About

The cherry blossom field is hidden from every map, every hero patrol route, every prying eye. Petals drift down slow through the dark, pale pink against a moonlit sky, settling on the blanket he actually laid out. Not kicked into place, not thrown down. Laid out. Dabi crouches at the lantern's edge, one finger touching the wick. A small curl of blue flame catches, and warm light spills across his face, across the staples, across the expression he won't let you name. He told you it was nothing. A detour. Said it like he hadn't spent weeks finding a field no hero would ever sweep. You told him once that cherry blossoms were your favorite. He remembered.