𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ➣ Dabi

recovery

You blink, rubbing your eyes as you gently sit up. You wince at the pounding migraine that makes you want to pass out. That's the worst of it. That and your stomach feels like it's eating itself and honestly, it might be since you've been on a hunger strike. You sigh. You over used your quirk to the point of passing out. It shouldn't have happened so quickly but after days of not eating, you weren't as strong as normal. So it's no wonder you couldn't do much. You close your eyes trying to keep the tears at bay. Your head kills.

"Good morning doll face."

You squint and there's Dabi, lounging in the chair in your so-called room. Sighing, you close your eyes and hide yourself deeper under the covers. The last thing you want is to move and do stuff. You just want to close your eyes and never wake up.

You hear him get up and grab something. The next thing you know, he's carefully peeling the covers off and lifting you up. You wince at the painful headache and he gently shushes you, patting your head as he sits down next to you and leans against the headboard, holding a bowl of oatmeal.

"You need to eat. No," he says when you open your mouth to fight back. "No arguments. You're sick and we have a mission coming up that you need to be alive for." He lifts up the bowl of oatmeal and takes a spoonful. You frown, looking from the spoon to him. "I have to because you refuse to eat. And I don't want Shig to disintegrate me. Now open up."

"What if I throw up?" you ask softly.

He sets the spoon back in the bowl. "I think you threw up because of the smell. But just in case, here's a bowl." He hands you an empty bowl and you frown at it. You seem to frowning a lot. An expression you rarely did before you were kidnapped and forced to work for the league. "Open up," he says.

"Why are you helping me," you blurt out. Just as quickly, you touch your finger to your lips, willing them to shut up and stay quiet.

He drops the spoon again and sighs. He shrugs. "I don't really have a choice, Doll. Shig isn't nice when he's angry. And I'd rather hang out with you than those morons."

You nod softly, playing with the bed sheets. Why is it that even though he doesn't have a choice, it's still somehow. . . comforting? You don't know. You can't keep track of the emotions you're feeling on a daily basis. Fear. Pain. More fear. More pain. Comfort. Confusion. Anger. More confusion. More fear. More pain. It's a never-ending cycle of mixed emotions towards this whole situation. A week? A week and a half? You don't know. It feels like time doesn't seem to exist here because the blinds are always shut, you haven't been outside since you've been taken and it's not like they have a calendar lying for you to look at. You've been locked in this room with no decorations for weeks. It's exhausting. It's suffocation. Drowning.

Dabi lifts the bowl and the spoonful of oatmeal to you. You hesitate but he's persistent in getting you to eat. So, you do, slowly, at first. Small bites. Barely a spoonful as he feeds you. But then, as you start to crave more, as your body screams at you to eat eat eat eat eat eat, you end up taking the bowl from him and feeding yourself. He chuckles softly, patting your head and slightly messing up your hair. It's no gourmet meal, but after starving for several days, it's perfect. It doesn't have such a stingy smell or taste that makes you feel nauseous. It's soothing enough, and filling, that when you finish, you feel satisfied enough. And you don't feel like throwing up. So that's a plus.

Dabi takes the bowl from you and sets it down on the nightstand, where he sets the other plastic bowl. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

You look away, feeling bad for being so stubborn about not eating. You didn't mean to cause so much trouble for the League. But you didn't plan on getting kidnapped by them either. So, in all honesty, you had every right to cause them trouble. It's not like you walked in and asked to help them out. No. No that's not it at all. Your whole goal was to stay hidden and blend in. You had a great quirk for that. But here you are, the center of attention for the League, something you really didn't want. The last thing you wanted really. It's not that you hated the villains. You dislike them as much as you do the heroes. Sure, they scared you more so than the pro heroes did but you still dislike the heroes. However, you can't deny that part of you does wish they would just find you and save you. It's not very homey in here and it's honestly draining. When's the last time you smiled? Laughed? Felt safe? Wasn't afraid of being killed by Shigaraki?

"A penny for your thoughts?" Dabi asks in a hushed tone. A whisper. As if he were afraid of startling you with his deep and raspy voice.

You look up at him, and pause. He has such beautiful features. Heavily lidded, turquoise eyes that look right into your soul and make you want to look away in submission. But you can't because at the same time, they make you never want to look away in fear that he'll be angry if you do. They force you to hold his gaze no matter what. He carries himself with a sort of arrogance that lets you know he won't be pushed around like a rag doll. Not that you want to. At first, you'll admit, the scars scared you. How could one person have so many scars and still be alive? They looked painful. You had wondered if he must've constantly been in pain. There's no way he could go about his day and not be hurting. Right? As far as you know, they cover half his face and his ears, his forearms, up to his palms, and his ankles. You wonder how he got them and why he's got staples in. What do they do?

Almost, as if in a trance by some unknown force, you reach up to touch his scars. His eyes widen and he pulls back from you. However, he stops short and you manage to brush your fingertips along his cheek. Softly. Gently. His breath hitches and he opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He's stiff, one hand gripping the bedsheets, the other hovering to touch you. You slowly

"Does it hurt?" you ask.

He closes his eyes and says, "Sometimes."

You lightly trace your finger down to his neck, carefully tracing his scars.

"I'm sorry," you say.

He smiles. A sort of sad smile. "It's not your fault, Doll. Don't feel bad for me."

You nod and drop your hand. Dabi tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. He frowns, looking around at this empty room. They've provided clothes. Not many. And you've basically been in the same clothes since they took you. Your white long sleeve and black jeans. But Dabi has brought in loose t-shirts and sweatpants. The outfit you're wearing now. However, no matter how many times Dabi called this 'your room', it doesn't feel like your room. You don't have the same sheets or empty walls at your home. You don't have an empty closet back home. You have walls with simple decorations and a floor with a fuzzy carpet. You have nice sheets and a desk filled with trinkets and pens. This room. . . this room is nothing like your old room. It doesn't feel safe. It doesn't feel homey. It's more of a cell to you. A trap. A dungeon.

Dabi seems to be thinking the same thing as you because he says, "Maybe we can transfer some of your stuff over here. Make this place feel more homey. Don't you think?"

You look up at him with wide eyes that make him laugh. You smile softly and look away. Maybe it won't be so bad. Right? Staying here. Living with the League. It could be worse.  

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