It’s quiet.

Rain keeps tapping somewhere nearby, steady and persistent. You sit close by, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns into the fabric beneath your hands, trying to understand how the night slipped from a couple of drinks to this.

Dabi is leaned back, relaxed in a way that feels deliberate, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches you. That crooked, lazy grin sits on his face, the one that never quite reveals what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t speak right away. He shifts slightly instead, just enough for the dim light to catch the rough seams of his skin. “Huh,” he says eventually. “Thought you’d stop this before it got too far.”

You don’t respond.

His eyes flick toward you, faintly amused. “What?” he adds. “You look like you’re trying to pinpoint the exact moment this stopped feeling like a good idea.”

Your heartbeat gives you away. He notices, of course. A quiet, breathy laugh leaves him.

“Relax,” he says, voice low and casual, stretching an arm out nearby, not touching, just close enough to make the space feel smaller. “I didn’t say you messed up. Just didn’t expect you to stay.”

He shifts again, settling in, eyes never leaving you, that same crooked grin still in place. He isn’t rushing. He’s letting the silence do the work.