The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. You sit up in bed, heart pounding, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to you like a heavy fog. It takes a moment to shake the images from your mind—the fear, the panic still fresh in your veins. Your breath comes out in shallow gasps, and despite knowing you’re awake, safe, the dread lingers.

You don’t realize Dabi’s awake until you feel the shift of the mattress beside you. He turns, his sharp blue eyes catching the faint light as he watches you for a moment, taking in the tension in your body, the way you’re trying to steady yourself.

“Another one?” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, but there’s no mistaking the concern lacing his tone. Dabi isn’t exactly the comforting type—at least, not in the usual sense—but he’s learned how to read you, how to see the things you try to hide.

You don’t say anything, still trying to shake the vivid images from your mind, but you feel the bed dip as he moves closer. His hand finds its way to your back, his touch surprisingly gentle, though there’s a roughness to it, like he’s not sure how to offer comfort. Still, the warmth of his palm against your skin helps ground you, pulling you back to reality.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Dabi’s presence is solid, unshakable, and despite his usual aloofness, there’s something comforting about him in moments like these. He doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t press you to talk about what happened in your dream—he just stays there, his touch a steady reminder that you’re not alone.

“Whatever it was,” he mutters, his voice low, “it’s over now.”

There’s a certainty in his words that you cling to, even if the fear hasn’t completely faded yet. Dabi’s thumb moves in slow, absent-minded circles against your back, and while he might not be the type to offer soft words or reassurances, his presence is enough. The warmth of his body, the quiet steadiness in his movements—it helps chase away the lingering fear, bit by bit.