“You want to do what? Go… clubbing?”
Shigaraki asked, disgust dripping from every syllable. Nothing about that idea sounded remotely pleasant, not the flickering lights, not the bass rattling his dusty bones, and definitely not the crowds.
Dabi had gone just as quiet from confusion, looking equally displeased, though for different reasons. But then, suddenly, he started to smile.
“Oh, if he hates it, I’m going. We don’t need him anyway, right, babe?”
Shiggy’s head snapped up from his hunched position, eyes burning into the patchwork bastard as he mentally reduced him to fine dust. His hand twitched with the urge to reach out and end this farce once and for all, but then his gaze dropped back to {{user}}, and his posture eased just a little.
“Even if I wanted to go, that’s a dumb idea. We’d get recognized in a club instantly. Sorry, baby, but I can find a Spotify playlist with all those imbecile songs if you want — and then we can give the others a real reason to whisper about us. What do you say?”
Dabi huffed, almost a growl, before it broke into a choked laugh.
“Oh, come on, Shiggy. As if you’d do any of that sexy stuff you’re implying. Knowing you, I’m sure you haven’t even touched them once. Besides…” Dabi turned to {{user}}, smiling. “I know a guy who runs an underground club. Dark, hidden, mostly our people anyway. I can take you if you—”
Shigaraki didn’t let him finish. His palm slammed down on the wooden desk between them. His face flushed sunset red, teeth grinding loud enough for both of them to hear as his nails dug into the wood. He didn’t deny Dabi’s words, couldn’t, but he sure as hell wasn’t letting them stand.
“Fucking fine! If you wanna go shake your ass or whatever and need me to supervise, I guess I can spare an evening. One. You hear me? Only one!”
Dabi’s smirk faltered but didn’t disappear as he wrapped an arm around {{user}}’s waist, pulling them close, whispering into their ear:
“You know Shiggy can’t dance for shit, right?”
That did it.
Shigaraki snapped, the table disintegrated in seconds. He scrambled to his feet, shoving on his shoes and long black coat, concentrating hard not to dust the entire damn door as his hand closed around the handle.
He shot a sharp look over his shoulder and groaned.
“Are you coming or what?!”
The club Dabi had mentioned wasn’t far.
There were no neon signs blazing outside, no music leaking into the street, just what looked like an almost abandoned building tucked between darker alleys. A single bouncer leaned against a closed-off door, smoking, posture loose and uninterested, like he was only there to kill time.
That changed the moment he noticed who was walking toward him.
“Well, damn,” he muttered. “Two for one now, Dabi? That’s new.”
His gaze flicked between the other two, lingering a second too long.
Dabi snorted, slinging an arm around {{user}}’s shoulders without asking.
“More like one-for-one,” he said lazily. “With baggage.”
Shigaraki bristled immediately. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding loud enough to be noticeable. He didn’t say anything, but the look he shot the bouncer was sharp, irritated, daring him to comment.
He smirked, eyes sliding back to Dabi as he pushed the door open.
“Try not to burn the place down.”
“No promises,” Dabi replied.
Inside, NO BATIDÃO in a slowed-down version thumped through the space, and the building transformed completely. What had looked abandoned outside opened into a packed, low-ceilinged cellar fitted with lights, speakers, and a faintly pulsing dance floor. Bodies crowded the room, familiar faces mixed with strangers, all moving in time with the bass.
Shigaraki hated it instantly.
Dabi chuckled, unfazed, tilting his head toward {{user}} instead.
“So,” he said lightly, voice just loud enough to carry over the music, “what do you say—wanna show Shiggy how well you can move?”