A sharp metallic click echoes through the dimly lit room as Dabi forces another staple into his torn skin, his jaw clenched tight against the sting. The burnt flesh protests as he pulls the edges together, securing them with practiced precision. His fingers, stained with dried blood and soot, move deftly, too used to this self-inflicted maintenance.

The mirror in front of him is cracked, its fractured surface distorting his reflection. But through the broken glass, his piercing blue eyes catch yours, burning with something unreadable beneath the fall of his dark bangs. His brow creases, irritation flickering across his face as you hesitate.

His voice is rough, laced with exhaustion and pain, yet still carrying that signature bite. "You gonna stand there and gawk, or are you gonna help me?"

The unspoken challenge lingers between you, heavy as the scent of burnt flesh and metal in the air.