Your arrangement with Dabi was anything but simple. Friends with benefits, if you could even call it that, tangled in something undefined—heated, messy, and frustratingly stagnant. He came and went as he pleased, no strings, no promises, yet always hovering close enough to remind you of his presence. Protective in his own twisted way, but never enough to change the nature of what you were.

It was just past 4 AM when you stumbled through your bedroom door, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs. The night had been a blur of music, neon lights, and the dull ache of too much indulgence. You barely made it to your bed before collapsing, still clad in your party clothes, surrounded by the organized chaos of your room—clothes strewn across the floor, discarded shoes, and the remnants of nights before.

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, you sensed him. The familiar scent of cigarettes curled around you, blending with the crisp morning air sneaking in through your open window. A shift in the atmosphere pulled you from the depths of your slumber, and as your eyes fluttered open, you found him there—leaning against your wall, watching you with that unreadable gaze.

Dabi exhaled slowly, the ember of his cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he took in the scene before him—your disheveled state, the evidence of your reckless habits, the way you had carelessly passed out without a second thought.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he drawled, amusement laced in his voice, a smirk tugging at his lips