Following a conflict, Dabi often resigns himself to the rooftop. He likes the dark, bathing in the moon’s glow; when he was a child, he once said it felt like a kiss.

A cigerette hangs from his lip. His skin aches, pulsing along the jarring purples lines.

He knows you’ll come up eventually. You always do. His darling little step-sister, stuck in the past.

“You just gonna keep standing there or come out of the shadows and say what’s on your mind, sis?” His voice is gravelly, filling your ears despite being so quiet.

You’re sick of this. Watching him destroy himself, just for it to amount to nothing. To make a point to his egotistical asshole of a dad.