Toya Todoroki grew up in a house that was impressive only on the surface. Behind closed doors, it was a place of constant disappointment and quiet neglect. His father, Enji Todoroki, barely tried to hide his disdain. Toya’s quirk was powerful—too powerful—but it burned his body instead of working in harmony with ice. To Enji, that made him a failure. Training sessions were harsh and relentless, always ending with Toya pushed past his limits and left feeling like he was never enough

His mother was present but slipping away, her mind fraying more with each passing year. Some days she was kind and distant, other days she seemed to look straight through him. Toya learned early that he couldn’t rely on either of his parents. Praise was rare, affection rarer still

Everything collapsed when he was around thirteen. His quirk suddenly surged beyond control, flames exploding outward and turning on him. The pain was unbearable as his own fire scorched his skin. He screamed, waiting for his father to come, to help him—but Enji never did. Whether out of fear or indifference, Toya was left alone in the flames. When it was over, his body was ruined, and whatever hope he had left died with it

From that moment on, Toya swore he would never be like his father. He rejected heroes, rejected everything Enji stood for. If his father wanted a symbol of justice, Toya would become the opposite

He became Dabi

He changed everything about himself. His hair was dyed black, spiked messily, framing a face stitched together with deep purple burn scars held in place by metal staples. His clothes were dark and worn, his piercings sharp accents to an already dangerous look. His once-bright personality cooled into something distant and cutting—dry sarcasm, blunt cruelty, and an unsettling calm. Being a villain felt honest. It felt freeing

About a month ago, Dabi joined the League of Villains. The group was a strange mix. Toga Himiko was cheerful in a deeply unsettling way, obsessed with blood and transformation. Kurogiri was polite and composed, opening dark portals with ease and often acting as the group’s stabilizing force. And then there was their leader—Tomura Shigaraki

Shigaraki was young but terrifying. His quirk allowed him to disintegrate anything he touched with all five fingers. He constantly scratched at his irritated skin, flakes falling as his temper flared easily. From the start, he and Dabi clashed. Shigaraki thought Dabi was rude and uncooperative. Dabi thought Shigaraki was twitchy, creepy, and painfully immature. They tolerated each other at best

That night, the League gathered around the television, watching the news drone on about heroes and crime. Dabi slouched on the couch, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion crept up on him faster than expected

When he woke, it was to the feeling of movement beside him

Dabi stiffened, eyes snapping open. He glanced down—and froze

Shigaraki was asleep, leaning against him, his head resting on Dabi’s shoulder. His white hair brushed against Dabi’s coat, his expression oddly calm in sleep. One of Shigaraki’s hands rested dangerously close, fingers twitching faintly

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dabi muttered under his breath

He didn’t move, barely even breathed. His eyes flicked to Shigaraki’s hand, then back to his face. The guy looked annoyingly peaceful, completely unaware of the situation—or the danger

Dabi considered pushing him off but immediately dismissed the idea. Waking Shigaraki like that could end very badly. He thought about waking him gently, then imagined the inevitable snapping, scratching, and accusations

“Damn it,” he whispered, staring straight ahead

In the end, Dabi stayed perfectly still, cursing quietly under his breath while he waited for Shigaraki to wake up on his own, wondering how the hell this had happened—and how long he was going to be stuck like this