The wind bit at his face as he soared upward, cutting through the night like a bde through silk. The city lights below melted into a smear of pale gold and electric blue—halos scattered across endless concrete veins. But Hawks wasn’t looking down.

  He was rising. Higher. Farther.

  Away.

  From the alley. From Dabi’s piercing stare. From the sick feeling growing in his chest like rot beneath feathers.

  He didn’t stop until the city was no more than a hum beneath his boots—a distant pulse in the dark. The jagged silhouette of an old radio tower emerged from the fog like a ghost of forgotten times. Rusted steel. Broken tech. A monolith to a quieter kind of loneliness.

  He nded without a sound.

  The structure groaned softly beneath his weight but held—just like it always did. This tower had seen him through breakdowns, betrayals, and backdoor missions no hero should’ve been forced to carry. Up here, he could drop the smile. The swagger. The jokes that didn’t always nd.

  Up here, he could be Keigo.

  And tonight?

  That part of him hurt.

  Hawks lowered himself onto one of the upper girders, his body folding in on itself like paper—one leg dangling over open air, the other bent, elbow resting atop it. His wings settled around him like a weathered cloak, rustling as they flexed.

  The sky above was hazy—stars flickering like distant secrets no one dared speak aloud. He stared anyway, as if they held answers he couldn’t get from the Commission.

  He muttered the name under his breath, just once.

  “…Firefly.”

  It tasted different now.

  Not like a joke. Not like a hero alias.

  Like something stolen from a memory.

  He’d seen it. Felt it the second Dabi’s hand clenched around his phone like it was the only thing tethering him to something real. Hawks had learned how to read people before he could read books. You didn’t get handpicked by the Commission to be a weapon if you couldn’t sniff out a lie in the dark.

  And tonight?

  Dabi hadn’t lied. He hadn’t said anything at all.

  And that silence had screamed the truth.

  There was something. Some thread connecting him to Aldon—delicate, maybe, but real. He didn’t know when it had started, or how deep it went, but the name—Firefly—that wasn’t casual. That wasn’t a throwaway contact. That was personal. Private. Intimate.

  Too intimate.

  Hawks rubbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging through his hair. The wind tugged gently at his coat, but the cold wasn’t what made him shiver.

  “Angie…” he whispered again. “What the hell are you doing?”

  It didn’t make sense. Aldon wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t the type to dive into danger without a pn, without a reason. He was thoughtful. Gentle. He cared too much.

  That’s what Hawks liked about him.

  …Maybe more than he should.

  But this? Getting close to Dabi?

  It was suicidal.

  And yet, every sign pointed that way—every quiet evasion, every excuse, every shift in Aldon’s posture when asked too many questions. The look in his eyes tely—distant, flickering—like he was standing in two worlds and didn’t know how to choose.

  Hawks had seen that look before. In the mirror.

  It was the look of someone choosing their heart over the mission.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  Because Aldon wasn’t built to lie, to manipute, to py chess while everyone else bled. He wore his soul on his sleeve, even when he tried to hide it. If the wrong person caught wind of this—if Endeavor found out, or worse, if the Commission caught a whisper—Aldon wouldn’t just be reprimanded.

  He’d be destroyed.

  And Hawks…

  He didn’t know if he could watch that happen.

  Didn’t know if he’d be the one forced to make it happen.

  His hand clenched into a fist. Not from rage. From something colder. Sharper.

  Fear.

  Because if Aldon had really fallen for Dabi then this wasn’t just a secret. It was a fault line. One quake away from colpsing everything.

  A hero. A vilin. A love that never should’ve been.

  He closed his eyes, head tipped back toward the stars. His wings shifted behind him—tired, twitching.

  For once, he didn’t know what to do.

  Did he warn him? Confront him? Protect him? Or did he wait? Watch? Hope?

  His breath fogged the air in front of him, vanishing just as quickly as it came.

  He blew out a slow breath. “Damn it, Angie…”

  He wasn’t supposed to care this much. That wasn’t the deal.

  When he pyed double agent for the Commission, it was simple: observe, report, manipute, repeat. Keep feelings out of it. Keep distance. But Aldon had never fit cleanly into the folders and reports. He was messy. All empathy and fire, yered in ideals Hawks had long since buried beneath bureaucracy and survival.

  But messy was hard to ignore when it burned that bright.

  And tely, it had felt like Aldon was flickering—faint shadows behind his eyes, pauses before he spoke. That wasn’t just burnout. That was something deeper. Hidden.

  Dangerous.

  Hawks rested his chin on his knee, gaze trailing stars he couldn't name. He let the silence pull him backward—years ago, before “Firefly” had meant anything beyond a file name. When Aldon Ito Pavus had stormed into his life like a comet wrapped in nerves and stubbornness.

  A Few Years AgoHero Public Safety Commission HQ

  Hawks had been early that day. A rarity. Sitting in the back of a sterile boardroom with too much coffee and too little patience, watching the higher-ups tear apart files like they were dishing out execution orders. The topic had been 'rehabilitation models for captured vilins'—a fancy way of saying how do we make these people disappear more efficiently.

  Then the door had opened.

  A kid. That’s what Hawks had thought at first. Barely twenty, short, fire-touched hair that looked like it argued with a comb every morning, eyes too damn soft for the world they were trying to mold. Aldon stood at the front of the room, nervous but determined, clutching a folder to his chest like it held his soul.

  “My name is Aldon Ito Pavus,” he’d said, voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. “And I’d like to propose an alternative method to vilin processing. One that focuses on psychological rehabilitation, not punishment.”

  The room had gone silent. Amused. Annoyed.

  But Hawks had leaned forward.

  No one interrupted. Not until Aldon had finished ying out every carefully-researched point, every statistical argument, every moral appeal. He even included mock-ups for a potential facility. Not once did he raise his voice. Not once did he stutter.

  He believed it.

  The board had shredded him.

  “Na?ve.” “Emotionally compromised.” “Dangerous.”

  They accused him of romanticizing criminals, of opening doors that shouldn’t be touched. One even asked if he’d hug a serial killer next.

  And Aldon?

  He didn’t cry. Didn’t shout. He just nodded, collected his papers, and walked out—his silence louder than anything said in that room.

  Hawks had followed.

  Back to Present

  That was the first time he’d offered to buy Aldon lunch.

  He hadn’t known then why he did it. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe, deep down, he was starving for someone who hadn’t been hollowed out by the system.

  But Aldon had looked up from his udon bowl, sauce on his lip, and said with a grin, “You don’t strike me as the type to listen.”

  And Hawks had smiled. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

  That was the start.

  Now, years ter, here he was—sitting on a rusting tower, staring down at the city Aldon swore he wanted to change, and wondering if that same fire had led him straight into the arms of the wrong person.

  Dabi.

  “Why him?” Hawks whispered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of all the people in this fming dumpster of a city…”

  Because he knew Aldon. Knew the signs. He was hiding something. And the way Dabi had reacted—tense, twitchy, that one fsh of protectiveness Hawks hadn’t even needed to bait—told him everything he needed to know.

  There was something between them.

  But it wasn’t just suspicion now. It was fear. Not for himself. Not for the mission. For Aldon.

  Hawks remained perched, wings curled around him as the cold air pressed in. His phone was still in his hand, thumb hovering over the glowing contact:

  Angie ??

  It should’ve been simple. One call. A check-in. He could pretend it was casual—py it off with a joke or two. But his chest ached with something more complicated than surveilnce.

  He just wanted to hear him.

  Just to make sure he is okay.

  With a breath, Hawks tapped the call icon.

  The phone rang once… twice…

  “Hello?” came the familiar voice—gentle, warm, and ced with curiosity.

  Hawks’ breath eased out. He smiled.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice casual, but softer than usual. “You free for a sec? Not interrupting any te-night food experiments, am I?”

  A small ugh from Aldon. “No. Just me and Mr. Whiskers. He’s asleep on my undry again.”

  Hawks chuckled, settling back against the tower beam. “Good. I need him well-rested for world domination.”

  “Yeah, he’s working on it. Slowly. Strategically.”

  Hawks let the silence stretch for a second, just enjoying the rhythm of Aldon’s voice. Then, more gently:

  “So… how was today? You said you were visiting the agency? Saw Shoto?”

  “Yeah,” Aldon replied, and Hawks could hear the smile in his voice. “It was actually… really nice.”

  “Tell me about it,” Hawks said, leaning his head back to look up at the hazy stars. “Start to finish.”

  There was a pause—surprised, maybe—but then Aldon’s voice picked up, light and animated.

  “Endeavor invited me to drop by as you already know, apparently Shoto’s interning again with his friends. I haven’t seen him in a while, so it was a nice surprise. The kids are—well, not kids anymore. But still. They’re sharp. Driven. Bakugo tried to suplex me within five minutes of meeting.”

  Hawks ughed. “Sounds like a warm welcome.”

  “Oh, it was. He called me a glowstick. I called him a hedgehog. Shoto almost smiled, so I consider that a win.”

  Hawks shut his eyes, just listening. Aldon’s voice flowed like sunlight over winter skin—bright and comforting. He talked about the sparring session, about Midoriya’s footwork, how Bakugo fought like a grenade with opinions, and how Shoto had grown—calmer, steadier.

  “He handed me a towel after my match with Bakugo and told me I still favor my right side when I dodge,” Aldon said with a soft ugh. “Didn’t even blink. Just... pointed it out like he was reading a weather forecast.”

  Hawks smiled into the phone. “Todoroki’s got that quiet-deadpan thing down. Future boss energy.”

  “I think he already is the boss. We just haven’t accepted it yet.”

  “And Endeavor?”

  “He didn’t grill me. Just nodded a lot. I think that’s his version of a hug.”

  Hawks snorted. “You better frame that nod. Might be the only one you get this decade.”

  Aldon ughed again, and the sound slipped into Hawks’ chest like warmth. He let it sit there, soaking in the quiet moment that felt like just theirs.

  “…Thank you.”

  Aldon blinked on the other end. “For what?”

  Hawks smiled, small and real.

  “For picking up. For talking. For just… being you.” He let out a quiet breath, then added, “You don’t even realize it, but you make things feel less heavy. Like I can breathe again.”

  There was a pause. The kind that stretched, warm and steady, like a hand being held without needing to ask.

  “I’m gd you had a good day,” Hawks said softly. “Really.”

  “You okay?” Aldon asked, his tone shifting—no longer casual. It was softer now. Concerned. Like he felt something beneath Hawks’ words.

  And Hawks hesitated. Just for a second. Because the truth?

  No. He wasn’t okay. Not even close. But what was he supposed to say?

  No, I’m not. I’m meeting with a mass murderer under the table. I’m pying both sides of a war I can’t control. I’m watching someone I care about get dragged into the fire while I pretend not to see it. I’m lying to everyone—including myself—and I’m so damn tired I don’t remember what breathing easy feels like anymore.

  His grip on the phone tightened slightly.

  Because that simple question—“You okay?”—had cracked something open.

  How can I be okay when the guy I’m trying to get close to for intel is somehow tied to you—and I don’t know how deep it goes?

  How can I be okay when I think you’ve fallen for him?

  And worse… when I think he might care about you, too?

  Hawks stared out across the glittering skyline, the steel of the tower cold against his back, but it was the heat in his chest that rattled him.

  Everything was getting too close.

  He’d built his whole life on lines. Lines between duty and feeling. Between hero and tool. Between right and whatever it took. And now those lines were starting to blur.

  He was supposed to be getting closer to Shigaraki. That was the job. Earn Dabi’s trust. Slip deeper into the League. Be the Commission’s eyes behind enemy lines.

  He was supposed to use Dabi.

  Not watch him be soft for someone else. Not watch Aldon get pulled in.

  Not feel anything about it. But he did.

  And now he was caught in the middle—about to watch the two of them drift toward something neither of them should want, knowing damn well the world would burn for it if anyone found out.

  His voice nearly caught in his throat.

  But he swallowed it down. Breathed through the ache, and smiled.

  “Yeah. I just needed to hear your voice.”

  He heard it—that tiny hitch of breath. A small pause, almost imperceptible. But he caught it.

  And Aldon didn’t pull away from it.

  “You ever need to talk,” Aldon said, voice dipping into something soft and honest, “you know I’m here, right?”

  “Yeah,” Hawks whispered. “I know.”

  The quiet between them was the kind that didn’t need filling. Not empty, but full—of meaning, memory, something deeper than words.

  Eventually, Hawks let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a ugh.

  “Alright,” he murmured. “I should let you sleep.”

  “Only if you promise to sleep too,” Aldon countered, voice soft.

  “No promises,” Hawks said, the smile in his voice gentler this time—real, unguarded.

  “Then at least don’t fall asleep on some rusted beam out in the cold,” Aldon added, teasing.

  Hawks blinked. “...Wait. How’d you know I was up high?”

  “I didn’t,” Aldon replied, amusement warm in his tone. “But I know you. You always fly up when you’re trying to outrun your thoughts.”

  A surprised ugh escaped Hawks—low and genuine. “Damn. You really do know me.”

  “I try,” Aldon said, quieter now.

  A beat of silence. Not empty—just full of everything neither of them had said.

  Then, soft as a secret:

  “Night, Keigo.”

  Hawks closed his eyes. “Night, Angie.”

  The line disconnected, but he didn’t move.

  Didn’t fly. Didn’t shift. Just sat there, the phone still in his hand, like maybe the echo of Aldon’s voice could keep him warm a little longer.

  Just as the wind began to settle, Hawks' phone lit up in his palm.

  1 New Message.Sender: Unknown NumberTomorrow is the day. Be ready, Hawks.

  His breath caught. No name. No signature. But he didn’t need one. He knew what this was.

  The warmth from Aldon’s voice still lingered in his ears—soft, grounding. But it evaporated under the cold weight of the message now burning on his screen.

  Tomorrow.

  He stared at it for another heartbeat, jaw tight.

  Then, slowly, his wings unfurled—sharp against the night, feathers catching the city’s distant light.

  “…Guess it’s time,” he muttered.

  And without another word, he pushed off the steel beam, disappearing into the sky like a shadow torn from the stars.

  The soft purr of Mr. Whiskers curled at Aldon’s feet as he pulled a bnket over his head, yawning into the quiet. The apartment was dim, lit only by the low glow of a bedside mp and the flickering city lights beyond the window.

  It had been a good day—strange, yes, but good. Seeing Shoto again, meeting Midoriya and Bakugo, that pyful chaos in the sparring room. And then the call with Hawks.

  Aldon smiled faintly at the thoughts, running a hand through his tousled hair as he reached for his phone to set an arm.

  1 New Message.Sender: TouyaBack alley behind Kaiyo’s Bar. 20 minutes. Come alone.

  Aldon blinked.

  His heart gave a small, startled kick in his chest.

  Touya.

  He reread the message twice, thumb hovering above the screen like the words might shift. No expnation. No teasing banter. Just a time, a pce, and an unspoken urgency woven between the lines.

  He looked at the clock. 11:52 PM.

  What was this about? Why now?

  His first instinct was worry—was he hurt again? Or worse, was something going down?

  He exhaled sharply and moved on reflex, peeling off his hoodie and changing into dark, less conspicuous clothes. Bck jeans, fitted long-sleeve shirt, and his reinforced boots. Not his hero gear, but something functional. Quiet.

  He tied his hair back, just in case. Then paused at the mirror, catching his own reflection—the flicker of anxiety behind his eyes, the pulse tapping fast at his neck.

  “Really, Touya?” he muttered under his breath. “You couldn’t just… come here?”

  Still, he moved and knelt to scratch behind Mr. Whiskers’ ears.

  “Stay out of trouble,” he murmured. “You’re the responsible one tonight.”

  The cat meowed sleepily in reply.

  And then Aldon was gone—hood up, nerves sharp, footsteps soft against the night as he headed toward Kaiyo’s Bar. Twenty minutes.

  And not a clue what he was walking into.

  The alley behind Kaiyo’s Bar smelled like spilled beer, old cigarettes, and bad choices. A flickering neon sign buzzed faintly above the back door, painting the walls in pulses of pink and green. Trash bins lined the wall, but the only figure that mattered stood halfway in shadow—leaning against the brick like he’d been there for hours.

  Dabi.

  Arms crossed. Head tilted. That familiar mess of bckened staples and blue firelight flickering faintly from his fingertips.

  He turned his head as Aldon approached.

  And said, ftly—

  “Ugh. Finally.”

  Aldon slowed his steps, confusion tugging at his brow. That voice wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t amused or tired or pyful.

  It was distant. Cold.

  Aldon blinked. “What… happened?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “Why do you sound like I’m bothering you?”

  Dabi pushed off the wall, letting his boots crunch a stray gss shard on the pavement. He didn’t blink as he looked at Aldon—his expression unreadable, but the sharpness in his eyes unmistakable.

  “Because you are.”

  The words hit harder than they should have.

  Aldon froze, something inside his chest twisting.

  “What…?” he said softly, taking a cautious step forward. “Touya, what’s going on?”

  Dabi grinned.

  Not the tired little smirk he gave when Aldon cooked something he liked.

  Not the crooked half-smile he hid behind when he felt too much.

  No—this was his vilin grin. Wide. Cruel. Familiar in all the wrong ways.

  “It was fun,” Dabi said, his voice ced with venomous calm. “But let’s end this stupid game.”

  Aldon’s heart dropped. The alley suddenly felt colder.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Dabi didn’t answer.

  He just took a step forward, shadows clinging to his boots, that grin still stretched across his face like a mask.

  The game had changed.

  And Aldon didn’t know the rules anymore.

  The grin on Dabi’s face didn’t falter as he took another slow step forward.

  Aldon stood frozen for a beat—then straightened his shoulders. “Touya,” he said carefully, “what’s going on?”

  Dabi scoffed. “Touya,” he repeated, voice thick with mockery. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  Aldon’s chest tightened. “If something happened—”

  “What happened,” Dabi snapped, stepping closer, “is that I finally realized how pathetic this all is.”

  Blue fmes fred at his fingertips—not attacking. Not yet. Just there. A threat.

  “You and your hero complex,” Dabi continued, voice venomous now. “Letting some vilin shack up in your little apartment. Feeding him. Bandaging him. Like that was gonna change anything.”

  Aldon blinked, the words striking like sps—but he didn’t flinch.

  “You were never special, Firefly,” Dabi said, stalking in a slow circle. “You were convenient. Warm bed. Hot food. Quiet. Safe. That’s it. I used you.”

  Aldon’s breath caught—but still, he didn’t move.

  Dabi’s grin twitched. He hated how calm Aldon was.

  “You think your little rehabilitation dream means anything?” he sneered. “News fsh, hero—most of us don’t want saving. Especially not from someone like you.”

  Blue fmes exploded outward—fast. Controlled, but violent. Aldon leapt back, the heat grazing strands of his hair.

  “And you’re so proud,” Dabi went on, unching another burst of fire that Aldon sidestepped, rolling behind a dumpster. “Acting like you’re better than the rest of your hypocrite friends. Letting a wanted criminal sleep under your roof? If the Commission knew—”

  Another fme. Closer this time.

  “You’d lose everything. And for what?” Dabi barked, chest rising fast now, breath sharp. “A monster? You let a killer into your home.”

  Aldon dodged again, silent. Watching. Calcuting.

  “But maybe that’s what you wanted,” Dabi hissed, his voice cracking at the edges now. “Some tragic little fantasy. The broken vilin you thought you could fix. Thought maybe if you touched him softly enough, he’d turn back into a person.”

  He hurled another wave of blue fire.

  Aldon stayed light on his feet, refusing to strike back—refusing to even raise his hands. He kept dodging, his eyes never leaving Dabi’s.

  “Say something!” Dabi shouted.

  And still, Aldon stayed quiet.

  Because he’d seen it. Just for a second.

  In the fury. In the fire. Pain.

  The pain Dabi never showed. The fear twisting beneath every word, every fme meant to scare him off. The way his eyes wouldn’t hold the grin—how they shimmered just behind the cracks in his voice.

  He wasn’t trying to kill Aldon. He was trying to protect him by pushing him away.

  And Aldon finally spoke—soft, steady.

  “You’re lying.”

  Dabi froze mid-step. His fire stalled. “What?”

  “You’re lying,” Aldon repeated, stepping forward through the smoke. “About everything. About not caring. About using me.”

  He took another step.

  “Because if you really wanted me gone—you would’ve burned me already.”

  Dabi’s fists trembled at his sides. “Shut up.”

  “You don’t hate me,” Aldon said gently. “You’re scared. You think this is the only way to protect me.”

  “I said shut up!”

  Dabi unleashed another bst—but it hit wide, missing Aldon by a mile.

  Aldon didn’t even flinch this time.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Touya,” he said, meeting those shattered blue eyes. “So if you need to scream, scream. If you need to burn something—burn it. But don’t expect me to run.”

  Their gazes locked.

  And Dabi saw it.

  Not pity. Not judgment. Just… love. Raw and quiet and stubborn as hell. And he might… feels the same.

  The fire flickered once more at Dabi’s hands—then sputtered out entirely.

  The alley fell into silence. The shadows felt too still, too loud. Dabi’s breathing came in ragged, shallow bursts, as if he’d just run miles but hadn’t moved an inch.

  Aldon didn’t budge.

  He stood there, unmoving, as if he could absorb every word Dabi threw at him. Every fme. Every insult. Not because he believed any of it—but because he saw through it all.

  And Dabi hated him for it.

  No—he hated himself. For not being able to scare him off. For caring that Aldon still looked at him that way. With softness. With understanding. With hope.

  He couldn’t take it. He shouldn’t take it.

  Because this was supposed to be the end.

  Dabi staggered forward—one step, two—then smmed his palm against the wall just beside Aldon’s head. The sound cracked against the bricks like a gunshot.

  Aldon didn’t flinch.

  Dabi’s breath hitched in his throat. His body trembled, not from exhaustion, not from fire—but from feeling too much.

  “You’re an idiot,” he rasped. “You should’ve run.”

  Aldon looked up at him, eyes wide but unwavering. “Then stop pretending you don’t want me to stay.”

  And that—that broke something final in Dabi.

  He didn’t speak. Didn’t warn. He just moved.

  Suddenly—desperately—he crashed forward, pressing Aldon against the wall with a force born of panic, of longing, of every terrible thing he could never say out loud. And then—

  He kissed him.

  Rough, unpracticed, trembling. The kind of kiss that felt like a confession and a goodbye all at once.

  Aldon gasped softly against his lips, surprised—but not resisting. Not even for a second. His hands lifted instinctively, not to push Dabi away, but to anchor him—to hold him there.

  Like he knew. Like he’d been waiting.

  The kiss deepened, messy and raw. Dabi’s hand curled against Aldon’s shirt, clutching him like if he let go, he’d disappear. Like the world would snap back and remind him of all the things he didn’t deserve.

  Aldon kissed him back—just as gently as he always did everything else. Not trying to fix him. Not trying to save him.

  Just… being there.

  And that’s what undid Dabi more than anything.

  When he finally pulled back, breathing hard, their foreheads stayed pressed together.

  Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

  Because in that kiss—in that moment—they’d both said everything.

  Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. Neither of them broke the silence.

  Then, quietly—almost like a joke—Dabi muttered, “Can I crash at your pce?”

  Aldon huffed out a small ugh, the tension breaking just enough for a smile to form. “Yeah,” he said, voice warm. “You always can.”

  Dabi didn’t reply right away. Just closed his eyes, let out a soft exhale, and nodded.

  Aldon reached up, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “But you’re doing the dishes tomorrow.”

  “Not a chance,” Dabi muttered, but the smirk tugging at his lips was real this time.

  Aldon chuckled again.

  And as they started walking, Dabi let the silence settle.

  He didn’t look at Aldon, not directly. But he didn’t need to.

  He felt him. Right there. Solid. Real. Warm in all the ways Dabi had taught himself to live without.

  He remembered the way Aldon had stood there tonight—unmoving, unflinching—letting Dabi spit venom, throw fire, say things he didn’t mean. And he saw it again. That look in Aldon’s eyes.

  Love.

  Not the kind from stories. Not the shiny, easy kind.

  But the real kind. The terrifying kind. The kind that stayed, and Dabi hated it. Feared it. Craved it.

  He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, walking just a little closer to Aldon, like gravity was pulling him in. And maybe it was. Maybe it always had been.

  Because somewhere, between the silence and the stupid little smirks—he’d started falling. And now?

  He’d said everything cruel he could think of tonight. Dug up the worst parts of himself and threw them like knives. Tried to make Aldon see a monster—so he’d run, like anyone sane would. To protect him.

  He’d tried.

  God, he’d tried.

  But Aldon hadn’t flinched.

  He stayed.

  Now, he couldn’t look at Aldon without feeling like his ribs were caving in.

  He didn't know what this was. What it meant. What it would cost.

  But he knew one thing.

  He didn’t want to lose it.

  Didn’t want to lose him.

  Dabi shoved his hands in his pockets, jaw tight.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Not comfort. Not guilt. And definitely not this—This pull toward Aldon that felt terrifyingly close to home.

  Aldon, with his stupid soft voice. His eyes that saw too much. His hands that touched without fear. His belief that people like Dabi could still choose something other than destruction.

  Dabi hadn’t asked for any of this.

  But he didn’t want to let it go.

  Not yet. Not tonight. Not ever

  So he walked, wordless, beside the only person who ever looked at him with a care.

  And as they slipped into the night, toward the apartment that somehow felt more like a home than any pce he'd ever been, one quiet, desperate thought echoed in the back of his mind.

  Please… don’t leave.