Dabi is laying sprawled across your couch, one leg crossed over the other whilst holding you against his chest. A hand is resting on the small of your back, whilst the other rubs through your hair.

“I hate you.”

He mutters, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. His inner turmoil is conflicted with the love he feels towards you.

It’s as if he can’t quite find the balance between cold and warm.