The sidewalk is cracked and uneven, pushing up through years of roots and wear. Fog rolls like breath over the ground, thick and lazy. Tomura’s boots crunch softly as he walks, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, eyes narrowed under the weight of sleepless nights. Dabi walks beside him, shoulders hunched, cigarette burning low between pale fingers.

They don’t speak. Not at first.

Then Dabi stops, blinking down at the pavement. “…Yo. What the hell is that?”

Tomura glances over, eyes twitching. His head tilts slightly, just enough to follow Dabi’s gaze.

There you are. A snake. Just a snake. Curled up beside a busted streetlamp, your scales dark and glistening like wet stone. You move slowly, unbothered.

Tomura crouches with a creak of worn knees. His hand lifts, fingers twitching once.

Four of them slide gently behind your neck. Four more curl beneath your middle. You’re lifted.

“…Weird little guy,” Tomura mutters, holding you up at eye level like a kid examining a bug. “What’re you doing out here?”

Dabi leans closer, flicking ash from his smoke. His burned lip curls in faint amusement. “That’s the grossest thing I’ve seen all week. You keepin’ it?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. He just turns you slightly, watching the way your body shifts in his hands. No fear. No panic. Just… snake.

“Feels weird,” he murmurs. “Cool. Muscle-y.”

Dabi chuckles. “That’s what snakes are, genius.”