╔══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔♱᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╗
♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Touya Todoroki ᛝ Dabi ♱

he really wants to leave, he knows he's not good for you but he just can't bring himself to

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

There are some people Dabi keeps alive by never letting them get close.

And then there is you.

From the beginning, he tells himself it is temporary, Everything with him is. He does not promise safety, does not offer permanence, does not even give you a name for what you are to him. You are simply there quiet, persistent, impossible to burn away no matter how often he tries.

He never invites you in.

You stay anyway.

You see him most often at night, when the world is reduced to shadows and the blue of distant fires reflects faintly off concrete walls. He arrives like smoke slipping through cracks silent, unannounced, always wounded in ways he refuses to explain. His presence fills the room without warmth. Blue flames flicker at his fingertips, then fade, as if even his Quirk hesitates to exist near you.

Dabi does not sit close at first. He leans against walls. Keeps distance. Watches you with half lidded eyes that never stop measuring exits.

This is how he loves; by calculating how fast he could disappear.

Dabi knows what his future looks like.

There is no delusion in him about redemption, no secret hope of surviving long enough to grow old. His body is already failing him, his path already carved toward an end that smells like ash and hospital lights or worse. He understands danger intimately, understands that proximity to him is not a risk, but a sentence.

So he tries to make you leave.

He is cruel on purpose.

Some nights he comes back smelling of smoke and blood not yours, never yours and speaks just enough to wound. He mocks the softness in you, the way you still believe in tomorrows, He tells you things designed to rot hope from the inside out, That you’re naive, That you’ll get hurt. That you’re wasting your time on someone who will not stop burning.

He watches your face carefully when he says it.

Always your eyes.

You don’t shout. You don’t retaliate. You just grow quiet, tears welling despite your effort to hold them back. That reaction that is what finally makes him turn away.

Because if he stays, he will take it back.

And he cannot afford that.

And Yet He Always Comes Back

He leaves after hurting you.

Every time.

And every time, hours later, when the city has gone still and even villains sleep, Dabi returns.

He does not knock. He never knocks. He stands in the doorway like a ghost who doesn’t know how to cross a threshold without permission. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched, stitches pulling as if his own skin resents his hesitation.

You’re usually awake.

Sometimes you pretend not to be. Sometimes you don’t bother hiding the tears still clinging to your lashes. Either way, he kneels in front of you eventually, movements slow, deliberate, as though speed might break something irrevocable.

He never apologizes out loud.

But his hands scarred, trembling slightly rising with an almost reverent care. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, wiping away the tears he caused earlier, His touch is cool, careful, like he’s afraid heat might seep through him and harm you.

“Don’t cry,” he mutters once, voice rough, strained.

Not a command.

A plea.

He stays like that for a long time, forehead resting lightly against your knee, breathing shallow, eyes closed. You can feel the weight of everything he does not say pressing into the silence.

That he loves you.

That he hates himself for it.

That if he were anyone else, this wouldn’t hurt so much.

Love, According to Dabi does not hold you the way people who expect tomorrow do.

There is no possessiveness in him, no fantasies of escape together. When he touches you, it is restrained, almost apologetic. His affection manifests in small, almost invisible ways: standing between you and danger without comment, extinguishing his flames the moment you enter a room, watching the door while you sleep.

He never lets you see him rest.

When you ask why he keeps coming back if he wants you gone, he laughs soft, bitter, almost tired.

“Bad habits,” he says.

He does not meet your eyes.

What he does not say is that you are the only place where the fire inside him quiets. The only person who looks at him without seeing Endeavor’s son, or a monster, or a symbol. You see him as he is: broken, yes but deliberate. A man choosing how to burn.

And that terrifies him more than hatred ever did.

The Night He Almost Leaves for Good

There is a night when the tension finally breaks.

He is harsher than usual, words sharp enough to draw blood without ever raising his voice, He tells you he doesn’t love you, That you mean nothing, That you should forget him before he ruins you.

You don’t cry this time.

You look at him really look and ask him quietly why he’s shaking.

That question undoes him.

His breath stutters. His flames flare once, then die. He turns away sharply, hands clenched, shoulders rigid, as if holding himself together takes physical effort.

“Because I don’t get to keep things,” he says at last.

And that is the closest he ever comes to the truth.

That night, he does not touch you. He leaves without wiping your tears. Without looking back.

You think that might be the end.

it isn’t

He returns before dawn.

His movements are frantic this time, restrained only by fear, He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, eyes searching yours with an intensity that borders on desperation.

“I tried,” he says hoarsely. “I really did.”

You don’t answer, You don’t need to.

*He rests his forehead against yours not a kiss, not a promise, just closeness and* stays there, breathing you in like a man memorizing something he knows he will lose.

He loves you.

That is why he will never ask you to stay.

That is why he keeps trying to make you leave.

And that is why, every night, he comes back anyway to make sure you’re still

breathing, still real, still untouched by the fire he refuses to extinguish.

Because if he must burn alone,

then at least

you will remain unscathed.

╚══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╝