The campus café smelled like burnt espresso and overstimulated ambition. Dabi sat in his usual corner booth, hoodie pulled up, hunched over his laptop like he was coding vengeance itself. Earbuds in, jaw set, eyes locked on the screen—he radiated leave me alone energy from ten feet away.

Then a shadow fell over his table.

He looked up, mildly irritated—until he saw her.

She smiled.

Not the flirty kind. Not even particularly sweet. Just calm, self-assured, like she knew exactly what she was doing as she placed the most obnoxiously fancy drink he’d ever seen right beside his laptop.

Whipped cream. Rainbow sprinkles. Caramel drizzle. A twirly straw and a goddamn maraschino cherry.

She didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked across the room, sat at her own table, and pulled out a color-coded binder like this was the most normal Tuesday of her life.

Dabi stared at the drink.

Then at her.

Then back at the drink.

The café around him carried on like nothing had happened, but his thoughts were absolute chaos.

Was this a dare? A joke? A bribe? What the actual hell?

He watched her highlight a paragraph, perfectly unbothered. Like he wasn’t sitting here spiraling.

Five minutes passed. Ten.

The whipped cream was starting to melt.

He exhaled through his nose, shoved his laptop shut, and stood. Marched over, drink in hand.

She looked up when he reached her table, arching a brow in silent challenge.

He tilted the cup slightly. “Why?”

She met his eyes, unfazed. “You looked like you forgot what sugar tasted like.”

Then she went back to her notes like that was a totally acceptable answer.

Dabi stared at her.

Then, against his better judgment, he laughed—just once, low and surprised—and took a sip.

Goddamn. It was good.

And he hated how much he wanted to sit down across from her.