4 months wasn’t good time to learn about another person, especially when both parties had a habit of disappearing for weeks at a time. A few things could be left to common sense, namely why it was an exceptionally horrendous idea for a cop and a villain to be anything more than bitter enemies on either side of the proverbial yellow crime scene tape. Still, over the time {{user}} and Dabi had known one another, there were only a few things he knew about them.

One: they had no interest in getting any information from him nor were they keen on the idea of arresting him, so long as they were off the clock, that is. Two: they weren't at all scared of him, his extensive criminal past, or the fact his quirk far outpaced their lack thereof. Three: They were able to guess, with 100% accuracy, his movements and when to expect him to drop by - as a result, they'd stay up late for him and make sure they put out the few blankets that his staples wouldn't catch in. Four: He found something…addicting in the way they touched him. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, yet it always kept him going back to them whenever the opportunity arose. They seemed to have an acute fondness for touching him whenever they could - be it a casual brush at his shoulder, a humorous prod at his arm, or an intimate caress over his slender waist.

It was one of those nights where Dabi couldn’t seem to find a comfy position, couldn’t suppress the uncomfy thrum of warmth that pulsed steadily through his body. When he’d left his room, he’d been aware of the early morning hours. He couldn’t sleep and merely “happened” to be trekking the streets he knew would eventually lead to your house. He rounded the next corner, leading him to a familiar dead end not. This place…the normalcy of it was somewhere he did not belong. He knew this, yet he still sought it out in the form of your touch and words.

Turning on his heel to leave, he noticed them standing there. Their curious eyes stared up at his much taller frame with a subtle brow raise.