Chapter Text
The wind skimmed across the rooftop, carrying the faint smell of smoke from somewhere deeper in the city.
Dabi stood near the edge, hands shoved into his pockets. A small blue flame flickered between his fingers every now and then—just enough to take the bite out of the cold.
He was about to leave when he noticed a shape tucked into the corner beside an old ventilation unit.
A kid.
She was curled into herself so tightly she looked smaller than she actually was. Pale blue hair spilled across her face, dusted with frost. Thin wings wrapped around her body like a blanket that wasn't doing much good.
For a moment, Dabi simply stared.
Then he swore under his breath.
The girl shivered in her sleep.
He walked over, gravel crunching softly beneath his boots, and crouched beside her. Up close, she looked worse. Chapped lips. Red hands. The kind of exhaustion that settled deep into the bones.
A weak sound escaped her throat as she shifted closer to the wall, searching for warmth that wasn't there.
Dabi looked away.
The cold never used to bother him. Not anymore.
Still, after a second, he shrugged off his coat.
"You're gonna be a pain, aren't you?"
The words came out rough, barely louder than the wind.
She didn't hear them.
Carefully—careful enough to surprise even himself—he draped the coat over her.
The oversized fabric swallowed her whole.
The girl's shoulders relaxed almost immediately.
Dabi watched for a second longer.
Then he sat down beside her.
Not close enough to touch.
Just close enough that if the wind shifted, it would hit him before it hit her.
Morning arrived quietly.
A pale wash of gold spread across the rooftops, turning the concrete silver in places. The wind that had howled through the night had finally settled.
Mika woke slowly.
For a moment, she didn't understand why she felt warm.
Then she realized she was wrapped in a heavy black coat.
The fabric smelled faintly of smoke and scorched cloth. It should have been unpleasant. Somehow, it wasn't.
She pushed herself upright, clutching the coat around her shoulders. It hung off her like a blanket, the sleeves trailing past her hands.
Her wings stretched behind her, stiff from sleep.
The rooftop was empty.
Mika blinked and looked around again.
No blue flames.
No scarred man leaning against the ledge.
Nothing.
Only the coat.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric.
Bits of the night drifted back to her in pieces. Bright blue eyes. A voice she couldn't quite remember. Fire that glowed without burning.
The memory felt strange, almost dreamlike.
Most adults either ignored her or chased her away.
He hadn't done either.
A hollow ache twisted in her stomach.
Hunger.
The feeling was familiar enough that she barely reacted anymore.
Mika stood and made her way toward the fire escape.
The metal groaned softly beneath her weight as she climbed down. By the time she reached the alley below, the city was beginning to wake. Cars rolled through distant streets. Lights flickered on behind apartment windows.
The coat brushed against her ankles with every step.
She pulled it tighter.
The alley smelled like damp concrete and old garbage.
A cat sat on top of a dumpster, watching her with cautious yellow eyes. When she looked back, it flicked an ear and returned to cleaning its paw.
Another growl came from her stomach.
This one hurt.
Mika pressed a hand against it and kept walking.
A few buildings down, warm air drifted from a bakery vent.
She stopped.
The smell hit her all at once.
Fresh bread.
Sugar.
Butter.
Her mouth watered immediately.
For a few seconds, she simply stood there, breathing it in.
Then she crept closer.
The back of the bakery was quiet. No voices. No footsteps.
Near the bins sat a paper bag filled with yesterday's leftovers waiting to be thrown out.
Mika glanced toward the door.
Still nothing.
Moving quickly, she reached inside and pulled out two bread rolls.
A little stale, but good enough.
She slipped them into one of the coat pockets.
Then her eyes landed on a paper cup sitting beside the wall.
Milk.
Almost full.
Her heart skipped.
Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed it and hugged it to her chest.
The cup was cold against her hands.
For the first time that morning, she allowed herself a small smile.
Mika caught the smell before she saw him.
Smoke.
Not the sharp, choking kind that sent people running. Something warmer. Familiar.
She slowed, lifting her head.
The scent drifted down a side street and curled through the evening air. For a second she thought she might be imagining it.
Then she spotted a dark figure ahead.
Dabi.
He walked with his hands buried in his pockets, hood pulled low over his face. No blue flames flickered at his fingertips tonight. He looked almost ordinary.
Almost.
Mika stopped.
The coat felt heavy in her arms.
She'd folded it three times before leaving the rooftop that morning. Then she'd unfolded it and folded it again because she wanted it to look neat when she gave it back.
Now that she was actually here, she wasn't sure what to do.
What if he didn't want it?
What if he was angry she'd followed him?
What if villains didn't like being thanked?
The thought made her grip tighten on the fabric.
Dabi kept walking.
Mika took a careful step after him.
Then another.
Far enough away that he wouldn't notice.
Close enough that she wouldn't lose sight of him.
A cat shot across the street between them, disappearing beneath a parked car.
Dabi didn't even look up.
Mika hurried to keep pace.
After a few minutes, Dabi turned into a narrow alley squeezed between two old buildings.
Mika hesitated before following.
The alley was darker than the street. Faded graffiti covered the walls, and litter had gathered in the corners where the wind couldn't reach.
At the far end, Dabi stopped.
Mika ducked behind a stack of crates before he could glance her way.
Peeking around the edge, she watched him pull a key from his pocket.
There was a door there.
She hadn't noticed it at first.
Rust stained the metal around the hinges, and years of peeling paint made it blend into the wall.
Dabi unlocked it.
The door opened with a low creak.
Warm orange light spilled out onto the pavement.
Mika blinked.
For some reason, she'd never imagined villains lived anywhere.
Not really.
They always seemed to appear from shadows and disappear back into them.
But there was a room beyond that doorway.
A real place.
A place Dabi went home to.
The thought felt strangely important.
She stood frozen at the mouth of the alley, clutching the folded coat against her chest while the light from the open doorway spilled across the ground between them.
Mika lingered at the entrance of the alley.
The coat felt awkward in her arms.
She'd folded it carefully. As carefully as she could, anyway. One sleeve kept slipping out no matter how many times she fixed it.
At the end of the alley, warm light spilled through the open doorway.
Dabi had almost disappeared inside.
Mika swallowed.
Then she lifted a hand and knocked.
The sound was barely there.
Just a soft tap against metal.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the movement inside stopped.
Mika's stomach tightened.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room.
The door opened wider.
Dabi stood in the doorway.
His hood was still up, shadows cutting across the scars on his face. Those bright blue eyes landed on her immediately.
Neither of them spoke.
Mika suddenly became very aware of how ridiculous she probably looked standing there.
Cold.
Hungry.
Holding a folded coat like it was something important.
Slowly, she held it out.
Dabi's gaze dropped to the bundle in her arms.
His coat.
The one he'd left with her.
A strange look crossed his face.
Not irritation.
More like confusion.
As if he couldn't figure out why she'd brought it back.
The silence stretched.
Mika shifted her weight nervously.
Maybe she should have left it at the door.
Maybe following him here had been a mistake.
Dabi looked back up.
Only then did he seem to really notice her.
The red hands.
The pale face.
The way she couldn't quite stop shivering.
His eyes lingered for a moment.
Then he crouched down.
Not close enough to crowd her.
Just enough that he wasn't towering over her anymore.
Mika froze.
The movement was small, but her body reacted before she could think.
Her shoulders tightened.
Her wings pulled in closer.
When Dabi lifted a hand, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Waiting.
Nothing happened.
A second passed.
Then another.
No shouting.
No pain.
No rough grab of her arm.
Just warmth.
Confused, Mika cracked one eye open.
Dabi's hand rested awkwardly on top of her head.
Not quite a pat.
Not quite a ruffle.
Like he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing.
The gesture lasted only a moment.
But it was careful.
Careful in a way that made Mika's chest hurt for reasons she couldn't explain.
Dabi let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"Tch."
The sound carried no real annoyance.
He glanced at the coat still held between them.
Then back at her.
And for the first time since opening the door, something in his expression softened.
The awkward pat lasted only a second before Dabi pulled his hand back.
Neither of them seemed to know what to do next.
Mika still held the coat out between them.
Dabi glanced at it, then took it from her.
The fabric was cold.
Colder than it should have been.
His eyes flicked back to the girl standing in front of him.
She was trying very hard not to shiver.
Trying—and failing.
The sleeves of her shirt were too thin for the weather. Her hands were red from the cold. Even her wings looked droopy, feathers ruffled by the wind.
Dabi clicked his tongue softly.
The sound made Mika tense.
Instead of saying anything, he shrugged his coat over one arm and grabbed the hem of his hoodie.
Before she could figure out what he was doing, he pulled it over his head.
Mika blinked.
Dabi held the hoodie for a second.
Then he dropped it over her.
The world briefly went dark.
A muffled squeak escaped her as she stumbled inside the oversized fabric.
Dabi snorted.
"Hold still."
His voice was rough, but not unkind.
Large hands tugged the hoodie into place, pulling one sleeve free when her arm got stuck. The hood slipped over her eyes, and he pushed it back with an impatient flick of his fingers.
"There."
Mika looked down.
The hoodie hung almost to her knees.
The sleeves swallowed her hands completely.
It was ridiculously big.
And warm.
So warm.
The heat trapped inside the fabric felt unreal after so many cold nights.
Without thinking, she curled her fingers into the sleeves.
Dabi noticed.
For some reason, that made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
He looked away first.
The alley fell quiet again.
A siren wailed somewhere in the distance before fading into the city noise.
Mika risked another glance up at him.
He still looked like himself.
Scarred.
Tired.
A little intimidating.
But he wasn't looking at her the way most adults did.
Not annoyed.
Not suspicious.
Not like he was trying to figure out how quickly he could get rid of her.
Just... watching.
As if he was waiting to make sure she was okay.
The realization made her grip tighten on the sleeves.
Neither of them said thank you.
Neither of them said goodbye.
The words felt too big somehow.
After a moment, Mika took a careful step backward.
Then another.
Dabi didn't stop her.
She turned and hurried down the alley before she could lose her nerve.
The oversized hoodie bounced around her legs as she ran.
By the time she reached the corner, she glanced back once.
Dabi was still standing in the doorway.
Watching.
When he saw she hadn't frozen to death in the last ten seconds, he rolled his eyes and disappeared back inside.
The door shut with a quiet click.
For some reason, the sound made Mika smile.
Just a little.
The cold seemed worse today.
Frost clung to the edges of the pavement, and every gust of wind found its way through the holes in Mika's clothes.
She kept walking anyway.
The hoodie was folded carefully in her arms.
Not draped over her shoulders.
Not worn.
Folded.
She'd fixed it three times already that morning after the sleeves had slipped loose.
Her fingers were too numb to do a very good job.
The smell of smoke still lingered in the fabric.
Every now and then she caught it when the wind shifted.
By now she knew where she was going.
Not because she remembered the streets.
Just because she remembered him.
A left turn.
Then another.
The alley appeared at the end of the block.
Mika slowed.
The rusted door looked exactly the same as yesterday.
Closed.
Silent.
No light beneath it.
She stood there for a moment before walking over and lifting one hand.
Tap.
The knock barely made a sound.
Mika waited.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No voice.
No door opening.
Just silence.
She glanced at the hoodie.
Then at the door.
After a moment, she sat down across from it.
Maybe he'd come back later.
She could wait.
The concrete was cold enough to sting through her clothes.
Mika tucked her legs closer and wrapped her wings around herself as best she could.
The hoodie sat beside her.
Safe.
Clean.
Ready to be returned.
A few minutes passed.
Then a few more.
Her stomach growled.
She ignored it.
It growled again.
Louder this time.
Mika frowned at it.
"You already ate."
Technically.
Half an apple probably counted as eating.
The argument didn't convince either of them.
A dog wandered into the alley sometime later.
It trotted past without paying her much attention.
Mika watched it disappear around the corner.
The dog looked healthy.
Well-fed.
For some reason, that seemed unfair.
Hours slipped by.
The city buzzed beyond the alley walls. Cars passed. People talked somewhere nearby. Once, she heard laughter echo from the street.
Nobody came down the alley.
Nobody opened the door.
The patch of sunlight on the pavement slowly moved and vanished again.
Mika rubbed her hands together.
It didn't help much.
Her fingers felt stiff.
Her nose hurt.
The wind kept finding its way through her clothes.
Several times she looked at the folded hoodie.
Several times she almost reached for it.
It would be so easy.
Just for a little while.
Just until he got back.
But each time she stopped herself.
It wasn't hers.
What if she got it dirty?
What if he thought she was trying to keep it?
The thought alone made her pull her hand back.
So she waited.
And waited.
As the afternoon wore on, staying awake became harder.
Her wings sagged around her shoulders.
The cold settled deeper into her bones.
People occasionally passed the mouth of the alley, but none of them looked in.
Mika barely noticed anymore.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the rusted door.
Every distant footstep made her glance up.
Every shadow made her hope.
Maybe this time.
Maybe now.
But the alley remained empty.
And still she waited.
At some point, Mika stopped watching the door.
It hurt too much to keep getting her hopes up.
She was staring at the pavement when a shadow stretched across it.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
Mika's head lifted.
Dabi rounded the corner.
A plastic convenience store bag swung lightly from one hand. His hood was up against the cold, and he looked like he hadn't expected to find anyone waiting for him.
Then he saw her.
He stopped.
The alley went quiet.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Mika struggled to her feet.
Her legs felt stiff from sitting so long.
The folded hoodie nearly slipped from her numb fingers before she caught it.
Dabi's gaze dropped to it.
Then to her.
The hoodie was still folded.
Untouched.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Mika looked awful.
Paler than yesterday.
The tips of her fingers were red from the cold.
Her wings hung limply behind her.
And she was swaying.
Just a little.
Like standing up had taken more effort than it should have.
Something in Dabi's chest tightened.
His gaze flicked from the hoodie to the rusted door behind her.
Then back again.
The folded sleeves.
The spot she'd been sitting in.
The frost still clinging to the concrete.
It didn't take much to figure it out.
She'd been waiting.
For him.
For who knows how long.
"Tch."
The sound slipped out before he could stop it.
Mika flinched slightly.
Then, with obvious effort, she held the hoodie out toward him.
Like she'd come here for one purpose and one purpose only.
Return it.
The gesture was so careful it almost hurt to look at.
Dabi stared at the hoodie.
Then at her shaking hands.
Then at her face.
The kid looked like she was about to collapse.
And she was worried about returning a damn sweatshirt.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Dabi dropped the convenience store bag.
It hit the pavement with a soft thud.
Mika blinked.
Before she could react, he crouched down in front of her.
The hoodie slipped from her fingers.
Dabi ignored it.
His hands settled on her shoulders.
Cold.
Way too cold.
His jaw tightened.
"Idiot."
The word came out rough.
Not angry.
Just frustrated in a way he didn't entirely understand.
Mika lowered her eyes.
Maybe she thought she'd done something wrong.
The thought irritated him even more.
Before she could apologize—or run—he pulled her forward.
The movement was quick but careful.
One second she was standing there swaying on her feet.
The next she was lifted clean off the ground and pressed against his chest.
For a heartbeat, Mika went completely still.
Too surprised to react.
Then the warmth hit.
And every bit of tension she'd been holding onto started to unravel.
The second Dabi pulled her against his chest, Mika stopped trying to hold herself together.
Her knees gave out.
If he hadn't been holding her, she probably would have hit the ground.
For a moment she just sagged against him, all the tension draining out of her at once.
Then the shivering started.
Not the small tremors he'd noticed earlier.
Violent shaking.
Her entire body trembled against him.
Dabi swore under his breath.
The kid was freezing.
"Seriously?"
The muttered complaint lacked any real irritation.
Mika didn't answer.
He wasn't even sure she'd heard him.
Her face disappeared against his shoulder as she instinctively leaned closer to the warmth.
The movement was small.
Automatic.
The kind someone made without thinking.
Something about it sat badly in his chest.
Without letting go of her, Dabi bent down and grabbed the fallen hoodie.
Then he stood again and quickly wrapped his coat around her.
The fabric swallowed her whole.
Still shaking.
Still cold.
Not enough.
"Tch."
He pulled the hoodie over the coat, creating a ridiculous mountain of black fabric around her tiny frame.
Mika barely reacted.
That was what finally made him uneasy.
A kid should have complained.
Should have squirmed.
Should have done something.
Instead she just stayed limp against him.
Her breathing felt wrong.
Too slow.
Too quiet.
Dabi looked down at her.
"Hey kid."
Nothing.
He shifted her slightly.
No response.
A knot tightened in his stomach.
Without wasting another second, he carried her inside.
The rusted door slammed shut behind them.
The room felt warmer than the alley, but not by much.
Dabi lowered Mika onto the couch long enough to lock the door.
By the time he turned back, she hadn't moved.
Not even a little.
"Dammit."
He pulled out his phone.
There was exactly one person he could think of who'd know what to do.
The call connected after two rings.
"Hawks here."
"Question."
There was no greeting.
No insult.
No threat.
Just a question.
The lack of any hostility made Hawks pause immediately.
"Uh... okay?"
Dabi glanced at the couch.
Mika's face looked pale against the dark fabric wrapped around her.
"How do you warm someone up?"
Silence.
Then:
"What happened?"
"Just answer the question."
Another pause.
Hawks clearly heard something in his voice.
Something serious.
"Alright. Blankets. Warm room if you've got one. Warm drinks if they're awake. Don't use extreme heat."
Dabi grabbed the old blanket draped over the couch and threw it over Mika.
Still nothing.
"How cold are they?"
Dabi pressed the back of his hand against her cheek.
Ice cold.
Far colder than it should have been.
"...Pretty damn cold."
The silence on the other end stretched.
Then Hawks asked quietly:
"Dabi."
A beat.
"Are they conscious?"
Dabi looked at Mika again.
No response.
No movement.
Just slow, shallow breaths.
"...No."
The answer came out rougher than he intended.
A chair scraped loudly through the phone.
"Oh, hell."
Hawks was moving now.
Fast.
"Listen to me carefully."
Dabi sat on the couch and pulled Mika back against his chest.
She felt frighteningly light.
"Keep them warm, but don't do anything drastic. Blankets. Body heat if you need to. Monitor their breathing."
As Hawks talked, Dabi adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.
Mika made a faint sound.
Barely audible.
Then she shifted closer.
Instinctively seeking warmth.
Dabi froze.
The movement was tiny.
But it was something.
"She moved."
"What?"
"She moved."
Relief flooded Hawks' voice.
"Good. That's good."
Dabi didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until then.
He let it out slowly.
The apartment fell quiet except for Hawks' voice through the phone.
Dabi settled deeper into the couch, keeping Mika tucked securely against him.
A small blue flame flickered to life in his palm.
Not enough to burn.
Just enough to add a little warmth.
Mika's face relaxed slightly.
For the first time since finding her outside his door, Dabi felt the knot in his chest loosen.
Only a little.
But enough.
He kept one hand resting carefully between her shoulder blades while Hawks continued talking in his ear.
And for once, Dabi listened to every word.
The door creaked open.
Hawks stepped inside and paused immediately.
His eyes adjusted fast.
Couch. Blanket pile. Dabi.
And the kid in his arms.
For a second, he didn’t say anything.
The kid looked smaller than she should be.
Not moving much either.
That alone was enough to make his shoulders loosen slightly.
He closed the door behind him and walked over, slower than usual.
No sudden movements.
When he reached them, he crouched beside the couch and leaned in just enough to see her properly.
Pale face.
Loose grip.
Breathing—steady, but shallow.
Hawks exhaled through his nose.
“Okay,” he muttered. “That’s better.”
He didn’t touch her at first.
Just checked her for a moment longer.
Then carefully lifted the edge of the blanket.
Still warm.
Still breathing.
Good.
He nodded once.
“She’s stable.”
His eyes flicked to Dabi.
A beat passed.
“You did alright.”
It wasn’t praise said lightly. Just fact.
Hawks stood, shrugged off his red hoodie, and tossed it onto the couch before gently adjusting it over Mika’s shoulders on top of the other layers.
Dabi didn’t stop him.
Didn’t react much at all, actually.
Just watched.
The pile of fabric around Mika was almost absurd now—coat, blanket, hoodie—but she finally looked less like she was slipping away.
More like she was just asleep.
Hawks dropped into a cross-legged sit beside the couch and studied her face.
The tension in his expression shifted.
Not relief exactly.
Something more practical.
“She’s been like this a while,” he said quietly.
Dabi’s jaw tightened a fraction.
He didn’t answer.
Hawks didn’t expect him to.
Instead, Hawks reached into his bag and pulled out a protein bar.
He unwrapped it halfway, then paused.
Held it out.
“When she wakes up,” he said, “start with this. Slow.”
A beat.
Then, more quietly:
“Then real food. Something warm if you’ve got it.”
Dabi took the bar without looking at him.
Hawks leaned back on his hands, watching the kid breathe.
For once, the room stayed quiet without feeling empty.