W A R M T H [s. tomura & dabi]

shivers

In the brink of winter, he'd find himself bundled in horrid amounts of sweaters and blankets. It was a warmth that seemed to escape his fingers with a teasing sprint, gloved hands relentlessly grasping at the fluffy comforters, twitching fingers trying to finish a sketch that was due for his portfolio.

Yet his toes still stung from the cold despite the fuzzy socks, and his lips were growing suspiciously chapped from the freezing air. Tomura grew furious at the weather and grasped at his paper with an angry grip, though he instinctively let go as if his quirk would activate like a curse.

The weather reminded him too much of what he's lost, a cold reminder that he'll probably never find a warmth like what he had as a child.

A shaky sigh slipped through his lips as he let the sketchbook slide to the floor, relaxing into the sheets and slipping into a shivering sleep.

Tomura gaped at the sight, his enemy, his annoyance - was simply wearing a t-shirt and those hideous ripped jeans. His spiky black hair and the scarred skin that pierced so alluring yet fearing.

Tomura could feel the butterflies in his stomach, but it was overtaken by his confusion.

"Aren't you cold, Dabs?" Toga gasped, her lithe form draped in a fuzzy coat and usual school-girl aesthetic replaced with jeans and a lazy dyed shirt.

"Not really, my quirk keeps me warm most of the time. And don't call me that." The man stood confident yet lazy, his blue eyes looking down Tomura's sweater-clad body and lips curling in an amused smile.

"Shut the fuck up ash-tray."

"Oh my god, mopehead - are you okay?"

Tomura wishes he could disintegrate the flutter that enraptured his heart at that nickname.

Tomura wished he could shred the jacket that rested over his body, the heat that blanketed his body almost like an endless heater.

Dabi taunted his form only a few steps away; the living room where a television was boosted up with various games, Toga resting on the couch and cuddling a very comfortable Jin, who accepted the embrace like it was habit.

Maybe it was a hint at romance, maybe it was a joke, it could even be a form of mockery. Though Tomura would've chucked the jacket out of spite, it felt so good pressing into his body like an ever-lasting heater.

"You look comfortable over there, loony-loner." Dabi chuckled in that voice of his, hands wrapped around the handles to two steaming cups of cocoa.

"Very much, sadly." The blue-haired male spoke, hands still on the gaming controller with focused clicks and twists of the thumb. "I'm not thanking you if that's what you want, scar-face."

Dabi's lip gave that signature curl. "Wasn't expecting it, doll."

The heat that radiated Dabi was something that Tomura began to crave, whether it be a simple hand on his shoulder or maybe merely sitting beside him.

It was stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! But it was a stupid that the bluenette grew fond for.

"You good, mopehead?" There it was, that voice that had worked it's way into the cold veins of Tomura and flood him with hot, hot, hot interest.

His cold form doesn't even attempt to make moment, aside from the small hands that ushered Dabi close with a self-deprecating shame. Though that chuckle that slipped through the lips of the fire-user easily cremate that shame away into need.

Dabi's body is now close, and Tomura can't help himself as he snuggles closer to the heat that simply radiated off the other.

He begins to notice things that he didn't see before.

And he hates it. It's stupid.

How the staples in Dabi's skin move as he smiles or how they tug when his mouth grows too wide. The scarred skin connecting with the normal in a patchwork, though it made Dabi, Dabi.

How his hair is a deep black, spiky, and bits of red peeking out from the scalp from lack of a touch-up. Though as pretty as red is in Dabi's fire, the edgy appeal is a look on him that Tomura would find himself reddening at.

Dabi's eyes are blue, a hypnotic blue that always tempt something out of Tomura; whether it be anger, laughs, maybe even a blush. They pierce through the art major and within a staring contest, those aqua orbs could easily bring him to a shaky mess of red skin and twitchy fingers.

Tomura also notices his love for him.

Tomura has blue hair, hair that looked greasy with lack of care but upon surprised fingers of Toga or the misty grasp of Kurogiri, it always fell soft and silky.

So Dabi currently has his hands in his locks as they laid together, no conversation - just silence and the warmth.

God, Tomura loves that warmth.