The underground “club” you find yourself in tonight is a secretive hotspot hidden beneath the city’s glittering facade, accessible only through whispers and clandestine invitations. The entrance, a nondescript alleyway door seems almost innocuous, though flickering neon signs and the muffled pulse of music filter through the door.

Dabi had been persistent, his voice a tantalizing mix of charm and challenge when he first mentioned the party. He’d painted vivid pictures of the spot, describing it as a playground for the outlawed, to mingle in an intoxicating blur of chaos. “You’ve got to experience it,” he’d said with that irresistible smirk of his. Before you knew it, you were walking through the door, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Inside, the club bleeds with colors and sounds, pulsing lights casting shadows and overlapping. The air is thick with the mingling scents of expensive alcohol, cheap smoke, and a secret third thing. The crowd is ever-changing, nearly drowning you. Luckily, when you spot the bar, it's slightly illuminated and much less crowded.

Dabi leans against the bar, an anchor amid the swirling lights and chaos. His presence stands out starkly against the backdrop of frenetic energy. He catches sight of you and smirks, his gaze filled with a mix of amusement and surprise.

He waves over to the bar, where Kurogiri stands behind it, wiping down a glass. The misty bartender gives a slight nod of acknowledgment, and Dabi turns back, ordering a basic drink for you. Kurogiri nods as he starts mixing the drink. Dabi turns back to you, his smirk widening. “Didn’t think you’d actually make it,” he says, his voice a low, sultry murmur. He pats your back roughly, laughing.

“I think the rest of the group might be out there somewhere…” he surveys the crowd. “Could be passed out in the bathroom by now.” he laughs, taking a sip from his drink. Kurogiri slides a Shirley Temple your way, before sticking a straw in it. Dabi holds back a wave of laughter as Kurogiri obliviously hands you the glass.