Chapter Text
The silence of the early morning was broken by the steady thud of Dabi's boots, his footsteps deliberate, almost rhythmic as they reverberated through the dimly lit room.
The weight of his presence was unmistakable, as though the air itself thickened in anticipation of his arrival.
He didn’t make a sound beyond his movement, but his very being seemed to dominate the space.
The faintest creak of the door marked his entry, followed by the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and something darker—burnt wood, charred memories, and the sharpness of his cologne.
Siren's eyelids fluttered open slowly, her lashes brushing against the pillow as her senses gradually sharpened, torn from the remnants of her dream-heavy sleep.
She could feel the warmth of the blankets cocooning her, the softness of the sheets against her skin, but even that comfort couldn’t fully erase the weight of the interruption.
She wasn’t ready for the world, especially not for Dabi, whose presence was always too intense for a morning.
The hazy fog of sleep clung to her mind, unwilling to loosen its hold as she blinked against the harsh reality of the moment.
Dabi didn’t wait for an invitation.
His boots scuffed softly against the wooden floor, his movements like that of a predator circling its prey—methodical, unhurried, and knowing.
He was close now, standing just at the edge of her bed, that familiar smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.
The acrid scent of his cigarette still clung to his clothes, the trace of burnt ash in the air mingling with the natural scent of his skin, the faint trace of musk that was uniquely Dabi.
Siren barely moved at first, her body still cocooned in the warmth of the blankets.
She needed a moment—a small sliver of peace to adjust, to shake off the weight of sleep that still tugged at her limbs.
Her eyes, still half-lidded, slowly sharpened, the green of them glowing faintly in the muted light.
She could feel Dabi’s presence without needing to look at him, but when she finally did, it was with an unhurried calm, her gaze meeting his, the sharpness of her eyes cutting through the drowsiness that still clouded her.
Her hand brushed against the soft fabric of her loose crop top, the cotton cool against her fingertips as she shifted in bed, stretching in a languid motion that spoke of both grace and fatigue.
She let her fingers comb through her tousled hair, the motion slow but purposeful, her fingers brushing against the strands with the same effortless elegance she carried in every movement.
She didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to do anything beyond this, but the weight of Dabi’s presence demanded acknowledgment.
Siren glanced at the clock, still too early for anyone to be intruding on her private space, yet here he was, as always.
Her lips parted, a quiet sigh escaping her, thick with the remnants of sleep, but sharp with the sharpness she always wore when forced to engage with him.
“Dabi,” she murmured, her voice rough, still tangled with sleep, but unmistakably commanding.
There was no question in it, just the acceptance that he was, as usual, imposing himself on her world.
She didn’t bother asking why; she knew better than that. Instead, she gave him what little acknowledgment he needed, her words more of a resigned recognition.
Siren finally pushed herself upright, the blankets slipping from her waist, pooling at her sides, revealing the soft curve of her torso.
She sat there, relaxed but alert, her posture elegant yet tense, as if bracing for whatever came next.
Her eyes, now fully focused, met his with an intensity that came from knowing all too well the way Dabi operated.
He didn’t leave room for discomfort; he was always at the edge of her personal space, a constant presence in her life she could neither ignore nor fully accept.
Her lips curled into a small, tired smile, a wry expression of amusement mixed with a hint of annoyance.
“Just one time,” she muttered, her voice low and teasing, though it held a sharpness beneath the surface. “Just once, share your energy with me.”
The words were playful, but there was something else beneath the teasing.
Something that carried weight—something raw.
Siren stretched her arms high above her head, the motion fluid and seductive, her crop top lifting slightly as she arched her back, showing off the smooth expanse of her torso.
The slight lift of her shirt, the curve of her body accentuated in the motion, made the request feel even more intimate, charged with an unspoken promise of what could be.
Her lips parted slightly as she licked them, the act both casual and deliberate, the faintest trace of a challenge lingering in her expression.
The invitation was subtle but undeniable, her green eyes flicking to Dabi with a hint of something darker—a spark of curiosity, of hunger.
But it was clear, even in her languid state, that she wasn’t offering herself freely. She was challenging him, testing him, as much as she was teasing him.
A game, a dance—one that only they understood.
And with Dabi, she knew that the line between flirtation and danger was always thin.
Dabi’s laugh was low, throaty—something between amusement and challenge.
It echoed in the room like the flicker of a dying flame, always on the verge of burning out but never quite doing so.
His fingers brushed against her hair, tugging it lightly, just enough to feel the tension in her scalp, to remind her that he was there, that he always would be.
His voice, rough and full of an edge only he could carry, rumbled through the quiet space.
"Not on your life, pretty little Siren," he said, the words dripping with something darker than mere teasing.
His eyes glinted with amusement, but there was a flicker of something more—something unspoken, just beneath the surface, lurking like a threat.
Dabi was never one to take things lightly, and Siren knew better than to push him too far, but the playful nature in her voice seemed to roll off him like water, never quite sinking in.
Siren’s expression never faltered. Her half-lidded eyes held that same sharpness, even as she laid back against her pillow, the covers still bunched at her waist.
She wasn’t fully awake, but there was a predatory gleam in her gaze that hinted at something far more dangerous than drowsiness. She didn’t mind pushing Dabi’s buttons; in fact, she relished it, even when it left her vulnerable to his sharp edges.
“Just a little taste test,” she purred, her voice thick with sleep and a suggestion of something else.
The words rolled off her tongue smoothly, dangerously sweet.
She stretched again, more slowly this time, like a cat coiling her muscles before a leap.
Her shirt lifted slightly, just enough to reveal the curve of her waist, her breath shallow but controlled.
“I promise it won’t hurt,” she added with a sly smile, the promise in her words both enticing and a little menacing, like a secret she wasn’t sure she wanted to share.
Her fingers curled slightly around the blankets, the motion languid but deliberate as her gaze never left him.
She knew Dabi, knew his boundaries, knew the fine line between flirtation and something darker.
She was playing with fire, testing the heat of the flames, but there was no fear in her eyes, no hesitation.
Just an unspoken understanding that, when it came to Dabi, anything could happen.
Her lips, soft and inviting, twitched into a small smile, a knowing one, as if she had already decided what game they were playing.
The room felt charged now, the space between them thick with an energy that neither of them would be willing to acknowledge outright, but both knew was there—lingering, waiting.
She wasn’t afraid.
She never had been.
And in that moment, with the world outside her door still dark and quiet, Siren was certain of only one thing: Dabi, despite his rough exterior, was just as tangled in their shared dance as she was.
Dabi’s smirk grew wider as he watched her, his gaze never wavering from the subtle grace of her movements.
This little dance of theirs—the unspoken tension, the shared game of attraction and defiance—was his favorite.
It was never predictable, never safe.
Siren was a puzzle, a series of contradictions wrapped up in a body that was both lethal and alluring, cold yet dangerously captivating.
He liked that about her.
Her form was poised, lithe, almost feline in its precision.
As she lay back against the pillows, her body seemed to flow effortlessly with the sheets, every movement smooth, languid, like she was both fully aware of the effect she had on him and completely unconcerned.
The way her arms stretched above her head, the soft flex of her muscles under the fabric of her shirt—it was like she was drawing his focus without even trying, pulling him in with the quiet power of her presence.
And then, there was her smile.
That lazy smirk that curled her soft pink lips, teasing and inviting all at once.
It wasn’t a smile meant for anyone else, but him.
It was the smile that let him know she wasn’t afraid to play, that she could dance this dangerous dance with him all day if she wanted to.
It was the kind of smile that made him forget the rest of the world, made him want to push her further just to see how she would respond.
She didn’t have to speak to command his attention—her body language said everything.
Even the way she breathed seemed to draw him in, slow and deliberate, as if she were savoring each moment, each second that passed between them.
The way the covers pooled around her waist, the slight dip in her stomach when she exhaled, the way the fabric of her top clung to her form—it was all intentional, all part of the game they played.
Dabi’s fingers twitched at his side, a sudden urge to reach out, to touch her, to close the distance between them.
He fought the instinct, keeping himself still for now. He knew how this played out. She liked the tease, liked the chase.
And he’d learned over the years that the longer you made her wait, the sweeter the reward.
His smirk never faltered, though the darkness in his eyes deepened.
There was no hiding the hunger there, no disguising the desire that always lurked beneath his calm exterior.
With her, it was different.
She knew how to bring it out of him, how to make him feel like he was losing control even when his every move was calculated.
Her voice—soft, with that hint of playful danger—cut through the silence again, pulling him from his thoughts.
Her words, though still dripping with sleep, held an undeniable edge.
There was no hesitation in her, no second-guessing.
She knew what she wanted, and for a moment, he was tempted to give it to her—just to see if she would be as cold and composed as she tried to be, or if the heat between them would finally burn through that icy exterior.
But not yet.
Not yet.
Instead, Dabi leaned back, letting the weight of his smirk carry the conversation.
The moment stretched out, thick with the promise of something neither of them was quite ready to speak aloud.
But Dabi knew that look in her eyes—that challenge, that playful gleam.
Siren was daring him, testing him.
And, just as she knew him, he knew her.
She was waiting for him to crack, waiting for him to be the one to push things further.
But Dabi wasn’t one to play by anyone’s rules but his own.
And so, he stayed still.
Silent.
Watching.
Letting the tension build, the air between them growing hotter, thicker with each passing second.
The game was far from over.
It was just beginning.
Dabi’s voice cut through the quiet morning like the rasp of sandpaper against stone. “Get out of bed. I got coffee waiting,” he said, his tone sharp but laced with a subtle warmth that only someone who really knew him could detect.
He didn’t linger, didn’t wait for a response—just turned on his heel and left the room, the sound of his boots retreating down the hall.
Siren groaned softly, burying her face in her pillow for one last moment of stolen comfort.
She wasn’t a morning person—far from it. The dull ache of sleep still weighed on her limbs, making every movement feel heavier than it should.
With a sigh that was half exasperation, half resignation, she finally dragged herself out of the warm cocoon of her bed.
The floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she padded out of the room, her hair a tousled mess.
The scent of coffee hit her before she even entered the kitchen, the rich, earthy aroma wrapping around her like a warm embrace.
It wasn’t just any coffee, either.
It was the good stuff—bold and dark, with just enough bitterness to jolt her awake.
She rounded the corner, expecting to find the pot sitting unattended on the counter, but instead, there he was.
Dabi stood near the counter, one hip leaned casually against it, holding a mug in his hand.
His posture was relaxed, his free hand resting in the pocket of his jeans, but there was a quiet energy about him, like he was just waiting for her to appear.
His turquoise eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched into something that could almost be called a smirk.
Without a word, he held out the mug to her, his hand steady, the dark liquid swirling slightly as it moved.
The gesture was simple, almost lazy, but it carried a surprising weight.
Siren blinked, caught off guard by the unspoken thoughtfulness of it.
“You made me coffee?” she asked, her voice still rough with sleep as she stepped closer, her green eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion, though there was a faint smile playing on her lips.
Dabi shrugged, his expression as unreadable as ever.
“Don’t get used to it,” he said, but there was a flicker of something softer in his tone—something unspoken but unmistakable.
Siren took the mug from him, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest of moments.
The ceramic was warm against her palms, and she inhaled deeply, savoring the rich aroma.
She brought the cup to her lips, taking a slow, tentative sip, and immediately let out a contented sigh as the heat spread through her chest, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
“Oh, you’re officially my favorite person right now,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost teasing.
The caffeine hadn’t even hit her system yet, but just the act of holding the warm mug and knowing someone had made it for her was enough to improve her mood.
Dabi snorted, his smirk returning in full force. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” he said, but there was no real bite to his words.
If anything, he seemed amused by her reaction, watching as she clutched the mug like it was the greatest gift she’d ever received.
Siren leaned back against the counter, the mug cradled in her hands as she looked at him over the rim.
“Too late,” she quipped, her green eyes gleaming with playful defiance. “This officially makes you my favorite person. At least until this coffee runs out.”
Dabi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, the faintest hint of a chuckle escaping his lips as he turned away, busying himself with something on the counter.
Siren watched him for a moment, a rare warmth settling over her.
For all his rough edges and sharp words, Dabi had a way of surprising her, of showing just enough of his softer side to remind her why she trusted him.
And as she stood there, sipping her coffee in the quiet comfort of the morning, she couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—Dabi wasn’t as impossible as he liked to pretend.
To most people, Siren was a study in contradictions: cold but not cruel, enigmatic but not distant. She had an undeniable presence, one that drew eyes without demanding attention.
Her silence wasn’t standoffish—it was intentional.
A wall, carefully constructed to keep the world at bay.
She wasn’t unfriendly, but she wasn’t the type to seek out companionship either.
Her answers were clipped but polite, her expressions reserved, a faint smirk often the only hint of emotion she allowed.
When Siren first joined the League, her relationship with Dabi was nonexistent. He was fire and ash, loud in his quiet way, a living embodiment of rebellion and chaos.
She was calm waters, holding her cards close, always observing but rarely engaging.
They orbited in separate circles, their paths crossing only out of necessity.
He had made no effort to draw her into his world, and she had returned the favor.
But time, as it often does, shifted things.
It started small—almost imperceptible.
A shared glance in the middle of a tense mission, his eyes meeting hers across the wreckage as though they were both silently asking, What the hell are we doing here?
Then came the cigarettes.
The first time it happened, it was purely by chance.
Siren had wandered into the dim, narrow alley behind their base, seeking solitude.
The air was thick with the stench of the city, damp concrete mingling with the faint acrid tang of smoke.
She had barely lit her cigarette when Dabi appeared, his boots scuffing against the pavement, the faint glow of his own cigarette highlighting the sharp planes of his face.
He didn’t say anything—just leaned against the wall opposite her, a cloud of smoke curling lazily from his lips.
At first, she had bristled slightly at the intrusion, her green eyes narrowing as she considered leaving.
But something in his posture—a certain casual indifference, a wordless promise not to intrude—kept her there.
Over the weeks, those quiet moments became routine.
Neither of them made a point of seeking the other out, but more often than not, they found themselves in the same alleyway, sharing a cigarette under the cover of night.
They didn’t speak, not at first. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was almost companionable, like they had come to an unspoken understanding.
Dabi never pried into her life, never asked about her past or the reasons that had brought her to the League.
He didn’t seem interested, and Siren appreciated that. She had no intention of baring her soul to anyone, least of all him.
And yet, she found herself growing accustomed to his presence, to the steady rhythm of their unspoken routine.
Likewise, she never asked him about his scars, his anger, or the pain he wore like a second skin.
She didn’t need to.
There was a mutual respect between them, a silent agreement to let the other be, to exist without the weight of expectations or judgment.
Over time, their silence softened, punctuated by occasional quips or observations.
It was Dabi who spoke first, a low, dry remark about the futility of their latest mission.
Siren had smirked, her lips curling around the filter of her cigarette as she replied with her own brand of biting humor.
From then on, their conversations were sparse but meaningful, each word carrying more weight than the idle chatter of others.
In those moments, under the pale light of a flickering streetlamp, they found something rare: common ground.
It wasn’t friendship, not exactly. It was something quieter, something that didn’t need a name.
When Siren looked at Dabi, she didn’t see the firebrand that others feared or idolized.
She saw a man, raw and unpolished, scarred but unapologetic.
And when Dabi looked at her, he didn’t see the enigmatic figure everyone else danced around.
He saw Siren—steady, sharp, and unfaltering.
Together, they carved out a space where they could simply be.
No questions, no demands.
Just smoke curling into the night and the faint hum of the city around them.
The faint clink of Dabi’s boots against the floor brought Siren’s attention back to the present, her thoughts scattering like ashes in the wind.
She barely had time to register his grin—a slow, crooked thing that pulled at the edges of his scarred lips, equal parts teasing and cocky.
"What happens when the coffee runs out?" he asked, his voice low and rough, like the smoldering embers of a fire that refused to die out.
Siren didn’t miss a beat.
Lifting her coffee mug to her lips, she let the moment linger, her smirk growing ever so slightly.
Her green eyes gleamed with a playful edge, catching the dim light in a way that made them shimmer like emeralds.
Thick lashes framed her gaze as she tilted her head just enough to look up at him, the angle deliberate and captivating.
“Pray you don’t find out,” she murmured, her voice carrying a velvety softness that wrapped around her words like silk.
Her smirk deepened as the rim of the mug brushed against her lips, her fingers curling snugly around the ceramic.
Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of challenge in her words—a subtle warning wrapped in flirtation.
The coffee mug was a convenient shield, giving her the perfect excuse to hold his gaze without fully revealing her hand.
Dabi’s grin didn’t waver.
If anything, it widened, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossing lazily over his chest.
The dark fabric of his coat shifted with the motion, the faint scent of smoke and burnt wood trailing after him.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who relies on caffeine to keep her edge,” he drawled, his tone carrying that familiar dry humor that had become their shared language.
Siren let out a soft chuckle, lowering her mug just enough to reveal the full curve of her smirk.
“And you’re awfully bold for someone who’d suffer the consequences,” she shot back, her voice smooth but tinged with amusement.
Their eyes locked, a silent exchange passing between them.
It was a dance they knew well—banter laced with just enough edge to keep things interesting.
Dabi’s grin remained firmly in place, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, a hint of admiration for the way she always managed to hold her own.
Siren took another sip of her coffee, savoring the warmth that spread through her hands and chest.
The moment stretched, the tension between them lingering like the faint tendrils of steam rising from her mug.
“You’re dangerous when you’re like this, you know,” Dabi remarked finally, his voice softer now, though no less teasing.
Siren tilted her head slightly, one brow arching as her lips curved into an even more mischievous smile.
“Dangerous?” she echoed, the word dripping with playful skepticism. “I’d say I’m just getting started.”
Dabi chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he pushed off the counter.
“Remind me to stock up on coffee,” he said, his tone light but edged with genuine amusement.
Siren watched him go, her smirk lingering long after he turned his back.
Whatever this was between them—this effortless ebb and flow of wit and warmth—it was theirs, unspoken yet understood.
And as she brought her coffee mug to her lips once more, she couldn’t help but think that she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dabi moved with the same relaxed confidence he always carried, each step deliberate yet unhurried as he sauntered toward the small kitchen table.
Siren’s eyes tracked him over the rim of her mug, her green gaze sparkling with quiet amusement.
“You know,” she started, setting her mug down on the counter with a soft clink, “you should consider switching to tea. It’s supposed to be better for you.”
Dabi paused mid-motion, turning his head just enough to give her a look—a raised brow and a smirk that said, Really?
He leaned one hand on the table, the other reaching into his coat pocket for a cigarette.
“Tea? Me?” he asked, his voice thick with disbelief, the lighter in his hand catching the edge of his smirk as he flicked it open.
Siren shrugged, feigning innocence as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned casually against the counter.
“I’m just saying, it might mellow you out. You know, balance your whole... arsonist aesthetic,” she teased, letting her words hang in the air with just the right amount of bite.
Dabi lit his cigarette with a sharp flick of his thumb, the faint glow casting shadows over his features.
He took a long drag, exhaling slowly as he studied her, the smoke curling upward like the embodiment of his thoughts.
“Balance isn’t really my thing,” he replied, his tone nonchalant but carrying an undertone that made the words stick.
He tapped the ash into the tray on the table before adding, “Besides, coffee’s the only thing that keeps me sane around you.”
Siren chuckled, the sound low and warm, as she pushed off the counter and made her way to the table.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite him with effortless grace.
“Take your pick,” Dabi shot back, his smirk widening as he rested his forearms on the table, the cigarette balanced between his fingers.
For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came from the mutual understanding they’d built over time.
The sunlight filtering through the blinds painted soft streaks of gold across the floor, and the faint aroma of coffee and smoke hung in the air like an unspoken promise.
Siren reached for her mug again, her fingers brushing against the warm ceramic as she looked at him.
“You’re in a good mood today,” she observed, her tone casual but her eyes curious.
Dabi leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something that almost resembled a smile.
“Maybe I just like seeing you half-asleep and grumpy,” he said, his voice teasing but lacking the sharp edge it usually carried.
Siren rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward in spite of herself.
“Careful, Dabi. Someone might think you actually enjoy my company.”
He didn’t respond right away, just took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on her in a way that felt far more intense than the moment called for.
“Yeah, well,” he said finally, his voice softer now, “don’t let it go to your head, Siren.”
The words hung between them, heavier than the banter they’d been tossing back and forth all morning.
But Siren didn’t push, didn’t pry.
Instead, she raised her mug in a mock toast, her smirk returning full force.
“To coffee,” she said simply, her voice light and playful, as if to ease the sudden weight in the air.
Dabi chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his cigarette in response. “To coffee,” he echoed, his smirk mirroring hers.
And just like that, the moment passed, slipping back into the easy rhythm they’d come to rely on.
Siren leaned against the counter, her mug of coffee cradled in her hands as her gaze drifted to Dabi.
He was sitting at the table, his long fingers deftly turning his cigarette between them, the faint glow of the cherry highlighting the scars that crisscrossed his skin.
To anyone else, he might have looked broken—stapled together, mismatched, and pieced back into something just barely human.
But to her?
He was mesmerizing.
She didn’t see what Dabi seemed to see in the mirror.
The scars didn’t mar his beauty; they enhanced it.
They told a story—a brutal, unforgiving story, sure—but one of survival, of strength, of someone who refused to be crushed by the world that had tried so hard to destroy him.
And that smirk... that damn smirk.
It tugged at the corner of his lips, uneven but no less potent, carrying a dangerous allure that she couldn’t resist.
It wasn’t just the way his lips curved or the sharp line of his jaw; it was the sheer confidence, the way he owned every inch of his brokenness and dared anyone to look away.
Siren took another sip of her coffee, trying to disguise the way her eyes lingered on him.
The tension in his posture, the way his head tilted slightly as he exhaled a plume of smoke—it all felt deliberate, even if she knew it wasn’t.
He had a way of commanding a room, even when he was doing nothing at all.
And those eyes.
Gods, those eyes.
Piercing and wild, they burned hotter than any flame he conjured.
They carried a manic intensity that sent shivers down her spine, the kind that made her stomach twist in a way that felt both dangerous and thrilling.
She’d seen that look right before he reduced someone to ashes, and while it should have terrified her, it didn’t.
No, it excited her.
She wasn’t blind to the darkness that surrounded him; she reveled in it.
The way his flames danced around his fingers, the sharp, acrid smell of burning flesh when he unleashed his quirk without mercy—it all felt like chaos incarnate, and she found herself drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
“Something on your mind, Siren?” Dabi’s voice cut through her thoughts, that smirk now fully formed as he looked at her with one brow raised.
Siren blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered, letting a smirk of her own curl her lips.
“Nothing you’d want to hear,” she replied, her tone smooth, teasing.
“Oh, I doubt that,” he shot back, leaning forward slightly, his cigarette resting between his fingers as he watched her with that intense gaze.
She shrugged, turning her attention back to her mug as if dismissing him, but her mind was still reeling.
Scars and staples be damned—Dabi was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
Dabi leaned back in his chair, one leg draped lazily over the other as he watched Siren steal his cigarette without missing a beat.
The corner of his lips twitched into a lopsided smirk, the teasing glint in her green eyes enough to momentarily distract him from the haze of his own thoughts.
"You're lucky I put up with you, Flame," she said, her voice soft yet edged with playful disdain, the nickname rolling off her tongue like a quiet challenge.
She turned away from him, the cigarette balanced delicately between her fingers, and headed toward the kitchen balcony.
Dabi’s turquoise gaze followed her movements, sharp and focused despite the languid way he lounged in the chair.
She pushed the balcony doors open, the early morning air spilling into the room, carrying with it the faint hum of city life.
Standing in the soft light that poured through the open doors, she lifted the cigarette to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate drag.
"I don’t let people smoke in my apartment," she murmured, exhaling the smoke into the cool air outside.
Her words were casual, but her actions betrayed the amusement dancing in her expression.
Dabi snorted, shaking his head as he rested his elbow on the table, propping his chin in his hand.
"You’re full of contradictions, you know that?" he said, his voice rough but tinged with amusement.
"You don’t let people smoke in your apartment, but you have no problem stealing my cigarette."
She turned her head slightly to glance back at him, a smirk playing on her lips as the smoke curled around her face.
"That’s because it’s my apartment. My rules. And if I break them? That’s my business."
Dabi chuckled, the sound low and gravelly, as he ran a hand through his dark, uneven hair. “You’re somethin’ else, Siren.”
She didn’t reply right away, taking another slow drag and letting the smoke curl from her lips as she looked out over the balcony.
The golden light of the sunrise bathed her in warmth, highlighting the soft angles of her face and the way her hair framed her features.
Finally, she turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Dabi’s smirk deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Nah,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer, almost sincere. “Not bad at all.”
Siren held his gaze for a moment, the cigarette burning between her fingers as she let his words settle.
Then, with a quiet laugh, she turned back to the balcony, the air between them charged with something neither of them wanted to put into words.