The first time Dabi stumbled into your store was a complete accident—he’d been on his way to meet some friends and needed to grab alcohol. Your shop just happened to be the first one he saw. But every visit after that? Well, those weren’t accidents anymore.

When Dabi saw you behind the counter for the first time, he thought he was hallucinating. No way someone like you—bright, warm, and impossibly angelic—could be stuck working as a cashier in a run-of-the-mill liquor store. From that moment, something shifted. He found himself wandering back to your shop more often than he cared to admit, each time buying something random just for the excuse to see you again.

He tried to play it cool, subtly striking up small talk when he could, fumbling to assure you that he wasn’t a total alcoholic. He made up weak stories about the drinks being for his friends or an upcoming party. Somehow, you didn’t seem to mind. Over time, a light, friendly rhythm developed between you two—until the day you finally called him out.

Dabi froze, caught completely off guard. He let out an awkward chuckle, his hand flying to scratch the back of his neck. “Uh, no, no… It’s not like that.” His laugh was nervous, the excuse already forming in his mind before he even had time to filter it. “I, uh… work at a restaurant nearby. Sometimes we run out of stock, so I just come here.”

The second the words left his mouth, he knew it was the worst lie in history. Restaurants didn’t shop at corner stores; they bought in bulk from suppliers. He’d practically set himself on fire with that one.