[ He looked up briefly upon feeling Dabi's arm shift at his side, briefly wondering, worrying, if he was about to pull away. But then he feels the clasp of fingers against his shoulder, pulling him closer, and those concerns abate. Fuuta settles docile and quiet at Dabi's side, tucked up close against him, and listens in silence to everything he says.
... it all makes sense, he thinks.
Not in any way that feels connected to reality, admittedly. Hereditary quirks, fire and ice, half-cold half-hot -- it's all stuff he can only really imagine in the context of fiction. Despite how much time he's spent with videogames growing up, Fuuta's always known that those sorts of stories, with heroes and villains and superpowers and justice, don't really have anything to do with him. But they have everything to do with Dabi, evidently, and boy -- ]
That's pretty fucked. [ He'd also been staring at some indistinct point in the sand, letting his mind paint over that blank canvas with images befitting everything Dabi's been talking about. Designer babies, kids being made just to sate some egotistical hunger, encouraging a dream that can never come true. Fuuta's voice is quiet when he speaks, but the disdain in his words is evident even at that low volume. ] It's messed up enough when parents force their kids to do shit to satisfy their own selfish desires. Telling'em they gotta be a lawyer or a doctor or something. [ More grounded, realistic examples that he can better picture. The principle is the same though, isn't it? Just as unfair, just as unjust. ] But fucking ... engineering kids like that in the first place? That's real fucked up. Can't stand people like that. What do they think they are, fucking with people's lives like that.
[ A little grumble as he nuzzles his head into Dabi's shoulder like he's trying to burrow his way into Dabi's very physical form. ]
An' then calling you a villain, when they're the ones that pushed you like that. ... s'unfair. It's not like they could blame you after they did all that to you. It's really not your fault.
[ 'But does that any of that justify murder? Isn't he still a villain?' It's a persistent whisper that prickles at him from the very back of his mind, but Fuuta forcibly squelches the notion. Because, especially in this moment, the prospect of acknowledging that Dabi is someone irredeemable that he should distance himself is genuinely nauseating. Impossible to stomach. Even thinking about it too hard makes his blood run cold, and Fuuta stifles a little grunt at the back of his throat as he buries his face a little more forcefully against Dabi's shoulder, like he's trying to burrow into him. It muffles his words when he mumbles, ]
-- it's not fair you gotta die 'cause of that.
[ The words leave him before he can even think to catch them. And while they're promptly followed by a touch of mortified regret, the heat of embarrassment creeping up his face, it's not like he thinks he's said anything wrong. Fuuta doesn't raise his head from where he's scrunched up against Dabi's side -- he curls up even tighter if anything, drawing his knees up to his chest and ducking his head even as he remains leaned against Dabi's side. But his hand does come to tangle against Dabi's shirt, tugging tight, tighter into the fabric in accompaniment to his words. ]
... you shouldn't have to die just 'cause they fucked you up. It's like they're winning.
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... it all makes sense, he thinks.
Not in any way that feels connected to reality, admittedly. Hereditary quirks, fire and ice, half-cold half-hot -- it's all stuff he can only really imagine in the context of fiction. Despite how much time he's spent with videogames growing up, Fuuta's always known that those sorts of stories, with heroes and villains and superpowers and justice, don't really have anything to do with him. But they have everything to do with Dabi, evidently, and boy -- ]
That's pretty fucked. [ He'd also been staring at some indistinct point in the sand, letting his mind paint over that blank canvas with images befitting everything Dabi's been talking about. Designer babies, kids being made just to sate some egotistical hunger, encouraging a dream that can never come true. Fuuta's voice is quiet when he speaks, but the disdain in his words is evident even at that low volume. ] It's messed up enough when parents force their kids to do shit to satisfy their own selfish desires. Telling'em they gotta be a lawyer or a doctor or something. [ More grounded, realistic examples that he can better picture. The principle is the same though, isn't it? Just as unfair, just as unjust. ] But fucking ... engineering kids like that in the first place? That's real fucked up. Can't stand people like that. What do they think they are, fucking with people's lives like that.
[ A little grumble as he nuzzles his head into Dabi's shoulder like he's trying to burrow his way into Dabi's very physical form. ]
An' then calling you a villain, when they're the ones that pushed you like that. ... s'unfair. It's not like they could blame you after they did all that to you. It's really not your fault.
[ 'But does that any of that justify murder? Isn't he still a villain?' It's a persistent whisper that prickles at him from the very back of his mind, but Fuuta forcibly squelches the notion. Because, especially in this moment, the prospect of acknowledging that Dabi is someone irredeemable that he should distance himself is genuinely nauseating. Impossible to stomach. Even thinking about it too hard makes his blood run cold, and Fuuta stifles a little grunt at the back of his throat as he buries his face a little more forcefully against Dabi's shoulder, like he's trying to burrow into him. It muffles his words when he mumbles, ]
-- it's not fair you gotta die 'cause of that.
[ The words leave him before he can even think to catch them. And while they're promptly followed by a touch of mortified regret, the heat of embarrassment creeping up his face, it's not like he thinks he's said anything wrong. Fuuta doesn't raise his head from where he's scrunched up against Dabi's side -- he curls up even tighter if anything, drawing his knees up to his chest and ducking his head even as he remains leaned against Dabi's side. But his hand does come to tangle against Dabi's shirt, tugging tight, tighter into the fabric in accompaniment to his words. ]
... you shouldn't have to die just 'cause they fucked you up. It's like they're winning.