you thought you would never hear from him again. And you look at this moment- you really, really, really look at this moment and decide that it doesn’t excuse the behavior. It doesn’t stop the hurt. It doesn’t change what you felt. But at least he’s trying. And right now?
“That sounds fair.”
You can work with that.