[ It's a shitty pun, but there's more to it—more meaning, more truth. He lets Dabi have the joke though, doesn't insist on whatever authenticity might lay behind it—insisting makes too big a deal of it, and, again, it's not why he's here. He quietly settles in beside Dabi and takes the shot, holding some kind of alcohol he can't identify. It seems Dabi's already had plenty, if he can make a call on how much more drunk this shit's gonna get him, but whether or not this drink is the primary culprit, there's excess to be seen. Even without alcohol coursing through his system, Dabi's mind is clearly elsewhere; it feels safe to observe, watching with the thoughtful intensity of someone trying to appropriately decipher the mess they're in—the way Dabi lifts his head like it's heavy, the long, dragging manner in how he reaches for the shot glass.
Tomura's going to consider veto-ing that last shot, if they get there. They're not there yet though, so he obligingly raises his glass in a mockery of celebration, downing it when Dabi does. It goes down harsh and burning, the kind that he can almost feel fizzling through his nose, but he lacks the sensitivity toward this kind of thing that might trigger a gag reflex; at most, the drink gets a wrinkled nose in protest of its taste before he too slides the empty shot glass back across the counter. Then, his eyes are back on Dabi—observing mostly, and evaluating partially, trying to determine if he should predict Dabi taking to a frenzy that would unleash all his temper and flames. ]
You could, if you wanted to. It wouldn't take, but it still feels like something.
[ He knows that much. He can't kill, but he can hurt, he can threaten, he can maim—sometimes it scratches the itch, even if he knows his opponent could come back around afterward. There's no principled opposition for him to take against Dabi's inclinations, and they know what they are, both of them. People who've killed, without second thoughts, without remorse. It doesn't make much sense to drag him back from those impulses now, but it... doesn't feel quite right. Doesn't feel quite right to let Dabi barrel headlong into reckless self-destruction when there's no war to be fought, when he's right within reach.
It's funny. It's when Tomura thinks about trying to play it safe with his ally's well-being that his words fail him. He's never protected a single thing in his life. ]
Not tonight. You're drinking with me.
[ It's weak, but it's the only thing he can spit out in the moment. ]
no subject
Tomura's going to consider veto-ing that last shot, if they get there. They're not there yet though, so he obligingly raises his glass in a mockery of celebration, downing it when Dabi does. It goes down harsh and burning, the kind that he can almost feel fizzling through his nose, but he lacks the sensitivity toward this kind of thing that might trigger a gag reflex; at most, the drink gets a wrinkled nose in protest of its taste before he too slides the empty shot glass back across the counter. Then, his eyes are back on Dabi—observing mostly, and evaluating partially, trying to determine if he should predict Dabi taking to a frenzy that would unleash all his temper and flames. ]
You could, if you wanted to. It wouldn't take, but it still feels like something.
[ He knows that much. He can't kill, but he can hurt, he can threaten, he can maim—sometimes it scratches the itch, even if he knows his opponent could come back around afterward. There's no principled opposition for him to take against Dabi's inclinations, and they know what they are, both of them. People who've killed, without second thoughts, without remorse. It doesn't make much sense to drag him back from those impulses now, but it... doesn't feel quite right. Doesn't feel quite right to let Dabi barrel headlong into reckless self-destruction when there's no war to be fought, when he's right within reach.
It's funny. It's when Tomura thinks about trying to play it safe with his ally's well-being that his words fail him. He's never protected a single thing in his life. ]
Not tonight. You're drinking with me.
[ It's weak, but it's the only thing he can spit out in the moment. ]