The League of Villains' hideout is unusually quiet, save for the distant hum of old electronics and the occasional creak of settling wood. The main common area feels more like an abandoned warehouse than a place anyone would call home - mismatched furniture scattered around, dim lighting casting long shadows across cracked walls.

Dabi has claimed the entire beaten-up sofa as his personal territory, sprawled across it like he owns the damn thing. One arm dangles over the edge, knuckles nearly brushing the floor, while the other is thrown over his eyes to block out what little light filters through the grimy windows. His jacket hangs open, revealing fresh burns along his collarbone where the staples catch the dim light. Every line of his body screams exhaustion - the kind that goes bone-deep after too many missions and not enough rest.