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Tomura doesn’t consider himself a romantic.
It feels like an impossible concept. Someone as callous with life as him, who hates others as much as him, would naturally not see nor care for the fleeting, fluttery bullshit humans call love.
And yet.
It’s sickeningly hot outside, the sweat sticking to the back of his neck like a mosquito. Even as he pulls it up to a ponytail, he feels the urge to decay it off of his head entirely. He’s always hated the summer. The sun wakes him up early in the morning, and if that doesn’t then the birds or cicadas do. He finds himself swarmed by bugs whenever he goes outside, meaning his arms look like they’ve seen wars. Dehydration combines with his routine migraines to make each day descend further and further into a painful hell until the sun finally sets each day. It’s awful and he hates it.
But Touya has freckles. They’re faint and hard to see, but you can really tell in the summer. They run down his back, his chest, across his cheeks. He tans beautiful olive while Tomura only burns. He was made for the sun, to bathe in the heat. Tomura watches from the shade and marvels at his beauty.
He always found it corny. Thought beach episodes were unbearable, romcoms comical. They still are. Because Dabi isn’t soaking in the heat like it’s a movie set, he’s bitching and moaning and sweating more than anyone else. He flops down in the shade next to Tomura, face down in the beach towel without missing a beat.
“Thought you were a flame user. Didn’t think a bit of sun would take you out,” Tomura quips, no heat behind his words. He runs a hand through Dabi’s hair and feels the heat rolling off of him from there, his own body struggling to calm down.
“I don’t have a cooling system, asshole,” Dabi says, sitting up on his knees and taking a giant swig of Tomura’s water. Because as beautiful Dabi is in the sun, in his own flames— as natural as it is— his own body isn’t built for it. Ironic, that is.
Tomura doesn’t mind, though. He’s more than happy to head back inside and cool off with Dabi, much to the protests of the other members. He finds it far more romantic, getting a tub of ice cream and curling up on the couch to watch some shitty reality television. Beach clothes still on, pressed to Dabi’s warm chest.
Tomura can’t help himself. Plants kisses on Dabi’s chest, along the lines of his staples. He’s made sure they’re always fresh and high quality since beating the MLA. Even gets to change the ones on his back now, Since Dabi can’t reach. Was horrified when he saw them torn out after the Geten fight, blood dripping everywhere as he literally held himself together. Takes his time each time he patches him up, commits the process to memory in case he ever has to use it on the battlefield.
Dabi seems content with it, doesn’t comment much on the random spurts of affection. Tomura wonders if he knows. If he knows that Dabi’s flames sparked a fire under Tomura’s heart, and it’s been warming up ever since. He’d do anything Dabi asks him to. He’s sure.
How could he not, when Dabi makes taking care of him seem so easy, like it’s a burdenless task. He chooses to take his hand, trusting him to never put a pinky down. Teases him and kisses him and holds him like he’s a person, not an unstoppable force of nature. Wakes up in the middle of the night to cook him shitty meals, drags him from his office when he’s staying too late. Whines for his attention like he wants him.
It’s their vacation, so he indulges himself a bit. Lets himself slip into something sweet and saccharine and so unfitting for them. Tomura doesn’t care. He’s unashamed to admit he likes it, that he feels good. Can barely keep his hands off of him, leans into him and sits next to him all night like the annoying couple they are. At least, for tonight. A couple. He almost laughs at the thought when it crosses his mind. It’s so ridiculous.
Next thing he knows he’ll be saying he’s in love.