[ Maybe Dabi will find some tiny comfort in the fact that Fuuta doesn't sound at all impressed as he echoes those words. It's mostly just confusion tinting the slight slur of his words. -- frostbite? Overheating? What, even if you get lucky and pull an SSR from the hereditary quirk gacha, you might have to deal with mundane drawbacks like that? Life really is unfair, huh. He's not any more articulate at the little demonstration of Dabi's quirk, either. The little puff of flames does earn a start and a soft hiccup, but Fuuta's first thought is admittedly -- 'why didn't you tell me this before?' They've fucked multiple times, and he never knew this guy could produce flames like a fucking videogame character? Again, unfair. Fucking unfair.
He'd thought they were more closely entwined than that. They should be closer than that, right?
There's a flicker of something a touch aggravated and resentful in his gaze when he looks up from the clench of Dabi's fist, and it's not just because of what he's being asked. It's definitely the drink coloring his actions by this point. But also, Fuuta's too tipsy to be cognizant of the fact that he's under any sort of influence when he abruptly leans forward in his seat to close the meager distance between them.
It's hardly graceful when he tangles both hands into Dabi's shirt to yank him close in an embrace, the movement jerky enough that their barstools wobble beneath them. The way Fuuta buries his face into Dabi's shoulder is less affectionate, and more demanding -- ordering Dabi to listen to him properly, hands tugging insistently into the fabric of Dabi's shirt. ]
I -- ... [ His voice comes muffled; Fuuta's next breath huffs hard and anxious against Dabi's shoulder, right in the seam between healthy and scarred skin. It's another moment before he can muster the courage to raise his head, to mutter his words into that narrow, narrow space between them. ] ... some girl d -- ... got hurt 'cause of me. [ His words come quicker now that the dam's broken, though equally, his hands claw and clutch into Dabi's shirt. ] -- it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything wrong. She -- she was the one who was wrong, first. All I did was say it, I talked about it online, I said she did something wrong, cause she did. It's not my fault people flamed her. It's not my fault she couldn't take it. There's not even any proof she died just 'cause of what I said. It's not like I'm a murderer just 'cause the warden said I am. Just 'cause they said I was guilty once. -- you get it, right?
[ As abruptly as he'd surged forth, Fuuta pulls back a fraction, but just so he can look into Dabi's face. There's genuine desperation in the way he seeks acknowledgement in those bright eyes, though ...
maybe an ugly part of him also expects that validation. Why wouldn't Dabi agree with him? Dabi's also pretty fucked up, right? Talking about how he isn't a good person, and harboring a nasty temper under that languid facade. They're birds of a feather, aren't they? So Dabi will understand, won't he? Dabi's supposed to side with him, they're supposed to stick together. They have to. ]
-- what happened with your family. [ He doesn't pull back any further, blurting out that question with both hands still entangled in Dabi's shirt. ] What d'you mean they fucked up.
[ It's not that he's actually apathetic about Dabi's circumstances; he does genuinely want to know what happened with him. But it would be a lie to say that the selfish desire to confirm their commonalities is a non-factor. ]
cw: suicide reference
[ Maybe Dabi will find some tiny comfort in the fact that Fuuta doesn't sound at all impressed as he echoes those words. It's mostly just confusion tinting the slight slur of his words. -- frostbite? Overheating? What, even if you get lucky and pull an SSR from the hereditary quirk gacha, you might have to deal with mundane drawbacks like that? Life really is unfair, huh. He's not any more articulate at the little demonstration of Dabi's quirk, either. The little puff of flames does earn a start and a soft hiccup, but Fuuta's first thought is admittedly -- 'why didn't you tell me this before?' They've fucked multiple times, and he never knew this guy could produce flames like a fucking videogame character? Again, unfair. Fucking unfair.
He'd thought they were more closely entwined than that. They should be closer than that, right?
There's a flicker of something a touch aggravated and resentful in his gaze when he looks up from the clench of Dabi's fist, and it's not just because of what he's being asked. It's definitely the drink coloring his actions by this point. But also, Fuuta's too tipsy to be cognizant of the fact that he's under any sort of influence when he abruptly leans forward in his seat to close the meager distance between them.
It's hardly graceful when he tangles both hands into Dabi's shirt to yank him close in an embrace, the movement jerky enough that their barstools wobble beneath them. The way Fuuta buries his face into Dabi's shoulder is less affectionate, and more demanding -- ordering Dabi to listen to him properly, hands tugging insistently into the fabric of Dabi's shirt. ]
I -- ... [ His voice comes muffled; Fuuta's next breath huffs hard and anxious against Dabi's shoulder, right in the seam between healthy and scarred skin. It's another moment before he can muster the courage to raise his head, to mutter his words into that narrow, narrow space between them. ] ... some girl d -- ... got hurt 'cause of me. [ His words come quicker now that the dam's broken, though equally, his hands claw and clutch into Dabi's shirt. ] -- it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything wrong. She -- she was the one who was wrong, first. All I did was say it, I talked about it online, I said she did something wrong, cause she did. It's not my fault people flamed her. It's not my fault she couldn't take it. There's not even any proof she died just 'cause of what I said. It's not like I'm a murderer just 'cause the warden said I am. Just 'cause they said I was guilty once. -- you get it, right?
[ As abruptly as he'd surged forth, Fuuta pulls back a fraction, but just so he can look into Dabi's face. There's genuine desperation in the way he seeks acknowledgement in those bright eyes, though ...
maybe an ugly part of him also expects that validation. Why wouldn't Dabi agree with him? Dabi's also pretty fucked up, right? Talking about how he isn't a good person, and harboring a nasty temper under that languid facade. They're birds of a feather, aren't they? So Dabi will understand, won't he? Dabi's supposed to side with him, they're supposed to stick together. They have to. ]
-- what happened with your family. [ He doesn't pull back any further, blurting out that question with both hands still entangled in Dabi's shirt. ] What d'you mean they fucked up.
[ It's not that he's actually apathetic about Dabi's circumstances; he does genuinely want to know what happened with him. But it would be a lie to say that the selfish desire to confirm their commonalities is a non-factor. ]