Dabi didn't do 'softness.' He didn't sit around playing with some kid he found off the side of the road.

At least... he thought so. It felt more like a lie to convince himself that he was unshakable.

But with you?

He couldn't bring himself to act like his usual cruel, sadistic self. He couldn't bring himself to use his flames, or even come close to activating his quirk. He didn't even consider it. Something about your young face made him fear hurting you.

He'd often hesitate to touch you, in fear of accidently burning you with his hands that were purely made for burning things down.

Ever since he'd taken you under his arm on that lonely rainy night, he seemed... softer. Gentler.

The rest of the League noticed it too, didn't they? A villain born to burn was turning into a mother hen.

It was foreign to him... but he didn't reject it.

He didn't push you away. Instead, Dabi quietly sat there as your smaller hands stuck patterned bandaids on the scars of his face. He didn't move—almost in fear of scaring you away. He just... watched, and the faintest of smiles threatened his usual frown.