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Tomura was always cold. His muscles were constantly working to warm him up under the thin clothing he wore, which usually consisted of a simple black long-sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans. He couldn't be bothered to go out and buy any other clothes, content to just sit in his dank one-room apartment and play on his hand-held console. 

 

Kurogiri had offered a plethora of times before to buy clothes for him or to offer him money for a better apartment that actually had heaters but Tomura always refused, not wanting the pity. His parental figure had helped him enough throughout his life and he didn't want to leach off of the man anymore. He was an adult and he could take care of himself. 

 

He was a very cold man, and he had accepted his fate the moment he declined Kurogiri's offer to stay with him and instead got his current dinky apartment the moment he had the right amount of money.

 

He was cold.

 

And then he met Dabi.

 

Tomura had worked at Kurogiri's bar ever since he reached the proper age. His job consisted of intimidating the customers so that they didn't try shit, along with a few other things. He maintained the position of a bartender if Kurogiri could not and waited on patrons whenever they were low on staff—which was usually the case.

 

Two groups entered the bar, one sitting at their own respective are of the bar quietly chatting amongst themselves while the other was an uncontrollable mess of drunk perverted men who obviously didn't understand human decency.

 

Tomura had been dropping off a couple drinks at one of the tables next to the two groups, face obscured by his unruly hair and a mask and one of his hands covered with a quirk-canceling glove that left three of his fingers exposed. One of the more inebriated men decided it would be a great idea to try and feel him up as he passed by their table. A large hand came up to squeeze a large portion of his ass over his jeans, fingertips digging into his skin through the material.

 

Before he could react, a man from the other group stood up from his seat, reaching out to the drunken man. He took the man's wrist and quickly twisted his arm behind his back and painfully pulling. He set one boot on the rude patron's lower back as he pushed him onto his knees. The older man let out a garbled cry at the pain, shouting curses and threats that were too slurred to make out.

 

"What would y'like me to do with 'im?" he drawled. With the stitched scars on his face, it was hard to see his expression, but Tomura could tell he had a smirk stretching across his lips.

 

He hated it.

 

His red eyes glared at the man through his bangs, sneering at him from behind his mask. He could've handled it himself. He didn't need any help, especially not from a smug bastard like the man in front of him.

 

"Let him go," he ordered, placing his uncovered fingers—except for his pinky—on the empty tray held in his gloved hand.

 

The scarred man took his hand off of the other patron's arm, using the foot on his back to roughly kick him forward. The man fell forward, barely saving his ugly schnoz from hitting the floor with his hands. He snarled up at Tomura, almost foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. "The fuck is your problem, you ugly bitch? I supply you money! I should be able to cop a feel whenever I want!" he spat, face flushed with alcohol and embarrassment. 

 

"I don't need your goddamn money. Touch me or any of the other workers here again and you'll be missing a hand," he threatened as he placed his last finger on the tray. The item slowly cracked and then crumbled to dust on the floor, leaving Tomura's hands empty and some of their newer customers shaking in fear. He could see Kurogiri out of the corner of his eye shaking his head from behind the bar, to used to Tomura's theatrics. This was why they had extra trays...and plates...and everything else.

 

The man on the ground scrambled back, eyes wide in fear. He shrieked as Tomura stalked over to him, using his gloved hand to pick him up by the back if his shirt. He dragged him over to the entrance of the bar as one of their usual customers opened the door for him. He unceremoniously tossed the drunken patron out of the bar and onto the street, watching as his group if friends stumbled out after him. One of the more responsible men bowed his head, apologizing for his buddy's rude behavior. Tomura acknowledged him with a nod closing the door behind them.

 

He turned back to glare at the scarred man, crossing his arms. "I can take care of myself," he hissed. He was pissed. And cold. A lot of the warm air from within the bar had escaped when the door had been opened, leaving Tomura to become a shivering mess. Hopefully it didn't show. He had a reputation to keep and he didn't want it ruined by the fact that he was naturally a cold little bitch.

 

"What? That's a strange way of saying thanks," he said. 

 

Tomura wanted to kick that smirk off of his stupid face. Sure, his facial structure and blue eyes were aesthetically pleasing to look at, and the purple scars complemented his features strangely well, but it was still a stupid face.

 

A very handsome stupid face. 

 

"Mind your own damn business," he growled, willing the blush in his face to disappear. Thankfully his mask covered everything, because it wasn't nearly could enough to blame it on the temperature.

 

Tomura continued to wait on tables, feeling the heat if the man's gaze on him the whole time. He ignored it, taking orders and handing out food and beer while the man stared at him from his seat. He ignored any attempts at conversation from his friends and flirty girls, keeping his eyes on the blue-haired man the whole time. (A.N.- I'm still confused on if his hair is blue or white the anime makes it blue but the manga covers have had both so im confuzzled)

 

A blond girl, who looked way to young to be in the bar, waved him over to their table. "I'd like a strawberry daiquiri, please!" she chirped excitedly from beside the scarred man.

 

Tomura raised a brow at her, a notepad held in the palm of his uncovered hand. "How old are you?" he asked, eying her suspiciously.

 

"Old enough to drink."

 

That was an obvious lie, since she was wearing a school uniform and didn't look a day over eighteen.

 

"I'll make it a virgin one," he sighed, writing it down in his notepad. "Anything else?"

 

"What's your name, princess?" the scarred man purred, his signature smirk plastered on his face. "Mine's Dabi."

 

"None of your business. And don't call me that," he replied coldly as he turned to walk away.

 

He felt a warm hand grasp his arm. He swiftly dropped his notepad and turned around, thrusting his open-palmed hand into Dabi's smug face. "Let go of me. Now," he threatened.

 

The bar was once again silent, the tension so thick that a knife could cut through it like warm butter. Kurogiri stood still behind the bar, poised and ready to stop Tomura from killing the idiot that had managed to get on his nerves.

 

Dabi slowly let go of him, reaching down to retrieve the notepad from the floor. He held it out to the smaller man who snatched it from his fingers and walked away without a second glance, shoulders hunched in frustration. He tried to ignore the fact that Dabi's hand had been really warm against the pale skin of his arm.

 

He asked another worker, a girl whose name he could not recall, to get the girl's virgin daiquiri, avoiding that area of the bar for the rest of the night.

 

 

The next two weeks Tomura didn't hear from Dabi or his group of friends. He thanked the lords for the miracle and then cursed them for leaving him with a shitty one room apartment with chipped paint, thin walls, a cheap futon, and no heater. Winter was fast approaching and it was so cold that he actually let Kurogiri buy him a scarf. He managed to actually go out and get his own jacket without accidentally (or purposely) decaying something (or someone). 

 

One night Dabi did show up, but this time the only person that accompanied him was the girl in the school uniform. He nearly smashed his own head in against the wall when he saw the scarred man enter the bar. He did not want to deal with that smug bastard again.

 

They were low on staff since most of them had gotten sick but they had a lot of customers. His two coworkers were already busy with other tables so he had no choice but to approach when the girl waved him over.

 

"What can I get for you?" he asked dully, flipping to a blank page in his notepad.

 

"Nice scarf, princess," Dabi said, smirking up at him.

 

Tomura was already cranky from the cold and it took every little ounce of self control not to decay his dumb ass into oblivion.

 

"What can I get for you?" he asked again, clicking his pen impatiently. 

 

"A strawberry daiquiri," the blond replied, bouncing in her seat. He didn't know why she was so excited. She didn't get one with alcohol last time and she wasn't going to get one this time either. 

 

"One virgin daiquiri," he mumbled as he wrote it down, looking up to make sure she heard him. When he saw her slight pout he turned his attention to Dabi.

 

"Anything to add to that?"

 

Dabi teasingly placed a finger on his chin, humming to himself as he obnoxiously pretended to think which earned a giggle from his friend and an exasperated sigh from Tomura.

 

"Your number."

 

"Anything to add to that?" 

 

He glared at the man, wanting to punch his stupid, handsome face!

 

"Water'll be fine. Thanks, princess."

 

"Don't fucking call me that."

 

 

The next week they were hit by a raging storm. The bar was kept open just in case anybody who got caught up in the storm needed a safe place to wait it out.

 

Tomura had been dumb to not bring a jacket. He had slept through all of the alarms he had set up on his phone and had woken up late. Of course he remembered his gloves and scarf but his dumb ass left his jacket behind.

 

It was humiliated to be seen shivering around the bar, cold and angry. His usual bored expression was no a perpetual glare, and if looks could kill, everybody in that bar would've been dead.

 

When it was about time for him to leave Tomura decided to go instead of staying in the bar. Kurogiri's had offered for him to wait out the storm but Tomura was stubborn and he hated people so he wanted to get the fuck out of there.

 

He was stopped by a smirking Dabi who offered his coat to him. Tomura declined, not wanting the man's help. 

 

Dabi's smirk fell from his face and he continued to pester Tomura as he got ready to leave, holding out the jacket whenever he walked by. The blue-haired man eventually caved, grumbling to himself as he put on the item of clothing that was way to big for him. The scarred man looked mighty happy to see the smaller male in his jacket. Tomura could see Kurogiri's eyes narrow in the way they always did when he was smiling.

 

"Aren't you going to be cold without it?" he asked, averting his gaze away from the other man. 

 

"Aw, are you worried about me?" Dabi teased. "Nah, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me, Mophead."

 

Tomura ignored the nickname, instead making his way towards the entrance and out of the bar. He was immediately assaulted by heavy rain and bustling winds, but he powered through it, wrapping Da i's coat tighter around himself. Through the smell of wet asphalt and concrete, he could pick up the scent of smoke and the brand of cologne the scarred man used. 

 

When he got to his apartment he slammed the door shut behind him, earning complaints from his neighbors. He sat down at the small table set up in the corner, unwrapping his scarf from around his nose. He contemplated keeping Dabi's jacket on which he immediately threw out the window. No matter how warm the item of clothing actually was, there was no way he was going to wear it more than he had to. He'd lived in his cold-ass apartment for three years and he cold live in it without the help of the bastard's clothes.

 

As he was getting ready for bed he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was most likely Kurogiri since nobody else had his number.

 

However when looked at the screen of his phone he realized that it was not his adoptive father's number. He punched in his passcode ready to block the number when he read the text that had been sent.

 

UKNOWN NUMBER

Did you get home safely?   

 

 

 

Who the fuck is this?

 

 

 

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Glad to hear you're safe, princess. I got home fine, thanks for asking.

 

 

 

How did you get my number

 

 

 

UNKNOWN NUMBER

The bartender dude gave it to me when i asked. Wanted to make sure princess got home safe

 

 

Don't call me that

 

 

UNKNOWN NUMBER

K kitty

 

 

 

I'll fuckin decay your goddamn coat 

 

 

Dick

Ur so mean. And i thought you liked the jacket

You seemed to like it🤔

 

 

Whatever 

 

 

Dick

See you tomorrow kitty. Don't forget my jacket

 

 

It is already gone. You'll never see it again

 

 

 

Dick

But it was expensive☹️

 

 

Too late bitch

 

 

Dick

😢

 

 

 

Tomura cursed himself for letting out a giggle—a fucking giggle—at the texts. He ignored—which he seemed to be doing a lot these days—the warm feeling sparking in his chest, lying down on his futon and placing his phone next to his head. 

 

He was definitely not smiling when he fell asleep.

 

 

The next day Tomura gave Dabi's coat back to him, blushing under his scarf when their fingers made contact. 

 

"Thanks, kitty," he smirked, winking at the shorter man. 

 

Tomura almost decayed he but he instead cursed him under his breath and stiffly walked away, hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

 

The next few week Tomura slowly warmed up to Dabi. He got to know some of his friends too. The girl who was way too young to be in a bar was named Toga, and she was an absolute menace. Half of the time she tried hitting on him for her friend and she always failed miserably. She would give a maniacal giggle every time, chugging down her virgin daiquiri in a matter of seconds. 

 

As for the rest of the group, which consisted of a big-ass lizard dubbed "Spinner" and a man with dual-personalities named Twice, Tomura didn't really have a chance to warm up to them. Spinner constantly obsessed over a popular villain named Stain and Twice's two personalities were confusing and gave him quite the headache. 

 

A man that people called "Mr. Compress" who he had seen hanging around Kurogiri quite a bit could sometimes be found near the group. Tomura had his suspicions that he was pretty close to his adoptive father, but he kept it to himself.

 

Dabi had eventually asked him out on a date himself, and Tomura agreed—as a thank you for lending him his jacket. It wasn't as if he actually liked him or anything.

 

They opted to go to a park near the less crowded part of the city, chatting quietly while they took sips from their hot drinks. It was almost dark, the sun just starting to disappear from sight. It was chilly, and Tomura's drink didn't do much to protect his lithe form from the cold. 

 

Neither of them said anything when Tomura pressed himself against Dabi's warmth.

 

 

 

A month later Dabi finally got to see Tomura's whole face. They had gone out on a couple more dated since then and the blue-haired man had just started to open up to him. He had yet so see anything besides his scarlet gaze. 

 

Sone drunkard at the bar had managed to spill both wine and vodka on his scarf. No amount of washing could save it. There was a forever-purple stain and it would perpetually smell like vodka for as long as he had it. It took everything in his power not to decay the assholes face off.

 

He was a little sad. He rarely accepted gifts from Kurogiri but whenever he did he would cherish the item and whenever anything happened to it he would lose his fucking marbles. (R.I.P.)

 

The first time Dabi sees his face his smirk falls and his mouth opens in shock. It was so unusual to see him taken off guard; he was usually so lazily composed. 

 

Tomura almost laughs at his face before he realizes that the expression was caused by his own, quickly slapping a gloved hand over most of his features.

 

"Don't do that," Dabi teased, his surprised expression softening into a smile as he pulled the smaller man's arm down. If it was anybody else they would be dust by now.

 

It was weird to see him smile. It wasn't teasing or anything of the sort. It was something that made his blue eyes light up, small and gentle. It was doing things to Tomura's heart that he had never experienced before and made him feel warm all over.

 

Maybe that was just the blush he was definitely sporting.

 

Toga was uncharacteristically quiet, staring at them from behind her cup. Kurogiri and Mr. Compress were standing adjacent to each other at the bar, making glances at them. 

 

Tomura pulled himself together, feeling the stares of the few other patrons in the bar, mostly burning into the scarred skin of his neck. It was a bad habit he had picked up as a kid, scratching at his skin and picking at scabs until he bled. He was glad Dabi hadn't said anything. Then again he himself had his own scars.

 

He looked down at the floor, his cheekbones and the tips of his ears flushed, and he walked away, still feeling Dabi's gaze on his back.

 

On the way back to his apartment a hand reached out of the shadows and pulled him into a nearby alleyway, pushing him up against a wall.

 

He gave a (totally manly) screech before he felt a pair of lips meet his own. He had almost killed the asshole before he inhaled the familiar scent of smoke and cheap-ass cologne. He promised himself he would kill him after the kiss, but not at that moment. He relaxed into the press of half-scarred lips on his own and the warmth that emanated off of the other man as two large hands cradling his waste and his hip while his own half gloved fingers rested on Dabi's shoulders

 

 

 

The first time they had been fully intimate was three months into their relationship. Tomura's birthday passed a week before and Kurogiri had gifted him with a bottle of some sort of fancy and very expensive alcohol. Dabi had stayed after the blue-haired man's shift and they took the chance to finally drink it. Kurogiri had snagged a glass before exiting the bar, leaving Tomura to close up.

 

They took turns taking swigs from the bottle as Tomura went through everything, and soon they were out of the bar, tipsy and giggling hysterically. 

 

They giggled all the way back to Dabi's apartment which was way better than his boyfriend's piece if shit he called his home. It had multiple rooms, painted walls, a real bed, and even a fucking heater. 

 

The empty bottle was soon forgotten on the kitchen counter as they found their way to the bedroom and onto Dabi's bed, which Tomura instantly melted into.

 

Kisses soon turned into more and it slowly escalated until they were fully naked, skin against skin. Dabi held him gently as he rocked into him, pressing his lips to his scarred neck.

 

Tomura had never felt so warm—so loved. He'd had some sexual encounters in the past, but nobody had ever touched him so gently. Most of the time they couldn't even see each other's faces as they fucked simply for their own pleasure.

 

His experience with Dabi was toe-curling as he was pulled apart and put back together. They were so close that not even a sheet of paper could fit in between them. He could do nothing but gasp into the hot air and grasp his lover's back as Dabi sucked bruises onto his pale skin, warm fingers grasping at his thighs and waist.

 

They reached both of their climaxes together, Tomura mewling into the other man's scarred neck as Dabi groaned against the skin of his shoulder, working both of them through their orgasms.

 

They were soon both cleaned up and cuddled against each other, the red-eyed man resting his head against the other's chest. He ran his gloved hands through Dabi's dark hair, content to just lay in the warmth of his presence.