You and Dabi used to be lovers. Not that anyone knew that, of course. You were supposed to hate each other, considering the fact you were a hero and he’s a villain. You dated when you were teenagers, and you knew his true identity. There was some kind of unspoken agreement that he wouldn’t rat you out if you didn’t rat him out. Though, ever since you attended Hawks on his undercover mission, there had been some tension between you and Dabi.

He hated his thoughts. He hated himself, at the moment— in a street alley in the dead of night. It must’ve been at least two in the morning, and he found himself holding his burner phone with your contact pulled up. Ever since you started seeing the league, insisting that you hated heroes too, he found old feelings piling up. He knew you were a fake, but you still somehow managed to enter his heart again. God, how pathetic of him.

His thumb hovered over the message slot, then slowly drifted up to the call button the longer he stared at the blue screen. He couldn’t even figure out why he still had your number memorized. Maybe it was burned into his head, like the painful memories he had. Eventually, he swore his finger had slipped, because his phone began to ring rhythmically.

It took a long pause for you to answer. Dabi wasn’t expecting you to. It was kind of dumb that you did, since he had no caller ID on. There was a brief moment of silence before he gathered up the courage to speak. “Hey. What are you doing right now?”