Chapter Text
“You look like shit,”
Jun’s voice is soft but sharp enough to wake Dabi from his near-unconscious state. He makes a noise that’s partly confused and partly pained, eyes straining in the hazy dark to make out her figure.
The light from the rising sun is peeking in from the curtains, warm shades of orange and pink illuminating Jun’s form. She’s leaning in the doorway, expression unreadable as she studies him. Her hair is messy, curls frizzing and poking out of the loose braid behind her neck. For a moment Dabi wonders if she’s real or if the shadows are playing yet another cruel trick on him.
She steps inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind her and sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Can I turn the light on?”
Dabi swallows hard. Light means more shapes for his brain to twist and contort. He stares at Jun as her barely-illuminated face begins to flicker and shift, and then he screws his eyes shut.
“Dabi,” Jun reaches to rest a hand on his knee, grounding him. “You’re going to live. I brought medicine that’s going to cure you.”
He hears this, but not really. The crack of imaginary embers is roaring in his ear, it’s all Dabi can focus on. Her touch feels like she’s burning him— or maybe he’s burning her, their skin sizzling where it meets.
“Are you real?” He croaks, voice hoarse and trembling. His eyes strain to get a better look at her.
With her free hand, Jun reaches to the nightstand and turns on the light. The warm glow illuminates them, chasing away the worst of the shadows.
Suddenly the crackle of fire feels different— more comforting. Like a hearth in the dead of winter, or a bonfire on a summer night. Jun’s face comes into view, her sharp features smoothed over in a mixture of concern and something he can’t quite name but it makes his chest tighten with guilt all the same. Still, he can’t tell if he wants to push her away or hold her.
The whispers rise in his head, feeding off of his shame. But when she speaks, the world falls quiet.
“I’m sorry I took so long.”
She doesn’t sound very sorry— which is understandable, because she was busy saving his life. The words are more of an acknowledgment of his suffering; at least, that’s how they settle into the air between them.
Dabi glances to where her hand is still resting on his knee, and instantly Jun is lifting it, letting it instead sit awkwardly on the side of the bed.
“It’s okay,” Dabi croaks, the words tumbling out instinctively. He feels a bit like Jun has crawled into his chest and made a home there against his will “I lived, didn’t I?”
Jun smiles softly at him, the light reflecting in her eye making her look almost fond.
With a hum of agreement, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a small pill bottle. It’s haphazardly labeled with a piece of paper that has Dabi’s name on it in Jun’s chicken-scratch Doctor handwriting. She presses a single pill to the palm of his hand, handing him the now half-empty glass of water as well.
Dabi pops the pill into his mouth easily, swallowing it down and setting the glass back on the table. Now knowing he’s going to live, the adrenaline has worn off, leaving him completely drained .
“As your body rejects the poison you may notice it gets worse before it gets better,” Jun says with a grimace, watching him lean back on the headboard “but it shouldn’t take long for you to get better. So get some sleep. Really.”
Jun stands up, stretching her back. Dabi blinks, his throat tightening as he watches her turn away and take a step towards the door. His hands twitch at his sides as if he has the strength or willpower to pull her back.
“Don’t leave,” he blurts out before he can think. He hates how small and needy he sounds; Hates how relying on her feels like some inevitable truth he needs to stop denying. His ears are hot, and if the flesh there wasn’t charred he’s sure they would be dusted pink.
Her arms fall to her sides and she eyes him for a moment, glancing at the empty spot beside him in bed as if considering it— weighing the risks. This would cross an invisible line she’s put up, greatly surpassing her responsibilities as caretaker. Jun chews on her bottom lip. His breathing is short, and there’s that familiar crease in his brow that makes him look so ashamed. But he needs her, that much is evident.
“You’re hallucinating, aren’t you?” she whispers, voice low and tender— only for him. Her hands trace the edge of the bed, as if testing its softness.
Dabi looks away, taking a deep shaky breath through his nose before he can reply,
“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse but decisive— he won’t elaborate any further. The heat mirage in the corner of his eyes ripples and turns into faces of people he doesn’t want to name, he clenches his fist to stop himself from reaching out to burn them away.
Jun doesn’t press the matter any further. She just settles on the bed beside him, letting her curly hair loose and tossing that pale-pink zip sweater onto the chair unceremoniously. She’s no one’s Shrink, but she can be here, at least.
“I’ll stay,” she says simply with a crooked smile,
“It’s been a while since I’ve slept in my own bed.”
She slips under the covers, movements unhurried, almost ritualistic. She looks warm— so warm that it makes the whole room feel all the more cozy and alive. Dabi watches intently, studying each flex of her wrist. He still doesn’t know how to understand the woman's unrelenting compassion, but as she burrows happily into the blankets, he decides he doesn’t need to understand. He just accepts.
It all feels so fragile, like any second now he’ll wake up and be back on Sekoto Peak, fire ripping through his body. Yes, Dabi has never known tenderness, but listening to the rustle of blankets and Jun’s steady breathing might be it.
Suddenly the torture he went through before she arrived feels worth it— because how else could he have fully appreciated the woman before him if he didn’t know that pain?
Dabi doesn’t fight sleep. He just lays back, half-lidded eyes trained on the ceiling. He lets Jun’s steady presence anchor him, focusing on the silence only broken by her soft breathing. Dabi just lets himself relax— let go. For the first time, letting go of his past doesn’t feel like giving up his future.
Sho doesn’t wake up early that morning. It’s nearly noon, and the house is still dead silent. He stands up to make a pot of coffee, stretching out the kink in his shoulder from spending yet another night on Jun’s couch. He heads to the kitchen groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He doesn’t mean to peek into the bedroom, really– but a draft had opened the door some time in the night and as he walks by he catches sight of the two laying together. It makes him pause, feet betraying him and getting closer to see the full picture.
Jun is beautiful in the morning– he knows the sight all too well. Her hair is mussed around her head in a frizzy sort of halo, lips slightly parted and drool glistening at the corner of her mouth. A familiar sort of affection twists and churns in his stomach. She’s laying next to Dabi, body curled towards him though they aren’t quite touching, to Sho’s relief. And Dabi looks, from what Sho’s seen, about as close to peaceful as he can get.
It’s strange, but Sho is beginning to entertain the idea that whatever is going on between them– and no, he doesn’t want to know– Jun might need it, too.
She does need to eat, though. That, Sho can still help with.
Butter sizzling in a hot pan fills the silence of the home, the spatula scraping as it spreads it around.
“What am I doing,” Sho mutters to himself as he cracks an egg into the pan, frowning at it as if it alone had orchestrated this whole ordeal. Seeing Jun relaxed like that, in a way she hasn’t been in so long, makes him nervous. Sho has seen her go above and beyond for people who don’t deserve it too many times to count, but this feels different. It’s something more– like healing, but not quite.
It starts as him making breakfast for Jun– Lord knows when she last ate– but then Sho gets hungry himself. And then it would be rude to not feed the guy who just got off his deathbed, so Sho makes enough food for all of them. The eggs aren’t perfect– some are overcooked, some of the yolks break. But they’re sustenance. Jun has a habit of remembering little things that the human body needs but forgetting simple things like food.
“Good morning,”
Jun greets him with a yawn, tugging at the hem of her sweater as it slips off a shoulder. She pours herself a cup of coffee. She takes it black, he remembers. Cradling the hot mug it in both hands, Jun looks down at the bitter liquid like it’s the most comforting thing in the world, her soft smile achingly familiar in a way that tugs at his chest.
“Cooking?” she says with the quirk of a brow, leaning against the kitchen counter and peering over his shoulder. It’s easy to get lost in domestic bliss like this– to pretend nothing has changed between them.
“Yeah,” Sho says, shooting her an unimpressed look “Someone forgets they can’t just live on coffee. And,” he flips and egg, “I figured your friend could use some protein right about now. He was pretty rough last night.”
The word tastes sour on his tongue– Friend doesn’t sound quite right, but there is no other word to describe their strange dynamic. Whatever it is, it far exceeds the relationship Jun usually has with her patients.
Jun hums, eyes falling on the bedroom door she’d shut behind her. She looks almost remorseful, like she’s somehow blaming herself for his state.
“How bad was it–?” She asks, voice softened. She clutches the mug a little bit harder as she continues, “I didn’t ask last night, but he seemed really shaken up.”
Sho hesitates. The image of Dabi thrashing in bed and his broken mutterings surface in his mind, all too fresh to be forgotten. He gets the feeling he shouldn’t tell her how the guy had looked like a live-wire, all raw and vulnerable. But he’s never been a very good liar.
“It wasn’t good.” Sho admits flatly, and he leaves it at that. She’s looking at him, expectantly at first and then almost like she’s trying to read his mind, but she drops it.
That guilty look sets into her features again. At least she’d slept. She looks a lot more alive than she had when Sho had first come over yesterday. Jun taps on the mug in her hands idly for a moment, before setting it on the counter.
“I’m going to wake him up,”
Sho glances up at her, catching her subtle shift in demeanour. She asks if it's okay, but she’s already halfway to the door, bare feet padding softly on hardwood.
“Yeah, go for it, everything’s just about ready.” He calls after her, watching her retreating figure. He’s glad that Jun woke up first— that the sight of her in the mornings, all bleary and flushed, remains Sho’s. And, well, his.
Jun doesn’t really feel well rested. Her back aches from being hunched over a desk all night, and the coffee is doing little to lift her spirits. She walks over to the bedroom door purposefully, hears Sho call after her but barely registers it. Jun turns the knob with a clammy hand, entering and shutting the door behind her.
She needs a minute away from Sho. Him being here is strange. When she’s talking to him like this, Jun can feel herself slipping back into old destructive habits. Worse than the arguments, the constant hostility, Sho’s drunkenness, is the prospect of falling back into his arms.
She could. It would be so easy to let him return to fill up the emptiness in her home, and in her. But Jun is beginning to think that’s something she’ll have to fix herself.
Dabi is still sound asleep, face slack and relaxed as he lays back on the cushions. She almost doesn’t want to wake him up and bring him back to reality. Jun hadn’t told him the full extent of the recovery process but…
He’s in for much, much worse pain. Healing isn’t linear— that’s what they say, isn’t it?
Jun settles on the side of the bed, eyes half-lidded and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. He sleeps on his back, arms at his side almost militaristically straight. Like he doesn’t want to take up too much space.
He looks younger like this, stripped of his usual brazen nonchalance and edge. Vulnerable and lost in a way that has Jun reminiscing about things she’d spend so long trying to bury.
Jun hadn’t minded sharing the bed with him— not even when their legs had touched under the covers and neither of them had dared to move. Not even when Dabi had muttered to himself, or tried throwing all the blankets off. She’d even dared to find amusement in it– joy in sharing her bed with someone like him.
It’s unprofessional. Jun could have slept in the chair on the side of the bed— though her back surely would have paid the price. She should have, because now she’s not really sure where the line is.
“Dabi,” she whispers, hand moving to his forehead to check his temperature and maybe swipe away at some of the black tufts of hair that stuck there.
“You’re still warm…” She mumbles, mostly to herself.
Dabi winces, but doesn’t pull away from the touch. Jun draws her hand back to her side, watching as his eyes flutter open.
“How are you feeling?” She asks, though she knows the answer. He doesn’t look well.
“Like shit,” he says, his morning voice raspy but calm in a way that makes Jun’s chest tighten.
“Want to eat?” She says, beginning to peel back his bandages to assess the wound. It’s still agitated, but it’s beginning to close around his stitches. Good .
Dabi frowns, like eating is the last thing he wants to do.
“You should,” Jun encourages him, “you need some nutrients. It’ll make you feel better.”
He huffs softly, considering this for a moment before nodding to himself.
“Yeah, okay,” Dabi says, moving to get out of bed for what must feel like the first time in weeks. He’s a little heavy on his feet, knees buckled under him like they’re too weak to hold him up.
Jun quickly loops an arm around him in an effort to steady him, cursing the way her skin burns as it meets his. It’s not just because he’s exceptionally warm— she enjoys this proximity.
There’s a crash outside the room, followed by a string of muffled curses from Sho. The noise makes Dabi tense up, but Jun just grimaces at her bedroom door, “It’s just Sho,” she murmurs, slowly guiding him out of the room “Let's go see what he’s done to my kitchen.”
The smell of cooked eggs and the heat of the stovetop hits them in a wave, and Jun can feel Dabi’s steps becoming more hesitant.
“Everything alright in here?” She asks, her voice easy and light as she eases Dabi into a chair at the breakfast nook, cracking a window to let the cool breeze in. Hopefully the fresh air will do him some good.
Sho’s eyes flick to them with a mild curiosity. Jun frowns to see him wiping a loose egg off the hardwood floor, yolk splattered and shells in bits. He tosses the spatula, which Jun assumes had also been dropped and is to blame for the loud clatter, into the sink.
“You klutz,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes and grabbing her broom out the hallway closet
“Hey, I was going to clean it up,” Sho shoots with a scowl. Jun mimics him under her breath, playful if a bit distracted. The shells clatter as she sweeps them up, but her eyes keep wandering to Dabi despite the task at hand.
She then retrieves her coffee from the counter and seats herself next to him, cradling the mug in her hands.
Sho’s eggs aren’t great. He’s never been a good cook. When they were married, he’d make her breakfast only as an apology or some grande gesture to get back in her good graces. Now it feels less like that and more like a helpless attempt to hang on to something that should have been over a long time ago. But, she appreciates the gesture anyway.
He plates them, setting one front of Jun, and then Dabi, and then he seats himself across from them, the old wooden chair creaking under his weight.
“Don’t pursue a catering career anytime soon,” Dabi remarks at the plate of eggs and burnt toast. It’s his usual defiant sarcasm, but Jun can’t help but notice it doesn’t come out as such. He’s not laid back in his with that arrogant grin spread across his two-toned lips, Dabi is seated perfectly still and almost tense, like he’s trying t0 keep himself together.
“Yeah? I’d like to see you do better,” Sho challenges, forking some egg into his mouth, though Jun follows his gaze to where Dabi’s hands are clutching the edge of the table, knuckles white.
She interjects on their antics by nudging his plate closer to him, “You really should eat something, Dabi.” She reminds himself that she’s his Doctor, all she can really do is tell him what he should be doing and fix him up when he doesn’t listen. Right?
Dabi stares down at the plate of eggs, the colour draining from his face. His jaw is set, and he’s gripping the fork like the small object can steady him. But the tension in his body is undeniable, making the room feel too small– the smell of burnt egg too strong.
Jun’s instincts kick to life before she really registers what she’s seeing,
“Hey,” she stars, voice dropping to a softer register so as to not panic him, “Dabi, are you–”
He answers her question before she can even get it out. Dabi sucks in a sharp inhale, eyes widening a hair and hands tensing on the edge of the table impossibly tighter. He acts before she can, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape and stumbling towards the sink. Jun follows close behind.
He retches violently, spilling the contents of his stomach down the drain. The sound fills the air, raw and ragged and painful as the bile burns his esophagus.
Jun’s hand finds his back instinctively, brushing along the taut muscle of his shoulder blades. She rubs in slow circles, soothing him through it.
Sho stands awkwardly beside the table, his expression somewhere between surprise and discomfort. He shifts on his feet like he wants to help but doesn’t know how.
Dabi clutches the counter like it's the only thing keeping him grounded– and he’s bleeding where scarred and healthy skin meet under his eyes, likely due to the strain on his staples.
“It’s okay,” Jun whispers– and she’s used to being the tough-love no-nonsense sort of Doctor to her patients, so this is all too much to not be anything more, “I’ve got you, get it all out,”
Dabi coughs and spits what's left into the sink, blood and bile splattering and painting the cool steel of the sink.
“I’m fine,” he chokes out, grip on the sink loosening, but he’s not even looking at her. Juns hand remains steady on his back.
“You’re not,” she says firmly, leaving no room for argument. She brushes tufts of hair off his forehead, her palm lingering on his skin longer than necessary.
“Jesus– is he worse? I thought you gave him medicine” Sho’s tone is petulant but underlying with something that might be care– still, Jun shoots him a glare, “I did. Can you pour a glass of water, please.”
Even as Sho is reluctantly stumbling into motion, Jun’s hand remains on Dabi’s back, tracing mindless patterns into his spine.
“You’re okay,” she tries to emulate the ‘walk-it-off’ sort of attitude she usually has with patients, but with him it doesn’t come out quite right “I’ve got you”.
The words are final: reassuring, firm, and tender all at once. And Dabi, for a change, doesn’t argue with her.
Healing isn’t linear. That’s what Jun says, but it’s not like she’s a Doctor or anything. Things usually get worse before they get better. The victories they do get are too small to count, but Jun counts them anyways.
- The very next day, Jun wakes up to a perfectly cleaned house. She hadn’t realized how far she’d let the place go, being stuck in her empty rut since the Clinic shut down. Sho doesn’t say anything about it, or expect anything from her in return. But he does leave a few house-warming gifts where the empty spaces on her shelves and wall used to be– a new copy of an old book she loves, a framed photo of the clinic on its opening day. He never mentions it, but Jun notices.
- One morning, Jun is sitting at her table going through her bills with gritted teeth, working on her second cup of coffee. She’s too focused to notice the faint shuffle of barely-stumbling footsteps until Dabi is casually taking a seat next to her. She raises a brow, the tension leaving her body being replaced by a sincere admiration. That familiar lazy grin tugs at his lips at her wordless quory,
“What?” he asks, voice raspy with sleep but still laced in humour “Miss me already?”
- A letter arrives in the mail. She stares at it for a long time before opening it, letting the anticipation make a home in her chest. When she does, it’s slow and methodic, like she’s opening a present. Government funding approved. The clinic can re-open whenever she’s ready. Jun is excited, really, but her eyes wander to Dabi asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling steadily.
The clinic will always be there, but Dabi might not– not if she tries to rush him back to it’s fluorescent lights and sterile air. She tells herself it’s for his recovery, but somewhere in her ribcage is aching at the thought of losing him.
- As it turns out, Dabi is a much better cook than Sho. In a weeks’ time he’s cooking for her like it’s nothing, moving around the kitchen with rolled-up sleeves. He wears his scars like vacantly haunting reminders of the past. They eat together most nights, laughing and talking like they’ve been doing this for years. Dabi’s brash sarcasm softens a bit, less defiant and more habitual. Jun stops counting the small victories, because in the grand scheme of things they don’t feel so small anymore.
Somewhere along the way, Dabi begins to jokingly play up his illness– an excuse to have her touching him, sure, but also a reason to stay. Because truthfully, by the second week there’s nothing keeping him in the Doctor's small home.
But still…
“What if you stayed?”
Jun asks one night as they’re both tucked into bed. They don’t question this part of their routine. Even though Sho is gone and Dabi is probably well enough to sleep on the couch, they opt to share the bed.
They never touch, save for the accidental brush of limbs, but they’re always almost touching. As if there's an invisible gravitational pull that just won't let them stray too far apart. Sometimes Jun’s body curls towards him as if she wants to– her body contorted so it would fit perfectly at his side. But they never touch.
Dabi blinks, staring up at the ceiling before looking down at his scarred hands on the floral-tessellated bedspread, like he’s trying to remember who he was before all this– if that was ever the real him. The thought of staying has crossed his mind in passing, but he’d always brushed it off– figuring Jun would want him gone sooner than later. But here she is, offering in the smallest voice like she’s terrified of breaking something unspoken, offering it to him on a silver platter.
The question settles in the air easily, swirling around Dabi’s head. If he stays he’ll have to give up his only purpose, what’s kept him alive all these years: running, fighting, surviving– vengeance.
And for what? This house, this woman– this quiet, warm life that terrifies him more than dying ever did?
“It’s just a thought,” Jun backpedals quickly– “I just figured, if you wanted a fresh start. I could give you a job at the clinic–” She stops herself before getting too carried away. Jun has thought it over, fantasized– let herself believe it might be real. Her words hang awkwardly between them as Dabi thinks it over.
He begins to wonder something silly– something he hasn’t let cross his mind in years:
Is accepting this life– accepting happiness not vengeance in and of itself? Can he accept his past without giving up his future?
“I guess– I guess I’ll consider it. But you know,” he offers a shaky smile, voice light in an attempt at easing the tension, “You can take the villain out of the streets, but you can’t take the streets out of the villain.”
Jun doesn’t laugh, she just looks at him, sharp features softened in the moonlight. Her clinically observant eyes are searching for proof of something, and the smile she returns tells him she’s found it– whatever it is. She sighs and wordlessly curls up to his side, letting their bodies press together in a domestic sort of warmth. It's not cuddling– nothing like that. This stern and endlessly compassionate woman is simply… invading his space.
“I guess I should have seen that coming,” Jun muses, voice weak and raspy with tiredness as she settles against him.
Dabi doesn’t dare move, just lays there frozen and lets himself fall asleep to the ever-soothing sound of her soft breathing.
He wakes up early the next morning to the sound of a chilly draft unlatching the bedroom door, the familiar creak of its hinges being the culprit.
The room feels a bit chillier than usual– quickly, he realizes that this is due to Jun’s distinct absence in the bed. He’s at his feet quickly, peering out of the room.
The curtains are all pulled to block any light from coming in, but by the coolness of the air Dabi can tell that the windows are open. He spots Jun laying on the couch, asleep but not really resting. There’s a crease to her brow, and a large glass of water on the coffee table.
With a curious hum, Dabi inches closer. She’s tossing in her sleep and raises her arm over her face, effectively blocking her eyes from what little light creeps in.
On the coffee table, Dabi spots that picture– creased where it's been folded, now splayed out over the coffee table like it’s just begging to be dealt with. His hands twitch at his sides, and before he can think to stop himself he’s picking up the picture and stepping out front, leaning on the porch railing.
Dabi’s finger traces the smile of the man he’s never met– stares at Jun’s wild curly hair in that perfect wedding dress. Stares at her kiss-bitten lips. The feeling he gets is not quite jealousy– though if it was, he’d never admit it. It’s more so a distant resentment tugging at his stapled skin, reminding him that Jun has done this before.
He doesn’t know how long he stays outside like that in the cool breeze, just staring down at the picture.
Jun joins him when the sun has risen a bit more, shoulders hiked to her neck as she rubs at her arms.
“Hey,” Dabi says when he sees her “feeling any better?”
The sight of her, all chilly and pale, calms him. His grip on the photo loosens, leaving behind little ripples where his fingers had dug in.
Jun sniffles, “Yeah, just– just a migraine. No big deal, it’s getting better.”
Dabi hums, “No big deal? That’s rich. You should rest.”
Jun rolls her eyes, “Some of us don’t downplay quite like you,” she teases, leaning on the railing beside him, “Some of us are really just… okay.”
Her eyes fall to the picture in his hand, breath catching in her chest. For a second he feels a bit guilty– like this is some breach of boundary, and she’ll snatch it from his fingers any second. But she doesn’t.
Jun just looks at the picture, lips pressed into a thin line. And then she looks at him.
“Admiring my flawless beauty?” she suggests, lips stretching into something that resembles a smile. Dabi laughs lightly, fingers subconsciously digging into it once more,
Dabi puffs out a small laugh, his breath fogging in the cold morning air.
“No chance,” He retorts, though the words hold no real bite. Jun doesn’t press him any further– doesn’t ask why he really has it. She’s never needed him to explain himself. She just stands there, shoulders slouched and hair catching the breeze, letting the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is something— almost heavy.
The warm morning light hits her eyes, making their deep brown shine gold and yellow and gorgeous. She looks worn out, but not weak— not even a little. She’s never been fragile.The exhaustion is just a part of her— proof of her continued hard work.
His thumb brushes against the image of her in that wedding dress– a past version of her he’ll never get to meet. She’s laughing, radiant, untouched by the years that followed— all things she’ll never be again.
And maybe that’s the point.
Dabi doesn’t hesitate to ignite the picture between his fingers. Using his quirk to destroy has always felt so natural— like burning things is just easier than dealing with them. But this? This isn’t destructive. This has been hanging over her head for years— She needs this.
He watches the edges curl in blue flame, watches it crumble and blacken and turn to tiny fragments of ash in the wind. It feels like a necessity– like it’s the only way to free her. It’s the only way he knows how, at least, and it makes him feel lighter, too.
Jun just watches– curious, at first, and then when the picture she’s held onto all these years is turned to dust, the air settles thick around them and her expression becomes unreadable.
After a beat, she speaks,
“I hated that picture,” Her words are quiet, voice thin and raw with honesty. She sighs, rubbing her arms in another attempt to warm herself up,
“I guess I kept it because getting rid of it felt like giving up. Like there’d be nothing left of who I used to be— no proof that I was ever that girl.”
She pauses,
“But I think I’m ready to let her go. I’ll never be her again— and I don’t want to.”
Dabi watches the last bits of ash scatter on the grass in the breeze,
“Good,” he says, sounding more certain than he feels, “You’re pretty okay the way you are. And she seems pretty annoying.”
Jun snorts, her quiet laugh easing the tension. It’s soft, and a bit bittersweet, but at least her smile is real.
“Yeah,” she agrees, inching a bit closer so their shoulders are barely brushing, “She kinda was.”
Dabi’s body has always been unnaturally warm— sick or otherwise. Usually his skin has a near-constant burn just below the surface, like his quirk is alive and just waiting to spread destruction. But on this chilly morning, his warm body is useful in a different way.
Jun leans against him, the heat soothing and comforting. Like this, he really starts to think that maybe the fire that’s plagued him can help him start over.
“Let’s go inside,” he rasps, “I’ll make you tea and we can watch shitty soap operas until you feel better. Sound good?”
Jun hums, the sound reverberating in his bones where they’re pressed together,
“Since when do you know how to make tea—? We’ll make a house wife of you yet,” she teases with an easy laugh, her breath fanning against the side of his face where she’s turned to him.
“Since now— do you want the tea or not?”
“Yeah, I do,”
Jun turns to the door, taking his arm with her,
“Let’s go.” Her words are soft, spoken like a secret meant just for the two of them.
This house, this woman, this warmth— Dabi wants this to be his future. Maybe just wanting it is enough to make it real.