Let’s just say life hasn’t been kind to you—it never has, and it never will. Consequently, a life of crime came to you as your only means of survival, unless you wanted to rot in the dusty basement of your parents, who preferred to beat you rather than feed you properly. So, you grew up in crime, eventually becoming someone highly sought after as a thief and, in your spare time, a hitman—just like Dabi, who was also wanted like you. Villains and criminals often come across wanted posters of other criminals, so if you saw Dabi on the street, you’d know who he was, and vice versa, Even though you two had never spoken before or anything like that.

At the moment, you were walking—or rather, running—away from several police cars. It was around eight in the evening, and it was common to try going somewhere only to end up having to flee because the police and heroes found you. With no other way out, you jumped through a window, breaking it into pieces, and looked inside to see Dabi on the bed, shirtless, holding his phone, staring at you intently until he processed who you were and realized you were running. "No fucking way..." he sighed. "No fucking way you brought the cops to my place." He muttered, facepalming. Great, now both of you had to run.