MHA Holdiay series

The flickering candlelight danced across the meticulously set table, reflecting in the deep cerulean of Dabi's eyes. He wasn't used to this, this…domesticity. This quiet joy. Five years. Five years since he'd looked past the decay clinging to Tomura Shigaraki and seen the lost, vulnerable boy beneath. Five years since he'd decided to stay, to fight, to love.

Across from him, Tomura was unusually still. His hands, usually fidgeting, clawing at his own skin, were clasped in his lap, the crusty texture of his touch less prominent tonight, softened by carefully applied lotion (a small victory Dabi had celebrated internally). His normally bloodshot eyes, though still ringed with shadows, held a glimmer of something resembling hope.

The League's hideout, usually a chaotic mess, had been transformed. Toga had taken it upon herself to decorate, draping salvaged fabrics and stolen fairy lights, creating an atmosphere that felt almost…romantic. Dabi had scowled at her enthusiasm, but he couldn't deny the softening effect it had on the space, and on Tomura.

"You okay?" Dabi finally asked, his voice a low rumble. He'd spent the afternoon, a torturous endeavor in itself, trying to learn to bake a cake. The resulting monstrosity was currently sitting in the kitchen, a testament to his lack of culinary skills, but he hoped Tomura would appreciate the effort.

Tomura's gaze flickered to the table, to the single, perfect red rose in a simple glass vase, to the hand-written card beside his plate. He swallowed, the movement visible in his thin throat. "It's..." he started, then paused, struggling to articulate the swirling emotions within him. "It's a lot, Touya."

Dabi winced. Even after all this time, the use of his real name still felt raw, a hidden scar aching with every utterance. "Figured you deserved it. Five years is…something."

Tomura picked up the card, the paper crinkling slightly under his touch. He read the clumsy scrawl aloud, his voice barely a whisper. "To Tomura. Five years with you has been…unexpected. And maybe the only good thing I've ever done. Thanks for not disintegrating me yet. –Touya."

A small, almost imperceptible, smile touched Tomura's lips. "You're such an idiot," he mumbled, but the words were laced with affection.

The dinner itself was surprisingly pleasant. Toga had, thankfully, handled the cooking. Plates of steaming ramen, seasoned with just the right amount of spice, were followed by an awkward silence as Dabi braced himself to unveil his culinary disaster.

He cleared his throat. "Right, dessert time." He stood, the movement stiff from hours spent huddled over online baking tutorials, and retrieved the cake.

The cake was… a mess. The frosting was uneven, the layers slumped precariously, and the single candle perched on top threatened to tip the whole thing over. Dabi braced himself for Tomura's usual acerbic wit.

But Tomura said nothing. He just stared at the cake, his eyes wide.

"I tried," Dabi said defensively. "It's probably awful, but…"

Tomura reached out, his fingers brushing against Dabi's hand. His touch, usually cold and dry, felt surprisingly warm. "You made this," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Dabi nodded, feeling a ridiculous lump forming in his throat.

"For me?"

Another nod.

Tomura's eyes shimmered. He took the knife, his decaying fingers carefully slicing a shaky piece. He brought it to his lips, and Dabi held his breath.

He chewed, slowly, deliberately. A faint grimace flickered across his face. "It's…" he paused, searching for the right words. "It's… unique."

Dabi snorted. "That's one way to put it."

Tomura looked up, his eyes locking with Dabi's. "It means you thought about me. You spent time making something for me. That's more valuable than any perfectly baked cake from a fancy bakery."

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to cup Dabi's cheek. The touch, even through the layers of burned skin, sent a shiver down Dabi's spine. "Thank you, Touya."

In that moment, surrounded by the flickering candlelight and the remnants of a surprisingly peaceful evening, Dabi realized that he felt something akin to contentment. He'd built a life, a love, with the most unlikely of partners. A life built on shared trauma, mutual understanding, and a surprising amount of quiet affection masked by gruff words and stolen glances.

He leaned in, his lips finding Tomura's. The kiss was hesitant, a little clumsy, but filled with a tenderness that belied their violent pasts.

As they pulled apart, Dabi whispered, "Happy anniversary, Tomura."

Tomura, for once, didn't try to be cynical, didn't try to hide his vulnerability. He simply smiled, a genuine, beautiful smile that reached his eyes. "Happy anniversary, Touya."

And in that shared moment, Dabi knew, with a certainty that warmed him from the inside out, that he'd made the right choice, five years ago. He'd chosen chaos, he'd chosen decay, and he'd chosen love. And in that love, he'd finally found a reason to keep fighting, to keep staying, to keep living. Even amidst the ashes of their shattered world.