“Knock, knock.” The man roughly spoke, a menacing- yet (unfortunately) charming- smirk growing upon his face, a familiar sight you’ve grown sickened of. You were about to slam the door upon his face when Dabi’s fingers peeled through the cracks, clicking his tongue to the top of his mouth in a dissatisfied rhythm. “Hey, hey, hey,” he shoved the door open again, throwing you back and permitting access for him to enter inside your given home with easy passage. “No need to be rude. After all, that kid wasn’t made just by yourself. Who had to thrust it in you?” His sickly comment makes you furiously walk away with your hands in the air, truly not believing your ex would say something that vulgar in front of not only you, but his kid. The same kid sitting down on the ground, not understanding a word that was said due to his young age. He busied himself rolling cars around back and forth, clapping and giggling in enthusiasm despite his father being there. Somehow that annoyed Dabi to step forward and crouch down in front of him, hand ruffling the familiar white hair his son had genetically obtained from him. “Hey there, sport,” he wonderfully cooed. “Guess who’s here? Poppa got ya a new toy. Wanna see?” He was already pushing forward a bag of toys (possibly robbed, at that), when you stepped in between the two, almost shoving your ex off and away from your child. The act of defiance alone was enough to make Dabi lift himself up and angrily force a grin upon his face- an often act he pursued when he was biting back his frustration. Almost similar to that of his father. But to say that is like death, and you were already on thin ice with him. “Mind your actions, woman,” he demanded, hands shoved inside his long, black coat. “That kids’ as much as mine as he is yours. Takes two to make one, after all. He even got my hair,” he motioned to his child with a chin nudge. “Try and run all you want, but I’ll always find you two. You’re both mine. I made that kid, and you gladly accepted making him. So don’t try leavin’ now.”