Xennous

I love @snzity's headcanon that Dabi rarely sneezes because the receptors around his face are damaged. And I add that, he is incredibly susceptible to chest infections due to his injuries and burn trauma.

This is my first ever published sneezefic. It is over 5.5k with very little snz pay off, sorry :(

Content warning: illness, sneezing, nudity, sexual themes and implications

Keigo had been tasked with infiltrating the League of Villains about seven months ago, yet he was barely any closer than when he started. He was yet to have earned anyone’s trust, and still hadn’t met anyone except Dabi, Twice, and Spinner.

Communication was incredibly rare. Physical interactions, even less so. All Keigo had was Dabi’s burner number and an incomplete mission report that was looking smaller by the day.

Frustratingly, he met with Dabi the most. Even the bastard’s voice got under Keigo’s skin. Like maggots eating beneath the flesh of a corpse. A wriggling, writhing sensation that buried deep into his chest.

Dabi would request information, at the order of someone else (likely Shigaraki but Keigo wasn’t supposed to know that name yet), and Keigo would provide it to him. It went like this each time, the meetings never lasting more than a few minutes. Not nearly long enough for him to get any useful information.

Tonight, they’re meeting in an alleyway - Dabi’s idea. In the middle of the night - also Dabi’s idea. So that Keigo can give him a highly confidential security file - Probably not Dabi’s idea. It was just Keigo’s luck that it started to pour around sunset, and the sky has shown no signs of stopping.

Keigo wore three layers of clothing, on top of a thermal shirt, and still shivered to the meeting spot. The rain racketed against his umbrella like bullets, only muffled by the beanie pulled so far on his head it reached down to his neck.

He rounds the corner into the alleyway, walking past the large rubbish bins to see Dabi. In a drenched hoodie; Thin pants; Completely soaked.

Is he serious? He’s going to freeze to death.

Keigo doesn’t voice his concerns– nope. 

Keigo doesn't voice his thoughts aloud. Even in the rain, Dabi is a formidable villain when pushed, and Keigo doesn’t feel like adding fire burns to his frostbite tonight.

Dabi spots him, hands in his pockets looking miserable beneath his hood that is dripping thick droplets of water onto his face.

“What, too cool for an umbrella?” Keigo teases.

Dabi narrows his eyes. “Shut up. Do you have it?”

Keigo noted how Dabi’s voice sounds rougher than usual. If he couldn’t see that Dabi’s hands were empty, he would assume the guy had smoked just before he arrived.

“Always one for pleasantries,” Keigo mutters, blanketed by the sound of the rain. He pulls out a thin file from his coat and holds it out. “Yes, I have it.”

Dabi steps under the umbrella, forcing Keigo to step back and expose his neck to the downpour. He shivers but Dabi pays him no mind, opening the file to the first page, avoiding getting the pages soaked beneath the thick polyester.

Keigo can feel the heat radiating from Dabi’s body as they’re pressed almost against each other. He wonders if it’s the guy’s quirk that makes his body run that hot. The scent of smoke and debris cling to him like a layer of skin, the aroma drying Keigo’s throat even with the damp rain.

Now that he’s looking, Dabi’s pale skin is flushed by the cold. Beneath his eyes, before the scar tissue takes over, the colour looks pink and tender. Dabi clears his throat and sniffs, adjusting his hold on the file to allow one hand to raise up and rub his nose.

Keigo goes rigid. Stop. No. Whywhywhy? The sound of the sniffle from Dabi echoes in his head. The slight wetness, the clicks of congestion as he scrubs at his nostril. Keigo feels his face flush as he begs his body not to react.

All of which, unfortunately, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dabi, who looks up with a raised brow.

Shit. Dabi’s knuckle is still under his nose, squishing against pink rimmed nostrils. Keigo could die right here.

“Um.” Keigo clears his throat when his voice comes out thin and croaky. It’s fine. He tells himself. Dabi will just think it’s the rain. “Everything look okay?”

Dabi looks at Keigo’s hand clutching the umbrella, knuckles white. He then turns his attention to the distance Keigo has tried to put between them. He grins, “Uncomfortable being this close to a villain, huh? You didn’t seem to mind last time.”

Right, last time. Keigo was handing over a microchip to Dabi at a bar two weeks ago. They had a few beers, and one thing led to another and Keigo was on his knees in the back alleyway between Dabi’s legs.

They hadn’t talked about it since. Keigo thought maybe they’d just forget it ever happened. He certainly wasn’t going to include it in his report to the Commission.

At worst: A momentary lapse of judgment from the alcohol. At best: a way to establish a deeper connection and uncover more about Dabi’s identity.

Dabi flicks the file shut, unaware of Keigo's dilemma that was getting harder to hide with each second he spent looking at Dabi’s perfectly flushed face.

“Everything looks good.” Dabi says, tucking away the file and passing Keigo with a pat to his shoulder. “Looks like you’re still of some use to us, Number Two. Till next time.”

Keigo waits for him to disappear into the downpour. His heart is beating a million miles an hour, and now that he’s alone in the alleyway, the blood in his body has settled in a rather unfortunate place.

His body shudders. From the rain. He tells himself. 

It’s dark. It’s raining too hard to see more than a few feet in front of him. He would probably be safe walking the four blocks back to his apartment without anyone witnessing his predicament. 

(He stayed in that alleyway another twenty minutes before getting the courage to leave.)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next time he meets with the League is a week later. 

He was messaged to meet at one of their smaller bases on the outskirts of the city to discuss another trial. One step further to gaining their trust and meeting Shigaraki.

He expected mindgames, and annoyance, and Dabi’s smug face. What he didn’t expect was Spinner and a blonde teenage girl to be waiting for him.

He looked around the small room. Cold brick walls, cement floor. “Where’s Dabi?”

Spinner rolls his eyes. “None of your business.”

He only gets an answer hours later, when Spinner leaves to take a call and Keigo is left with the girl - Toga, so he can be ‘surveilled’.

She is young, and annoying, but extremely chatty. So Keigo tries his luck once again, “So where’s Dabi?”

“He’s too busy being sick and miserable in his room,” Toga says, kicking her feet on the barstool. She continues talking about something else, but Keigo’s head is stuck on two words.

Dabi. Sick. They play in his head like a record, spinning round and round till he’s dizzy on the idea. Was it because of the other night in the rain?

Later, in the privacy of his own apartment, Keigo pulls out his phone to the familiar number.

Hawks

21:54 >> You’re sick?

Dabi

Read at 22:34

No reply. Honestly, Keigo wasn’t really expecting one.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It was a few weeks until he saw Dabi again. This time, the message came in the early afternoon on his day off. 

He had just finished the final set of his workout, an episode of a trashy reality show playing in the background while he enjoys the serenity of the calm evening.

Dabi

19:05 >> Meet me at [[XX]] in an hour. This time I have something for you.

Keigo stared at the message, ignoring the excitement in his chest at the prospect of seeing the arsonist.

(He lingered by his door longer than he'd like to admit, eager for the time to pass and for him to make his way to the location.)

Turns out, Dabi had messaged him the address to a small bar in the middle of the city. Only a few minutes walk from Keigo’s apartment, which he was thankful for as goosebumps rose on his arms from the nighttime wind.

He walks down the stairs into the dimly lit space, spotting Dabi in the back booth almost immediately. The man is dressed casually. Gone is the long coat, replaced by a loose gray shirt rolled up to his elbows. A dark face mask is pulled down to his chin, exposing the scarred skin below his eyes to the warm lighting. Keigo can’t help but notice the slight pink around his nostrils.

Keigo stands above him, placing a hand on the table. “Long time no see, stranger.”

Dabi glares at him. “Just sit down.”

Keigo laughs, “So what’s this about?” His eyes land on the two beers on the table, one placed directly in front of him. “A friendly drink?” he guesses.

“More like a final chance for you to slip up and expose your secrets, hero.” Dabi says, taking a sip from his pint with a small sniffle. “The boss has finally decided he wants to meet you, so consider this a final test of sorts.”

Keigo eyes the drink. “You didn’t spike this did you?”

Dabi's smile grows wide, the staples on his cheeks click with the movement. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Probably not. Keigo thinks, but he decides to take the risk anyway. Dabi has had hundreds of chances to drug him over the months, and never has he (even after all the threats) done anything that actually seriously put Keigo in harm's way.

The drink is cold going down his throat. He’s still careful of any strange taste or consistency.

“So the boss, huh?” Keigo asks, “What can you tell me about him?”

Dabi shrugs, his biceps stretch under the thin fabric of his shirt. Keigo takes another sip of the beer to avoid looking. “He’ll want to introduce himself.”

“Still as secretive as ever, hot stuff.”

Dabi shrugs again, another sharp sniffle permeates the heavy space.

“Are you ever actually going to tell me anything about yourself?” Keigo pries, leaning back against the booth. “We’ve been meeting for months, and I still know shit about you.”

Dabi laughs, “Careful, birdie. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to interrogate me.”

The jukebox behind them stalls, and the music cuts as a blonde woman changes the song. It’s much slower, and melodic. Keigo closes his eyes, saying “I thought maybe we could become friends.”

“You don’t want to be friends with me.”

With his eyes closed, Keigo can almost imagine Dabi as someone else. That he would open his eyes and across from him would just be an ordinary civilian that he was drinking with. Somebody he could walk next to on the street, without face masks and hoodies. A real friend.

In another universe where Keigo wasn't a hero, and Dabi wasn’t a villain. A universe where Keigo didn’t know manipulation tactics to get information. Where he could get to know Dabi, really get to know Dabi. Without deciding what he was going to put in his report, and what he was going to keep to himself in a locked vault in his mind that he refused to admit was there.

He opens his eyes, “How about we play a little game then? You get to ask me any question you like, and I have to tell you the truth.”

Dabi expression pinches wearily. “That doesn't sound much like a game. What do you gain from–”

“For every question I answer, I get one in return,” Keigo offers, taking the final sip of his drink. The slight buzz is hitting the tips of his fingers and lips.

He holds the empty glass up to the bar, making eye contact with the bartender and motioning for two more to be brought to the table. The dark haired man across the room nods while Dabi grunts, “Nice try. But no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I said no.”

“Here, we’ll start simply,” Keigo says, paying Dabi’s hesitation no mind. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Really?” Dabi snorts. Keigo can hear slight congestion in the sound.

“Really.”

Dabi sighs, two pints are set down in place of the empty glasses and Dabi takes a long drink before answering. “Black.”

Predictable. Keigo thinks. “Boring.”

Dabi doesn’t miss a beat, “My turn. Why do you want to join the League?”

“I’ve already told you this,” Keigo says. And it’s true. 

Since starting his mission, it’s been one of the most asked questions. Which makes sense, the League of Villains isn’t exactly in a position to be trusting the word of the Number Two Pro-Hero (and rightfully so considering his actual motivations). Still, Keigo wonders what Dabi is trying to gain from asking it once again.

Maybe Dabi thinks with a little alcohol in him, Keigo’s answer may change. He knows he can lean into that to benefit him.

“Then you should have no problem answering,” Dabi says.

Hawks blinks heavier than he needs to, he takes a long look at his glass and pretends he can’t see Dabi watching him in his peripheral vision. “The Hero Commission’s corrupt.” He shrugs. “They churn out little soldiers to do their bidding and use them to keep people in line.” 

Keigo tells himself he’s saying what Dabi wants to hear. But what he doesn't want to admit, even to himself, is that the truth and lies are blurring together the more time he spends on this mission - the closer he gets to Dabi. “Besides, despite what you guys call yourselves, you’re not villains. You’re doing what you think is right for everyone. You want to…” he hesitates on the words, “Help people. I want to help people too.”

Dabi glares at him, letting the silence hang in the air for a few seconds while the song plays out. Another one begins, almost drowning out the arsonist's voice. “We do want to help people. But don’t get it wrong, we’re villains.”

“Not to me,” Keigo says.

If he wasn’t looking for it, he would have missed the surprise in Dabi’s face. The slight widening of his eyes. The twitch of his fingers. The flare of his nostrils.

Dabi sniffles another time, taking a sip of his drink. Keigo is done pretending he’s not noticing it.

Not sober enough to hold his tongue, Keigo perks up. “My next question.” He motions his hand to Dabi’s face. “What’s with all the sniffling?”

This time, nothing in Dabi’s expression could hide how taken off guard he was at the question. He sniffs again, then blinks like he didn’t realise he was doing it. He pushs the back of his palm to his nose, wiping beneath the steadily darkening nostrils. “Nothing.

“That’s not how this works,” Keigo insists. “You’re supposed to tell the truth.”

“It is the truth,” Dabi defends, lowering his hand.

Keigo studies the man's face. The flush of Dabi’s cheeks that had been there long before the embarrassment had settled on his face from Keigo pointing out his nasal plight. The way his nose scrunches under Keigo’s watchful eyes. The slight dampness around his upper lip.

Fine. If Dabi wants to play this game. Keigo was going to play dirty.

He relaxes into his seat. “I guess we’ll just sit here in silence until you do it again.”

“Wha–”

“Uh uh! Silence. Come on.”

Dabi furrows his face in displeasure. Keigo relishes in the almost arousing enjoyment it brings him to see the villain squirm in his presence. Something about taking Dabi off guard and drawing his attention to an involuntary bodily function is incredibly erotic to Keigo’s inebriated mind.

A few seconds pass. Dabi’s nose scrunches, and he brings his hand up to rub the itch away. 

However, not fast enough to stop Keigo grabbing his wrists and holding them to the table.

“What the hell are you–”

“Nope. Come on.”

“Get off me.”

Keigo ignores the heat radiating from Dabi’s hands. He knows he won’t do anything with so many witnesses. And a few burns on his hands was far from the worst pain Keigo had ever experienced. 

What does keep his mind occupied however, is Dabi’s face. Or, more accurately, his nose.

With his hands bound, a drop of moisture falls from his nostril to his upper lip. With no way for him to wipe it away, Dabi sniffs sharply. 

Taking the win, Keigo let go of the man's wrists, and watches him rub his nose into submission.

“Fuck you, bird brain.”

“Are you sick again?” Keigo asks. “Is that what this is about?”

He could understand if Dabi was being closed off because he wasn’t feeling well. What he couldn’t understand was why Dabi would ask him out for drinks if he clearly wasn’t at his best. There was no reason for them meeting tonight, no information to exchange, just the promise of an evening in each other’s company.

Dabi clears his throat behind his hand, rubbing his knuckle a final time against his nose. “If you have to know, yes.”

“Why did you come out for drinks then?”

“I’m not here for the pleasure of your conversation.”

Oh. Keigo realises. Oh. 

He plasters a grin onto his face. He won’t pretend he’s not interested. But he will pretend he’s not curious. “You sly bastard. You know you can just ask right? I have a nice cozy apartment five minutes from here we could have met at. You don’t have to wine and dine me first.”

Keigo’s far from an idiot. He was certain Dabi knows where he lives. It’s probably why he chose this bar over the other hundreds of others in Fukuoka that are much closer to the League’s base.

Still, he gives Dabi the decency of ignorance as the man looks at their finished glasses on the table, then looks at Keigo. “Five minutes, huh?”

Keigo already has bruises on his hips before they make it inside his apartment. They clumsily make their way in the dark to the bed, Keigo’s clothes being discarded along the way, replaced by Dabi’s warm breath and tongue.

Dabi’s mouth moves down Keigo’s chest as he settles against the bedframe. He feels Dabi’s weight over his hips as the arsonist unbuckles his belt and kicks his pants onto the floor hastily, mouth and body eager to please.

The sensation of tongue and teeth are erotic to Keigo. He grips Dabi’s hair as the man’s warm, rough fingers pull down his boxers. At least, until the grip falters, and Keigo’s hand lets go of Dabi as the man abruptly sits up.

Keigo opens his eyes to Dabi dropping his weight onto him. The man's legs either side of his hips as his breath catches, face scrunched.

Keigo sits up slightly, “You okay?”

Dabi raises a hand to his face, turning his head away. His abs clench on top of Keigo in anticipation, his body flickering with a rapid inhale, “Fhihine~”

Keigo’s ears perk at the hitch, his dick twitches at the sound. But as soon as it appears, it leaves Dabi unsatisfied. Keigo watches the arsonist curl his nose and sniff heavily before turning back, his lips already re-finding their place on Keigo’s neck.

And if Keigo gets off twice as quickly listening to Dabi’s wet sniffles in his ear, nobody has to know.

Keigo wakes up alone the next morning. The space next to his bed is cold and empty.

Hawks

06:17 >> You didn’t have to leave.

Dabi

Read at 08:57

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Keigo stops looking for it after a while. The flare of Dabi’s nostrils, the slight hitch of his breath. Dabi recovers from his illness and months go by without Keigo seeing the man so much as sniffle.

It’s fine. It’s not like Keigo pictures Dabi’s scrunched up face, his dark lashes fluttering, eyes watery and red, nose on the brink of release on top of him. The feeling of warm, sweaty biceps clenching. Nope. Not at all. It’s not like he had been profusely masturbating to Dabi’s almost sneeze for months after.

But he can’t help it. With Dabi’s no allergies and no sensitivities, he gave Keigo’s interest very little to work with. He was bound to be a little pent up. Especially now since they’ve been hooking up more regularly. But nothing got him off like imagining Dabi, straddling him and sneezing messily onto his bare chest.

He doesn’t know when he stopped looking at other people. Sure, the barista at the coffee shop near his agency is still hot. But he didn’t lean over the counter and flirt with her every time he went to order anymore. 

Nor did he wink at the cute interviewers who batted their lashes and licked their lips between questions. Or banter with the interns who would bring him his paperwork wearing deep cut necklines and short skirts.

What was originally a ploy to get closer to Dabi, had shifted. And Keigo found his stomach genuinely fluttering when he received a message from him. 

It felt a little too real. Which wasn’t at all helped by Dabi getting sick again.

Hawks

19:32 >> Usual time?

Dabi

19:58 >> Not tonight.

19:59 >> I’m sick.

Keigo stares at his phone for a minute. Fingers hesitating on the screen. He’s sick again? 

Keigo wonders what could have brought it on this time. It hadn’t rained in Fukuoka in weeks. In fact, the weather had been nothing but clear skies and warm sun. Sure, a few people got summer colds, but Keigo wonders how Dabi is that susceptible to picking up illnesses.

What’s stranger, is that Keigo still wants to see him. Sex or not. Plus, he isn’t going to lie that the thought of Dabi, shivering and shaking, wasn’t at least a little enticing.

Hawks

20:06 >> Come over anyway.

Dabi

20:09 >> Why?

Hawks

20:24 >> I have something for you.

Dabi didn’t respond to that. And enough hours pass that the sun has long since set and Keigo wonders if he’s coming at all.

But just before midnight, the familiar sound of Dabi landing on his balcony hits Keigo’s ears. A little more sluggish and heavy than he was used to hearing. Being a villain, Dabi had mastered moving stealthily. But upon seeing him, Keigo could understand why that wasn’t the case this evening.

Dabi shuffles through in a thick hoodie and sweater, a scarf covering the lower half of his face, but not enough to hide the angry red below his eyes and at the tips of his ears. There is sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, and his hands are flushed and splotchy like he has held them in snow.

As always when it came to Dabi, Keigo didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Warm enough, hot stuff?” He teases.

Dabi glares at him, pulling off his scarf to expose his pale lips and pink rimmed nose to Keigo. He clears his throat, which does nothing for how dry and painful his words come out, “You’re the one who asked me to come over.”

If his appearance didn’t betray how bad he felt, his voice definitely did. Keigo can hear the illness settling in the back of his throat, and the way his words click around phlegm and inflammation. He listens to Dabi let out a few rattling coughs into the back of his hand and feels a slight pang of guilt for asking him over.

“Shit, Dabs. That sounds bad.”

Dabi unzips his hoodie, revealing another warm layer beneath, and a line of sweat at the neckline. The warmth of the room must shift the congestion in Dabi’s head, as Keigo watches him bring a hand to his nose, groan, and wipe at it. “Ugh, do you have any tissues?”

Keigo forces himself to look away from the frankly erotic sight of Dabi squishing his nose back and forth. He focuses on grabbing a box of tissues and not listening to the quiet squelching and whistling noises in Dabi’s breaths.

“Yeah, here.” He holds out the box. Dabi grabs two and blows his nose loudly. Balling the tissue in his hand and pressing it a final time to his nostrils before tucking it away in his pocket. “So, what did you have for me?”

Only then does Keigo double guess himself. As nice as it is (and it’s really nice) seeing Dabi in this state, he doesn’t actually have anything to give him. Well… apart from–

Keigo steps to the side, showing off the kitchen table. “I have dinner?” He tries.

Dabi blinks at the table, then at Keigo. He sighs, which leads into another round of wet coughs that he catches in his fist. “Seriously, birdie? You made me come all the way out here for nothing?”

“In my defense, I didn’t think you would be this bad,” Keigo says, making his way back to the kitchen where he’d packed everything away into his fridge hours ago. “But now that I see you, you definitely shouldn’t leave. Come on, sit down and eat. I made soup.”

It’s strange seeing Dabi sitting at his kitchen table. It’s the first time the arsonist has been over and they hadn’t immediately moved to the bedroom. The only time Keigo can think that Dabi has been in the kitchen, is when they got a little too wasted and he bent him over the counter.

He notices Dabi shuffling in his seat while he reheats the soup, looking around the apartment like he was seeing it for the first time, and not the dozenth. 

“There’s no way you’re comfortable in that,” Keigo says. Capturing Dabi’s attention and pointing to the heavy layers of clothing Dabi was still bundled into. “I’ll turn up the heating if you take off some layers.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dabi raises an eyebrow, but begins unbuttoning one of the thick sweaters.

“Yeah, you look so sexy like this,” Keigo says. Not for the first time, using sarcasm to mask the truth in his words.

Dabi takes off his top layers, going down to a shirt and sweatpants. His face is somehow more flushed the more exposed it gets. His cheeks have settled to a rosy pink, spreading up his cheekbones until they reach the charred skin below his eyes. And his lips and underside of his nose are red and puffy like he’s been scratching them with something rough.

Keigo sets the soup in front of him, placing his own serving on the opposite end of the small table. “So, you get sick a lot?” He asks.

Dabi shrugs, taking a cautious sip. “Something like that. My immune system’s shit cause of… well, you can guess.”

Right. His injuries. Keigo doesn’t know why he thought the burns wouldn’t have a significant effect on Dabi’s health. Of course, as a Pro-Hero he knew all about injuries, fire trauma, and long-term health risks, but for some reason he never saw Dabi like that.

He always seems so much larger. So much more powerful. Not somebody who can be brought down by the shortcomings of their own body. And not for the first time, he wonders how Dabi got his scars.

He doesn’t ask. Part of him thinks he does it because he’s a kind person. The other half of him knows that he wants a reason not to answer the Commission's questions. If he doesn’t know who Dabi really is, he can’t betray him.

But it scares him how much he wants to know the man.

“Is it always this bad?” Keigo asks instead.

Dabi laughs, then coughs. It’s thick and rattles in his chest. “Sometimes it’s worse. I’ll be fine though.”

“Does anything help?”

Dabi looks up. “Like what?”

“I don’t know?” Keigo tries to think of his own remedies when he’s sick. But with his immune system he’s drawing a blank. “A hot bath?” He suggests. “Steam therapy?”

Dabi looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “The League doesn’t exactly have a five star bathroom, bird brain.”

Before he can stop himself, Keigo offers, “I have a tub?”

Dabi looks over to the bathroom door. Keigo watches a thousand thoughts cross his mind. Frustratingly, he can’t place a single one of them. “Look, birdie. I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m up for–”

Oh. Nonono.

“I’m just offering you a bath, hot stuff,” Hawks laughs, shaking his head. He opens his eyes to Dabi watching him skeptically, and winks. “Nothing more. Scouts honour.”

“You weren’t a scout,” Dabi grumbles around the phlegm in his throat. “...No strings attached?”

“No strings attached.”

Keigo watches Dabi hesitate, before the arsonist's body wracks with an involuntary shudder, ‘Fine.”

Keigo has to fight his instincts not to watch Dabi strip down in his bathroom. He promised him no strings attached, and he plans to stick to it. No matter how aroused it made him to think of Dabi, naked and shivering in his bathtub.

His skin flushed from the warm water, hair sticking to the back of his neck. The droplets of condensation running down his exposed skin, mixing with sweat and sickness that drips off him.

Keigo starts the dishes to keep his mind off it. He’s drying the bowls when he finally hears it. Followed by a round of wet coughs and splashing water.

“hH’EyYESSShhh!!”

Hawks stops what he’s doing, feeling exposed in his own house.

The sneeze was loud, sounding like it came from the back of Dabi’s throat. It was scratchy and rough, and didn’t sound satisfying in the slightest.

Keigo cranes his ears to hear sniffling. Wet snorts and the sound of Dabi clearing his throat take over his entire apartment, and Keigo imagines his face.

The slow buildup. Hours, maybe days, of the teasing itch. Always sitting too far back in his nose to bring any relief. Being teased out by warm soup, and thick stream, bringing the tingling sensation to the brink until his breath catches in his throat.

Keigo closes his eyes, picturing the scrunch of his strong nose. The squint of his dark eyes, how his lashes would clump from tears and bath water, the splash of the tub with the final desperate release.

Keigo hurriedly finishes the dishes. Finding a comfortable shirt and pants and knocking on the bathroom door.

“Combe in.” Dabi’s voice sounds heavy. But the painful roughness from earlier has subsided.

The bathmat and floor are soaked, as the arsonist shows little concern to contain the water to the tub. It almost overflows the rim, hot enough that steam rises in the humid room.

Dabi lifts his head where it is leant back on the porcelain tub. His face and skin are flushed a deep red. From the cold, or the water. Or both. His eyes are bleary when they land on Keigo, and his nose runs with the movement of his head.

He sniffles thickly, wiping his nose with a wet knuckle, “I could gedt used to tdhis, bhirdie. sngkff!”

Oh. Keigo likes that a little too much. How the stupid nickname Dabi uses to get under his skin sounds around the congestion in his sinuses.

“Uh– I brought you these,” he says. Setting the clothes down on the bench.

Dabi looks at them, wiping at one of his eyes that has started watering with his running nose, “Whadt’s wrogng width my clodthes?” 

“Nothing,” Keigo shrugs. Fighting to keep his eyes from lowering to Dabi’s bare chest and… other exposed body parts.

Dabi blinks, he sniffles again. This time much harsher as he sits up and pinches the moisture from his nose with his fingers. Spilling bath water across his upper lip and forcing an erotic image of a wet faced Dabi to the front of Keigo’s mind.

He watches Dabi’s nostrils flare with the contact, his ears and dick twitching at the thick squelching sounds. “Ygou tryna trabp mbe indto sdtayigng?”

Keigo almost short circuits. “I’m just saying it’s late. There’s food in the fridge for breakfast, a warm bed, and I don’t mind if you don’t want to go all the way back.”

Dabi gives him a final look over before dropping his hand from his nose. Thank God. Because Keigo was doing everything in his power not to get erect at the sight of a naked, fever induced Dabi slowly rubbing nose to a deeper shade.

The scarred skin on Dabi’s hands working only to further rub his nose raw. Keigo can see his septum is now a chapped, wet disaster.

“Fidne… sngkk,” he sniffles quietly. “But only begcause of tdhe breagkfhast.”

Keigo sighs, “Of course.”

He is about to leave when it happens again. This time, Keigo sees it all. 

Dabi inhales suddenly and sharply, with no time to prepare as his breath catches on an inhale and his head jerks forward. His hands have no time to catch the outburst as his face crumbles, thick lashes fluttering close as his nose gives a final twitch towards its ticklish release.

“eyHD’ZZZASshh!!”

The bathwater splashes with the force of the sneeze, a sheen of spray trickles in the steamy air.

Dabi groans, lifting a wet hand to his nose way too late to cover anything, and sniffles back the congestion that was knocked loose.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry, and his brain stalls. 

He saves the image of a wet, shivering, post-sneeze Dabi in his mind for later.

Dabi is grumbling, a thick mess dribbling down his chin, the spraying residue on his hand. “Ugh, gross.”

Keigo excuses himself before the man could notice his reaction, offering a quick, “Bless you,” over his shoulder.

He doesn’t let Dabi respond before he closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of his bed.

He can hear Dabi sniffling once again in the tub. The humidity and steam loosening the stuffiness in his head and draining out the fluid through his nose one ticklish and illness induced outburst at a time.

It doesn’t sound like he’s making any movements to get out of the tub, however. Which is probably good for Keigo as he looks down, gnawing at his bottom lip.

I’ll make this quick. He tells himself, pulling down the waistband of his pants.