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arvandus · 2 years ago

Text

Touch Pt. 13 - Relapse

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

**18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI**

OVERALL FIC WARNINGS: Soft!Dabi, F!Reader with a fictional backstory, fanon version of past events (I started this before the canon stuff dropped), manga spoilers, canon deviation, drug abuse/withdrawal (with inaccuracies since it’s outside of my experience and relies on research and imagination), violence, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, pining, slow burn, eventual emotionally charged SMUT, all characters will be written with complexity (i.e., no one-dimensional/hateful representations). *please pay attention to specific warning tags within each chapter!*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Explicit 18+ themes, drug use (opioids, weed, alcohol, smoking), drug dealing, drug withdrawal, chronic pain. Primarily a Dabi POV chapter, Reader is minimally present.

Chapter Song: Go Easy On Me (Stripped) by Matt Maeson

Part 1 Part 12

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Chapter 13: Relapse

He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t care. It was the only way he could have you, the only way he could satisfy that deep, devouring desire that threatened to consume him and shred him to pieces.

Your soft lips locked over his, your hands on his jaw as he opened his mouth hungrily to welcome your wet tongue. Your body was pressed against his as you straddled his lap, your soft thighs framing him. His hands roamed your sweaty skin, deft fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, exposing your cotton-clad breasts to his gaze. The bra you wore was strangely familiar, its simplicity echoing like a forgotten memory in his mind, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was you, the feel of you, the heat of you, the taste of you... he buried his face between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to lick the sweat there, and you moaned against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips ground down into his lap, desperate to feel his firmness.

This. This was all he wanted. He wanted to bury himself in this place, bury himself in you until he forgot who he was. He wanted to freeze himself into this moment and let the rest of the world fall away.

But he knew any minute now it would change. This moment would vanish, this wanton picture of you bursting into an explosion of blue flames beneath his sweating palms only to be replaced by nightmares.

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into flesh as if it had the power to change fate, to change the inevitable rising of the sun.

Any minute now.

You whispered his name desperately against his lips, the heat of your breath like warm honey, before trapping his lips with your own again, your body moving against him.

He wanted to close his dreaming eyes, to let himself sink into the feeling of you, and yet he couldn’t – if he did, then you’d be ripped away from him, taken hostage by the monsters in his mind.

‘Not yet.’ He thought. ‘Don’t go.’

But you didn’t go. Not this time. Your skin still felt warm against him, the touch of your flesh soft and familiar. So familiar, and yet... something was different this time.

It felt real. Too real...

Dabi’s eyes shot open, and the first thing he saw was the back of your head. His breath stopped in his throat while his chest pounded, bewilderment locking his body in a frozen panic. His eyes darted around the room, taking in what he could see as he slowly began to make sense of what his eyes were showing him.

He was in your room. The early grey light of morning seeped in through a crack in the curtains, stretching across the lower half of your bed to end at the closed bathroom door. It wasn’t as bright as his room in the morning, your bedroom facing west instead of east. But it was enough to allow him to see the details of your space draped in a monotone hue.

The memories of the previous night bubbled forth like flotsam. Compress, you, your sensory overload, Dabi fighting to carry you, the waiting, the darkness, the conversations, your hand on his shoulder...

Dabi’s pulse slowed, and he once again took in where he was and what he was feeling, his gaze shifting around slightly.

He felt warm, and he realized he was pressed up against your back with his right arm trapped under your head. His left hand was resting on your hip, his thumb tucked beneath your shirt where it rested against your bare skin.

No wonder it felt so real...

You were so warm. The scent of your hair tickled his nose, and he fought the urge to inhale, his muscles tensing against the instinct to pull you even tighter against him and bury his face into your neck.

Instead, he watched you silently, taking in the steady rise and fall of your breathing. You were still asleep – that much he was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how you’d react to waking up with him wrapped around you the way he was. To make matters worse, the dream he’d been having was still very much present in the forefront of his mind, and his pants felt uncomfortably tight against the pressure that had made itself at home within his black jeans.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, your rear rubbing against his groin, and his fingers tensed on your skin. A part of him wanted to push you away, the other part wanted to pull you closer and-

You shifted again, blissfully deep in dreamland, unaware of your actions, as you pressed further against him. This time, Dabi’s entire body stiffened as he clenched his jaw.

God damn it. You weren’t even awake and you were torturing him.

He wondered what you were dreaming about but before his imagination could go too far, your head moved slightly, a soft, innocent moan coming from your dreaming lips. The sound alone sent an electric jolt through his body right down to his jeans and ignited a war in his brain between his arousal and his common sense. How quickly his body wanted to respond on instinct, to see if he could pull that sound from your lips again, this time with more... intention.

But the fantasy of that thought was in stark contrast to the reality of the situation, and the deep thrumming of his pulse shifted like a pendulum from arousal to panic. If you woke up right now, to the touch of his hand on your side and his hard-on pressed against your ass through no fault of his own... Dabi imagined the slap you would deliver to his face. Maybe even take a couple more staples out of his cheek while you were at it.

Dabi removed his hand from your body and rolled to his back before he did something incredibly stupid. You were still pressed against his side, his right arm still trapped beneath your neck. The touch of you felt like fire against his skin, every undamaged nerve on high alert, but at least it was manageable. And most importantly, you stopped moving. Deep sleep had claimed you once again, and Dabi was mentally thanking whatever deities granted his silent plea.

Silence stretched, long and painful as he laid there, still as a stone, forcing steady breaths in and out of his lungs. His dream of you still had its grip on him, and Dabi struggled to think of things that weren’t you in an effort to cool the hot desire that still coursed through his blood. But it was in vain. You were everywhere – your scent, your warmth, the weight of your neck on his arm, your ass nestled into the crook of his hip and looking awfully cute in your pajama pants that he’d personally selected for you last night. His blue eyes caught the shape of your bra on the floor, abandoned and forgotten, and it immediately brought forth the dream he’d been having, with your legs straddled across his lap, and your breasts-

Shit.

This obviously wasn’t working, and now the binding pressure in his pants was beginning to get uncomfortable. He adjusted himself outside of his jeans in an effort to relieve some of the discomfort, to find a position within the dark denim that didn’t feel like being bound in a torture device, but all it did it was make it worse.

Dabi needed to get out of here. He needed the privacy of his own room so he could handle the problem in his pants and finally have his first rational thought of the day.

He began scanning for his things. His shoes were on. His wallet was in his back pocket. His phone- where the fuck was his phone? He was holding it last night when he fell asleep...

His free hand tried to search the covers, his head tilting slightly to look over the edge of the bed. Finally, he spotted it, on your nightstand next to your own. You’d plugged it in for him, your own phone left uncharged.

His chest constricted slightly.

Dabi carefully reached over your sleeping form and grabbed it, making every effort to not touch you more than he had to as he deftly unplugged it with one hand. He paused when his face was mere inches from your cheek thanks to the angle of his reach, hesitating for just a fraction of a moment to drink in your features.

Fuck, you were pretty.

Then the moment passed, and he averted his gaze and retreated carefully back to his side of the bed. The device was safely in his fingers, and he laid back down before finally releasing the breath that he’d been holding.

Time froze as Dabi noticed a text message notification from Giran. His pulse spiked as he unlocked his phone and opened the message.

Hey, kid. I found someone who has what you need. Lemme know if you’re still interested, and I’ll give you their contact info. It’ll cost ya, though. Prices are up right now. This guy ain’t cheap, but his stock is legit. Lemme know if ya need a loan.

Dabi’s eyes widened, and instantly, everything shifted. What had started as an awkward morning of silent suffering now shifted to a single-minded focus.

He could get his drugs. Today.

A wave of relief washed over Dabi, transforming into giddy excitement. He could almost remember the feel of them, the low hum of constant peace. It was so very different from what you gave him. Your pills and your quirk helped, but it wasn’t the same. The pain was always too quick to return every time they wore off, and mentally, well...

Something was always missing, something important. Something vital. Something he needed more than anything.

Silence.

His life had been so much simpler with his own pills. They kept the pain within his heart buried deep under a constant stream of artificial chemicals, and hid away the old, dusty memories, the ones that used to make him smile when he was young. In its place it left an empty space, a residual footprint of old things lost, those rooms of his mind abandoned and locked. Joy was a figment of the imagination, a secondhand experience lived by a stranger. Sorrow was a small footnote, the undertone that set the tempo for his rage to thrum against, transforming tears into spiteful laughter. With everything else buried deep, it’d allowed him to focus on his anger, his bitter need for justice, giving him the strength to pursue his mission with single-minded focus at the cost of everything else.

His drugs were the double-edged sword that would bring him both victory and destruction. They were a necessity that allowed him to transcend his limits so that he could see his work done. Then he could vanish like the ghost he was, let his quirk take him like it was meant to. Maybe then it’d finally be over, and he’d finally have the peace in death that he’d never been able to find in life.

That was what he always believed, at least.

‘Promise.’

The word echoed in his mind like a faint whisper, a reminder of something that should have never been said, hastily spoken from an immature, inexperienced heart. Dabi pushed the thought away swiftly before it could worm its way deeper into his mind.

Still, he couldn’t help but look at you. You looked so peaceful right now, content, even. The steady rise and fall of your breaths, every muscle of your body relaxed and loose in perfect comfort. The corners of Dabi’s lips pulled down in a frown, his brows drawing together slightly.

You wouldn’t like it. Dabi knew that. You’d try to talk him out of it, telling him that he didn’t need to do this. You’d say that you were already working on it, that his pills would be ready for pick up any day now. That if he’d just hold out a little longer...

Dabi rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he began to feel the dull throbbing of a headache. Irritation simmered and he stared at the text message again.

He didn’t want to wait any longer. He didn’t want to be held back from getting what he needed. Even if you did manage to get his pills for him, you’d want to control his access, out of concern for his safety. Your intentions were pure, but the thought soured his mind. He didn’t need a babysitter. And he didn’t want to delay what he was owed. He respected you, and valued his growing bond with you, but he’d be damned if he let anything get in the way of his purpose, even you. He’d already wasted enough time. Endeavor was ripe for the picking now that he was the number one hero, and Dabi was on borrowed time.

And yet, even so, in this moment with his phone hot in his hand and the thin black line blinking in the text message box, he hesitated. It left him feeling bewildered and frustrated at his own inaction; he’d never hesitated, not once. Not for this. But now, here he was, deliberating as if one wrong move would cost him more than he was willing to pay.

Discomfort tightened in his chest like a coiled snake.

If this had happened before last night, he would have left the instant he got the message without a second thought. But now...

Now it felt like he was being ripped in two, pulled in different directions.

Something was different, a shift in his world that had happened right beneath his feet. Dabi couldn’t quite put words to it and what it meant and that irritated him more than anything. Yes, he felt closer to you. Yes, he could finally admit to himself that he cared about you, although to what extent, he couldn’t quite say; there were things he felt that he didn’t yet have words for, and he wasn’t ready to define them. But his goals hadn’t changed. His focus hadn’t changed. No matter how he felt about you, taking down his father took priority.

And yet, all he could picture in this moment was the disappointment on your face and the hurt in your eyes once you’d learn what he’d done. Because you would find out. As soon as you woke up and he was gone without receiving your help, you’d know.

Dabi stared at you again, long and hard in the silence of the morning as he absently tongued at the wound in his cheek from where you’d ripped out his staple the night before. He could feel the pain there now that your quirk was starting to wear off, throbbing in tandem with his growing migraine as last night’s pills burned from his system. The ache made his jaw stiff and his teeth felt like they had needles shoved into them.

It was a pain you’d given him, the consequence of your generosity. The crying, the screaming, the agony you’d suffered as your quirk turned on you because of him... And before that, it was the bruises on your arms, the fear in your eyes, the constant state of exhaustion that hung on you like a shroud...

So, this was probably for the best, right? He’d be back on his own pills, with his own supply, and you’d be free of him, free of his constant need of you. No more sensory overload. No more late nights dealing with his bullshit.

But even with that obvious fact, Dabi felt a resistance within himself, a selfish stubbornness. He knew that doing this would drive a wedge between you that could not be undone. It’d be the highest betrayal, undoing everything you’d sacrificed for him, everything you’d worked for. There would be no forgiveness after this. It would erase every heartfelt conversation, tarnish every vulnerable moment.

The thought tasted bitter on his tongue. He’d just finally allowed himself to tear down the wall he’d built against you, for the first time allowing himself to connect with another person. That act alone had cost him more than he’d expected, opening up a vulnerability within himself that he was still grappling with. And you’d met his vulnerability with grace and kindness, which was far more than he deserved. He didn’t want to give you up. He didn’t want to lose you over this. He’d grown accustomed to having you around, always there when he needed you. Always being checked on, always being seen. He liked it. The way you made him feel... your smile, your touch, your quirk-

Your quirk...?

Something intangible tightened around Dabi’s throat, cold and hard. It took him a long moment to be able to put a name to it.

Fear.

Because the fear of losing your quirk and how it made him feel had nothing to do with feelings. It had everything to do with addiction. And he knew better than most how addiction preyed on the mind, warping and twisting lies and illusions into false truth.

Maybe all of this... whatever this was... these feelings he felt, this attraction that consumed him... maybe it was just because of your quirk and your pills. Was he really attached to you? Or was he attached to his addiction of you? Did he just trade one drug for another?

Was none of this real?

You. You were real. Your words and your hand on his shoulder last night were real. Your kindness and friendship towards him were real.

But that didn’t mean that his feelings were real. It could just be his addiction, a monster in sheep’s clothing, a leech looking to attach itself to whatever will feed it. Dabi was familiar with it, had watched with dulled, detached interest as it had drained liquor bottles and gone through opioid medication like they were candy. But this time was different. Because this wasn’t alcohol or pills. This was you, a person. A person that, for better or worse, Dabi gave a shit about.

Dabi rubbed his hand down his face, stopping over his mouth as his fingers tightened around his clenched jaw. He stared at the message again. The chasm of conflicting desires sewed shut, two roads coalescing into only one option.

He was going to get his drugs. Today.

It was the only option that made any sense. You’d stop suffering because of him, and he’d get back to his mission of taking down Endeavor. And then maybe he’d finally be able to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

Dabi slowly slipped his arm out from under your neck. You shifted slightly but stayed deep in slumber. His body ached all over, a combination of lingering exhaustion and the downward spiral of his withdrawal beginning to sink its teeth into his bones. As he stood up, a fiery zap shot up his leg, and he nearly buckled back down onto the mattress. His teeth bared as he sucked air into his lungs.

Shit, shit, shit. That desperate need filled him again, and he immediately felt the pull of you and all you offered. He needed your pills, your quirk. Anything to take away the pain.

He loathed it. He loathed his dependency and the way it controlled him and sapped him of his strength. How the hell was he supposed to meet up with Giran’s source when he could barely even make it to his room?

He’d have to wake you. You hid your pills from him, after all. It wasn’t like he could just help himself to your bag and leave you a note.

An idea lit up his pain-addled mind. If he woke you up now, then you wouldn’t suspect anything once he left. He could get his drugs and you’d be none the wiser. Maybe he could get away with it... maybe he could keep it secret... maybe things wouldn’t have to change...

All he had to do was wake you up. Ask for your pills. Let you use your quirk.

Dabi looked at you again. The wound in his cheek throbbed, a warning. The night before flashed again in his mind. His hands clenched into tight fists as he stood rooted to the floor.

He couldn’t.

He refused.

He’d have to figure it out on his own. He had cigarettes, he had alcohol, and he had weed. All of them were poor substitutes for what he really needed. But a deep hit of a joint and a couple of quick shots of cheap whiskey would be better than nothing, and he could keep a pack of cigarettes on him to help with the jitters until he met up with the dealer. Besides, once he got his pills, the problem would fix itself.

He just had to survive long enough. He could do that; he’d done it before when his bottles had run dry. Only before, the drought he’d experienced had been mere hours instead of days.

With a final glance at your sleeping form, Dabi left, careful to make as little noise as possible as he opened and closed the old door.

Once he’d crossed the hall and made it safely into his own room without being seen, Dabi took a deep breath of relief. Another arrow of fire laced between his shoulder blades, and he buckled, crouching down to sit on his heels against his closed door. A second wave came soon after, this time igniting up his neck, blending into the ache of his wound on his cheek. It made his vision blur, and he shut his eyes against it, letting it wash over him, helpless.

Once the pain subsided, he settled down and leaned his head against the cold wood, his breathing ragged. He could already feel his body begin to sweat.

Shower. He needed a shower.

Dabi pulled himself up and made his way into the bathroom where he turned on the shower faucet. As the water ran, he pulled out his phone and texted his response to Giran. He declined the offer for the loan; he knew better. A loan from Giran was a loan that never got paid back. He’d have to find his cash in other ways.

Then, he stripped down and entered.

Dabi cursed as soon as the cold water hit his body and he leaned forward to prop his forehead on his fist against the cold tile as the icy tendrils ran rivers down his skin.

For minutes he stayed that way, letting the cold compete with the frayed nerves and aching muscles. As he stood there, he kept glancing at his phone resting on the counter, waiting to see it light up, to hear the buzz. Panic began to fill him as he waited, staring, silently begging for Giran to respond.

What if he missed his chance? Did he wait too long? What if you wake up before he can leave?

But then he saw it – the familiar screen of a new text message, the phone vibrating on the countertop. Dabi snatched it immediately, careful not to get the phone too wet from the stray shower drops. He quickly opened up the message, and there it was...

An address. A time.

And a note of urgency – the seller had another buy lined up but was willing to meet Dabi first to see what he offered at the behest of Giran, thanks to Giran’s good reputation.

Dabi frowned at the information. The meetup time meant he had to leave. Now. Which didn’t give him much time to put together enough funds for what he was about to do.

Still, he had to try. Dabi shot back a quick confirmation text.

Then he finished his shower and dressed himself. He threw on his hoodie, sunglasses, and stuffed his face mask in his pocket. Where he was going, he wasn’t anticipating being seen by any heroes who might know his description, but with his current weak condition, it was better safe than sorry.

Also, his hoodie made it easier to hide stolen wallets.

Dabi downed whiskey straight from the bottle and found an old joint inside one of his jacket pockets. He lit it with his finger, taking a long drag of it into his lungs. As he waited for the effects to kick in, he began scrounging his drawers and his pockets for every single wad of cash in his possession. It didn’t take long until he’d overturned nearly every pants pocket, every cubby and hidey hole. He frowned at the pitiful amount crumpled into the palm of his hand. His gap in his medication had left him unable to find work doing seedy jobs for hire, or even just simple pickpocketing or robbery. Between the two weeks of no work and the money he’d spent on ramen and junk food, his savings was severely dwindled.

Would it be enough?

Maybe he could borrow some cash from the other League members. After all, they were able to go out and steal whenever they needed to. Surely they had something they could give him...

But the longer he lingered here, the smaller his chances of leaving before you woke up. Not to mention there’d be questions, and prodding, and each conversation would steal precious minutes from an already tight schedule. He could end up missing his appointment entirely.

Well, that obviously wasn’t an option. He’d just have to find ways to line his pockets during his commute.

Dabi took another long drag of his joint, the smoke swirling out of his nostrils on the exhale.

He'd have to be careful about it, nothing too showy or noticeable. No flames. No dead bodies. He didn’t want to make himself noticeable to heroes. In his current state, there was no guarantee he’d be able to fight or escape if he got caught.

Pain curled itself along his neck and a wave of nausea followed soon after, twisting his gut. Dabi sucked air through his teeth before forcing a few quick breaths through his nostrils, fighting back the impending sickness watering his mouth. His vision blurred. His entire body tensed, waiting for it to pass. After a moment of intense focus, it subsided, vanishing back to blend into the dull hum of suffering that was beginning to shroud him like an invisible cloak. His vision refocused and he stared at the crumpled joint that was now clutched tight into his fist, its ashes littering the floor.

Fuck. He didn’t even get to finish it.

His pain was getting more unbearable, the withdrawal creeping up like a swiftly rolling fog.

Borrowed time...

Decision made, Dabi stuffed the cash into his pockets. He grabbed the whiskey bottle one more time and took a quick swig from the neck. Then he grabbed his dented pack of cigarettes and stuffed them in his jacket pocket as he headed downstairs, careful not to make too much noise past your door. He could only hope the stench of his self-medication didn’t wake you.

He left quickly, forcing himself out in the bright daylight before any of the league members could ask about his whereabouts. Once he’d put sufficient distance between himself and the hideout, he pulled out his phone and entered the address into the navigation.

------------

You were unpleasantly woken up by the all-too-familiar skunky smell that seeped beneath your door, invading your space. Your senses were still a little on edge from last night, and the odor assaulted you, causing you to scrunch up your nose and pull your covers over the lower half of your face.

You stirred and rolled to your back, your hand reaching out next to you to meet only empty space and cold sheets. He was gone.

You sat up quickly, your brain swiftly putting the pieces together. The stench of weed, his absence, and the very obvious fact that it was morning and you hadn’t treated him yet.

Maybe he was self-medicating in his room, biding his time as much as he could to let you rest. Maybe he was just having a smoke and nursing a bottle of whiskey until you showed up.

‘That idiot, why didn’t he just wake me?’

You threw the covers off and slipped your feet into your shoes before leaving your room. You crossed the hall and knocked on Dabi’s door, and you held your breath as you fidgeted and bounced nervously.

Surely, he’s in there. Any minute now, he’ll answer the door, giving you one of his half smirks as a wall of smoke hits your face.

But nothing but silence greeted you.

You knocked again, banging harder this time. Maybe he was really fucking high and napping, or in the shower...

He had to be here. He had to be.

He wouldn’t leave, right? Not in his condition, not without receiving your help. You had everything he needed here. You had a system, a plan in place. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. It was working.

Unless...

Unless he found something better.

You pounded on his door again, this time letting out your frustration, panic rising from your chest to your throat.

“He’s not there.” Grumbled Shigaraki’s voice. You spun to face him as he stood a few feet away, drying his hair with a towel.

You swallowed. “Where did he go?”

“Dunno. I heard him leave a few minutes ago. It’s not my job to keep tabs on you guys.” Then his red eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

You hesitated. “No.”

Then another entirely different thought came into your mind just as Shigaraki turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Shigaraki paused and half-turned to face you, the towel now draped over his shoulders.

“What happened to Compress?” you asked. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll live.” Shigaraki replied. “He’s still recovering with Giraki.”

Elation filled you as you inhaled and released a deep breath in relief. “Thank God...”

“God had nothing to do with it.” Shigaraki replied casually. “ Garaki said your quick thinking probably saved his life.”

You felt your skin flush at the praise. “Thank you.”

Shigaraki stared at you a brief moment before turning and retreating to his room. Once you felt free of his scrutinizing ruby eyes, you turned and hurried towards the stairs.

You stumbled into the common area to see Toga, Spinner, and Twice playing cards.

“Have you guys seen Dabi?” you asked.

“He left.” Toga answered.

“When?”

“I dunno, like five minutes ago?”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No? He never tells us anything,” Toga pouted. “He stunk to high heavens, though.”

Spinner scoffed. “That’s nothing new. He always seems to be on something one way or another.” You froze at Spinner’s casually astute observation, but kept silent.

“He’s probably back to recruiting members for the League. It’s all he cares about.” Twice said. “Guy’s gotta get a life.”

You ran for the door. Five minutes. Surely, he couldn’t have gotten far in five minutes...

You stumbled outside, your eyes squinting hard against the daylight as you covered your brow with your hand. You scanned up and down the street, looking for his familiar form, his dark sweater or swirling jacket.

But there was nothing. Dabi was gone.

“Shit.” You muttered.

You went back into the hideout before too many people started to notice you standing out in your pajamas.

Three sets of eyes stared at you as you closed the door behind you. “Does anyone have Dabi’s phone number?”

----------

The bus was fuller than Dabi thought it would be, and it was working in his favor. He’d already managed to snatch two wallets, one from when he stood waiting for people to step off the bus, and another as everyone shuffled in to find their seats. All of the seats were taken now, with a few people forced to stand. Dabi stood as well, positioning himself to be conveniently in the way of anyone who opted to leave before he reached his designated stop.

An old woman stood next to him, her metal rolling cart in front of her, its handle held in her gnarled fingers. She was short, barely coming up to his chest thanks to the hunch in her back. He stared down at her through his dark sunglasses, taking in the look of her clothes, her belongings. She’d gone to the market evidenced by the bok choy sticking out of the bag in her cart. Its green leaves drooped in the heat of the bus, surrounded by all of the warm bodies and closed windows. Her other hand held the vertical bar, and she swayed like a leave on the wind with each bump and jolt. It was obvious that she didn’t have much of value on her. Nothing but a simple gold band on her finger, its surface scuffed and worn as if it had sat there for decades.

Still, the elderly were more likely to carry cash on them then the younger generations, who relied more on credit cards. With her purse bag zipper already open, it had taken just a quick dip of his fingers to snatch the worn leather wallet and tuck it up his sleeve.

Dabi’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t have to look at it to know it was you, but he did anyway. He stared at the number with no name attached, a strange awareness leaking through his muddled, inebriated mind. Now he had your number. You’d offered it to him before, and he’d declined. What a shitty way to finally get it.

“Someone special?” the old lady asked.

Dabi turned the phone to silent and shoved it back into his pocket. “No,” he replied.

Just then the bus hit an especially deep pothole. The old woman to stumbled, tripping over her cart and landing on the man sitting in front of her. His coffee spilled all over his cheap suit, and he cursed.

“What the hell!” he shouted. He shoved the old woman off of him, and Dabi subtly positioned himself to catch her body against his to keep her from falling back.

Others stared at the man in reproach, but no one spoke up as the old lady stammered an apology, pulling out her kerchief to wipe away at the stains on his clothes. He batted her hands away from him. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he demanded.

The man pulled the string above the window and grabbed his things in a huff as he made his way to leave. “Clumsy old hag...” he muttered under his breath.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

The man made his way to leave, and Dabi blocked him just enough to bump shoulders with him, which earned him a glare. “Outta my way, jackass,” the man huffed.

As the man exited the bus, Dabi felt the weight of the new wallet now held snuggly in his hand within the sleeve of his hoodie. He wasn’t sure if it had much in it, but even so, a twisted sense of pride lit up his veins just the slightest. Dabi wasn’t very picky on who he stole from, but this one felt especially good.

Once the man was gone, the old woman wiped away the remnants of coffee from the now open seat and sat down. On the next stop, the seat next to her opened up and Dabi gladly took it, his head swimming from the constant motion. His headache was worsening again, the numbing fog he’d induced earlier through alcohol and weed starting to dissipate. He was grateful for the sunglasses, but the heat of the bus was stifling. He forced open the window latch and inhaled as soon as the crisp air hit his lungs.

“Thank you,” said the old woman.

It took Dabi a moment to realize she was talking to him. “For what?”

“Opening the window. It’s gets so hot on these buses sometimes, and my old hands can’t open the latches anymore.”

Dabi grunted. He hunched himself over as his stomach twisted uncomfortably and his leg began to bob up and down. His phone buzzed again, and once again, he pulled it out and stared at the number. Again, he silenced the call, sending it directly to voicemail.

A sharp jagged pain cut across his back and his muscles tensed as he braced himself against it until it passed, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Whoever it is must be worried about you.” She commented, her voice cutting through his haze.

Dabi kept his eyes closed and didn’t respond, hoping she would stop talking to him. He didn’t like when strangers started talking to him, especially nice old ladies that he’d just stolen from.

He heard a panicked gasp, and he opened one eye to see the old woman desperately rummaging through the contents of her purse.

“Where is it?” she asked herself. She looked at Dabi, her wrinkled eyes desperate. “Have you seen a wallet? It’s brown leather, torn on the edge...” she returned to rummaging through her things. “I know I had it, I paid my bus fare, and...” her expression fell with each passing moment, and she looked on the verge of tears. “Oh, no no no...”

Dabi sighed inwardly and snuck the wallet from his sleeve before pulling it out from behind him as if he’d sat on it.

“Is this it?”

Her face lit up instantly as she took it from his hand. “Oh, bless you! Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost it... It must have fallen out of my purse earlier...”

Before Dabi could close his eyes again to wallow in his failure, she’d opened the worn leather to show him a picture of an old man with glasses. “This is my late husband. It’s my favorite picture of him and it’s the only copy I have.”

Dabi stared longingly at the yen notes that were poking out of the top edge, his eyes barely registering the photograph she was showing him. He gave another brief grunt and went back to closing his eyes.

She continued talking. “I take it with me everywhere I go. Makes me feel like he’s still with me.”

Dabi shifted uncomfortably, leaning his head back against the window as his leg continued to bob.

Silence fell again and he listened to the sound of her once again rummaging through her purse.

Then Dabi felt a small nudge against his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see a folded 1000 yen note.

“For your help,” she explained.

Dabi hesitated for a moment before taking the cash and pocketing it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He stared ahead of himself at the person across from him reading the newspaper, Endeavor’s face plastered across the front. His hands balled into fists and he felt his temperature rise slightly. If he could just go one day without seeing his damn face...

The old woman’s voice cut in again. “...You look like you’re having a rough day,” she commented.

“Not for long,” he replied curtly.

She took out a bottle of aspirin and opened it, popping a couple of the contents into her wrinkled, frail palm. She held them out to him in offering.

Dabi let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, lady, I’m fine.”

“Hm... maybe something stronger...” she muttered. She put the pills away back into the bottle and began to rummage through her purse again. Dabi leaned his head back and contemplated getting off the bus early. He just wanted some damn peace and quiet while he suffered on his commute...

Another tap on his shoulder got Dabi’s attention, and he turned to see an open tin canister with a single rolled joint inside as the old woman gave him a knowing smile. It took him by surprise, and he stared at the offer dumbly.

“What’s that?”

“You know what it is,” she chided. “Just take it. I can see you need it.”

Dabi took it. “You’re not what I expected...” he replied.

“I use it for my joints. Arthritis, you know,” she explained.

“What if you get caught?”

The old lady laughed. “What’re they gonna do? Throw me in jail?” she laughed again. “No, they’re too busy catching real villains to deal with an old lady like me. Besides, on this side of town, no one cares. You could light that right now and the bus driver won’t say a thing.”

Dabi was tempted as he stared at the joint now resting between his fingers.

He glanced at her purse. “Why not get a prescription for pain meds? It’s legal and stronger.”

“Ah, no.” she replied. “Nasty stuff, those opioids... seen one too many old friends get lost to it. This works just fine for me.”

Dabi’s gut sank in disappointment.

He stared at the joint in his hand then back at the empty canister. He handed it back to her.

“I’m fine.” He replied.

“I have more at home, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t need it,” he said.

He’d had enough charity and pity from others to last him a lifetime.

The old lady gave a small laugh. “I’ve been around a long time. I know withdrawal when I see it.”

Dabi’s mouth pulled into a frown behind his mask and he took the joint back begrudgingly. He put it in his pocket, to save for when he reached his stop.

“Are you trying to get clean?” she asked.

Dabi glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his blue eye locking with hers behind his sunglasses. “Not really.”

“Hm, you should.” She replied.

Dabi’s mood soured at the unwelcome critique.

“Not really an option,” he replied. To make his point, Dabi pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie just enough to give her a glimpse of his scars. Her wrinkled eyes widened slightly.

“I see,” she replied. “That’s unfortunate luck.”

“Yeah.” Dabi replied. The next stop was his, so he stood and pulled the string by the window. “Thanks for the joint.”

“You’re welcome.” She replied.

He turned to leave but she called to him one more time.

“Call her. Don’t let her worry.”

It was just a lucky guess on her part, but when Dabi looked back at her, he could see a hint of pain in her eyes. For the first time since she came onto the bus, he wondered about her, about her life and her experiences. Did she lose someone close? A child? A friend? A spouse? He glanced at the old wedding band on her finger and he tried for a moment to recall the face in the photo she’d shown. It cut through Dabi’s sickness enough for him to hesitate.

Call you... he couldn’t do that. Not now. If he heard your voice, he might...

Pain danced along his sweaty skin causing a wave of nausea and he forced himself forward. Without answering, he looked away and stepped off the bus.

----------

He was screening your calls. You knew it. It would ring a couple times then go straight to voicemail.

‘ Leave a message.’ *BEEP*

“Dabi... please call me back. Please. This is important,” you said as you struggled to keep your voice from shaking.

Please don’t do this...

Mental images of Dabi passed out, overdosed in an unknown alleyway flitted through your mind.

Please come back to me...

----------

A short walk and one joint later, Dabi found himself within eyesight of an uneventful building in a poverty-stricken neighborhood without a hero in sight. He looked at the address number on the map, and identified it as an old hole-in-the-wall eatery. Its windows were frosted over in yellowish tones from years of sun damage to its laminated surface and it was marred by so much graffiti that he couldn’t even see inside.

He ducked into an alleyway a couple of shops down and pulled the stolen wallets from his pockets and sleeves. One by one he checked each of them for cash, pulling what value he could out of them before incinerating them in his hands.

Once all the cash was gathered, including the yen note the old woman had given him and what he’d started off with before he’d set out this morning, Dabi’s total cash amount was around 10,000 yen. While that amount would have fetched him a half a bottle of pills before, he had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be nearly enough this time around.

Dabi slipped a couple of the coins in his back pocket, enough for the bus fare home. The small bit of change wouldn’t make much difference in the deal anyway, and he didn’t want to get stranded so far from the hideout.

The joint the old lady gave him helped a little, but it wasn’t nearly enough. His booze had worn off, leaving his headache worse than before, the weed making him foggier than ever. And the pain... the pain hummed along, unforgiving and relentless. His gut felt twisted and on fire, his legs ached miserably.

He knew it was going to be a rough meeting. Offer too little to start, and the dealer would laugh in his face. Offer everything up front, and the dealer would take advantage and inflate the price, banking on his desperation.

There was nothing else he could do about it. He’d just have to try to get whatever he could. Maybe he’d be able to get just enough to last him until your source pulled through. Either way, he needed this.

Dabi left the alleyway, the cash stuffed deep into his pockets.

Dabi stared at the door handle, his hands clutching the hidden bills and coins in a death grip. That uncharacteristic hesitation took hold again and your face flashed in his mind again. His phone felt hot and heavy in his pocket. He wondered how many messages you’d left. He wondered what they said. Were you angry? Crying? Telling him to go fuck himself and that you hated his guts?

Dabi clenched his sore jaw. You wouldn’t understand.

He was doing this for you.

It was what he wanted to believe at least, even as his fingers twitched, dreaming of the feeling of the yellow bottle in his hands, of the weight of the pills resting on his tongue.

He opened the door.

The smell of food hit his nose, making his burning stomach churn. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, but he knew in this state, nothing would stay down anyway. To his right sat the only other person in the small food joint. He didn’t look up when Dabi entered, his eyes busy with the folded newspaper in his hand, but Dabi knew it was the man he was looking for. A magazine sat next to his half-eaten plate, a picture of All Might across the cover.

Without so much as a word, Dabi sat down at his table. The man didn’t bother to look up, his eyes still on the paper.

“Not even gonna order something to eat?” he chided.

Dabi stared at the untouchable spread of food in front of him as the man took a bite. Dabi’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Not hungry,” he replied.

Already, Dabi was being put at a disadvantage, cornered into showing some of his own hand by the simple choice of eating or not eating. He was either too poor to afford food, or too far into withdrawal to want to eat. Either way, his choice communicated desperation.

The man finally looked over his paper, his dark green eyes locking with Dabi’s through salt and pepper bangs. This guy was good, and had likely been doing this for years, maybe decades. The man returned to his meal without a word.

Dabi hated men like this, men who got cocky on their ability to lord their goods over the needy, the poor, the desperate. And Dabi hated being all of those things. It was a cold reminder of how far he’d fallen from grace, from how far he’d landed from his birthright.

If they had met in an alleyway, Dabi could have taught him a lesson about arrogance. It was his favorite lesson to teach, after all...

But the man was smart, and now doubt was experienced in dealing with men like Dabi. There was a reason he chose an eatery rather than a more secluded meeting place. And there was no telling what sort of quirk this man may have in retaliation.

So, Dabi resigned himself to waiting, each minute ticking by slower than the last. The migraine tightened its chokehold on his senses, making the daylight coming into the establishment brighten, dark spots starting to float in his vision. The itchy irritation of his healing burn began to grate on him, and he fought the urge to move his body within his hoodie to provide some semblance of relief, knowing you’d scold him if he reopened the healing tissue.

“Are we gonna wait here all day?” Dabi finally snipped. “I got shit to do. If you’re just here to waste my damn time-“

“I’m here as a courtesy to Giran.” The man wiped his mouth and put down the newspaper. He eyed Dabi up and down, his eyes narrowed in judgement. “Hm. Look at you. Let me guess. Fire quirk? You look like you’re already on death’s door, probably be dead in a year. I don’t know what he sees in you that makes you think you’re worth my time or my resources.”

“I have money.” Dabi replied.

“Not very much, apparently.” The man replied, his eyes on Dabi’s clothes. “And for how high in demand my resources are, I’m afraid you may be below my price range. I have to maintain a respectable business, and if word gets out that I’m giving handouts to street rats, then every rat will come knocking.”

“Then why bother meeting?” Dabi’s limited patience fraying. He did not run out here, risking everything, just to be told no. “Why waste my fuckin’ time?”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not wasting your time. You’re wasting mine.” The man picked up his newspaper again, but Dabi’s hand stopped it from blocking his view of his face.

“Giran said you were willing to make a deal,” he hissed. The paper beneath his hand started to smoke.

“HEY!” interrupted a deep voice. Dabi turned to see the store owner glaring at him. “No fucking quirks in here, got it? Take it outside if you have to.”

Dabi suppressed his rage and crumpled the burning paper in his palm, snuffing out the fresh embers before they could cause more damage.

The store owner held his glare a moment longer, his mustache bristling, then turned away to return to cleaning his grill, muttering, “Fire quirks. I fucking hate fire quirks...”

The man stared at his ruined newspaper for a moment before setting it on his now empty plate. “Giran gave you false information. I said I was willing to meet. The deal depended on this meeting, and I must say, it’s not going well for you.”

Dabi’s jaw clenched tight and the pain from his torn staple blossomed. It flooded his brain, sweeping away the rage only to replace it the fresh memories of how he’d gotten the wound. It helped him refocus his temper... barely.

Besides, killing the dealer certainly wouldn’t look good for Giran’s image. Impact Giran’s reputation, and you lose Giran’s support. And Dabi couldn’t afford to lose that, even as a member of the League.

The pain throbbed, and Dabi forced his wounded ego aside.

“I’m willing to pay,” he grumbled.

“How much?” the man asked.

Dabi pulled out the cash he had in his pocket and put it on table, papers laid out and yen coins ringing. It didn’t matter that the owner was there, able to see it. He was sure this wasn’t the first deal to go down under his roof.

The man stared at the money before he began to pick them up one by one and straighten them as he counted. Dabi watched silently. When the man was done counting, he set the money back down onto the table and pursed his lips.

“Is this some kind of joke?” the man finally asked.

“The hell you talking about? This would get me at least half a bottle.”

“Not in this economy it won’t. Did you hear about the shipment that got intercepted? Feds and heroes were all over it. They’re still following leads and plucking up users, dealers and cartel throughout the city. Half the dealers aren’t even selling right now, waiting for this whole thing to blow over.”

“It’s all I got.” Dabi muttered.

The man eyed him for a long moment, before finally speaking. “It’s not enough.”

Dabi scowled and reached for his cash, but the dealer’s hand got to it first, sliding the bills and coins back towards himself.

“However... I am willing to be generous today.” He replied. “It’s not enough for the whole bottle, but it can cover some of the pills.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

Dabi’s jaw dropped. “Five??” he shouted angrily.

The owner slammed down a clear plastic bin filled with vegetables and gave Dabi a hard glare. Dabi clenched his teeth and his fists and lowered his voice.

“Five??” he repeated. “That’s extortion and you fucking know it.”

“It’s business. Supply and demand and all that,” the man replied with a casual wave of his hand. “And if you can’t play by the rules, then maybe you shouldn’t be in the game.”

Dabi pursed his lips again as he struggled to hide another sharp snake of pain that laced along his arm. “What’s the dosage?”

The man pulled the bottle out of the inner pocket of his jacket and showed it to him before hiding the bottle away again.

“That’s it?? That’s half than what I was getting before.”

“Like I said... hard times. You should feel lucky that there’s any still on the market at all.”

Dabi’s leg began bouncing vigorously under the table as he weighed his options, but his options were limited. He had no more money, and he had nothing else to barter with.

“Let me see one.” Dabi ordered.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“To make sure it’s legit. You can’t just raise the price that high and not expect me to check.”

The man silently pulled out the bottle again and showed Dabi the pill between his thumb and forefinger. Dabi leaned forward and stared at it with narrow eyes. It had the right color, and there… the stamp of authenticity, proof that it was made in a pharmaceutical lab.

Still....

Dabi held out his hand. “Let me hold it.”

The man pulled the pill back out of his reach, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then he slowly handed it over. “Don’t try to take it.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot.”

Dabi held the pill in his hand, checking the weight, the shine of it, and once again looking over the details of the number stamped on the side. It was legit. Dabi felt the loss of it as soon as he handed it back to the dealer.

“Fine.”

“What was that?”

This fucking asshole...

“I said fine. I’ll take the five pills.”

The man grinned, and Dabi fantasized about knocking out his perfect teeth before setting his face on fire.

“A wise choice.” The man took a small dime bag out of his coat pocket. Then he opened up a clean napkin and counted out the pills in front of Dabi. Once Dabi nodded his approval of the five pills, the man put them into the small baggy and handed it over, pocketing Dabi’s cash with his other hand.

Dabi took the bag and carefully put it in his hoodie pocket.

“Don’t lose them.” The man commented sardonically. Then he stood up and went over to the owner, slipping him some of the cash Dabi had paid him. The man gave a curt nod and pocketed the bills. The dealer turned around and winked. “Cost of doing business, am I right? Pleasure doing business, kid.” And with that, he left.

Dabi sat for a few minutes, staring at the half empty plate and burned newspaper. The magazine was gone, to be used as a way to discretely hand over the rest of that bottle to someone with more money.

A wave of self-loathing and hatred washed over Dabi, but he stuffed it down before he let it consume him. If he dwelled on it much longer, he’d burn this whole building to the ground.

With a stubborn set of his jaw, Dabi grabbed what remained of the food on the plate and ate it quickly, the taste like ash on his tongue. Then he pulled out the small bag and grabbed a pill, downing it with what remained of the dealer’s water glass.

He had to eat something if he wanted to keep the medication down, and there was no point in letting food go to waste. Especially when his own pockets were now empty.

Dabi stared at the rest of the pills, debated swallowing another, but decided against it. He had to make it last. He had to make it worth it. The guilt crept up again, unwelcome and intrusive. He forced it down again and pocketed the little bag back into his jacket.

Then he stood up and left.

Dabi eyed the street up and down for the dealer, but he was already long gone, no trace of him anywhere. Dabi kicked an empty soda can in frustration. How he would have loved to have cornered him...

Probably a teleportation quirk... Dabi thought. It was the only possibility that made any sense, why he’d be willing to meet in broad daylight with the risk being as high as he made it out to be.

Begrudgingly, Dabi made his way toward the bus stop, his hands in his pockets.

The bus back was less packed than the one he came in on; he found a seat towards the back where he could watch people come and go in solitude. He knew he should stand again, wait for opportunities to pick more pockets in order to line his own empty ones. But at this point, the combination of sleep deprivation, withdrawal, dehydration, and starvation were all beginning to take a toll on his weak body. All he wanted was to sit and wait for the opioid to take effect, to feel that high that he’d missed for so long. All he wanted was a reprieve from life.

Ten minutes in and it hit him like a wave, washing over him, cleansing of him of his discomforts. A part of him wanted to cry at how good it felt. The blissful blanket of pleasure surrounded him, cradling him like an infant as the beast of addiction purred contently in his veins. Euphoria warmed his blood until he was floating, protected and safe from the harsh pain of his body and the world around him. It hit harder than he’d expected, but then he realized he’d been without them for two weeks, even with your pills to offset his withdrawal. His body had already started to forget, resetting years of carefully laid out neural synapses.

Either way, he didn’t mind. If anything, he was glad it was working as well as it was; he’d been afraid the pills would be useless at their lower dose. But now he was grateful – so, so grateful – that he’d managed to negotiate for at least some of them. He’d forgotten how good it really felt, and he let himself soak in the bliss as he sat on the bus. People came and left in a hazy blur. Dabi stared out the window, the motion of the bus lulling him into a half sleep as he finally began to surrender to the exhaustion of his broken body.

But the smaller dosage had its own small consequences, its effectiveness wearing off faster than he’d hoped. It seemed like he’d barely closed his eyes before being woken up again by the throbbing pain in his head and aching limbs. What had it been? A few minutes? His eyes noted the shift in the shadows and daylight within the bus, the rays now coming through the opposite side. No, hours had passed. How many? The nausea was awakening in his gut. His awareness began to sharpen, jagged and cutting, unwanted emotions beginning to bubble to the surface like black tar. Not enough. He needed this, for just a little bit longer. He pulled the small bag out of his pocket and swallowed another pill. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t feel it.

A few minutes later, he sank back under, safely nestled in the pill’s effects. Time lost its meaning. Business signs and streetlights lit up, one by one in the late afternoon that steadily faded to twilight. They blurred as they passed, like watercolor across a page that made the faces on the billboards blur and fade into a sunset palette of oranges and blues.

Dabi missed his bus stop. And the one after that, and the one after that. It wasn’t until he saw the harbor spread out before him that he realized he’d reached the end of the bus route. The sight of the water called to him, and he quietly he got off, his feet never quite touching the ground.

He walked to the edge and stared out into the water as stars began to awaken and twinkle. Storm clouds hugged the horizon, and the cold, damp gust of wind across the water brought the promise of night-time rain. The bridge crossing the bay was lit up in white lights, the low distant hum of traffic floating over the lapping waters at the base of the wall.

Dabi felt content. For the first time, his world was quiet, the struggles he’d been grappling with faded and disconnected. The memories of his troubles were softened around the edges, blurring into the hazy background until nothing was left. Nothing left but you. Your voice, your gentle laugh, your soft touch. Memories of happy moments drifted forth. You throwing a napkin at him. Eating ramen in your room. Laying on your bed as you treated him in the late hours. Your feet stretched out across his lap as you slept.

Holding you in his arms after he’d caught you.

Waking up next to you.

He stood there as time passed, and all that kept coming up in his mind was you. You, you, you. He felt warm despite the cold, and he knew it wasn’t because of his quirk.

So maybe it wasn’t just addiction after all.

A sinking feeling began to grow in his chest, its weight an ache that he couldn’t quite name.

‘Promise.’

His own word echoed in his head, the hazy memory drifting up like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. The weight of it stifled his lingering high, pulling his thoughts back closer to the present.

What did he promise again...?

He struggled to remember, but the details were slippery, fading in and out of his mind. All he could remember was your face in the dark, the feel of your chin between his fingers. You were sad about something...

BZZ BZZ BZZ

Dabi pulled his phone from his pocket to see a series of text messages.

Are you okay?

Where are you?

Please call me.

Dabi, I need to know you’re okay.

He could hear your voice in the words, and with it he finally remembered.

‘I don’t want to end up alone again...’

Reality sharpened around him as his senses began to return – the chill of the damp cold night air soaking through his clothes, the itching on his back, the ache in his legs. The pulsing in his temples began to throb, and he closed his eyes against it, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids.

The medication was finally wearing off, and now Dabi realized how much time must have actually passed. Twilight was long gone, the dark of night in full swing.

When he opened his eyes again, your words blared bright in the backlight of his phone screen.

I need to know you’re okay.

You were worried.

Of course you were. You always worried over him.

‘I don’t want to be alone again...’

You were alone now, stuck back at the hideout, desperately sending messages into the void and hearing nothing in return. And it was his fault, his choice. He left you alone.

But he’d promised...

I did it for you, he thought.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours...

You did it for yourself, a voice in his head answered back.

Anger welled up in his chest.

“GODDAMN IT!!!” the curse ripped from his lips, and his fist collided with the wooden telephone post next to him. The pain of the punch erupted across his knuckles and his wrist, but he didn’t care. He punched it again, with his other hand. Then he did it again. And again. Blue flames licked and teased off his knuckles, little dancing demons that left scorch marks on the damp wood before being snuffed out on the next hit.

Over and over Dabi punched, as if the pain could erase his mistake, could erase the mental picture of the look on your face that you’d give him once he returned. But it didn’t do any of those things, and he kept punching until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, littered with splinters.

He didn’t stop until the familiar sharp pain of his damaged nerves lit a streak of agony up his leg, just as it had that morning. He buckled, collapsing to his knees before falling to his haunches until he was leaning against the post, his breaths heavy. His hand instantly went to his pocket, eager for relief. Just as he pulled out the last three pills from the little bag, he froze. He stared at them, his hand shaking from the adrenaline and the withdrawal. They were small, harmless looking things, but they felt heavy, filled with guilt, accusation, and dependency. They drew his attention like the gravity a dead star threatening to suck him in until there was nothing left.

He recalled all of the ways he’d convinced himself it was worth it. How it would free you from his clutches, how he’d be able to get himself back on track if he could just get some. They had promised relief, freedom. But Dabi knew it was fake, knew it was a temporary fix. They’d be used up by morning, and then he’d be back where he’d started. And you... you would never trust him again.

Yet he still wanted. He craved. He stared at the pills and licked his chapped lips. He picked one and brought it to his lips.

‘Promise.’

Dabi hesitated, his hand shaking.

Then with a frustrated yell, he threw the pill into the harbor, followed quickly by the remaining two, still tucked into their little bag.

And just like that, they were gone, swallowed up by the night, their contents lost to the lapping waters. Dabi stared at the black water dumbfounded at himself as regret settled in the form of aching limbs and a pounding head.

Stupid fucking idiot, he told himself. Why did you do that?

The voices in his head didn’t respond, the answer buried too deep for him to find.

A raindrop touched his head, and then a moment later, another landed on his hand. More and more began to fall, speckling his hoodie, his head, the ground around him. A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed a moment later by the loud boom of thunder. The drizzles instantly turned into a downpour, and Dabi sat in the rain, letting the cold wash over him as the raindrops sizzled on his hot skin. If only it could wash away his mistakes.

But it wouldn’t. He’d have to go back eventually and face what he’d done.

He’d just gotten you back. The one person who gave a damn about him, and the first person to truly see him for who he was. And now he was going to lose you - all over five, measly, stupid little pills.

Dabi forced himself up and walked away from the water’s edge. He held his phone inside his pocket. He should respond to you. Let you know he was okay. But it was pouring buckets now. He needed a safe place. He made his way back to the bus stop, where the awning that covered the bench from the elements gave him the protection he needed. It certainly wasn’t perfect, with the wind blowing the rainwater sideways with each gust, but it was enough for Dabi to pull his phone out and hunch over it against the elements.

He found another missed message from you, time timestamp on it from fifteen minutes ago.

Please come home.

Dabi tapped the message box, and the little text bar blinked, waiting. Dabi stared at it, his fingers frozen.

As if you had sensed his hesitation, your number popped up, his phone buzzing with each silent ring. His thumb hovered over the red button before switching to the green and tapping it.

He put the phone to his ear and waited, his mouth dry, tongue stuck.

“Dabi?? Dabi, are you there?” your voice came through, slightly choppy from the interference of the weather and the poor cell phone service. But it was there, panicked, and shaky with worry. It grounded him instantly, and he finally found his voice.

“Yeah. I’m here.” He finally said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed. “Are you okay?”

Dabi hesitated a moment, before answering. “No.” He was far, far from okay, he realized. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been okay in his entire life.

“Are you hurt??”

Another pause. “No.”

A half lie he realized as he inspected his knuckles on his free hand.

“Okay. Are you close by? Are you able to come home?”

Home...

Dabi felt a stone form in his throat and his eyes began to burn. He rubbed at them with his thumb and forefinger, refusing to cry so many times in a single week. He cried all the time when he was younger and weaker. He wasn’t weak anymore.

He cleared his throat.

“I don’t have any bus money.”

“It’s okay, Kurogiri get you. Where are you?”

Dabi looked at the map next to him, encased in plastic on the inside of the bus stop.

“I’m at bus stop 23, at the harbor.”

“Okay, stay there. I’ll let Kurogiri know. Do you want him to transport you to your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Dabi, don’t hang up.” You ordered.

Dabi didn’t answer, but he didn’t hang up either. He could hear you on the other end of the line, opening and closing a door, the sound of footsteps, your muffled voice talking.

A moment later, the familiar black portal opened up to his left. Dabi hesitated then stepped through.

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Chapter 14

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