The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Aldon’s apartment as he sat by his desk in the bedroom.

  An idea struck Aldon as he sipped his coffee, the steam curling zily from the mug. Sitting by his desk, he gnced at the scattered notes for his rehabilitation project. His gaze lingered on one phrase he had underlined weeks ago: “Small, achievable steps to rebuild trust and connection.”

  He leaned back in his chair, mulling over what that could look like for someone like Dabi. Then, as if on cue, Mr. Whiskers jumped onto the desk, knocking over a page listing simple daily tasks for potential rehabilitation programs. Aldon picked it up, chuckling softly. “Cooking,” he murmured, tapping the word with his pen. “That could work.”

  Aldon’s imagination ran wild for a moment, picturing Dabi wielding a frying pan like a weapon or somehow setting rice on fire. He snorted, shaking his head. “It’s just chopping veggies and stirring a pot. How bad could it be?”

  Mr. Whiskers meowed loudly, almost as if to warn him. Aldon grinned, patting the cat’s head.

  The morning passed quickly as Aldon prepared for his spontaneous pn. After finishing his coffee, he headed to the kitchen, determination fueling his every step.

  Aldon pulled open cabinets and scoured the fridge, gathering everything he needed to set the stage. If this was going to work, he needed to make it inviting—but not too overwhelming. He wanted Dabi to feel like he was stepping into something approachable, not a professional kitchen.

  By the time he finished arranging the ingredients on the counter, the scene was set. Aldon gnced at his phone, hesitating for a moment before sending a quick message to Dabi:

  Come over. No fire. Just food.

  He smirked at his own cryptic message, imagining Dabi’s reaction. As he leaned against the counter, waiting for a reply, Mr. Whiskers perched on a nearby stool, flicking his tail like a disapproving sous-chef.

  “I know, I know,” Aldon said with a chuckle. “This could go horribly wrong. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” He reached over to scratch the cat behind the ears. “It’s about starting somewhere.”

  Minutes ter, his phone buzzed. Aldon read the message and couldn’t help but grin.

  You better not waste my time with sad, firefly.

  “Perfect,” Aldon muttered, rolling up his sleeves and turning back to the counter. Today’s mission wasn’t about hero work or tackling vilins—it was about teaching Dabi how to cook. Simple, achievable steps. If nothing else, it was bound to be entertaining.

  Aldon had convinced himself that sharing something as simple as a meal-making session might bridge the gap between them. Besides, spending time on something so ordinary might show Dabi a slice of life he’d long forgotten.

  Some time passed and there was the unmistakable knock on the balcony door, heavy and deliberate. Aldon gnced up from the counter, brushing his hands off on a dish towel. Mr. Whiskers perked up from his stool, tail flicking as if annoyed by the interruption.

  “Right on time,” Aldon muttered to himself, striding toward the balcony. He opened the door to find Dabi leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed, his usual smirk firmly in pce.

  “Hey,” Dabi said, stepping inside. His sharp blue eyes swept over the kitchen, nding on the counter den with vegetables and cooking utensils. “What’s all this? A farmer’s market exploded in here?”

  “It’s called cooking,” Aldon replied with a grin, shutting the door behind him. “Something I’m betting you’ve never tried.”

  Dabi raised an eyebrow. “Why would I? Fire solves most of my problems.”

  “Yeah, well, this time we’re aiming for edible, not incinerated,” Aldon shot back, motioning toward the kitchen. “Come on. Today’s lesson: cooking without arson.”

  Dabi snorted, his smirk widening as he sauntered into the kitchen. “You’re really serious about this, huh? Teaching a vilin how to chop carrots? That’s your big pn?”

  “It’s called rehabilitation,” Aldon said, tossing a towel at him. “Small steps, Touya. Besides, you agreed to let me try, remember?”

  Dabi caught the towel, twirling it zily in his hands as he considered the array of ingredients. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone feigning disinterest. “But if this turns into some kumbaya bonding thing, I’m out.”

  “Noted,” Aldon replied with a chuckle.

  Mr. Whiskers meowed loudly from his stool, as if casting doubt on Dabi’s capabilities.

  “Even the cat’s judging me,” Dabi muttered, narrowing his eyes at the feline. “This is off to a great start.”

  Aldon chuckled. “Rex. It’s just vegetables. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “You’re really asking for it, firefly,” Dabi said with a smirk that promised trouble.

  Aldon handed Dabi an apron, grinning when the vilin wrinkled his nose at the sight of it. “Put it on,” Aldon instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  Dabi stared at the apron Aldon handed him, his lip curling. “Seriously?” he muttered, holding it up like it might bite him.

  “Yes, seriously,” Aldon said, his tone light but firm. “It’s either the apron or a shirt full of onion juice.”

  “Fine, but if anyone sees this, I’m burning the evidence. This is humiliating,” Dabi muttered.

  With a dramatic sigh, Dabi slipped the apron over his head, adjusting the strap awkwardly. For a moment, he caught his reflection in the microwave door—a vilin wearing a striped apron, about to chop vegetables like a househusband. The absurdity of it almost made him ugh, but the sight of Aldon grinning at him from across the counter made him pause. Something in that smile—genuine, unguarded—softened the edge of his resistance.

  “You look fine,” Aldon said, tying his own apron and then led Dabi to the counter, where a variety of vegetables were id out. “First step: wash the veggies.”

  Dabi stared at the faucet, unimpressed. “They’re vegetables. Aren’t they already clean?”

  Aldon sighed, demonstrating how to rinse them properly. Dabi grudgingly copied him, muttering something about pointless busywork.

  Next came chopping. Aldon handed Dabi a knife and demonstrated the technique. “See? Just a simple rocking motion. Easy. Now, let’s see if you can hold a knife without setting it on fire.”

  Dabi grabbed an onion while grumbling under his nose and hacked at it with all the grace of a lumberjack, sending chunks flying. “Perfect,” he decred, smirking.

  “Perfect for scaring the onions,” Aldon deadpanned, picking up a mangled piece. “Let’s… aim for smaller pieces next time.”

  Once the onions were out of the list, next was bell pepper. Aldon demonstrated how to slice it, his movements precise and practiced. Dabi watched with mild interest before taking the knife Aldon handed him.

  “Alright,” Aldon said, stepping aside. “Your turn. Just follow what I did.”

  Dabi held the knife awkwardly, gring at the bell pepper as if it had personally offended him. His first attempt was clumsy, the bde skidding off the skin and nearly taking a chunk out of his finger.

  “Careful!” Aldon excimed, reaching out instinctively as Dabi’s knife wobbled dangerously close to his fingers. His hand wrapped around Dabi’s wrist, steadying him. “You’re not fighting it, Touya.”

  Dabi raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Getting handsy already, firefly?”

  Aldon’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t let go. “If you lose a finger, you’ll bme me. I’m just saving myself the trouble. Just… be gentle. Let the knife do the work.”

  “Gentle’s not really my thing,” Dabi muttered. With Aldon guiding his hand, Dabi made a cleaner slice. For a moment, their hands lingered together, and Aldon quickly stepped back, clearing his throat. “See? Not so hard.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Dabi muttered, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes as he resumed chopping. The knife sliced cleanly through the pepper, and Dabi gnced at Aldon with a hint of triumph.

  Aldon gave him a thumbs up, smiling. “Now, do the rest of them.”

  Dabi grumbled but complied, slowly getting the hang of it as he chopped the vegetables under Aldon’s watchful eye. His cuts were uneven and sloppy, but Aldon didn’t comment, knowing that encouragement was more effective than criticism.

  As the minutes passed by the kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling vegetables and the rhythmic chop of Aldon’s knife against the cutting board. Dabi stood on the other side of the counter, holding a bright red tomato in one hand and a knife in the other. His expression was one of pure skepticism.

  “So, I just… cut it?” Dabi asked, tilting his head as if the tomato were some alien artifact.

  Aldon gnced up from his own chopping, suppressing a grin. “Yes, you cut it. Into slices, preferably. Think you can manage that?”

  Dabi’s narrowed gaze darted from the knife to the tomato and back again. “I’ve handled weapons more dangerous than this.”

  “Sure you have,” Aldon said with a pyful shrug. “But can you make it look edible?”

  With a dramatic sigh, Dabi set the tomato on the cutting board and began slicing. The first cut was uneven, and the second sent a chunk of tomato flying across the counter. Mr. Whiskers, perched nearby, leapt down to investigate the rogue slice.

  “Great,” Dabi muttered. “Now he is my quality control.”

  Aldon couldn’t help but ugh. “It’s a start. Just try to keep the rest on the board, alright?”

  Dabi grumbled something under his breath but adjusted his grip on the knife. The next few slices were slightly more consistent, though still far from professional. He eyed his work with a mixture of disdain and reluctant pride.

  “Not bad,” Aldon said, inspecting the uneven pile of tomato slices. “A little rough, but edible.”

  Dabi smirked, tossing the knife onto the counter with a ctter. “Told you I could handle it. What’s next, peeling potatoes?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Aldon replied, scooping up the tomatoes and adding them to the simmering pan. “But for now, you’re on stirring duty. Just make sure it doesn’t stick.”

  Dabi moved toward the stove with all the enthusiasm of a kid forced to do homework. He picked up the wooden spoon, giving the mixture in the pan a half-hearted stir.

  “You know,” he said, gncing at Aldon, “this therapy thing of yours is starting to feel suspiciously like work.”

  “It’s called ‘learning life skills,’” Aldon said, leaning against the counter with a smug grin. “You should be thanking me. When this is all over, you’ll be able to cook yourself a meal instead of eating… whatever it is you normally eat.”

  Dabi snorted. “Who says I need meals? I survive on spite and chaos.”

  “That expins a lot,” Aldon quipped, earning a bark of ughter from Dabi.

  As the food began to take shape, the tension in the room eased. Dabi stirred the pan with a little more focus, even sniffing the air as the spices melded together. Aldon took the opportunity to sneak a quick photo on his phone, the sight of the notorious vilin awkwardly holding a spoon too good to pass up.

  “Did you just take a picture?” Dabi asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “Nope,” Aldon said, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Keep stirring, Chef.”

  Dabi shook his head, muttering something about “annoying heroes,” but a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.

  As the vegetables sizzled, Dabi stirred the pan with a growing sense of ease. It was strange—this whole thing. Cooking. Eating. Laughing. For years, normal had been nothing more than a distant memory, a life someone else had lived. But here, in this stupid apartment with Aldon’s annoying optimism and a judgmental cat, it almost felt… comfortable.

  He shook the thought off quickly, muttering under his breath. Comfort wasn’t for people like him.

  After a chaotic half-hour the stir-fry was finished, Aldon pted two servings and set them on the table.

  “We didn’t burn the kitchen down. Progress!” Aldon beamed and extended his hand out for Dabi.

  Dabi rolled his eyes but smirked, giving Aldon a reluctant high five. "Small miracles, firefly."

  They moved to the table, ptes in hand, and settled into their seats. The smell of the freshly cooked stir-fry filled the room as Aldon eagerly dug in, watching Dabi cautiously picked up a fork, eyeing the dish warily before taking a bite.

  Dabi chewed thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. Then he swallowed and looked at Aldon. “Not bad,” he admitted, his tone grudging but genuine.

  “See?” Aldon said, grinning. “Cooking’s not so hard. You just have to try.”

  Dabi rolled his eyes but took another bite, clearly enjoying the meal despite himself. “Don’t get used to this,” he muttered. “I’m not turning into some gourmet chef.”

  “Baby steps,” Aldon replied, his smile softening. “It’s not just about the food, Touya. It’s about taking care of yourself. You deserve that, even if you don’t think you do.”

  Dabi gnced at him, his fork pausing mid-air. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them—a flicker of understanding, of gratitude he wouldn’t voice aloud. Aldon’s heart squeezed at the rare vulnerability in Dabi’s eyes, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he offered a small smile, hoping it was enough.

  Dabi looked away, his usual smirk slipping back into pce. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, stabbing another piece of stir-fry. “Don’t expect me to start a food blog or anything.”

  Aldon ughed, the sound light and genuine. “Deal.”

  After dinner, Dabi leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk firmly in pce. “So, what’s next in this therapy of yours? Knitting? Scrapbooking? Or do I start a cooking channel? Fmes & Food. Has a nice ring to it.”

  Aldon snorted, leaning back in his own chair. “Sure, as long as I’m not your taste tester. The st thing I need is your ‘spite and chaos’ method showing up in a recipe book.”

  Dabi chuckled, the sound low and genuine, as Mr. Whiskers jumped onto the counter, sniffing at a leftover piece of carrot. His blue eyes followed the cat’s every move. “Even your furball eats this crap? You’re brainwashing everyone in this apartment.”

  “Hey, I didn’t hear you compining when you cleared your pte,” Aldon shot back, raising an eyebrow.

  Dabi shrugged, a zy smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t say it wasn’t good. Just don’t expect me to join your cult of home-cooked meals.”

  “Too te,” Aldon quipped. “You’ve already been initiated.”

  For a moment, the banter settled into a companionable silence. Dabi pushed his chair back slightly, resting his hands behind his head as he looked around the cozy apartment. The soft glow of the kitchen light, the faint hum of the heater, the smell of the stir-fry still lingering in the air—it all felt strangely… peaceful.

  “Next time,” Dabi said, breaking the quiet, “I’m making steak.”

  Aldon ughed, leaning forward to clear the ptes from the table. “Steak, huh? Alright, Chef Disaster. Just don’t burn my apartment down.”

  Dabi stood, stretching zily before heading toward the balcony. “No promises, firefly,” he called over his shoulder, his tone teasing.

  Aldon watched him go, a soft smile tugging at his lips. For now, this was enough—a small step toward something better. But just as Dabi reached the door, he hesitated, his hand resting on the frame. The air shifted slightly, the teasing edge in his voice repced by something quieter.

  “You know…” Dabi began, not turning around. “This whole thing—” He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “It’s… not the worst way to waste a night.”

  Aldon blinked, caught off guard by the subtle vulnerability in his words. “Is that your way of saying you had fun?” he teased lightly, though his voice softened.

  Dabi huffed a quiet ugh, finally gncing back over his shoulder. “Don’t push it, firefly.”

  Aldon stepped closer, leaning casually against the counter. “Well, if you ever want another ‘waste of a night,’ you know where to find me.”

  Dabi’s smirk twitched into something softer, almost unrecognizable. For a moment, his sharp blue eyes lingered on Aldon, and something unspoken passed between them. Then, as quickly as it came, the moment broke. Dabi turned back to the balcony, pulling the door open.

  “Don’t get used to this,” he said, stepping outside. “Next time, I’m bringing the fire.”

  “And I’ll bring the extinguisher,” Aldon called after him, grinning.

  Dabi paused just before leaping off the balcony railing. He turned his head slightly, his voice quieter now. “Thanks, Aldon. For… tonight.”

  The words were so soft Aldon almost didn’t catch them, but the weight behind them was impossible to miss. His chest tightened as he watched Dabi disappear into the night, his form melting into the shadows with a flicker of blue fmes.

  Aldon stood there for a long moment, the cold night air seeping in through the open balcony door. He sighed, closing it gently and leaning against the frame. Mr. Whiskers padded over, weaving between his legs with a soft purr.

  “You think he’ll come back?” Aldon murmured, scratching the cat’s head absentmindedly.

  Mr. Whiskers meowed, as if in agreement.

  Aldon smiled faintly, turning back toward the kitchen. The ptes still needed cleaning, and the faint smell of burnt onions lingered in the air. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  As he washed the dishes, Aldon couldn’t help but repy the night in his mind—the way Dabi had ughed, the way he’d let himself rex, even just a little. Maybe it was just one small step forward, but for Aldon, it was enough to keep hoping. They were moving forward.

  Together.