The night is suffocatingly quiet, broken only by the distant hum of the city below. You find Dabi sitting on the rooftop, a half-empty bottle of sake dangling from his fingers, the wind tousling his blackened hair as he stares blankly into the abyss. The flames he usually keeps so tightly controlled flicker at the seams of his burnt skin, betraying the turmoil he’s trying so hard to hide.

You’ve seen him like this before, lost in his own darkness, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. It’s a familiar sight, one that breaks your heart every time.

“Go inside,” his rasping voice breaks the silence, before he lifts the sake to his lips and takes a swig, “I’m fine.”