With trembling fingers and the last bit of strength he had left, Dabi fished into the pocket of his black coat and pulled out the double key—the one he had stolen from {{user}} weeks ago when she wasn’t looking. He’d told himself he’d never use it, that he didn’t need to. But tonight… tonight was different.

The metallic click of the lock disengaging was softer than he expected, and for a second he just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, breathing in the silence. The apartment was dark, save for the dim glow of the city seeping in through the sheer curtains. He stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind him, turning the lock with a slow, deliberate motion, as if afraid the sound might shatter something fragile.

He was wasted. Not tipsy. Not buzzed. Wasted.

But he’d never admit it, not even to himself. The stench of alcohol clung to him like smoke, mixing with the ever-present burnt scent of his scorched, stapled skin. His boots thudded heavily against the wooden floor as he tried to walk a straight line toward the kitchen. His balance, however, had other plans. He swayed, stumbled into the wall, cursed under his breath, and gritted his teeth as he forced himself upright again.

The night with the League had started loud and chaotic—bottles passed around, laughter laced with bitterness, and a growing haze that dulled the fire in his chest. But as the hours wore on and the faces blurred, he realized he didn’t want to be there anymore. The emptiness he always felt only grew louder with every drink.

Now here he was—back in the one place that ever felt close to peace. Her apartment. Her space. The scent of her still lingered in the air, soft and warm, wrapped around every piece of furniture, every hanging photo, every discarded blanket on the couch. It hit him like a punch to the gut.

He dragged himself into the kitchen, one hand gripping the edge of the counter for support. The cool surface grounded him. His other hand ran through his dark, disheveled hair as he exhaled sharply, the kind of breath that carried too much weight.

He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t even know what he’d say if she saw him like this. But some selfish part of him just wanted to be near her. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

Then came a faint sound from the hallway—the soft creak of a door opening, followed by the sleepy shuffle of footsteps.