There was no way he was going to get up and actually make it. The decision about using his perfectly healthy all things considered body to get up and do something human on his day off wasn't made yet. This would have to do. Would have to do as if he wouldn't have done it down the line anyway. Mind that Dabi was probably right, at least half right, he was very careful to clean his controllers and probably took better care of them than himself aside the essentials.
"Not at all, it tastes pretty good." He knew what the other man had meant and could give a flying damn that he found it abhorrent. "Your loss." But, fine, he pushed himself up onto one knee while favouring the open package as not to spill it and plucked another from the place it had found on the couch when he stood up and gravity again took over. "It'll be your fault when it's ruined."
Shuffling himself toward the kitchen, the intent was clear that he was really actually just going to attempt something he often didn't care to do. Doing something himself if it wasn't driven by passion, desire or a march to his end goal. Something he didn't have much of here, all things considered so far.
Yeah, of course the powdered chocolate and sugar tastes good; he could ask a five-year-old and get the same answer. No doubt he would also most likely find a five-year-old eating cocoa powder out of the packet like a fucking cave troll, rather than a self-described 'final boss' who calls himself an adult.
But Dabi has little interest in actually policing what his 'roommate' eats, even though he fully suspects Shigaraki's diet consists of a dozen bags of chips a day—he comments just because he can, and because it gives him a small jolt of rare satisfaction to point out someone else performing an utter fuck-up of a human being. He's otherwise fully prepared to leave the man to his own euphoria, shoving fingerfuls of sugar into his mouth, but to Dabi's mild surprise, Shigaraki is actually prompted to move. Raising an eyebrow, Dabi watches as Shigaraki—with apparent displeasure—shuffles past him to the kitchen, and follows with some amusement.
"Don't blame me," he drawls to Shigaraki's back. "I ain't twisting your arm to make you drink it."
Dinner is a good incentive to leave Shigaraki alone. The takeout containers have haphazardly been left out on the counter, some with flaps open for Dabi to visually sort through their contents while the other man does whatever he has in mind. Make his hot cocoa like a normal person, perhaps?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
all things consideredbody to get up and do something human on his day off wasn't made yet. This would have to do. Would have to do as if he wouldn't have done it down the line anyway. Mind that Dabi was probably right, at least half right, he was very careful to clean his controllers and probably took better care of them than himself aside the essentials."Not at all, it tastes pretty good." He knew what the other man had meant and could give a flying damn that he found it abhorrent. "Your loss." But, fine, he pushed himself up onto one knee while favouring the open package as not to spill it and plucked another from the place it had found on the couch when he stood up and gravity again took over. "It'll be your fault when it's ruined."
Shuffling himself toward the kitchen, the intent was clear that he was really actually just going to attempt something he often didn't care to do. Doing something himself if it wasn't driven by passion, desire or a march to his end goal. Something he didn't have much of here, all things considered so far.
no subject
But Dabi has little interest in actually policing what his 'roommate' eats, even though he fully suspects Shigaraki's diet consists of a dozen bags of chips a day—he comments just because he can, and because it gives him a small jolt of rare satisfaction to point out someone else performing an utter fuck-up of a human being. He's otherwise fully prepared to leave the man to his own euphoria, shoving fingerfuls of sugar into his mouth, but to Dabi's mild surprise, Shigaraki is actually prompted to move. Raising an eyebrow, Dabi watches as Shigaraki—with apparent displeasure—shuffles past him to the kitchen, and follows with some amusement.
"Don't blame me," he drawls to Shigaraki's back. "I ain't twisting your arm to make you drink it."
Dinner is a good incentive to leave Shigaraki alone. The takeout containers have haphazardly been left out on the counter, some with flaps open for Dabi to visually sort through their contents while the other man does whatever he has in mind. Make his hot cocoa like a normal person, perhaps?