Just the way you are (Dabi x Reader)

Chapter 1

It's late.

The city never sleeps; even at 3am.

There is the indistinct chatter of passers-by that ebbs through your open window, every so often becoming lost in the distinct noise of a car horn somewhere below your apartment building. You sigh out into the dark; a silent sound – the summer heat inescapable, and you bring the back of your hand up to your forehead, kicking the sheets away from your body.

It's humid, and almost palpable. Your lover sleeps beside you, shirtless, the broad expanse of his back littered with burned skin and scars, his dark hair spilling onto the white linen of the pillow. You turn your head, in the darkness of the room, in a moment so rare, and you just watch the way he breathes, trying to commit everything to memory.

He looks so calm right now, asleep here, beside you. A drastically different image of how he was a few hours former...

Caught in a violent rainstorm, it was clear that monsoon season was upon Japan. The rain beats in a thunderous downpour that lashes against your windows, deafening, and it rouses you from your sleep. You rush towards the glass, staring out over the city skyline, thoughts only on one person, thoughts calling him home.

Black boots splashing through puddles, kicking up water all over the wet asphalt; he is sprinting, not caring about the rain -- only caring about one thing. One person. He is always in a hurry; living his life running, racing from blue lights and sirens, chasing something he doesn't even understand. Everyone is his enemy. His trust belongs to no one; he is dark, and lonely, and toxic. Like a rabid dog that bares its vicious teeth and snaps furiously whenever anyone comes close; madness and rage are the only colors he sees.

But he's also sad. So, so sad. Sometimes it's unbearable.

You know he will come on nights like this. His pain is affected by rain this violent, and sometimes he needs somewhere safe to catch his breath.

It comes, wild and furious; the pounding on your front door, and you are ready for it – for him. You run, fingers against the cold door-handle, twisting, pulling, and you're breathless at the sight, he's here, he's here–

His smell, the feeling of his clothes – soaked from the rain – brush against you violently as he storms into your apartment, and you shut the door quickly, turning to him. His skin, his hair, everything is wet – fresh drops slide from his cheeks, collecting under his chin before they drip onto soaked clothes. There is water on his neck, sliding under his shirt, and his dark hair is clinging to his face, his lips almost blue. He must be so cold.

He keeps silent, allowing you to undress him from his soaked clothes, softly, gently, peeling the dripping fabric from his body, feeling the ripple of goosebumps prickle at his exposed skin at the change in temperature. You discard his clothes to your laundry pile, placing open mouthed kisses to his shoulder, his chest, and you try to kiss his lips, but he turns his head, moving away from you. It hurts, but he can be like this sometimes.

"I'm going to run you a shower," your voice is so soft, for fear that if you speak any louder, it will scare him. "You need to warm up."

He only nods, and you realise that the only thing out of place is that he hasn't uttered a single word to you since his brash entrance, and he won't look you in the eyes.

"Do..." you bite your lip, wondering if you should even suggest this. "Do you want help?"

He laughs, but it's a bitter sound that pierces your heart. Dabi could make your emotions soar, and come crashing down in a single moment without so much as uttering a single word.

You move past him, fingers gently finding his hand, brushing over his palm; an offer – if he wanted to hold onto you, you were there. He doesn't take it, but follows you into your small bathroom nonetheless, resting against the walls as you work. You turn the shower on, checking the temperature every few seconds, meticulous in your task. It can't be cold, of course, but it can't be lukewarm either. He's going to get a chill if he doesn't heat up soon. You feel his eyes on you, but every time you glance over your shoulder to look at him, he averts them, and it pains you.

"I think the water is okay now," you voice, shaking a few stray droplets from your hand, adding, "It feels nice..."

You trail off, feeling him rest his forehead against your shoulder. He is so quiet, and it's worrying you.

"I-I love you," you murmur. "You know that, right?"