𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 || ᵈᵃᵇⁱ

17 ; un-answers

          Sometimes you just. . .really. . .really. . .really hated your living situation.

          By no means do you hate your life—you were at the top of your class with a pending internship at a large company giant in the fashion industry, lived with a supportive and hard working sister and her fun lawyer girlfriend, have a decent amount of friends you could rely on, literally lived in a decent apartment in the middle of Manhattan, and a job you loved going to. Sure it was basically a dead end and you could literally be doing anything else right now at the height of your youth, but Rickie Dickie Diner was a respected establishment in your neighborhood and dammit would you rather shoot a gun through your heart than ever leave.

          But your point was that no, you loved your life, you really did, but this current month—fuck, week—was really shaping out to be one you didn't exactly enjoy. Thus, deeming it as you hating your current living situation.

          "Come on, help me out here."

          "Oh so now you need my help?!" You stared incredulously at the woman currently making her way over to a groaning Dabi, left to lean back on the wall with his head tossed back and his breathing heavy. He had a hand up to his forehead slightly massaging it, tugging at his hair the same way you did when you were either frustrated or had a wicked headache. You were quite sure he was both.

          The vials in your hand was tossed to you by the taller woman—seriously was Nylah always this tall?—having left staring wide-eyed and panicked as she quite literally singlehandedly dragged off the unconscious and burnt mysterious figure who attacked you without so much as breaking a sweat. The fuck?! What kind of diet does she have to be this fucking strong?!

          Despite her asking you to assist her it was obvious she could hold her own and probably two others, slinging Dabi's arm around her shoulders despite his visible refusal. You expected his usual quickness, or even just some sarcastic remark thrown in with a comment—or probably insult, really—about her brightly colored hair. But all you got. . .was him eventually complying and even leaning for what little support.

          . . .what and just why.

          "Okay I really don't know what's going on here and I don't appreciate being kept out of the loop!!" They entered the eatery and you scrambled to join them as you tightly hugged the flimsy bag of pink filled bottles, barely managing to have the slowly closing metal door hit you before you got your whole body inside. "Seriously what the hell?!"

          "Shh, Y/N, he has a headache."

          . . .you scoffed so dramatically it'd make a gay man proud.

          She had the audacity to shush you?! Who does she think she—what?!

          "Look, I'm sorry for not saying anything." Nylah starts as she sets him down in the break-room, the couch creaking in protest against his weight while you hastily set the bottles down as they clinked loudly. A look of mortification hit her face as she sees you treating them not-so-gently, the fact that these were glass bottles probably not much of a leading factor to that as it was that the liquids inside them were important.

          "I found one of these back in the lost and found like a week ago. . ." You started, the thought and realization hitting you as you stared at her with furrowed brows. "And. . .and one ended up in my bag that saved my life going back home. . ."

          You scoffed again, less dramatically and more of exasperation at the thought of an even bigger picture. "Nylah. . .please, just tell me what the hell is happening?"