The apartment was dim and half-warm, lit only by the glow of the TV and the ember at the end of Dabi’s cigarette. The rain outside hit the cracked windowpane in steady rhythm — the kind of storm that made the city hum low, like it was holding its breath. {{user}} sat in the middle of the couch, knees tucked up under a blanket, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. On his right, Dabi lounged like he owned the place, an arm thrown carelessly behind {{user}}’s shoulders. On the left, Shigaraki sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, tapping his fingers in that twitchy way that meant he was two seconds from getting irritated — probably at Dabi.

It was always like this.

“You’re gonna burn another hole in the couch,” Shigaraki muttered, eyes flicking to Dabi’s cigarette.

Dabi blew a slow puff of smoke toward him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t sit so close to it, crust boy.”

“Say that again, patchwork—”

“Both of you,” {{user}} interrupted softly, not looking up from his phone. His tone wasn’t loud, but it worked better than any command. Both villains went quiet, tension snapping out of the air as quick as it came.

Dabi leaned his head back against the couch with a smirk, eyes sliding toward {{user}}. “See? That’s why we keep him. Keeps the monsters in check.”

Shigaraki made a low noise — half a scoff, half something softer. “He’s not keeping you in check. You’re just whipped.”

“Like you’re not?” Dabi countered, his grin widening. “You get all twitchy every time he walks out of a room.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes narrowed, but his hand drifted toward {{user}} anyway, fingertips grazing his sleeve before settling there. {{user}} finally set his phone down and leaned into the touch, the corners of his lips curling faintly