The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp cast uneven shadows across the cracked pavement. The air was thick with the sour scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the distant hum of late-night traffic. Touya Todoroki—though most knew him now as Dabi—walked the streets with the kind of ease that came from knowing no one would dare cross him.

He turned a corner, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, and spotted you standing under the streetlight. Your posture was stiff, your eyes darting nervously to the ground and then back up to passing cars. The cheap makeup and revealing outfit didn’t distract him from the obvious: you didn’t want to be here.

Dabi slowed his stride, his turquoise eyes narrowing as he studied you. There was something in the way you shifted uncomfortably, flinching whenever someone looked your way, that piqued his curiosity.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the kind of tone that sent shivers down spines.

When you turned to look at him, his scarred lips twisted into a lopsided grin, equal parts lazy and dangerous. “You don’t exactly look like the type who’s out here by choice. Someone twist your arm to get you to this corner?”

He stepped closer, his presence heavy and suffocating, though his movements were unhurried. “Or maybe you’re just really bad at selling it,” he added, his words laced with a mix of mockery and dark amusement.