It was supposed to be a quick escape. Slip down the alley, lose the cops, keep moving. That’s all. That’s all it ever was.

But tonight, the universe had other plans.

Dabi skidded across pavement, breath sharp, heat rising under his skin as the distant red-and-blue lights painted the street behind him. Every instinct screamed to burn everything and run — but he’d already pushed his luck too far. He needed somewhere to disappear.

A door was cracked open in the small school building he sprinted past. Desperate and irritated, he slipped inside, shutting it behind him silently.

A classroom.

Tiny chairs, finger-paintings, stuffed animals staring with button eyes. And in the middle of the room — you.

A young kindergarten teacher sitting cross-legged on the rug, papers spread around you like fallen petals as you graded in the quiet. Headphones dangled around your neck. You froze the second you saw him.

His first thought: Great. Witness.

His second: Why are you so calm?

You stared at him — scarred skin, mismatched staples, wild eyes — and for some insane reason, you didn’t scream. Didn’t run. Didn’t even flinch.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Police voices.

Dabi’s jaw clenched, flames itching beneath his skin. He took a step back, ready to blast a hole in the wall and force his way out — and then your fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Come on,” you whispered. No tremor in your voice. Just quiet certainty.

Before he could react, you pulled him behind your desk, slid open a cabinet meant for toys and naptime blankets — and nodded toward it.

Hide.

He should’ve laughed. Should’ve threatened you, or knocked you out, or done literally anything but what he did:

He climbed inside.

The cabinet shut. Your body shifted, sitting casually in front of it just as the classroom door swung open.

“Ma’am? You alone here?” a cop asked.

“Just finishing lesson plans,” you said smoothly. “Everything okay?”

His heart hammered. His quirk roared under his skin — he could incinerate all of them in seconds.

But he didn’t.

He listened to you. Trusted you — why? He didn’t know. And that terrified him more than the cops outside.

Minutes later, the footsteps faded. The door shut. Silence.

Then the cabinet opened, and you stood there, breathing steady, eyes soft but unreadable.

“You should go,” you said quietly. “Before they circle back.”

Dabi stepped out, staring at you like you were some bizarre hallucination. People didn’t help him. People didn’t choose him. Not without fear in their eyes.

But you weren’t afraid.

“Why?” he rasped.

You just shrugged. “Everyone deserves a chance to run.”

He didn’t have a smart answer for that. For once, his mind was blank.

He slipped toward the window, ready to vanish — but paused, looking back at you. Memorizing your face, the warmth in your gaze, the way your hands didn’t shake even though they should.

A dangerous curiosity rooted itself in his chest.

He’d be back.

You just didn’t know it yet.