[wow. pick out your own clothes, priest. haven't you ever had to experience of pawing through a goodwill or clothes donation bin to find something all your own? dabi doesn't really know much about allen's preferences or where he got his clothes, so as far as he's guessing, the moths on his sleeves are a deliberate choice (even if it's for some lame reason such as the guy likes moths) and it's merely an irritating coincidence. certainly doubts it's some veiled reminder message between the two of them. even if allen did know who he was meeting tonight. (think the crutches are far better a reminder of his mortality that moth-pattern sleeves.)

dabi notes the wry smile and shrugs it off mentally. someone like allen knows about keeping advantage. he noticed that during their fight, though he also seemed to have a good chance of that luck inverting the further he pushed towards a goal... hopefully tonight won't end up in any kind of major confrontation. dabi's not keen on repeating that crappy evening.]

You'd be surprised the number of people who have a problem with it. [sarcasm despite the noting tone.] Still healin up, huh.

[they already had their "you're alive, how long were ya dead" conversation over the text previously. dabi rests his elbows on the table, hands laced together and his nose resting on his fingers in that shady dealer sort of propped-up position. the single light over their head is fairly dim, helping the atmosphere. ugh, that little golden blob's looking at him again... no eyes, but he gets the sense from it. bothersome...]

Sah, who knows. Ain't the kind to repeat a mistake, so I spent the resta the month helpin myself.

[everyone else had the same opportunity. no fault of his they didn't act on it.]