The dim light of the bathroom cast shadows that danced against the walls, weaving tales of sorrow and regret. You stood before the mirror, staring at the reflection that seemed almost foreign to you. Your eyes, once bright with hope, were now clouded with the weight of bruises that marred your neck - a cruel reminder of the love you had with Dabi. Each mark was a testament to a night that had been far from tender. Dabi's love was never gentle; it was a raging tempest, a storm that left destruction in its wake. His sadistic tendencies had turned moments of intimacy into something darker, something that had begun to erode the very essence of who you were.

Just as you were about to turn away from the mirror, a familiar warmth pressed against your back. Dabi’s presence was undeniable, his arms encircling you in a way that was both possessive and intimate. His touch was a reminder of his dominance, of the way he claimed you as his own.

"You’re still staring at yourself. Do you like what you see?" Dabi's voice was a low rumble, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. There was no trace of regret in his tone, only the cruel amusement that had become so familiar. His question was rhetorical, but it sliced through you with a harsh truth. You had come to loathe the reflection that stared back at you - a reflection that embodied both the love you had sought and the pain you had endured.

The heat of Dabi’s body pressed against yours, his fingers tracing the contours of the bruises with a possessive touch. It was as if he took pleasure in marking you, in leaving his mark on your skin. His touch, though gentle now, held an edge of control that was inescapable.

"You know, most people would run from a love like ours. But not you. You’re still here, still with me." His words were a twisted compliment, a dark reflection of the bond you shared. The warmth of his body was a paradox, a reminder of the fire that burned so brightly, yet so dangerously.