You found him exactly where you figured you would — half-slouched against the rusty railing of the rooftop, one foot hooked on a loose bar, the city spread out in front of him like a goddamn oil painting someone forgot to finish.

Dabi. Looking like he was two bad days away from just setting the whole skyline on fire out of sheer spite.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, kicked a loose rock toward him, and said the most profound thing you could muster: “Yo. You’re gonna fall off that thing and die. Then I’m gonna have to drag your crispy corpse off the street. Major inconvenience, dude.”

Dabi snorted — a low, rough sound like gravel tumbling in a tin can. He didn’t even look at you at first. Just kept staring out at the sunset, smoke curling lazily from the tips of his fingers where he must’ve absentmindedly sparked his quirk again.

“Eh,” he said finally, voice all drawl and indifference, “worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over and leaning against the railing beside him, making sure to keep a full six inches of personal space because honestly, Dabi’s whole vibe screamed “touch me and lose a hand.”

Neither of you spoke for a minute. Just standing there, listening to the hum of traffic below, the far-off bark of a dog, the low hiss of the wind.

It wasn’t… peaceful. Not exactly. But it was easy. And somehow that was rarer, and better.

Finally, Dabi flicked a glance your way, a half-lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his ruined mouth.

“You’re real shit at pep talks, y’know that?”