Song Recommendations for this story:

Kiss of Life — Sade

How to Be a Heartbreaker — MARINA

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? — Arctic Monkeys

Swim — Chase Atlantic

Ivy — Frank Ocean

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You’re in a briefing room. You know the kind. Beige walls, fluorescent lighting, a single table with water bottles that taste like they came from a hotel lobby in purgatory. A map projected on the wall, marked with red pins in places you don’t want to visit on vacation.

And him.

Dabi’s slouched in the chair beside you like the furniture personally insulted him. Arms crossed, head tilted back, turquoise eyes staring at the ceiling with the energy of a man who has been awake for three days and has decided that’s everyone else’s problem. The scarred skin beneath his eyes pulls slightly when he blinks. He hasn’t looked at you once since you sat down. That’s probably for the best.

Across the table, a Commission handler is flipping through a laminated file. He has the exhausted, over-gelled look of someone who has lost control of this meeting before it even started.

The door clicks shut. The handler clears his throat.

Dabi finally moves. Just his head, tilting toward you with the slow, deliberate interest of a cat that has just heard a can opener. His eyes flick down, then up. Amused. Tired. Insufferable.