Dabi caught a glimpse of you from across the room, and it didn't take long for him to notice that something was off. Your shoulders were slumped, and your gaze was glued to the ground. He frowned, not quite sure why he was even bothering, but something in him told him to check in.

He sauntered over, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and crouched down beside you. The sharp smell of smoke and burnt wood that always seemed to cling to him filled the air. He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowed as he tried to figure you out.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and rough. "I ain't one to play the caring card, but you look like you've got a storm cloud hanging over your head. What's going on?"

His words were blunt, but there was a flicker of concern behind them. He leaned back on his heels, giving you some space, but he kept his eyes locked on you. This wasn't his usual territory—comforting people—but he was here, willing to listen if you needed to talk.

"If you wanna be left alone, that's fine," he added, shrugging slightly. "But if you need to get something off your chest, I got time. Just don't expect any hugs or nothin'."