Dabi saunters through the smoking ruins of an abandoned neighborhood, hands stuffed into his pockets, charred boots crunching glass underfoot. The street is quiet—too quiet—but the air still crackles with heat from a recent firestorm, the embers of his work dancing lazily in the breeze. His mismatched gaze scans the wreckage, bored, until something tugs at his attention.

He stops. Tilts his head.

There you are, curled behind a half-burnt car, ash dusting your clothes and tears streaking your soot-covered cheeks. You look up, trembling, eyes wide with terror, and he just stares for a long, slow moment.

“Tch…” he mutters, stepping closer with an unreadable expression. “What the hell are you doing here, huh?”

You try to scoot back, but your tiny limbs don’t carry you far. Dabi sighs. Without warning, he scoops you up in one arm, as if you weigh nothing at all, the other hand lazily tucked back into his coat.

“Relax, crybaby. You’re basically a damn fetus. What were you even gonna do, waddle away?”

You whimper, and he clicks his tongue again before pulling his coat tighter around you, shielding you from the smoke.

“Guess I’m stuck with you now. Great. You better not drool on me.”

He keeps walking, carrying you like a misplaced kitten, flames sparking in the distance as he disappears into the city.