The soft glow of the TV illuminated Aldon’s living room as he sat curled up on the couch, Mr. Whiskers purring contentedly beside him. It had been a long day at the agency, and though he was exhausted, his mind refused to settle. He idly scrolled through his phone, his attention split between the news report pying on the screen and the text thread he had opened with Fat Gum.

  Aldon chuckled, shaking his head. Taishiro’s humor always had a way of lightening his mood. He was also gd his friend and the students were alright. He set his phone down on the coffee table and turned his full attention to the TV.

  The report recapped the events of the Shie Hassaikai raid, praising the heroes’ efforts in dismantling the organization and rescuing a young girl at the heart of the operation. Aldon felt a surge of pride for the heroes involved—he knew how hard a mission like that could be.

  But his pride was short-lived.

  The news anchor’s tone shifted, her voice becoming grave. “Breaking news: earlier this evening, the transport vehicle carrying the captured Kai Chisaki, also known as Overhaul, was ambushed by members of the League of Vilins. Reports confirm that the hero Snatch was killed during the attack.”

  Aldon sat up straight, his breath hitching. “What…?” he whispered.

  The anchor continued, her words striking like hammer blows. “Eyewitnesses describe a coordinated assault by the League. Among the assaints were the notorious vilins Dabi and Atsuhiro Sako known as Mr.Compress, who were reportedly responsible for Snatch’s death. The League escaped with significant injuries to Chisaki, though the former Yakuza leader remains in police custody.”

  The room seemed to close in around Aldon. His chest tightened, his mind racing as he tried to process the words. Dabi… killed Snatch?

  He grabbed the remote and turned the volume up, his heart pounding in his ears. The screen shifted to footage of the transport van.

  “No,” Aldon murmured, his hands trembling as he gripped the remote. He leaned forward, his eyes locked on the screen as the report repyed witness accounts and security footage.

  The image of Dabi’s fmes—wild, destructive, merciless—burned into his mind. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. This wasn’t Touya. This couldn’t be the same person who had shared quiet evenings with him, the same person he had cared for and tried to save.

  But it was.

  The realization struck him like ice water. He wanted to believe in the glimpses of humanity he’d seen in Dabi, the fragments of the boy he used to know. But this… this was something he couldn’t ignore.

  Tears pricked at the corners of Aldon’s eyes, his emotions a turbulent storm of anger, sorrow, and confusion. Snatch had been a hero, someone who fought to protect others. He didn’t deserve this.

  “I thought…” Aldon’s voice broke, the words catching in his throat. “I thought…”

  Mr. Whiskers meowed softly, nudging Aldon’s hand as if sensing his distress. Aldon absentmindedly stroked the cat’s fur, his mind racing. How was he supposed to face Dabi now? How could he reconcile the man who had killed a hero with the person he wanted to believe in?

  The screen fshed back to the anchor, who urged viewers to stay vigint as the authorities continued their pursuit of the League of Vilins. Aldon’s grip on the remote tightened before he finally turned the TV off, the silence of the room deafening in its wake.

  He picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen. His conversation with Fat Gum was still open, but he couldn’t bring himself to type anything. What could he say? That he was harboring a vilin? That the man responsible for Snatch’s death had been sitting in this very room, eating Aldon’s cooking and sharing memories of a life long past?

  The weight of his secret pressed down on him, suffocating. He had noone he could share this with. For the first time in weeks, Aldon felt truly lost.

  He closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling as he drew in a shaky breath. He needed to think—needed to figure out what to do. But most of all, he needed to confront the truth about Dabi, no matter how much it hurt.

  The tension in the air was palpable the moment Dabi stepped into Aldon’s apartment. His usual smirk was firmly in pce, but Aldon could see through it—could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. He didn’t wait long before speaking, his voice sharp and unsteady as he stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

  “Did you really kill him?” Aldon’s voice cut through the silence like a bde. His eyes burned with a mix of anger and sorrow as they bore into Dabi.

  Dabi froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. His lips parted slightly, but the words didn’t come right away. When they did, his tone was cold and clipped. “What are you talking about?”

  “Snatch!” Aldon’s voice rose, trembling with frustration. “The hero you killed during the attack on Chisaki’s transport. Did you—” His voice cracked. “Did you really do it?”

  Dabi’s smirk wavered, but only for a moment. His fmes flickered faintly at his fingertips, betraying the agitation he tried to mask. “Yeah, I did. So what?” he said, his voice ced with defiance.

  “So what? This is the second time you used that line!” Aldon said, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You killed someone, Touya! A hero who was just doing his job—protecting people! How can you just—just brush it off like that?”

  Dabi scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “You’re acting like this is news, firefly. I’m a vilin. I think you forgot.”

  Aldon’s chest tightened, his frustration bubbling over. “I didn’t forget,” he shot back, his voice trembling. “I just thought you might… I don’t know… realize that you have better options.”

  “Better options?” Dabi repeated, a bitter ugh escaping his lips. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he looked directly at Aldon. “And you’re supposed to be the better option?”

  The words hit Aldon like a sp. His breath caught, his expression crumbling for a brief moment before he quickly looked away. Dabi immediately realized the weight of what he’d said, but he didn’t know how to take it back. His words hadn’t been meant as an insult—they were a reflection of his own self-loathing, of the belief that he didn’t deserve any “better option”. But it had come out all wrong.

  Aldon swallowed hard, his voice quieter now but no less determined. “I thought you might want to be more than this, Touya. That you might want a life where you don’t have to burn everything around you to survive.”

  Dabi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to the side as if he couldn’t bear to meet Aldon’s gaze. “There are things that can’t be fixed,” he muttered, his voice low. “You can’t just wave your hands and magically fix me, Aldon. You don’t get to decide that.”

  “I know that!” Aldon snapped, his voice rising again. “I know I can’t fix you, but—” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “But I can still try to help. I’ve been working on something… something that could give vilins like you a second chance.”

  Dabi’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting to one of cautious confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m working on a project,” Aldon expined, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. “A rehabilitation program for vilins. For people who want to change but don’t know how. It’s not official yet—the Commission rejected it—but I’m not giving up. I want to make it happen. And when it does, I want to help you.”

  Dabi blinked, genuinely surprised. He stared at Aldon, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. For a moment, his usual bravado faltered, repced by a flicker of something softer—something almost vulnerable.

  But then the walls came crashing back up.

  “Do I look like I asked for charity?!” Dabi snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t need or want your stupid help.”

  “It’s not charity—” Aldon started, his voice pleading, but Dabi cut him off.

  “I didn’t ask for this, Aldon!” Dabi shouted, his fmes fring up around his hands. “I don’t need some hero trying to ‘save’ me. I don’t need you thinking you can fix what’s already broken.”

  Aldon took a step back, his chest tightening as he realized he’d pushed too far. “Touya, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to… to force anything on you. I just—” He hesitated, his words faltering. “I just want you to know that you’re not alone. That if you ever want help, it’s here.”

  Dabi shook his head, a bitter ugh escaping his lips. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, his voice quiet but sharp. “You can’t help me, firefly. No one can.”

  With that, he turned and moved toward the balcony. Aldon reached out instinctively, but his hand fell back to his side, the distance between them feeling insurmountable.

  “Don’t follow me,” Dabi said without looking back, his voice carrying a finality that made Aldon’s heart sink. He stepped out onto the balcony, his fmes flickering faintly in the cool night air before he disappeared into the darkness.

  Aldon stood frozen in pce, his hands trembling at his sides. The sound of the balcony door clicking shut echoed in the empty apartment, leaving behind a silence that felt deafening.

  He sank onto the couch, his head in his hands, as the weight of the confrontation bore down on him. Mr. Whiskers padded over, nuzzling against his arm, but Aldon barely noticed. The distance between him and Dabi had never felt so vast.

  And yet, despite the pain, Aldon couldn’t shake the flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished. Touya might not be ready now, but someday… someday, maybe he would be. And Aldon would be there, waiting.

  Aldon sat motionless on the couch long after Dabi had disappeared into the night. The argument repyed in his mind on an endless loop, each harsh word cutting deeper than the st. He could still hear Dabi’s mocking tone, the bitterness in his words: “You can’t help me, Aldon. No one can.”

  His chest tightened as hot tears welled in his eyes. He rubbed at them furiously, but it was no use. The frustration, the helplessness—it all came crashing down, and for a moment, he let it. The tears rolled down his cheeks as he whispered to the empty room, “Maybe this is just how it’s supposed to be.”

  Each time he turned a blind eye to Dabi’s crimes, he wondered how long he could keep pretending. What would happen if Endeavor—or worse, the Commission—found out?

  Mr. Whiskers leapt onto the couch, curling up beside him, but Aldon barely noticed. He stood after a long moment, his legs heavy, and made his way upstairs to his bedroom. The soft click of the door closing behind him seemed to echo in the stillness.

  His gaze nded on the work desk in the corner, cluttered with documents, sketches, and notes—all tied to his secret project. He moved toward it as though drawn by an invisible force, sitting down heavily in the chair. The files were a bor of love and heartache, each one meticulously compiled from his observations, interviews, and personal insights.

  Aldon picked up one of the files, flipping through the pages. It detailed a vilin Endeavor had captured months ago—a young man whose quirk had caused untold destruction. Aldon had spent weeks speaking with him, learning about his motivations, his past, the circumstances that had pushed him into a life of crime. The notes included a pn Aldon had drafted—a possible program of therapy, education, and quirk training designed to rehabilitate the man and give him a chance at a new life.

  He sighed, setting the file down and picking up another. Each one told a simir story—broken lives, lost potential, and a system that didn’t care enough to help. Aldon’s hand shook as he reached for a bnk page, scribbling down his thoughts on Dabi. The words felt heavy as he wrote: “Refuses help. Cims he doesn’t want it or deserve it. But I think… deep down, he’s afraid. Afraid of failing, afraid of trying only to be abandoned again. I wish he could see that I won’t give up on him.”

  As he wrote, exhaustion crept over him, the weight of the day and the argument with Dabi dragging him down. His head drooped, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep at the desk, the pen slipping from his fingers.

  The apartment was silent when Dabi returned just after midnight. He slipped in through the balcony as usual, his footsteps soft against the floor. He didn’t know why he had come back—not really. The argument still burned in his mind, and a part of him hated the way Aldon’s words had lingered, refusing to be ignored. “I want to help you.”

  His chest tightened as he thought about it. No one, not even his own father, had recognized him after all these years. But Aldon had. Aldon had seen him, scars and all, and hadn’t turned away. He still wanted to help him, and Dabi didn’t know how to deal with that.

  He found Aldon slumped over his desk, fast asleep, a faint crease in his brow even in rest. Dabi hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the cluttered workspace. His eyes caught on the papers scattered across the desk, and curiosity got the better of him. He picked one up carefully, scanning the neat, meticulous handwriting.

  It was about him.

  The words detailed Aldon’s observations—his struggles, his pain, his refusal to accept help. But they also held something else: hope. Aldon had written about his pn to help him, to create a space where Dabi might one day find peace. The sheer devotion in the words made Dabi’s chest ache.

  “You really want to save me this much, huh?” he murmured, setting the paper down gently. His gaze softened as he looked back at Aldon, his fingers brushing a strand of white hair from his face. His touch lingered, his thumb grazing Aldon’s cheek almost absentmindedly. There was a tenderness in the gesture that surprised even him.

  Dabi turned his head back to the papers. His eyes lingered on Aldon’s scribbled words, each one filled with a maddening combination of hope and determination. He scoffed, shaking his head. “You never know when to quit, do you?” But his gaze kept drifting back to a single line: “I won’t give up on him.”

  For a moment, an old memory stirred—Aldon’s voice from years ago, bright and unwavering as he cheered him on at Sekoto Peak. “You’ll be the greatest hero, Touya! I just know it!” Back then, he had believed it too, even if the dream felt like someone else’s now. That boy was gone, buried under scars and ash. And yet, here Aldon was, still trying to reach him.

  His hands trembled slightly as he picked up a pen. The weight of it pressed against the scars on his fingers, an almost painful reminder of how far he’d fallen. He gnced back at Aldon, slumped over the desk, his brow furrowed even in sleep. “You’re too good for me, firefly,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

  He tapped the pen against the desk, hesitating. Leaving a note felt stupid—pointless even. But… if there was a part of him that still wanted to believe in second chances, maybe this was the closest he could get to admitting it.

  With a shaky breath, he wrote the words slowly, deliberately, as if they might shatter under the weight of his hand. When he finished, he set the pen down and read the note over, his jaw tightening. He hated how Aldon made him feel—how he made him want things he’d convinced himself he couldn’t have. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave without doing something.

  Carefully, Dabi slipped his arms under Aldon, lifting him from the chair. Aldon stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his head resting against Dabi’s chest. Dabi carried him to the bed, setting him down gently and tucking the bnket around him. He lingered for a moment, watching Aldon’s peaceful expression before stepping away.

  He gnced at the note he had pced on the pillow beside Aldon one st time, and the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest sembnce of a smile. Without another word, he turned and made his way to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his face as he stepped outside. A faint flicker of blue fmes danced at his fingertips as he leapt into the darkness, disappearing into the quiet city below.

  When Aldon woke the next morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains, he felt a strange sense of calm. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he shifted slightly and froze. This wasn’t where he had fallen asleep.

  His heart skipped a beat as he took in his surroundings—his bed, the neatly tucked bnket. He frowned, trying to piece together how he had ended up here. The st thing he remembered was being at his desk, the pen in his hand and the pages of his project spread out before him.

  Sitting up, he gnced toward his desk, where the scattered papers remained untouched except for… Aldon’s gaze zeroed in on the small adjustments. A few pages had been moved, the faintest evidence that someone had been there. His breath caught as his eyes nded on the note beside him on the pillow. His hand trembled as he reached for it, his heart pounding in his chest.

  The familiar scrawl stared back at him, simple yet heavy with meaning: “You can try. Save me, firefly.”

  Aldon’s lips parted in disbelief, his mind racing. He read the note again, the words sinking in as his pulse quickened. Dabi had been here. Not just here, but he had carried Aldon to bed, cared for him in his own way. It was a tender act—unexpected and deeply meaningful.

  The realization struck him all at once. Dabi had seen his work, his dedication, his belief in a better future for vilins like him. And instead of shing out or mocking him, he had… agreed to let Aldon try.

  Aldon’s chest tightened, his emotions spilling over in a way he couldn’t contain. A wide, joyous grin broke across his face, and he let out a soft, almost disbelieving ugh. Hugging the pillow tightly to his chest, he whispered, “There’s a chance after all.”

  He gnced back at the desk, his determination fring anew. The road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but this moment—this small spark of trust—was enough to keep him going. For the first time in days, hope burned brighter than ever before.