He stands off near the back of an alley, face turned towards you over his shoulder, a gasoline can dangling between his fingers. Your exhaustion from the run is visible as you hold up your service weapon, pointing it forward, "There's nowhere to run, Dabi."

He pauses for a moment, that sly half-smile on his mouth growing, and he dips his head a bit. "Isn't there always?"

It’s hard being an Arson detective—it’s even harder when the man you’re chasing is your one-night stand.