Midnight Skies - A DabixReader Story

A Familiar Face

CW: Slight hint towards self harm. (Side character)
Look after yourselves. ♡
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The first week was the hardest. Dabi stumbling his way into your apartment had almost been a metaphor of how he'd stumbled his way into your mind, too. You hadn't realised how much of the stress you'd been swallowing down until you'd slid down the weak wooden door that separated you both for good, thanking anyone that may have been close enough to listen. You weren't sure if you were thanking him, God, the universe, or your own luck by the end of it.
You were jumpy. All the time. Loud or quiet unfamiliar noises startled you, which wasn't helped when you could finally return to work, the occasional thump of a hardback book closing even enough to set you off in the quiet surroundings you had once adored, or pull you out of the stories you could see people envisioning in their minds.
Even your boss, Ai, had caught on to how strange your behaviour was, worry written over her creased features, making them appear even deeper as she asked you time after time if you were okay, you brushing over it every time, not wanting to push your luck with the generosity of a villain by getting other people involved and knowing they'd tell you go to the police.

Lying was the hardest part for you. It was a foreign concept to you. Until you were introduced to Dabi, you'd rarely lied. Your Quirk almost forced you to be honest with people, half of you thinking it was only fair considering you couldn't help but hearing everything personal that ran through their minds, and half of it being because you'd heard every negative thought that someone had about you over the years, and sometimes, it made you want to bite back.
So when your coworker, and closest friend you had, spotted your bandaged wrist and reached to hold it gently, lifting it to look at it with curious eyes, before looking you straight in your eyes fearlessly in a way only she could do, you were met with a small pang of panic, and guilt over the lie you were going to have to come up with.
"What happened?" She asked softly, her head immediately flitted through thoughts of bloodstains in a sink, a bath, the floor, similar bandages wrapped around a wrist that was not your own, and long sleeves that didn't match that of your own wardrobe.

You felt guilty for learning that about her. She cringed slightly, knowing that you didn't know that about her before, her eyes moving away in what you could only assume was embarrassment. It was a look you were familiar with. You'd seen it time and time again after seeing things you were sure you weren't meant to since your Quirk developed.
"It's okay, Emi." You'd tried to reassure with a small smile. "Just an accident with the cooker."
If it hadn't been at your own expense, you might have laughed at yourself for referring to Dabi as 'the cooker'.
She'd given you a dubious look as she'd let go of your wrist, you bringing it close to your chest, as if terrified she might grab it again. You didn't need to read minds to know she didn't believe you.
"I'm sorry for what you saw." She had said simply before her usual stony face softened into a small smile. "I'm here for you, Y/N."
You'd thanked her, keeping the smile you wore on your own face until her back was turned, allowing your smile to drop again, you tugging your sleeve back down over your bandages.
What really hurt was avoiding Sota. A Quirk matching your own, and knowing he was convincing enough to somehow get you to go to the police or a hero was only going to get you into more trouble you'd convinced yourself.

But the second week, you began to relax a bit. You managed to convince yourself that if Dabi was going to come back, if he was going to change his mind, it'd be within a few days, or the first week. You went from being terrified to open your front door to being able to open it without holding your breath and holding your keys in between your fingers.
Instead, you just had a shaky hand as you unlocked the door every time you returned home from work. You still couldn't bring yourself to listen to music while in your own home, terrified you'd miss a sound that could turn out to be important.
Today, you'd come home from work having brought a bunch of ingredients from the store. Emi had been trying to convince you for the past week to hang out everyday after work with her. The first few times, you'd agreed, not wanting to be in your own home, but it soon became tedious, it re-highlighting to you how tiring it was to be around people and their thoughts constantly, no matter whether they were pure and innocent, or nasty and cruel.

So you'd lied. You'd told her that you were having dinner with your brother, and his boyfriend Ren. You'd watched as her face fell for a second, her red lips tilting downwards as her eyes moved to the side, her brain immediately reminding you of how distrustful she was of your mental state right now. But she'd accepted the lie and told you to have a good time, her eyes on you as you left work, standing outside the door to the library and lifting her phone to her ear.
You felt you had to make it look believable, so you'd gone to the store instead of towards your usual route home, kicking yourself the entire way there, knowing that she didn't know you didn't have any ingredients in the house. But you were committed to the path at that point, and knew it'd be suspicious to turn around halfway there.
By the time you got home it was already dark, and you were getting tetchy about being alone in it, your hands fumbling and shaking even more than usual as you approached the door to your home, your keys scratching awkwardly around where they needed to go as you struggle with the bags, too.
"Fuck." You mutter, dropping the bags to the floor the second you step through the door, turning to close it and lock it with the keys and the chain like you always did now.

It happens quickly, the searing hot hand clamping over your face before you can scream, your entire upper body colliding with the wood of the door uncomfortably as your other arm, the unbandaged one, is twisted behind you.
You bite the hand, capturing the flesh between your teeth as hard as you could muster, knowing precisely who it belonged to, and your instinct for survival kicking in. Your leg lashes out behind you, not making contact with anything beside thin air. With a small huff, your entire body slams into the door, a hot body pressing into yours from behind.
"Cut it out." He orders, his voice as raspy as ever. "I don't want to hurt you."
You let out a dry laugh, it muffled behind his hand. You refuse to let up on the wiggling, despite it being pretty feeble and pathetic at this point, his body weight just enough to pin you hard against the door.
"Fucking stop." He hisses, his brain immediately flashing to your stomach, which was probably the least pressed thing against the door, and then you remember the lie, the lie that almost was now confirmed to be what saved you the first time, too.

You stop, not wanting to push your luck for a second time, your sharp eyes moving to their sides to try and catch sight of him behind you.
He yanks your sleeve up on the captured arm, letting out a dry chuckle of his own.
"Thought so." He says simply, pressing into your shoulders harder, his hot breath fanning over one of your ears.
You frown as his mind goes to a tall redhead, who wore sunglasses, and seemed to be carrying around a big lump of metal. You'd never seen that one before.
"You're Yakuza aren't you, dollface?"