Clutching onto his Switch, Tomura just barely managed to keep his pinkies suspended over the controls. A scowl crawled across Tomura’s face as he recalled that Kurogiri said he wouldn’t replace his Switch if he dusted yet another one. Fixating on the racetrack stretching across the television screen, Tomura scratched the side of his throat and let flakes of skin cascade onto the carpet. Stupid Kurogiri. The audacity of him to be willing to deprive Tomura of the few things in this bullsh*t hero society worth keeping around.
Chatter from the bar counter drilled into Tomura’s skull. He grimaced at where Dabi and Toga were sitting on bar stools, sipping on tomato juice and gin respectively. Taking a deep breath, Tomura gripped his Switch more firmly. At least, Dabi was f*cking quiet albeit that his nonchalance really got on Tomura’s nerves – but Toga just would not stop yapping.
Tomura cursed under his breath as his race car collided with the side of the track, sending him spiraling into fifth place. Damn it, if not for Toga he could have been first place. Couldn’t she tell that he was trying to f*cking concentrate?
Still, the chatter at the bar counter was a world away from the backyard turned wasteland that haunted the furthest reaches of his mind. He could still smell the crumbling dust and the sharp iron aroma of the blood coating torn-up grass. The voices echoing through the bar and the frustrations that went hand in hand with them at least left no space for those godforsaken memories to fill Tomura’s mind.
As Shiggy just barely scraped across the finish line with an embarrassing score, Toga skipped over. “Where did you get your shoes, Shiggy? They’re super pretty! The color is totes cute.”
Dabi snorted as he downed the remainder of his gin in one gulp. “Don’t bother asking, brat. Those fugly things won’t fit unless you have a double-toe joint.”
Dropping his Switch, Tomura flexed his fingers and sent Dabi a death glare. “Dafuq did you say?”
While rolling his eyes, Dabi slid off the barstool. “I know that you didn’t go to school and all. But damnnit, Handjob, you’ve gotta to at least know that your shoes a from a brand that’s literally designed for quirkless.”
“Oh I’ll show you that I have a quirk, you crispy motherf*cker.”
“Don’t try me.” A blue spark danced on Dabi’s palm. “Because I bet my flames can turn you into a pile of ashes before you can even lay a finger on me.”
Before Shiggy had the chase to race toward while wielding all five fingers, Toga jumped between him and Dabi. “No, arson please! Ashes aren’t cute at all. There won’t be any pretty blood left.”
Huffing, Dabi closed his palm and extinguished the flame. Tomura reluctantly pulled his arm back, grounding himself in the knowledge that maybe he’d get a chance to show Dabi some comeuppance another day. Not that he actually wanted Dabi dead per se. After all, in a society where practically everyone was a sh*thead, Tomura figured that Dabi sucked just a little bit less.
Yet all that goodwill crumbled to ashes, the second that Dabi flashed Tomura a distorted smile.
Anger brewing in his chest, Tomura said, “What if you’re the quirkless one and Sensei gave you a quirk? Maybe that’s why you’re so goddamn flammable.”
Toga nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that does make sense! Your quirk hurts you so maybe it wasn’t yours to begin with.”
“Exactly! Why else would you know that these shoes are made for double-toe joints?”
“Because my younger brother used to wear the same fugly candy-apple red pair.” Flames practically glowed in Dabi’s eyes. “Though I bet that now unlike you now he’s getting custom-made shoes that aren’t practically screaming ‘hey look at me – I’m quirkless’.”
“f*ck you.”
“No thanks.” Dabi shrugged and put his hands in his pockets as he walked away. “Anyways, have fun living in your delusions, Handjob. It won’t change the fact that the odds of having a quirk despite having a double toe joint are one in a billion.”
Grumbling, Tomura abruptly turned away from Dabi and faced the television screen again. Dabi didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. As if Tomura would ever ask for a quirk that reduced people to ashes – that reduced his family to ashes. A searing pain shot through Tomura’s head, making him reach for his father’s hand.
As he settled the ice cold fingers onto his face, his lungs finally filled with air again. And the memory of how the warmth of Corgi dissolving in his arms returned to the darkest corner of Tomura’s mind. Away from immediate recollection.
He knew that his quirk fit him like a glove. After all, what was more fitting than a quirk designed for destruction for a person who wanted to tear society down at its roots? Sure, his skin flaked – but didn’t ever quirk have its drawback? Like how Toga would go anemic if she went too long without drinking blood. Decay was Tomura’s. And nothing that Dabi ever said could change that.
Breaking through the silence, Toga batted her eyelashes at Dabi in curiosity. “So you have a brother? Are you going to tell us anything else about your mysterious past?”
“Over my dead body.”
“Ooh, so you are going to tell us? I mean aren’t you basically already a walking corpse?”
Picking up his Switch, Tomura barely suppressed a snort at that. He had to give the brat credit where credit was due. Besides, it was definitely a nice change of pace to see Dabi get roasted – pun intended.
But as Tomura started a new round of the race, the storm in his mind roared louder than the hum of animated race cars. The vortex of thoughts seemed to burst through the hand Tomura had covered his face with to ward them off.
A photograph of a tall woman in a white cape flashed through his skull. A beauty mark flashed on her chin. The billowing fabric trailing behind her drove in the fact that her quirk hadn’t been a destructive one. None of the Shimuras had a quirk that was anything like Decay.
Tomura clenched his jaw and grounded himself in the notion that maybe his quirk was a genetic mutation. But did that explain why he was a late bloomer? Did that explain why his father had yelled at Tom- Tenko for the x-ray photos that had returned from the doctor’s office?
Shutting his eyes, Tomura recalled the family photo hung above the fireplace at the Shimura residence. Even before he was Tomura the red shoes had followed him everywhere as persistently as his own shadow.
And his stomach turned as a single sentence on his mind got heavier with each passing second. What if Dabi is right?
