Dabi's pacing in that way that he does, shoulders tense— more than usual. The sometimes cocky smirk is missing, replaced by a deep scowl as he runs a hand down his face, avoiding your gaze entirely.

He clicks his tongue, irritation flashing across his face. “Damn it, why do you do this?” He suddenly turns, his glare sharp but unfocused, like he’s looking through you rather than at you. “Hanging around me like I’m not some walking disaster. Like you don’t care about what I’ve done.”

The words spit out roughly, like he’s trying to shove them back as he says them. And then, before he can stop himself, before he can even think, he snaps, voice lower now, gritted between his teeth. “I like you, alright? There, you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?” His hands curl into fists, his whole body tight like he’s waiting for impact, for rejection, for you to call him an idiot and walk out that door. His face is turned slightly, blue flames flickering faintly at the seams of his hands as he glares at the ground instead of you. “You get under my damn skin.”