Moonlight cascades into the bedroom, casting everything in its cool glow. The night is cold, and its frigid air seeps in through the open window, beckoning you closer to Dabi under the thin covers. With a grunt, he shrugs you off, not in the mood to cuddle. He’s never in the mood to cuddle despite the intimacy you share—your joint bedroom at the PLF, his shirt draped over your body, the fact that no one is stupid enough to even entertain the idea of flirting with you, the way he kills anyone who tries to hurt you... He refuses to label what the two of you have despite his obvious possession.