Midnight Skies - A DabixReader Story

So Long and Goodbye

Dabi remained subdued for the rest of the day. As far as company went, you were sure that one of Japan's most wanted criminals was likely never going to be a total dream, but he was quiet for the rest of the evening, and aside from the odd sour thought about the world, his current situation, or his associates, he stayed that way.
Even as you brought in food, ensuring it was lukewarm for him, despite asking yourself why you even bothered with that, he didn't thank you. He simply took the food, eating it slowly without a single comment made. There were no dirty thoughts, no sarcastic comments, no calling of stupid pet names. Nothing. There was simply a stranger in your home, slouched over your couch, the air around him feeling heavy and dour, refusing to talk for one reason or another.
You weren't about to ask him why he'd clammed up. He'd been quiet since the skin running along his jaw had to be stitched back together. You try to be optimistic in thinking that that was the reason that he'd dropped silent, and not for any other reason, aware that he was planning on leaving 'soon', and still being unsure about what your fate was.

You had noticed that your phone had kept ringing. It was bothering you knowing it was so close, but so out of your reach. It was vibrating in his jacket pocket, not that he paid it any attention as he lazed over the sofa, his cold eyes resting on the TV, not that you felt he was watching what was on.
"Can... Can I answer that?" You ask, eventually.
The sound of your voice appears to draw him out of whatever trance he was in, his face moving away from the place it had found resting on his fist, his eyes settling on your face, his expression completely blank. You aren't entirely sure if he heard you, so you repeat yourself just as your phone stops vibrating.
Dabi looks down, lazily moving to reach into his pocket and pull out your phone, tapping his thumb against it to get the screen to light up. You watch his eyes scan over the screen, before he slides it back into his pocket.
"No." He replies finally, not even bothering to look at you as he rests his face back onto his fist. The short exchange is enough for you to notice he's still talking a little funny, his voice not carrying the way you knew it could, as if he was being cautious of moving his face too much.

You decide to leave it. His bad mood was beginning to make you nervous. You didn't want to stay around for too long and end up regretting it. So you nod, not that he's looking at you to see that, and stand, not announcing your departure, but aware of the familiar feeling of his eyes burning into you as you walk away. As you get to your hallway, you close the glass doors that separate the living area from the rest of your house, fighting the urge to slide down them in exasperation. You had a feeling that your time was ticking now. That he had used up what little kindness and empathy that he was able to give, especially in a situation where he was meant to have a clear power dynamic with you.
Your breath begins to catch awkwardly in your chest, you feel as though you stumble into your bedroom, curling up under the covers in the same pyjamas you hadn't even gotten out of yet.

-

You were entirely restless for the majority of the night. You'd gone through waves of panicking, to being calm, accepting your fate had been decided either way, with no outcome to be changed no matter how much you panicked, to panicking again, your breathing becoming so ragged at points that your chest would ache.
Eventually, even without the music you used so often to help you aid yourself to sleep, and despite the panic that had made home in your mind and body, you managed to nod off.
You woke early though. You could tell by the fact there was no light leaking through the curtains, turning around to see your alarm clock flashing the time at you, telling you it was the early morning, around 3am.
Faint noises coming from your appointment quietly travel through the walls into your room. You aren't too surprised, figuring that Dabi was probably still up, watching TV, and choose to ignore it, staring at your wall for a few moments before the sound of something hitting the floor hard makes you bolt upwards, your eyes on the door as though you expected Dabi to come storming in.

He doesn't, though, and you continue to hear the faint noises further on in your apartment. Gripping the sheets tight for a second, you sigh slightly to yourself and slide yourself out of the bed, taking cautious steps to your door before pressing your ear against it, trying to listen for any sign that Dabi was immediately outside it. Nothing comes from the other side of the door, aside from the same occasional faint noise that definitely sounded like Dabi talking.
Something tells you to check it out, your hand moving to turn the handle and poke your head out of the door, listening for the sound of Dabi's voice. There's a few moments of silence as you hang your head out the door, looking up the corridor at the closed glass doors, more and more of your loose hair sliding over your shoulder and hanging down.
A groan resonates through the corridor, making you freeze.
You weren't entirely sure if it was a groan of pain or something else. Given some of the thoughts Dabi had, completely oblivious to your Quirk, you couldn't really put it past him to be doing something perverse under your roof.
A frustrated hiss does nothing to confirm it, and you see a shadow shift in the glass, making you move your head back into your room again.

You continue to listen, hearing angry curses leave Dabi occasionally between grunts, groans and hisses.
Eventually you decide to confirm it for yourself. Seeing Dabis' shadow so close to the doors indicated that he was standing, moving around. If he was in trouble, you didn't want to have to clean it up again, or find him lying on the floor in the morning and have to do a lot of explaining to the police, or the heroes.
As quietly as possible, you approach the glass door, opening it tentatively, immediately seeing Dabi curled up over himself, apparently trying to get his shoes on, his eyes full of rage as he stares straight back at you, the dim light of the TV still enough to reflect in his sapphire gaze and make his eyes appear as though they were fluorescent.
"What are you doing?" You ask, a little confused.
"Going." He replies simply, returning his attention back to his shoe, grunting as his stomach makes contact with his thigh.
Your heart drops in a second. That was a lot quicker than you thought.

Apparently giving up with his shoe, tucking the laces into the side of his shoe, he stands, looking coldly at you, and not doing your heart any favors.
Your mouth opens and closes, unsure of what to say. You weren't about to ask him if you could live, and you weren't sure what the etiquette was if he was going to let you live. Do you say goodbye to a villain that invaded your home, burnt your wrist and made you feel uncomfortable?
A sick part of yourself that you hated reminded you that you quite enjoyed the company when he wasn't in one of his funks, or actively trying to threaten you, or caging you in against the kitchen counter. An even sicker part of you reminded you how arousing you'd found the latter.
"Go to bed, Y/N." He says simply, before turning around, heading for your door, throwing his jacket hood over his messy black hair.
You blink several times in disbelief. Were you going to get away with it?
His hand touches the door handle, and you silently whistle in an inhale, still expecting him to spin around and engulf you in a sea of blue flames. Your heart begins to palpitate as he pauses, his head tilting slightly.

"Hey. Princess." He calls out as loudly as he probably can given the poor stitching job along his cheek, the nickname going straight down your spine.
"Y-yeah?" You stutter out, kicking yourself for it.
"Lock the door this time."
He opens the door, not hanging around for an answer, closing the door behind him. You wait for a split second before slamming the window closed in the living room, and scrambling for your keys, your shaky hands struggling to lock the door behind him.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." You chant in a whisper as you slide against your front door.