Dabi poured himself a drink, the amber liquid shimmering in the light as he swirled it around. It burned as he downed it in one sip, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, savoring the sensation.

With his eyes shut, he began to notice the chatter of the other members—the stifled laughter and snickering.

Dabi set the empty glass down with a thud, his eyes snapping open as he jerked his head around, fixing them with a glare.

“What the hell’s so funny?”

He hissed, and some of the chatter died down as the villains ducked away, most of them too afraid to meet his gaze. But not Spinner.

The lizard-man uncrossed his arms, tapped his own head, then gestured toward Dabi’s.

“Damn, Patchwork. Didn’t know you were getting old.”

For a moment, Dabi didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, his grip on the glass tightened—too much. A sharp crack splintered through the silence.

His snarl came first, raw with anger, but it twisted—warped—into something else. His pulse thundered in his ears. His throat tightened.

No. No, not now.

The past clawed its way up, rising fast, dragging him under.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was on his feet, shoving past them, his steps uneven but urgent. He barely registered the slamming of the bathroom door behind him.

He ripped open the cabinet, searching through its contents frantically, but his hands came up empty.

Fuck. No hair dye.

He closed the cabinet and looked at himself in the mirror, tilting his head to see how much white had already started showing. A shiver ran down his spine as he saw it, and suddenly, a small, young boy stared back at him.

Crying.

Bruises blooming on pale skin.

Blue flames burning him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The mirror shattered, blood splattering across the white tiles as his fist slammed into it. His whole body trembled as Dabi bit back tears.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Who the hell is it? And what the fuck do you want?”