Disdain [Dabi x Reader]

XVIII

(Y/n) had always been capable. Back in school, back in university, as a doctor, as a surgeon. They rarely needed help, always finding a way to fix their problems, even on their own.

While, yes, they did struggle when they first started working in the grotesque field of sinners, they were still the same capable, perfectionist they were born to be. Unfortunately, the world was cruel, and now that unfathomable and sparse talent was being used for corruption.

Before now, that is.

If Botan was trying to hide from them, it was in futile effort. They were capable, and finding him with little to no leads came easy for them.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, they knew he was there. The smell of nicotine was unmistakable. (Y/n) was honestly impressed by how long he managed to stretch his lifespan thus far with the things he eagerly consumes.

They glanced down at the small, worn-out sticky note in their hand then peered up at the door before them. cracks of peeled paint on the door frame, along with a few, almost unnoticeable lines that oddly resembled the drag of fingernails.

(Y/n) pocketed the sticky note in their large coat then rang the doorbell, taking a step back as they waited. They could hear the faint noise of a TV playing inside, so surely someone had to be present. They pushed their hands inside their pockets, eyes straying around awkwardly as the seconds passed at an agonizing pace.

'Who takes a whole minute to answer the door?' A crease formed over their nose, and in a second and a little impatient attempt, they knocked at the door with the back of their knuckles, pausing with raised brows when the door slightly creaked open.

The sound of the television rang clearer now. News channel. Hero ranking. Same old, same old.

Botan liked to talk. He did. Always blabbering on about anything and everything, not noticing— or perhaps simply ignoring the obvious rigidness the other party was in. (Y/n) remembers it well, and while they always attempted to tune out his exhaustingly long rants, his words sometimes proved too absurd to ignore, or for their mind to discard.

So they remembered that he loved tuning into the hero popularity rankings every year, then going to harshly criticize it on some website they couldn't care to recall if it wasn't to his liking.

That wasn't the absurd part, though. The jarring part of it all was that he casually spoke about his rather ironic fixation on hero rankings right after dropping the fact he loves eating human flesh.

(Y/n)'s hand moved before their mind, pushing open the door with little caution. Then their legs moved before their brain could retort and they took a firm step into the dim, grimly furnished apartment.

'I shouldn't have done that' They lectured, but their face remained straight and withdrawn, slowly blinking over at the couch facing away from the door.

The lively colours illuminating the screen in their view flashed in ill-sorted contrast with the cracked, soiled walls, and the uncannily enthusiastic host of the event made a ghostly headache ebb over their brow.

Their gaze trailed down with an exhausted slow, locking onto the head of ash-blonde hair popping out from over the sofa's back.

'There he is.'

His posture lined with leisureness, one arm resting over the back pillow. He didn't seem to react at all despite the obvious indication that someone had opened his door and basically intruded into his home.

Their lips parted to speak, but the slam of pressure on their being clogged their throat before the words could wring out. Their body was paralyzed completely, the world narrowing and blackening around their vision. Their chest constricted uncomfortably as air struggled to squeeze into their lungs.