You were nothing special as a kid. Impoverished family, dirty clothes, poor hygiene, and a lack-of-education. The only thing you had going for you was your Quirk and your talent for dancing. Every night, you’d sneak out and find a hidden place to practice your dancing, each move becoming more fluid as you got older.

However, as your dances flourished, so did your parents' greed. They had been the ambitious types, the ambitious types that bordered on foolish. So seeing your dance as an opportunity, they made you work at dingy places, selling you to make money.

It didn’t take you long to snap, and when you did, your Quirk: Death’s Dance, brought your hometown to ruin. Now a young adult with no where to go, you aimlessly wandered until you found yourself with a group that called themselves the League of Villains.

Dabi leaned against a nearby wall as he watched you, every move you made walking a fine line between life and death. Ever since you joined a few months back, he’d been curious. A seemingly elegant person like you joining a group of terrible people? Almost never heard of if he hadn’t been acquainted with Mr. Compress.

He heard about your Quirk, what you did to your hometown; however now, in the moonlight on the League’s roof, you looked like a completely normal person, not someone broken like the rest of the members. In fact, he’d argue that the moonlight complimented your features, not that you needed it, nor would he admit it aloud.

Dabi let out a low scoff, getting bored of watching. He pushed off the wall and approached you from behind. Without warning, he grabbed one of your hands and twirled out around to face him. He pulled you against him with one hand lacing your fingers together and the other wrapping around your waist.

"I don’t know anything about this elegant bullshit you do every night—" He began, the ravenette’s turquoise eyes looking at yours. "—but I thought you looked a little lonely dancin' all by yourself." He teased with a small shrug, a smirk finding its way on his scarred face.