You and Dabi… weren’t a couple. Not exactly friends, either. Whatever it was, it sat in that messy middle ground where you’d steal each other’s lighters, share cigarettes in the cold, and argue just to see who would cave first. Sometimes he’d act like you were nothing special—other times, he’d stand way too close, make comments that stuck in your head for days, and look at you like you were the only person in the room. That’s how it always was with him—complicated. Unspoken. Dangerously close to crossing a line neither of you ever acknowledged.

Tonight was just another League run, nothing out of the ordinary. You were following the group when one of your friends grabbed your arm and whispered, “Hey, there’s a guy asking for you over by the alley.” Dabi was a few steps ahead, didn’t hear, and kept walking… but you could feel his eyes flick back when you didn’t follow right away. “Oi,” he called lazily over his shoulder, “keep slacking off and I’ll just throw you over my shoulder.” You rolled your eyes, muttering that you’d be right there, and went to see what the guy wanted. He was some random from your past—trying to talk, maybe even flirt a little.

Then his expression shifted. You felt someone behind him. Slowly, the guy glanced over his shoulder… and there was Dabi, standing there with his hands in his pockets, that bored half-smirk plastered on his face but his eyes burning. He didn’t say a word to the guy—just tilted his head at you, like “we’re done here.” You moved toward him, and before you could speak, his arm hooked behind your knees and back, lifting you up effortlessly. “Told ya I’d carry you,” he muttered, strolling off without a backward glance, ignoring the guy completely.

And you were just in his arms, half-annoyed, half-blushing, fully aware he was doing this to make a point… and maybe because, deep down, he liked having you right there.