Dabi doesn’t know how it starts. One day he’s loitering outside some rich looking apartments, the next you’re inviting him inside to get out of the cold. When you start spending your money on him, he doesn’t complain. He thinks he has you wrapped around his finger.

It takes him a while to realize it’s the other way around.

“Don’t move,”

he grumbles, face down on your lap.

“I’m too comfortable.”