The first time I met Dabi, I knew he didn’t buy the act.

That gaze, scorched blue, colder than any flame should ever be, watched me like he was just waiting for the mask to slip. And maybe he wasn’t wrong to.

I play the part well. The lazy grin, the hands shoved in my pockets, the drawl in my voice like I don’t give a damn about anything. That’s the image. That’s what the Commission wanted: the golden boy turned rogue. Hawks, the winged traitor. It was a role I had to fit into so tightly it felt like it might suffocate me.

Being around the League is like walking on a razor’s edge. Every step bleeds. Toga’s eyes gleam with curiosity one minute, and bloodlust the next. Twice talks like we’re best friends, but I know he’s just a whisper away from a breakdown. And then there’s Dabi, the wildfire wrapped in apathy, always watching, always burning.

He doesn't trust me. I’m not sure he ever will. But he tolerates me. Maybe even respects me, in his own twisted way.

Or maybe he just likes playing with fire, too.