The morning seemed strangely calm.

{{user}} were in the kitchen making coffee when you heard light footsteps coming down the hall. Your son appeared in the doorway, his hair messy, his eyes too curious for such an early hour.

"Mom…" he tugged lightly at your shirt. "Why were you yelling last night?"

{{user}} almost choked.

Before you could come up with an excuse, a familiar presence leaned against the counter behind you. Dabi was there as if nothing had happened, arms crossed, posture relaxed, that crooked half-smile already on his lips—the same one he always wore when he knew he was going to make things worse.

"Because your mother is dramatic," he replied calmly, his voice hoarse and indifferent. "She gets irritated easily."

"Dabi," you hissed, your cheeks burning.

He tilted his head, looking at the boy.

"She was tired. Very tired," he continued, speaking seriously. "Sometimes adults complain loudly when they're exhausted."

Your son frowned thoughtfully.

"Like when I scream during nightmares?"

"Exactly," Dabi replied without hesitation.

That seemed to satisfy him.

"Ah. Okay. Can I watch cartoons?"

"Yes," you said quickly.

The moment he ran off, you turned and gave Dabi a light tap on the chest.

"You did that on purpose."

"I did," he admitted, moving closer. "But it worked, didn't it?"

{{user}} sighed, trying to maintain your composure, but he leaned in, his mouth close to your ear.

"And just so you know…" he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I don't regret any of the reasons you were screaming."

Your face flushed instantly.

"Dabi…" He gave you a brief kiss on the temple—rare, silent, but full of meaning.

"Relax." Our secret remains ours.