[ 'I'm not gonna die here,' Dabi says. And while Fuuta does stifle a little sigh into Dabi's side, his arms also squeeze just a fraction tighter around him. -- because the operative word there is 'here.'
Then eventually, when they're let out of this place, somewhere, back in his world, Dabi will die. Probably on his own terms, but probably cruelly, painfully. The thought of it sends an unpleasant sensation lancing through his guts, sharp and acrid, and Fuuta squeezes his eyes shut. On a rational level, he knows it's not something he can do anything about, and it might not even matter, really. After all, is he in any position to be worrying about the survival of other people, from far-off other worlds? What awaits him on his own return 'home' might be just as bad -- another guilty verdict, more condemnation, more of those voices endlessly whispering in his ears. (Maybe he'll just die, too.)
But even so ... he doesn't want to think about Dabi going away. The understanding and connection forged between them is a hard-won and precious thing, something he's not sure he's found in anyone else before, not really. Isn't it unfair that he's going to have to lose it? It's unfair that he's found something important, something his, and it's destined to be so short-lived.
When Dabi eases that sliver of distance between them, Fuuta raises his head with great reluctance -- just a hint of watery redness lining under his visible eye, brow scrunched in frustration. It's not a sight Dabi will get to take in long, because Fuuta promptly ducks his head aside, shrugging up a soldier to scuff his face into the fabric there. His voice comes tight for just a second when he speaks, before he manages to clear the lump in his throat. ]
Make it up to me, then. [ He sits back, looking at Dabi with jaw set and brow lowered. ] S'not like apologizing for something like that's gonna change anything, so. Make it up to me ... make it worth it.
[ And to make the meaning of his words clearer, he wobbles to his feet afterward -- keeping one hand insistently gripped into the fabric of Dabi's shirt, trying to tug him along as well. He looks away only to scan their nearby surroundings for one of those bungalows he'd spotted while walking around earlier. ]
There's those things over there, so. Let's go.
[ Is it the alcohol emboldening him enough to say these kinds of things, take these kinds of actions? Definitely. Intimacy, vulnerability, attachment -- these are all terrifying concepts, not ones he'd dare approach so easily when sober. Getting hurt is scary, after all. But it's not like his feelings have been entirely born from inebriation, either. It's just that the alcohol and the drink's influence have stirred them to the surface and shaped them into words. Even as he wobbles on his feet, there's a strange, stubborn honesty to the way Fuuta tries to tug Dabi along in his usual bossy fashion. And while even being drunk doesn't him make him brave enough to say what he's about to say while looking at Dabi, at least he can get the words out as he leads them towards the closest bungalow. ]
... you can't go back on your word, okay. You said you're here, now. So. You can't just -- [ abandon me ] go away while you're here, okay.
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Then eventually, when they're let out of this place, somewhere, back in his world, Dabi will die. Probably on his own terms, but probably cruelly, painfully. The thought of it sends an unpleasant sensation lancing through his guts, sharp and acrid, and Fuuta squeezes his eyes shut. On a rational level, he knows it's not something he can do anything about, and it might not even matter, really. After all, is he in any position to be worrying about the survival of other people, from far-off other worlds? What awaits him on his own return 'home' might be just as bad -- another guilty verdict, more condemnation, more of those voices endlessly whispering in his ears. (Maybe he'll just die, too.)
But even so ... he doesn't want to think about Dabi going away. The understanding and connection forged between them is a hard-won and precious thing, something he's not sure he's found in anyone else before, not really. Isn't it unfair that he's going to have to lose it? It's unfair that he's found something important, something his, and it's destined to be so short-lived.
When Dabi eases that sliver of distance between them, Fuuta raises his head with great reluctance -- just a hint of watery redness lining under his visible eye, brow scrunched in frustration. It's not a sight Dabi will get to take in long, because Fuuta promptly ducks his head aside, shrugging up a soldier to scuff his face into the fabric there. His voice comes tight for just a second when he speaks, before he manages to clear the lump in his throat. ]
Make it up to me, then. [ He sits back, looking at Dabi with jaw set and brow lowered. ] S'not like apologizing for something like that's gonna change anything, so. Make it up to me ... make it worth it.
[ And to make the meaning of his words clearer, he wobbles to his feet afterward -- keeping one hand insistently gripped into the fabric of Dabi's shirt, trying to tug him along as well. He looks away only to scan their nearby surroundings for one of those bungalows he'd spotted while walking around earlier. ]
There's those things over there, so. Let's go.
[ Is it the alcohol emboldening him enough to say these kinds of things, take these kinds of actions? Definitely. Intimacy, vulnerability, attachment -- these are all terrifying concepts, not ones he'd dare approach so easily when sober. Getting hurt is scary, after all. But it's not like his feelings have been entirely born from inebriation, either. It's just that the alcohol and the drink's influence have stirred them to the surface and shaped them into words. Even as he wobbles on his feet, there's a strange, stubborn honesty to the way Fuuta tries to tug Dabi along in his usual bossy fashion. And while even being drunk doesn't him make him brave enough to say what he's about to say while looking at Dabi, at least he can get the words out as he leads them towards the closest bungalow. ]
... you can't go back on your word, okay. You said you're here, now. So. You can't just -- [ abandon me ] go away while you're here, okay.