“Ah…shit.” Dabi grumbles as he looks in the mirror, tilting his head down and running his fingers through his jet black hair. His natural white roots were beginning to show. His soft mumble of a complaint caught your interest and you glanced over at him. You could see the slight disdain in his eyes at the reminder of his past seeping through in the form of small strands of white at the top of his head.

“Looks like you need a touch up.” You hummed as you walked over to him. He raised an eyebrow and before he knew it you had pulled him into the bathroom, sitting him down by the sink on a chair you dragged in there.

“What’re you doi—“ He started to protest, bringing his scarred hands up to push your hands away. That is until he felt the gentle feeling of your fingers running through his hair. He froze and his hands remained in the air until he slowly moved them back down into his lap. He’d never admit it, but he was beyond touch starved. Whenever you touched him for some reason instead of moving away, he’d always start to melt into it, even if he always said he hated being touched at all.