𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ➣ Dabi

mixed emotions

Oh, god. Oh, god. Why does it hurt? It shouldn't hurt! You should be happy. You shouldn't be hurting.

There's that word again. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should. Should.

If you think about it, you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be an orphan. You shouldn't be like this. You shouldn't hate heroes. You shouldn't want to hurt the bitch who's clinging to him.

But you do. You really, really do. You just picture her collapsing, her lungs giving out on her. Her body convulsing in tremors, her skin turning pale. Her head aching with a headache. You just want her to feel pain. Especially when Dabi trails kisses down her neck and she looks at you, as her face grows disgusted and she rolls her eyes at you. You drop your bag with your new costume in, loud enough that Dabi hears and whips his head to you, his eyes widening and his body stiffening.

"Fuck," he mutters. "Mouse," he starts.

"No," you say sternly. "Stay away from me."

You step into your room, slamming the door shut in the process. From there, you sink to you knees in hurt. The room goes blurry and it takes you a moment to realize it's because of the tears tracing your cheeks. What made you think he wanted you? Oh right. The fact that not only two hours ago he was vulnerable with you and almost kissed you. Or the fact that just last night he was all up on you, trailing kisses along your neck and tugging you closer. Maybe that's why. But you were so stupid to believe a villain like him could be capable of love. He's not a good person. He said so himself. He's probably killed people with no hesitation at all and he'd probably do it again.

But, as you think about it, you've got no reason to be hurt. It's not like he's been the greatest to you. Nor the nicest. You haven't shared cute moments. You've been here for about six or seven weeks. And most of it was spent in your locked bedroom starving. He doesn't always talk to you. He doesn't treat you the nicest or really show his interest. So you shouldn't care.

You get up, wipe your tears away, and shove your desk over the door. You can't lock your door from the inside so, you have to resort to this. You fall on your bed and sigh, clutching a pillow to your chest. At least until the door starts to budge.

"No," you tell them, getting up and shoving your body against the desk so they can't get in.

"Fuck," Dabi mutters. "Did you barricade this fucking door?"

"Go away," you say.

"No, I don't think I will. Open this door," he says, shoving so hard you nearly fall over.

"Please," you beg. "I just want to be alone."

"I don't want you to." He grunts, trying to open your door. "Mouse," he says sternly. "Open the door."

You whimper biting your lip. "Dabi," you cry. "Please."

He shoves once again, enough that you fall over and he can squeeze through the door. He pushes the desk as you roll over and back crawl away from him but he bends down and grabs you, helping you stand. His hands aren't hot. In fact, they're cold. His grip however is tight and it's hurting you. It hurts. God, it hurts. And not just in your arms. In your chest. You're so touch starved; you just want affection and Dabi had been the first in years to even show you the slightest bit of it. He wanted you to eat. Whether that was for his own desires or not. He wanted it. And he stopped Shigaraki from hurting you not just once, but several times already. He laid with you that one night. He took care of you when you were weak. He took you outside for once. Helped you move in. Bought you those darts so you could get the stuffed tiger. He did small and simple things for you that caused you to believe he wanted something. That and the almost kisses. When he licked the salty tears off your face. When he kissed your neck surprisingly gently. Or when you were rubbing the scars on his face and he asked you not to stop. And he held you. And he told you he want a good person. But...he never finished. You never got to know what he was going to say.

He leans forward and again, licks the tears off your cheeks. "Shh," he murmurs. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," you whisper.

"No?"

"There's something in my eye," you say.

He scoffs lightly. "I see." He cocks his head to side, assessing you and your tears. "Oh, Mouse. You're not hurt are you?"

"No—no," you choke out.

"Good. Because, you know, I'm not good for you. I'll hurt you. And you're not what I want."

You nod, biting back tears. "I know."

"Do you? Because you seem pretty upset. Are you jealous, Little mouse?"

"No."

"Then why are you crying?"

You shrug.

"You don't want this, Doll. Don't be stupid." He smiles and leans forward, licking your neck and biting softly. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "She doesn't mean anything to me. No need to be jealous."

"I'm not," you mumble.

He only laughs lightly. "Get some rest. We have a mission coming up."

He drags him thumb over your lips, sticking his thumb in your mouth and grazing your tongue. Then he steps back, winks, and walks out, leaving you alone once again.

♥♥♥

You groan and sit up in bed. You have a piercing headache, probably from all the crying you did last night. Or four hours ago. The clock on your desk reads three in the morning.

Sighing, you crawl out of bed and walk down the hallway to the bathroom to wash your face. The water hits you cold, enough so that you're mostly awake now. Yet you still walk slowly down to the bar, turning on a light as you step in. No ones here. Either sleeping or out wreaking havoc. You don't care. It's finally quiet and you have a moment to be alone outside of your room. So you decide to go behind the bar to find any sort of medicine to relieve the aching migraine. But you can't find anything. Nothing besides alcohol.

Which looks appealing. You've never had alcohol but you've heard of the high it gives people. The sort of buzz they get when they drink it. You've heard it numbs the pain and takes away the hurt. It's used as medicine. Everyone does it to get rid of the darkness that consumes them. Because drinking a few sips can hold it back, keep the lingering depression at bay. If only for a moment. But you just need a moment. One moment to breathe. To relax and feel free. That's all. One moment. Just one.

You reach forward and grab a bottle, unscrewing the lid. The stench hits you and almost makes you put it back but you desperately need a release. So, you plug your nose and swallow. It burns going down, making you gag. Yet you liked the pain. The way it ate at your throat. So, you do it again. A longer sip this time, letting the cool liquid burn your throat. And then again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Till the bottle is close to empty, till you're leaning on the counter for support, a giddy smile on your lips. You down the rest of the bottle and move on to another one. It doesn't burn as much anymore. It almost tastes good.

By the time you've downed another bottle, you can barely keep your head up. You hiccup and groan, which then turns into a giggle. You grab another bottle as you sit up on the counter, giggling softly to yourself as you down another bottle.

"Mouse?"  

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