[ To his eyes, Dabi looks more miserable than the last time. At least then, he'd kept himself upright; now, Tomura finds him slumped over the top of the bar counter with his head tucked in his arms. He can't tell if that's just the calling of Dabi's mood or he's already that fucked up on drinks; he might have underestimated the amount of alcohol the other had from how coherent his texts read.
A peek of a blue eye greets him when he settles in, a little wary, a little tentative. It's the kind of look that makes Tomura want to reach out a hand, to stroke and caress until Dabi opens himself fully and leans into the touch, but Tomura restrains himself. Here it's too noisy, too public, and he doesn't know if his touch would be welcomed anyway, so he slides himself in the next seat over. For his own part, he tucks his chin into his hand, propped up against the counter, gaze focused unwaveringly on Dabi all the while. There's not so much as an inclination to look around him at all the other supposedly eligible guests around them, regardless of what Dabi suggests. ]
I want the hot guy in front of me right now.
[ The edge in his eyes softens a touch, his lips slightly curling. He only glances away to see what drink has been set beside them, but his attention returns to Dabi again when the man finally sits up. Tomura can finally study him better like this, noting the daze in his eyes, the slower reaction speed. Dabi might not be a mess yet, but it sure seems he's on his way there. ]
As much as you want. As long as you don't throw up.
[ He's not one to restrict what Dabi does or preach about finding healthy coping mechanisms. It's just that battling an alcoholic nausea the rest of the night sounds like a recipe to make an already miserable situation worse. ]
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A peek of a blue eye greets him when he settles in, a little wary, a little tentative. It's the kind of look that makes Tomura want to reach out a hand, to stroke and caress until Dabi opens himself fully and leans into the touch, but Tomura restrains himself. Here it's too noisy, too public, and he doesn't know if his touch would be welcomed anyway, so he slides himself in the next seat over. For his own part, he tucks his chin into his hand, propped up against the counter, gaze focused unwaveringly on Dabi all the while. There's not so much as an inclination to look around him at all the other supposedly eligible guests around them, regardless of what Dabi suggests. ]
I want the hot guy in front of me right now.
[ The edge in his eyes softens a touch, his lips slightly curling. He only glances away to see what drink has been set beside them, but his attention returns to Dabi again when the man finally sits up. Tomura can finally study him better like this, noting the daze in his eyes, the slower reaction speed. Dabi might not be a mess yet, but it sure seems he's on his way there. ]
As much as you want. As long as you don't throw up.
[ He's not one to restrict what Dabi does or preach about finding healthy coping mechanisms. It's just that battling an alcoholic nausea the rest of the night sounds like a recipe to make an already miserable situation worse. ]