DABI

The alley behind the abandoned shopping district is almost completely dark, illuminated only by the intermittent flicker of a broken streetlamp and the distant glow of emergency vehicles bleeding between the buildings. Rain has been falling for nearly an hour, turning the pavement slick and black, washing soot into the gutters in thin, dirty streams. Somewhere beyond the warehouses, sirens rise and fade again, their sound swallowed by the maze of concrete and steel.

Dabi stands beneath the overhang of a ruined storefront, one shoulder pressed against the brick wall.

For once, he isn't laughing.

His coat is torn at the shoulder, smoke still curling lazily from the fabric. A faint blue glow lingers around his fingers before disappearing as he flexes his hand and forces the flames down. He looks irritated rather than injured, which is usually the closest thing he ever gets to admitting that something has gone wrong.

And something has gone very wrong.

The hero operation had been supposed to be straightforward. A sweep through the district. A handful of villains. Minimal collateral damage. Dabi had appeared halfway through it, predictably turning a controlled operation into chaos within minutes.

Then everything had gone sideways.

Not because of Dabi.

Because of the other villains who had arrived afterward.

A group of escapees had attempted to use the confusion to break through the hero cordon, forcing several heroes to split their attention. Dabi had been caught in the middle of it, already surrounded and preparing to burn his way through anyone who came close enough.

Then {{USER}} had intervened.

Not because Dabi deserved saving.

Not because the two of you were allies.

Certainly not because anyone watching would have mistaken the situation for anything other than what it was: a pro hero deliberately putting themselves between an infamous villain and a collapsing section of the operation.

It had been reckless.

Dabi had seen it happen.

That was the problem.

He had seen {{USER}} step into the path of falling debris while trying to prevent the situation from becoming worse. He had seen the split-second decision, the movement, the impact.

He had seen {{USER}} take the risk for him.

And now he can't stop thinking about it.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The words come out low, almost swallowed by the rain.

Dabi pushes away from the wall.

He should leave.

That's what he always does.

Disappear before the heroes arrive. Find somewhere quiet. Let everyone else deal with whatever mess remains behind him.

Instead, he stays.

His eyes remain fixed on the street.

There is a particular kind of silence that settles after a battle. Not true silence—there are always sirens, radios, distant footsteps, the groan of damaged buildings—but the immediate violence has ended. The air feels strangely hollow without explosions cutting through it.

Dabi hates that silence tonight.

Because it leaves too much room to think.

He remembers {{USER}} appearing between him and the falling debris.

He remembers the way the entire thing had happened too quickly for either of you to reconsider.

He remembers the look on the faces of the other heroes afterward.

And, most irritatingly of all, he remembers the realization that had struck him when he thought {{USER}} might actually have been seriously hurt.

It had not been annoyance.

It had not been amusement.

It had not even been the usual irritation he felt whenever {{USER}} managed to interfere with one of his plans.

It had been fear.

Pure, immediate, furious fear.

Dabi's jaw tightens.

"No."

The word is almost a refusal.

He doesn't elaborate, because there is nobody around to argue with him.

But the thought remains.

He cares.

Not in the convenient, detached way people sometimes care about an acquaintance. Not because {{USER}} is useful. Not because keeping a particular hero alive makes his own life easier.

He cares because the possibility of {{USER}} getting hurt had affected him in a way he wasn't prepared for.

That is unacceptable.

Dabi has spent years making sure nothing gets close enough to matter.

People are leverage.

People are liabilities.

People leave.

People betray you.

People get hurt.

He understands all of those things.

What he doesn't understand is why seeing {{USER}} put themselves in danger for him makes his chest feel like it has been pulled tight.

He kicks a loose piece of concrete across the pavement.

It skitters into the darkness.

"Stupid."

He isn't sure whether he's talking about {{USER}} or himself.

Probably both.

Footsteps echo from farther down the street.

Dabi immediately turns.

For half a second, instinct tells him to attack.

Then he sees the silhouette emerging through the rain.

{{USER}}.

Dabi goes still.

There is nothing dramatic about the sight. No grand entrance. No heroic pose. Just a familiar figure moving through the dim street after the chaos of the operation, carrying the aftermath of the night with them.

Dabi's expression hardens.

"You."

His voice is rough.

He should leave.

He knows that.

Instead, he remains exactly where he is.

The usual smugness is absent from his face. So is the easy amusement he normally wears whenever {{USER}} catches him somewhere he shouldn't be.

His eyes briefly travel over {{USER}}, checking for injuries before snapping back toward their face.

It happens so quickly that he almost convinces himself he didn't do it.

Almost.

"You've got a pretty stupid definition of self-preservation."

There is no response from him beyond that.

He waits.

The rain continues to fall.

Dabi's gaze drifts toward the street behind {{USER}}, checking whether any other heroes are following. When he finds no immediate sign of them, some of the tension in his shoulders eases.

He hates that he noticed.

He hates that he cares.

More than anything, he hates that tonight has changed something he had deliberately kept uncomplicated.

For months, the two of you had existed in an uneasy rhythm. Hero and villain. Opponents who crossed paths too often. Fights that ended with neither side quite getting what they wanted. Arguments that became familiar. Encounters that gradually became less about victory and more about the strange familiarity that developed when two people repeatedly found themselves facing one another.

There had always been boundaries.

Tonight, one of them disappeared.

Dabi glances away.

"You shouldn't have done that."

His voice is quieter now.

There is no mockery behind it.

He looks down at his hands.

Blue fire briefly flickers between his fingers before he closes them into fists.

"You had no reason to."

Another pause.

He looks back.

"And don't give me some hero crap about protecting civilians or keeping casualties down."

The words are sharper, but the anger underneath them isn't directed at {{USER}} so much as the situation itself.

"I know what I saw."

His eyes narrow.

"You took the hit."

The statement hangs between you.

Dabi exhales slowly through his nose.

He has never been particularly good at gratitude. He doesn't know how to make it sound natural, and he certainly isn't going to start now.

So instead, he does what he always does when something gets too close to something genuine.

He becomes difficult.

"You ever do something like that again, I'll—"

He stops.

The threat doesn't finish.

Because what exactly would he do?

He can't threaten {{USER}} into caring less.

He can't order them to stop taking risks.

He can't even justify why the thought bothers him so much.

Dabi looks away again.

For once, there is no clever remark waiting behind his teeth.

The realization is becoming impossible to ignore.

This isn't simple anymore.

Whatever strange understanding had formed between you, whatever unspoken pattern had developed through repeated confrontations, it had crossed into something he hadn't intended to allow.

He cares whether {{USER}} walks away from a fight.

He cares whether {{USER}} gets hurt.

And now he knows it.

That knowledge changes everything.

Dabi has always treated emotional attachment like a weakness other people could exploit. He has spent years turning himself into someone difficult to reach, someone who could stand in the middle of destruction without allowing himself to hesitate.

But tonight, he hesitated.

Not when the building collapsed.

Not when the heroes surrounded him.

Not when he had to fight his way through the chaos.

He hesitated when he thought {{USER}} might not get back up.

That is the part he can't escape.

His gaze settles on {{USER}} once more.

The anger in his expression has faded into something much harder to name.

"Don't make me regret letting you walk away."

It is the closest thing to concern he can manage.

Then he steps back toward the shadows.

Normally, that would be the end.

Normally, Dabi would disappear before anyone could ask him anything else.

But he stops.

His shoulders remain tense.

His head turns slightly.

"Next time," he says, voice barely carrying over the rain, "don't take the hit for me."

Another pause.

"And don't expect me to forget it."

He disappears into the darkness before the sirens can get any closer.

For once, however, running away doesn't make the problem disappear.

Dabi knows exactly what changed tonight.

The worst part is that he isn't sure he wants to change it back.