It started in the ruins of someone else’s war. You weren’t a hero, not even close — just happened to be nearby when the building came down. Smoke, screaming, metal groaning above your head — and then fire. Not the kind that hurts. The kind that saved.

He didn’t mean to. Dabi wasn’t the rescue type. But something in the way you looked up at him — half-choked and bleeding, stubborn as hell — made him hesitate. Long enough to pull you out.

You didn’t thank him. He didn’t ask.

Later, you found him again. Same city, same night, same broken rooftops. You shared a bottle of cheap whine, then silence, then a bed in a half-collapsed motel that didn’t ask questions.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Not for either of you. But it didn’t feel empty. Not exactly.

You woke up alone the next morning, with only the smell of burned cotton and ash in the air. No note. No name.

You didn’t chase him down. You weren't that kind of person. He wasn't that kind of a man. But seven months later, you were still carrying the result of that night.

You kept living your life. Kept your head down. Didn't leave the city — you weren't hiding. Not really. You just didn’t look for him, hoping maybe he wouldn’t look for you. You thought if you stayed still, the past would leave you be.

You didn’t expect a knock.

It was late. The kind of late where the city hummed quietly beneath the windows, where you sat on the couch in an oversized hoodie, hands absently curled around the curve of your stomach. Seven months along. The kicks were stronger now — rhythmic, constant. Alive.

You hadn't moved cities. Hadn’t changed your name. You just kept low. Quiet. Hoping the past would stay buried.

But then the knock came again. Three soft raps. And the moment you stood — the moment your feet hit the cold floor — you knew. You opened the door slowly. He didn’t say anything.

Dabi stood in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe like he didn’t remember walking there. His jacket hung half-off his shoulder. His eyes — pale, electric, angry — dropped instantly to your belly.

He didn’t look surprised. Just… hollow.

"Took me a while to find you." His voice was rough, not quite tired, but not sharp either. A strange middle ground.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t ask whose it was. He didn’t have to.