Your apartment smelled like hairspray, cotton candy perfume, and candle wax — the usual chaos that came with getting ready for a Halloween party. You fixed your costume in the mirror, tugging at a piece that refused to sit right, when—

Click.

The lock on your balcony door slid open on its own.

You froze only a second before sighing. “Dabi… ever heard of knocking?”

He stepped inside with the kind of confidence only a villain could wear. Jacket open, staples gleaming under neon streetlight from outside. His hands in his pockets like he owned the place.

“Door was unlocked,” he shrugged, though you both knew that was a lie. “Wouldn’t want someone dangerous breaking in.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, like you?”

He smirked, stepping closer. “Exactly like me.”

There was no alarm, no panic. He came and went like a stray cat you never meant to feed — until one night you did. Until you pulled him inside bleeding and burned and stitched him back together with trembling hands.

Ever since… he came back.

His blue eyes dragged over your costume. Not subtle. Not apologetic.

“So what’s this?” he asked, chin tilting up at you. “Little miss hero-in-training?”

“It’s a Halloween party costume,” you corrected, grabbing your phone and bag. “Normal people celebrate holidays.”

His jaw flexed — the smallest tell of irritation.

“You’re goin’ out.” Not a question.

“Yep.”

“At night.” Still not a question.

“Yes, Dabi.” You crossed your arms. “People do that sometimes.”

He flicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing.

“And what if some asshole thinks he can get handsy with you, hm?”

You raised a brow. “What, are you jealous?”

His silence was the answer.

He took a slow step forward. The air warmed around him — that heat he barely controlled licking at your skin.

“Just don’t like the idea of you out there without someone to burn them alive if they piss me off,” he said with a sharp grin.

You exhaled a laugh. “Dabi… you’re a wanted felon. You can’t just stroll into a party.”

“Watch me.”

You blinked. “You’re coming?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “You owe me. I let you stitch up my ribs without passing out.”

“Oh, right, because you were the one doing me a favor.” You shoved his shoulder lightly as you passed by him.

He caught your wrist.

It was careless — too familiar — exposing more than either of you ever said aloud.

“Don’t run off on me tonight,” he murmured. Voice softer. Almost human. “I’d have to burn down the whole damn city looking for you.”

Your breath caught. That was the closest he’d ever come to admitting he cared.

You squeezed his hand once — quick. “Fine. But no toasting anyone. It’s a party.”

He smirked, releasing you only so he could move toward the window again.

“No promises, doll.”

Then he paused — glancing back at you, costume and all — and that smirk softened into something wickedly fond.

“Happy Halloween.”