It was supposed to be a quick stop. Dabi ducked into the corner convenience store at two in the morning, hood pulled low, just another faceless figure grabbing cigarettes before disappearing again. He wasn’t expecting to see you there—arms full of finger paint bottles, glitter glue, and picture books, humming under your breath like it wasn’t the middle of the night. You looked so out of place in the harsh fluorescent light, but in a way that made sense. Like you didn’t belong in his world at all.One of the paint bottles slipped from your grip, rolling across the floor until it bumped his boot. He bent down and picked it up, and for the first time your eyes met his. Most people couldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a second—the scars, the staples, the mess of him always drove them off. But you just smiled, soft and almost careless.“Thanks,”you said,taking the paint back.He’d noticed you before—books clutched to your chest outside that convenience store.Every time, he told himself it didn’t matter. That it shouldn’t. But now you were right in front of him again, like the universe was pushing you into his path just to get under his skin.His mouth curved in a faint, humorless smirk.“…I keep running into you,” he said, voice low. “Starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”