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"Dabi," you look at your husband from across the couch. "Do you think I'm pretty?"
"What?" He turns to look at you, obviously surprised by your question after hours of silently existing next to each other.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" You repeat, trying to get him to say something to stop the anxiety gnawing in your chest.
"Why are you asking?" He grumbles. His eyes continue to analyse you.
"I'm just having one of those moments." You explain, with a sigh. "Looking for reassurance, you know?" You stare at him honestly, knowing it was always better to give Dabi honest and direct answers.
Simple and crude, that's how you both had always done things.
"You know I don't do that." He looks back at his phone. "None of that stuff."
You sigh slowly before looking away in a shrug. Trying to drown the voices by focusing again on the show on the TV screen.
You two continue existing next to each other for a few minutes before you hear him breathe heavily. You see him get up from the other side of the couch from the corner of your eye before standing in front of you, fully blocking your view.
He looks down at you — wheels obviously turning in his mind —, before suddenly grabbing your thighs and lifting you up. You let out a small squeak escape your mouth — though not exactly surprised, Dabi knew how to keep you on your toes — before putting your legs around his waist and grabbing his nape, almost automatically.
He grunts, still staring at your eyes while determinedly walking towards your shared bedroom, TV still on long forgotten. You let yourself drown in his blue eyes, not letting his stare escape your own.
When you enter the bedroom, he's the first to break eye contact though, gently dropping you on the bed before turning his back to close the curtains, filling the bedroom in darkness. Now, you can only see his silhouette, taking his shirt off — you pout unconsciously at not being able see his body — and walking towards you, throwing the shirt over his shoulder.
"You know, I'm going to burn your shirt if you leave it on the ground, right?" You say, only half joking before letting your head fall towards the pillows, his dark form getting closer.
"Yeah, yeah." Dabi answers dismissively with a flick of his hand before getting up on the bed in swift movements and laying next to you with some distance between your bodies.
You feel him pull the covers up, encasing you and him in a warm cocoon.
Slowly, almost shyly, even after all these years, you feel Dabi's arms around you, pulling yourself closer to his chest. You sense him tensing up for a moment before your head rests on his bicep.
He breathes out brutishly. "Sleep." Dabi orders. "You always say stupid shit when you're tired."
You snort, looking up at him even in the dark. "Is me, asking you if I'm pretty, stupid?" You point out, not letting him off the hook so easily.
He ruffs again, holding you tighter in a reflex. "Shut up." Dabi curses you quietly, thinking you won't hear it. You pinch the meaty — or, well, not burned — part of his stomach, making him hiss.
"I want compliments, Dabi." You let your exasperation flow into your voice. "Not your emotional constipation." You chastise, not scared of his reaction in the least.
"You're pretty stupid, that's what you are." He bites back, though voice lacks any real heat. You feel his breath in your forehead, the ghost touch of his lips making your skin tingle, almost in a silent apology.
"Look who's talking." You poke his side lightly before wiggling more into his personal space, feeling your chest touch his and your legs slowly tangle. He smelled like smoke and fire, you wanted to drown in it.
His thumb mindlessly stroked your back, before he took a deep breath, like he was gathering courage. "You're pretty, Doll." You hear the sincerity in his voice, laced with — what you can safely assume after all these years — love. "The prettiest thing I own." You feel your own doubts vanishing with his words, being replaced by the usual heatness of certainty.
You let a small sound — almost a moan — escape, causing Dabi to kiss you deeply, his tongue forcing itself between your lips. You feel his hands slowly move towards your lower back, to the curve of your ass, just resting there. You can feel him sigh into the kiss when you pull his hair with one hand, the other one stuck between both of you. God, you could kiss him like this for days.
He breaks the kiss, ignoring your contesting whine and leaving you panting. "Now, go to sleep." Dabi orders before squeezing your ass lightly.
You flick his forehead — or his cheek, you're not sure — before letting a small smile seep into your voice, knowing he could hear it. "Sweet dreams, Dabi." You whisper against his chest. "Thank you."
He hugs you tighter without a word, fitting like puzzle pieces and peacefully falling asleep.