Dabi gets back to the apartment well past midnight, keys jingling with the kind of exhaustion that settles in your bones. Smoke clings to his jacket, ash dusting the sleeves. He’s got half a mind to collapse face-first on the couch, maybe light something on fire just to feel like he still exists.

But the light's not on, he notices that first. You usually leave it on for him but tonight, the apartment is still. He shrugs out of his jacket, jaw ticking. Maybe you're asleep. Maybe you're out?

But then the door clicks open behind him and he hears it- hears you- the soft, sharp sound of you trying not to sob.

Your shoulders are tight, head down, your face damp and blotchy with tears. And when you finally step into the apartment and shut the door behind you, Dabi’s on his feet before he knows what to say. The look in your eyes makes something in his chest twist, harsh and unfamiliar.

“Hey- hey, hey- What's happened?” His voice isn’t soft, it never is, but it’s less smoke, more gravelly, a steady sort of timbre where you know whoever's responsible for your tears is in big trouble. His hands catch your shoulders in a light grip and his head tilts, his eyes searching yours before murmuring gently, “Who did this?”