Archive of Our Own

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Rumi will never forgive Dabi for making a fool of her. Not ever.

She should have known he’d lie about the date and location. He’s basically lied about everything else he’s told her thus far, why would this be any different?

And then he’d had the gall to show up and try to fight both her and Endeavor when they were exhausted and injured from the noumu and making sure civilians were out of harm’s way. She’s just grateful Hawks had shown up when he did and drove Dabi away, otherwise she wasn’t sure they would have made it out of that situation unscathed. 

They’d agreed to meet up after the test with the noumu was over, and Rumi’s assuming their meeting’s still on despite it being a day early. She shows up to the warehouse fuming, and Dabi doesn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before she pounces on him, slamming him against the wall with her arm across his throat. Her heart pounds a heavy drum beat, blood rushing through her ears and deafening her to the sound of anything else. “What was that?!” she demands. “None of that was what we agreed on.”

Dabi hums, azure gaze not wavering from her own for even a moment. Despite the position he’s in, he’s calm and collected, as though he’s the one still in charge. Rumi aches to punch that stupid, smug smile off his face. “That so?”

Rumi presses down just the slightest bit harder. “You didn’t even tell me how much stronger the noumu would be.”

“Hey, I told you it was a new type. Your fault for assuming it wouldn’t be better than the others.” He smirks at her, radiating smugness despite being pinned to the wall. “And I told you to bring a strong hero, but you chose the number one? I was barely even able to test it out before it got destroyed.” Something flashes in his eyes, far too quick for Rumi to figure out what he could be thinking.

“Don’t pin this on me,” Rumi hisses into his face. If he didn’t want Endeavor, he should have specified that. “You were the one who lied to me about it all.”

“Forget the agreement.” Dabi waves a hand dismissively. “I wanted to see how much I can depend on you, hero. So why were there zero casualties today? I thought you were dedicated to the League. You’ve done nothing so far to prove yourself, even though I gave you another chance.”

“Are you serious?” she demands. “I was in the public eye. We were on TV. You think I can just let people die without it seeming suspicious? If I lose all trust, I’m not gonna be able to give you any intel. You gotta understand the position I’m in.”

“There’s no room for empathy in villainy,” Dabi counters. “You do what you need to or you die.”

Rumi finally relents, taking a step back and letting him go free. She’s not going to get an apology out of him, or even an admission that he shouldn’t have lied to her like that. There’s no point making an enemy out of Dabi this soon, as much as it pains her to drop the argument ‘cause she can’t remember the last time she’s ever willingly done that. Still, she can’t help but get one last potshot out. “You rehearse that edgy statement in the mirror before or after doing your emo boy makeup?”

A crooked smile crosses Dabi’s face as he gazes at her with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “During.” He walks past her, back slouched and hands in his pockets like she didn’t just threaten to choke him out. “Alright, hero. I’ll be in contact with you.”

Rumi whips around. “You don’t want to discuss anything else?” She reaches forward, grabs his shoulder. Dabi stills as though he’s been frozen, doesn’t turn to face her. He’s cloaked in shadows, looking like a dark figure. “Come on, you just keep dragging me all around the city without actually getting anything done! How can I prove myself if you’re not going to give me any serious tasks?”

Silence. Dabi continues to face away from her. Finally, he grabs her hand with his own and pulls it off his shoulder, tossing it aside. “Getting desperate, huh? Okay, then. I was planning on gathering information on the Commission tomorrow night. Information that you won’t have.” Rumi’s ears flatten and she clenches her teeth at the mocking tone. “You can follow me around like a lost duckling if you really want. Wear a disguise. I’ll see you here tomorrow at ten.”

And with that, he leaves the warehouse and Rumi in silence.

Dabi shows up five minutes past ten. He raises an eyebrow, looking Rumi and her long, blonde wig conveniently obscuring her flattened ears up and down. “So that’s how you hide your ears. I’m actually impressed.”

Rumi huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “You think I haven’t gotten this shit down to a science after years as a hero? I have a massive collection of wigs just for going out when I don’t want to be recognized.” It’s cool enough that she can wear gloves to cover her prosthetic hand, too, although she’s doubtful people would care enough to put it together. Society, by and large, doesn’t care about people like her.

No response. Dabi merely turns and gestures for her to follow over his shoulder. By this point, she’s used to his lack of any sort of social skills and falls into stride with him. She’s not about to act like she’s being led around by a man.

They take the back alleys, winding around roads Rumi barely recognizes from this side. She’s not used to being hidden in the shadows, but with this mission she has no choice but to do what she’s never done before.

After twenty minutes or so, they find themselves at what looks to be a rundown bar. There’s blue light shining through the frosted windows, neon signs casting a rainbow of colors onto their surroundings. Rumi has no idea where she is. She’s never been to this part of town, tending to stick to the more populated areas.

Dabi nods towards the entrance. “You go in first. I’m not gonna have anyone thinking I’m working with someone else.”

Rumi rolls her eyes but pulls open the door, half convinced Dabi’s leading her to some sort of trap. The bar in Kamino was destroyed, but she’s wondering if the League managed to start up another one as a farce. She hasn’t heard anything about that, but perhaps they’re putting in more effort to keep a low profile after Dabi inadvertently got them caught the last time. 

As she steps through the threshold, she sees that it’s… just a bar. With no League in sight. She doesn’t recognize any of the people milling about, unsure if they’re all villains. They’re all just talking and drinking though, and no one pays her any mind as she stiffly takes a seat at the bar, on high alert.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender calls out, busy mixing up a drink for a patron a couple seats down. 

Rumi turns her head back to face him from where she was looking around. “Uh…” It’s probably not a good idea to drink right now, not when Dabi’s up to god knows what, no matter how much she could use some alcohol in her system. Still, it’ll look odd if she doesn’t order anything since she’s sitting at the bar, and she doesn’t have to drink it all. “I’ll just have sake.”

It’s when the bartender places the glass in front of her that a silence falls over the bar. She looks up, confused, only to see Dabi standing in the doorway, all casualness with his hands in his pants pockets. 

He looks over the bar patrons, all of them staring at him with varying levels of dread and fear. “What? You think I showed up just to kill all of you? Don’t be dumb.” And with that, he walks further in, not even sparing Rumi a glance as he strides past her. A couple customers quickly leave the bar once his back is facing them, but the majority stay, looking frozen in their seats.

She hunches over her drink, peeking over to see what he’s doing. He stops in front of someone she doesn’t recognize, looming over them and saying something. It’s too low to make out, and with her ears lowered and covered by synthetic hair, her hearing isn’t quite as acute as it normally is.

Slowly, people go back to what they were doing, although the air is still tense. “Is… everyone here a villain?” she asks the bartender, who’s paused mixing drinks to keep an eye on Dabi.

The bartender looks bemused. “What? You a cop or something?”

“No, no,” Rumi says quickly, “I’m… new to this part of town. I wasn’t expecting to see…”

A sigh. “Right. Most of them aren’t villains, just people down on their luck. There are some, but none of us care ‘cause it’s not like they’re doing anything illegal. Villains need to have fun, too.” He glances off to the side, and Rumi follows his gaze. Dabi’s in the back talking to someone else who looks utterly petrified. ”Supervillains ain’t normal, though.”

Rumi raises an eyebrow. “Still not going to call a hero?”

“Hell no,” the bartender says emphatically. “All heroes do is cause trouble, and it doesn’t look like that guy’s doing anything, so I don’t care.”

“True,” Rumi says, not wanting to get kicked out for being a hero sympathizer or something. She doesn’t—she doesn’t get it, though. There’s a known murderer in the bar, and they’re not going to call for help?

All heroes do is cause trouble, the guy said. She wonders what led him, a perfectly ordinary person not committing any crimes, to believe that.

Dabi never approaches her, doesn’t even spare a single glance at her. Rumi is halfway to leaving since he’s clearly finding amusement from stringing her along when a bare arm moves into her field of view.

Rumi already knows what’s happening. Her ears twitch under her wig as she tilts her head up to face the man smirking down at her. “You weren’t just about to leave, were you?” he says. “When I haven’t even gotten to say hi to someone as gorgeous as you?”

It’s a struggle to not roll her eyes. As though her life revolves around this random guy. “Not interested,” she says flatly, and turns back to her barely touched drink. She had just been about to get up to pay for it, but if this guy doesn’t leave her alone she’s definitely going to need the rest of the alcohol. 

The man takes notice of it as well. “You didn’t finish your drink, either. Not to your taste?” And before she can respond, because men like him never actually care what she has to say, “Give me a chance. I’ll get you something better.”

“Did you not hear me the first time?” Rumi says with only a hint of aggression. Normally, she has her girls with her to offset any persistent man, but she’s on her own right now. Only Dabi’s here, and why would he ever step in? Not that she wants him to, anyway.

His sleazy smile drops, eyes harden. “Hey, I was just trying to be nice. Should have known you were a stuck up bitch with the way you look.”

Blood thrums in her ears, her face feels hot. Rumi stands, pushing her barstool enough that it topples over behind her, but she barely notices with how her heart pounds a bruising rhythm against her ribcage. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” she demands, but she knows, oh she knows. People are the same all over the world, no matter what she does or doesn’t do, they’ll always show their true colors sooner or later.

The man says something, and so does the bartender, but Rumi doesn’t listen. She’s not going to entertain his racist bullshit. She means to shove past him, but a hand grips her shoulder tightly. She stops, closes her eyes. Takes in a deep breath. If she weren’t a hero, she would have beaten this dick to a pulp already, damn the consequences. But she is, and unfortunately, she’s expected to put up with the most vile of behaviors with a smile (she wonders why it always falls on her to be the bigger person in this scenario). 

Suddenly, the grip loosens and drops. Rumi turns in confusion, only to become face to face with Dabi. His face is as impassive as ever even as he holds the man’s throat tightly, smoke escaping the seam on his wrist. His body is tight against the man’s side, and the asshole’s face is pained, terrified. His chest rises and falls in rapid succession. His hands keep twitching up as though he wants to pry Dabi away, but with the heat emanating from his body Rumi knows he’d just get further burned.

Despite Dabi being noticeably shorter, there is an intimidating aura about him. It’s as though everyone in the bar is holding their breath because they know he holds all the power compared to the man in his hand. He’s not even fighting back, clearly having realized the moment he’d try Dabi’ll just fry him. Maybe he’s smarter than Rumi had assumed.

Dabi’s frigid, blue eyes flicker over to her. “You wanna handle him, or shall I?”

Like hell is Rumi going to let a man save her. She stomps forward, straightens her back, lifts her head. “I’ll do it.”

“Sounds like you pissed off the wrong person,” Dabi says to the man, who’s trembling in his hold. Rumi can’t help herself from sticking her tongue out at Dabi’s newest victim as she passes by the two and heads to the exit. Eyes all on her, but no one moves to intervene. 

Rumi leans against the brick wall of the bar in the back alley, watching as Dabi drags the dick in by the throat. There is redness on the delicate skin of his neck, creeping past Dabi’s fingers, and he’s entirely hyperventilating now. Dabi throws him to the ground, and before the man can get his bearings and try to escape, Dabi stomps on his back with those heavy platform boots Rumi is certain he only wears to try and look as edgy as possible. Although, they probably help in moments like this.

“Well?” Dabi raises an eyebrow at her. “How do you want to do this?” A pause, and then with a quirk of his lips, he adds, “Mirko.”

A pause. The man, whimpering under Dabi’s boot, tilts his head enough to get a look at Rumi. Even with the unshed tears flooding his eyes, Rumi can see the moment recognition clicks in his head. “You—you—you fucking slut,” he hisses, voice rough with how burnt his throat is. “What, he’s got you su—sucking his villain dick?”

“Rather his than yours,” Rumi snaps without thinking, and proceeds to avoid eye contact with Dabi because she does not want to see how he’s reacting to that. She wants to acknowledge how, just maybe, that statement is true even less.

Fortunately, he doesn’t say anything about it when he next opens his mouth, and Rumi can pretend she never said the most humiliating thing ever.  “You said you’d give your victims a good, old-fashioned beatdown a while back. Still up for it, Mirko?”

Oh, he’s milking her name for all it’s worth right now. 

She stares down at the pathetic man lying on the ground in front of her, and can’t muster up the sympathy expected of her as a hero. She can’t find any bit of compassion, of kindness anywhere in her body for any of the men who’ve said disgusting things to her, called her whore, slut, bitch, attacked her for her skin color. Not the slightest bit. “‘Course I am.”

And she strikes, the moon her only witness. 

Over the years, Rumi has honed her moves so that she only uses the minimal amount of force necessary to incapacitate a villain. As much as she loves the adrenaline rush from fighting, she has never let herself go all out, felt ribs crack under her fist, watched skin burst open from her punch.

(Later, she’ll sit curled up in her bathtub, bloodied and sweaty, trying to ignore how alive she felt in that moment.)

But right now, she only feels like a god—boundless power, the ability to decide one’s fate. The intoxicating sensation of knowing she is the one with control over this—this insignificant thing filling her up, leaking out. Rage consumes her until it is all she knows, and she loves it.

In the end, she’s left panting, standing over what used to be a man but now is nothing more than a canvas for her to paint its own blood on. A curl from her wig falls over her shoulder into her periphery. 

She got his blood on her wig, she thinks. Rumi stares at the strands of platinum blonde-dyed-red, her mind racing a million miles a minute, when she hears heavy footsteps approach.

Then, a boot comes crashing down on the chest. Rumi’s ears twitch at the crunch that sounds, but she keeps her face impassive. “I hate men,” Dabi spits, stomping again. And again. “Fucking pigs, all of them.”

Rumi… doesn’t know what to say to that statement. She doesn’t know how to respond to any of this, now that the high is starting to topple over the other side of the peak. “Dabi,” she says, when he continues to slam his foot against the body, lost in his rant as he is. It was meant to be a reprimand, a signal that he’s done enough and he can stop, but it comes out weak. A plea, as though he’s the only one who can tether her to this earth after what she’s just done (how pathetic is she, seeking desperate comfort from a villain who would sooner let her burn than help her?)

Her voice seems to snap him out of whatever trance he found himself in. He pauses, knee lifted high, before he slowly lowers his foot to the ground. “I’ll take care of the cleanup. You head home,” he says, gaze trained on the corpse.

It wouldn’t exactly take a genius to figure out how he’s going to dispose of the body. And yet, Rumi hesitates. “I can…” She doesn’t know why she’s pushing to stay here with him, when any other individual would be fighting to escape this hellish dreamscape where she’s a murderer and not a hero. 

“Cute of you to offer.” With a flick of his wrist, the body goes up in flames. Despite their brilliance, Rumi doesn’t turn away, avert her gaze. And just as quickly, the flash of blue dissipates, leaving behind only ash. 

People will know what happened to the man with that display in the bar, but they’ll never locate him. They’ll trod all over his remains unknowingly, desecrating the most sacred way someone can be laid to rest in their culture.

And Rumi still can’t find an ounce of pity anywhere in her. 

It takes her hours to move from her spot, curled up and staring off into the distance. The sticky blood on her body has dried by now, a horrifying reddish-brown that she can’t look at for too long without getting nauseous, her stomach twisting itself into knots.

It’s only been a couple weeks, and she’s gone from a popular hero to having two murders under her belt.

For the first time since agreeing to all this, Rumi doubts she can keep up this charade.

Dabi hadn’t planned for any of that.

All he’d been intending on was getting some info from that bar he used to frequent before he joined the League, watch Mirko fume in the corner, and call it a night.

But that man—that pig—had gone and mucked it all up. Dabi hadn’t been thinking when he’d approached and grabbed the man by the neck with a smoking hand, even less so when he’d started stomping on his corpse with the fury that characterizes his flames.

He just—

He doesn’t like men who victimize women he’d seen enough of that as a child. And Mirko is definitely strong and capable, but Dabi’s usually numb mind had blanked to anything but blue-tinted rage and so he stepped in.

He’s not a hero, nor does he suddenly like Mirko. But in that moment, he’d seen… a ghost. Someone small and frail and white-haired that was scared out of their mind, and their face was blurry so he can’t quite decide if they had blue or gray eyes but they blinded him to all beyond the flashes of rage and pain tormenting his head. 

And—and he hadn’t expected Mirko to actually go through with murder right in front of him. Heroes are too righteous to kill, but she had… tossed all that aside to let out her frustrations on that guy. She’d looked like it was second nature for her, at that. Not a moment of hesitation as she beat down that man, landed blow after blow that could have gone straight through Dabi’s frail chest had it been him. 

Mirko had always been on his list of heroes that he wanted to avoid fighting. Her raw, physical strength was superior to him in pretty much all ways, and she was light and agile enough to dodge his blasts of fire with ease. He’s seen how much tenacity she had, too, from the videos he’d sought out after she approached him. Never went down no matter how hard she was hit.

The sight of her fighting her opponent, well-built muscles flexing under her thick sweater, had been something he couldn’t look away from. It had been like a… performance, in a way, with a fluidity and grace that showed how practiced her movements were. 

Mirko had said something odd, too. Well. Not odd, because she was just trying to deflect a misogynist’s comments, but she’d said she’d rather suck Dabi’s dick than that man’s. Had burst out of her like she didn’t intend on saying it, judging by how she avoided eye contact immediately after. A part of him had almost laughed in genuine amusement. Another part of him wondered just how true it was.

Dabi shouldn’t be so stuck on that as he stares at the wall of his room, mind racing too fast to let him rest (but when has he ever truly rested?). It was just a throwaway line, and it’s not as though there’s any love lost between the two of them. But for a moment there, they’d felt like… actual allies. 

Initially, Dabi wasn’t planning on contacting Mirko for a while after that incident. He felt they both needed time to cool off after whatever that was. But with the League off fighting that giant of a brute, Dabi wanted to show the boss he’d been doing something in their absence. That he wasn’t just a waste of space not contributing to the cause. 

So, he calls her up the next day. “I’ll tell you what I learned last night if you give me some info of your own,” is what he starts with.

A huff. “What do you want?” Always so quick to the point, Dabi will admit he likes that in a person.

He doesn’t care, really. He’s probably not even going to use any of it. “Anything a villain can’t easily get their hands on. Information about a hero, some operation you guys are planning, whatever you think is appropriate.”

“I can do that,” Mirko says after a pause. “Listen, about last night—”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now that you’ve dipped your toes into being a villain?” Dabi interrupts, always eager to play with his prey. And a bunny is most suitable. 

“...No. Just, won’t we get reported?”

“I’m already wanted, what’s one more kill gonna do for me?” Dabi scoffs. In some ways, Mirko is still so naïve. A true hero that thinks most people care about the law more than anything else. “And you, no one knew who you were. They’ll probably just figure I was behind everything if anyone even bothers to report the crime.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

A tiny teenager wandering the streets, dirty and cold and hungry and desperate to find his family and apologize. People walking to the other side of the street to avoid him, pretend he didn’t exist. Dabi squeezes his eyes shut. “You think people give a shit? If it doesn’t affect them, they won’t bother.”

Silence. Dabi has no doubt she’s searching for some sort of retort. But he’ll admit that he’s surprised when she says, “Did that happen to you at some point?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, hero,” he says with venom meant to sting and burn for hours afterward. Ache like the deep wounds Endeavor left Touya with, all alone with no one to love him.

“Alright,” Mirko says in a measured tone, “I’ll get you something.”

And that’s that.

Mirko has a plastic bag in hand when Dabi next meets up with her. She looks… almost bashful as she holds it out to him. This close, Dabi can smell the faint aroma of food. His sense of smell has been weak ever since he woke up in that hospital all those years ago, so he can’t tell what exactly it is. “Thought I’d bring something.”

“Why,” Dabi says without taking the bag.

She shrugs, drawing her arm back. “It’s late, and I’m hungry. Thought you might like some food, too.” Then she plops down on a crate and starts untying the knot. “If you don’t want anything, I’ll just eat it all myself.”

Dabi taps his foot impatiently. “Did you bring any information like I asked?”

“Yeah.” Mirko fishes through one of the pouches on her thigh, pulling out a small flashdrive and presenting it in her palm. “Patrol schedules for the next month, so you can stalk whoever to your heart’s content.”

“I don’t have a heart.” Mirko rolls her eyes and holds her hand out further, silently urging him to take it. Dabi finally relents and pockets it in his jeans. He doesn’t really care about using any of the information, but he’ll check to see if it’s actually accurate or if the Commission is feeding him false intel.

Mirko opens one of the cardboard boxes of food, revealing decent-looking okonomiyaki. She pauses, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna give anything in return like you said?”

“Give me the other box and I might consider it.” He climbs up onto the tower of crates beside Mirko, legs dangling off the edge.

Once again, she rolls her eyes, but still hands him the box along with some wooden chopsticks. Dabi waits for her to take a bite of her own food before saying, “I’ll eat that one.”

“I didn’t poison it, dude. You think that’s my style?”

Dabi merely stares down at her. 

Mirko steadily returns his gaze. “You literally saw me kill someone a couple days ago. Eat your own damn food.”

“I didn’t want your germs anyway,” Dabi mutters, finally looking down at his lap and opening the box. He ignores the smugness radiating from Mirko as he inspects the okonomiyaki inside. Not his favorite, especially when hot, but he’ll take it considering how difficult it is to get food as a homeless villain. At least there aren’t bonito flakes on it. “Are you vegetarian?”

“Yeah,” Mirko says, digging into her food. “Part of the rabbit quirk, I guess. I get really sick when I have meat. And it tastes gross anyway.” She makes a face, nose scrunching up. She really does look like a bunny doing that, just as Dabi had imagined. It’s almost cute, and he banishes that thought immediately into the depths of where it came from.

He could relate to her, say that while he’s not strictly vegetarian he tends to avoid meat because it upsets his stomach. That he just hates seafood in general because it has a gross, slimy texture and it stinks. He does none of that, because he’s soulless and has no room for companionship in his limited life.

“I heard rumors that the Commission has their own assassin,” he says instead. Mirko looks up at him, ears twitching. “At the bar. No one knows who it is, but they’ve heard stories of people suddenly disappearing, particularly those who had some sort of information they wouldn’t want getting out.” He’d guessed as much when that hero was killed, but this just confirms they’ve been taking innocent people out for years, possibly decades.

She looks… distraught, ears drooping. “Why? What could be the reason for that?”

Dabi stabs at his food with his chopsticks, cutting out a piece. “What reason do they need? They’re in a position of power, and can get away with it. Hero society is rotten down to the core. So many of those pros you look up to have secrets they don’t want getting out.”

“Like Endeavor?” Mirko asks, and Dabi pauses. The hand holding his chopsticks begins trembling, and he quickly lowers it.

“What makes you say that?” He thinks he succeeded in keeping his voice steady and dull.

“It seemed personal when you confronted him,” Mirko says. “Like, more than him just being the new number one.”

“You know, Endeavor is the hero with the highest amount of collateral damage,” Dabi says. “And he was always unpopular with kids because of his personality.” Except Touya, who saw him with stars shining in his eyes no matter how terribly he was treated. “I just figured that he’s not the greatest person.”

A pause where it seems Mirko is thinking of what to say. Finally, she responds with, “He pisses me off, too. He’s said a lot of misogynistic things before.”

You don’t know the half of it, Dabi thinks. His mother’s eyes, empty, lifeless pools of gray flash in his head. “Figures. And he won’t suffer any consequences for that.”

“Yeah?” Mirko says. She sounds as though she’s realized something. Then she abruptly bounces up, closing her box. “Hey, was that all you needed? Because I’d like to head out now. Gotta get some sleep.”

“One more thing,” Dabi says. He’s not… sure why he’s doing this, but he tells himself it will be more convenient if Mirko can call him to provide information. And he figures since she’s trying to use him to get to the League, she’s not about to sell him out to the heroes. Not yet, anyway. 

Besides, he needs Mirko to think Dabi is starting to trust her somewhat. “I figured you’ve proven yourself enough that I can give you my number now. Don’t use this as an excuse to spam me with useless messages.” He gets enough animal videos from Toga and whatever is wrong with Twice from him. 

Her eyes light up, the slightest bit. “I’ll just take that as a challenge, you know.”

Dabi’s lips press into a thin line, but he still gives her his number. And then he waves her away, staying seated. Mirko heads off, leaving him alone with only thoughts of his mother for company. 

Rumi doesn’t buy Dabi’s excuse. There’s definitely more to it. He’d brought up Endeavor’s tendency to excessively cause collateral damage. Maybe one of his fights affected Dabi somehow, which is why he holds a grudge. Honestly, she can’t even blame Dabi for that. As heroes, they should make an effort to limit destruction as much as possible, and Endeavor has put in virtually zero.

They also shouldn’t be bigoted assholes, and yet Endeavor is still the number one hero now. But they hate Rumi because she’s “outspoken” about her opinions. She’d always hated that fact.

She still put up with it, though, because it would be immature to pitch a fit. People would look down on her for making a fuss and speaking up.

Why does she do that? Why has she spent all these years submitting to the expectations of a bigoted society?

…Why is it the villains calling this out?

And what makes her different from one, now that she’s killed?

That night rolls around her head constantly. Images of the crimson painting her knuckles. She didn’t have to go that far. She could have let the bartender handle it. She could have told Dabi to let him go. She could have revealed herself as a hero and scared him off.

(How many women had he harassed? How many had he gone further with, since he’d been so pushy about buying a drink? How many had been too scared to do anything, couldn’t speak up or fight back without getting blamed for disrupting the public with how much this society values keeping your head down?)

And if the HPSC is assassinating innocent people, how are they the heroes in this story?

Rumi tries to go back to her normal life after all that. She does what’s expected of her as a hero. She saves lives, defeats villains. Goes to the gym and trains. Spends time with her friends. Pretends there’s absolutely nothing wrong and that she hasn’t committed a heinous crime that absolutely no one cares about.

She gets a call one day. About a villain who was caught stealing and lashed out when confronted. Rumi normally doesn’t go for easy cases like this, but she’s so desperate for some form of normalcy that she immediately offers herself up to handle it.

When she arrives, there are a couple cops herding away civilians from the store. “Ah, Mirko!” one of them exclaims. “Thanks for coming.”

“What’s going on in there?” Rumi asks.

“A woman in there used her quirk and transformed the ground so no one can move without slipping. She’s hidden herself away, so no one can get to her.” He nods over at a pair of civilians talking to some other cops. “They said the villain has fair skin and dark hair.”

“Right,” Rumi says. She hopes the grips on her boots will be enough. “I’m heading in. Any civilians still in there?”

“Not that we know of.”

Rumi nods, double checks her comm is working, and heads in. She pauses at the entrance, but she doesn’t see anything different about the flooring. She gingerly takes a step, and then another step when nothing happens, and promptly falls on her ass. 

Great. Crawling it is. She doesn’t feel anything slippery underneath her, so it must be some sort of field that makes it impossible to stand. Rumi is so glad she’s here alone so no one can see her moving on her hands and knees. “Hey!” she shouts, rounding a shelf that’s fallen, baked goods all over the floor. “Mirko here, you better come out before I beat you up!”

A choked up whimper. So faint that Rumi only heard it with her enhanced hearing. She immediately turns in the direction she heard it come from.

As she approaches the back of the store, she can hear panicked breathing that the person is clearly trying to stifle. “Hey,” Rumi repeats, softer this time, “you okay? I’m a hero, I can help.” She stops for a moment, kneeling while she waits for a response. Then she adds, “If you’re scared of the villain, I’ll keep you safe. You won’t get hurt with me around.”

Silence. Then a sob bursts out of the person. Rumi finally peeks around the aisle, spotting a small woman with deep grayish-purple hair curled up with her back against the shelves, items scattered all around her. “You can’t help me,” she says quickly, breathing getting faster when she notices Rumi. Fat tears slip out of her eyes. 

Pale skin and dark hair. 

It’s generic enough that it doesn’t have to be the villain, but… there’s no one else here, and she fits the description.

Rumi sits back on her haunches instead of jumping into action. She doesn’t… think the woman is faking. That cop had said she hadn’t attacked anyone and immediately hid. “Why do you think that?”

Her lip trembles as she stares at Rumi with her bright blue eyes. “I—I’m the villain!” It bursts out of her. “I—I swear, I didn’t mean to do all this. I just need formula for my baby, but we don’t have the money right now, and so I—I was desperate, okay, I didn’t want him to starve, so I tried stealing even though I know it’s wrong, and then someone saw and I panicked and used my quirk and now the cops are after me and I’m going to jail and I don’t want to lose my baby—” And she dissolves into unintelligible sobs, burying her face in her thin hands.

They’d called this woman a… villain. A woman who was just desperate to feed her baby. Rumi scoots forward, slightly. Places a gentle hand on the woman’s knee. “It’s alright,” she says, nausea crawling up her throat. What kind of person would be cruel enough to call the cops and heroes on someone stealing baby formula? Damn the law, it should be unspoken that people don’t say a thing if they see something like that.

…Rumi doesn’t normally take calls like this. How many heroes went ahead and arrested, potentially even injured, people in the same boat?

She swallows harshly, seeing how the poor woman doesn’t even try to fight her and continues sobbing, having already accepted the fact she’d likely never see her son again. 

Her comm crackles on. “Mirko, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I think the villain escaped,” Rumi says, watching as the woman slowly pulls away her hands and stares at Rumi in shock. “There’s just a civilian here. She’s freaking out pretty badly. I’m going to calm her down and help her out.” She shuts off the comm and takes one of the woman’s hands, squeezing it tightly. “Don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”

There’s cameras, and the last thing Rumi needs is for law enforcement to check the footage and see her helping a “villain.” All Rumi can claim is that the woman had tricked her. 

It’ll be fine. She’s the number five hero. It’s unlikely anyone would question her, and, well, it would look worse if they saw her attacking a scared, crying civilian, anyway. 

“Let’s get you out of here.” Rumi tilts her head towards the back exit, which is only a couple meters from their location. There were only a couple cops, since it wasn’t exactly a huge villain attack. She doubts anyone went off to check the back of the store. “Can you disable your quirk?”

The woman, face red and blotchy, shakes her head. “It lasts roughly an hour. It’s been… I don’t know, I think it should be wearing off soon.” She glances away bashfully. “It’s a stupid quirk.”

Rumi lays a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you managed to stop everyone in their tracks. It’d be a useful quirk for a hero.”

“You think so?” she asks weakly, looking at Rumi with something close to admiration.

“For sure!” Rumi says brightly. “Come on, let’s go. Don’t want to waste more time.” She leads the woman out through the exit, finally straightening up once they’re outside with a sigh. “Feels good to be off my knees.”

“Sorry,” the woman says, blushing deeply.

Rumi waves away her apology, not caring in the least. “I’m gonna call someone who can help.”

She nods as Rumi pulls out her phone—her personal one. She’d added Dabi’s contact to it on a whim, since they were technically investigating a murder the Commission had committed and she didn’t want them finding out about it.

To her surprise, Dabi picks up rather quickly. “What,” he says. “I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to not pick up,” Rumi says casually. “I need you to cause a commotion.”

“Hell no. Go fuck yourself.”

Rumi grits her teeth for a moment. She didn’t think for a second it would be easy, but dealing with Dabi increases her blood pressure almost instantly. She glances over at the woman, who’s watching her curiously. “I need this, dude. You can set a building on fire, or something. Just—distract everyone, ‘kay?”

“...You’re gonna owe me,” Dabi says.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Rumi agrees quickly, not even considering she may be making a mistake. Or that, if anything, this is Dabi paying her back for the bullshit he’s put her through. “Anything you want, just do something quickly.”

The call disconnects without another word. Rumi hopes that means Dabi’s actually going to help her.

“Who was that?” 

Rumi pockets her phone and turns to the woman. “No one,” she says dismissively. “Can you give me your name and number? I’m going to help you get food for your baby so you don’t have to risk stealing. Then I’ll let you run off.” If Dabi does end up helping, Rumi really, really hopes she doesn’t put together that he’s who Rumi contacted.

A pause. The woman bursts into tears again. 

Rumi watches as Yamaguchi leaves quickly, ice filling her chest. She should feel glad she was able to help someone that needed it, but… it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. She rounds the building, heading over to the front.

“Mirko!” the same cop exclaims. It’s only him and his partner now. Everyone else must have left since the situation was mostly handled. “Were you able to help the civilian?” He looks around. “Where is she?”

“She ran off as soon as I helped her out the back entrance,” Rumi says. “I went after her a bit, but I didn’t want to freak her out more so I let her go.”

The officer’s brow furrows. “Did she fit the description?”

“Yeah, but…” Rumi’s ears droop a bit. Her eyes widen. “You think she was the villain? I—she seemed so genuine, she kept crying and asking for help.”

“Must have been. How despicable,” the officer mutters. “Using a hero’s heart to get away with crime.”

Rumi feels sick as she nods, her stomach churning. The only despicable one is whoever called the cops on Yamaguchi.

“Thank you for trying anyway, Mirko,” the cop says. “We’ll try searching the area—”

“Forget the thief,” his partner interrupts, poking his head out through the window of his car. “I just got a call that Dabi’s setting some buildings on fire downtown.”

He actually went and listened? Maybe Rumi should pay him back in food or something. She knows he’s underweight, he’d felt far too light when she dragged him out the water. Most of the weight came from his leather coat.

The cop groans. “That guy again? We’ve barely recovered from the noumu attack. What’s his problem?”

“Psychos like him get off on attention,” the other man says. “What a freak.”

Rumi almost wishes she could defend Dabi. Tell them that he’s only doing this because she asked, not because he… “gets off on it.” But that would just fuck over both of them. 

Keeps her mouth shut. Smiles at them, no matter how much she wishes to bash their heads in. “I’ll head over there right now.”

Never let it be known that Dabi won’t take any opportunity he can to set things on fire.

Although he is miffed that Mirko is, for whatever reason, demanding he do this, he won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy causing a bit of destruction with his quirk. There’s probably a lot that says about him psychologically, but no one becomes a villain because they’re mentally stable.

Mirko shows up about ten minutes after he started burning some random bank, and he lets a smile creep across his face. “Almost as fast as Hawks with that response time, hero,” he remarks lightly, circling around her. Inside, he’s wondering if this is some sort of ploy to get him arrested. He doubts it, since he’s her only route to Shigaraki, but Dabi isn’t one to let down his guard. “You that excited for a rematch with me?”

She grins back at him, sharp teeth flashing. How strange for a rabbit quirk. “Don’t let that head of yours get too big. I was just patrolling at the nearby fashion district.”

The fashion district is the exact opposite direction she bounced in from. Dabi’s only confused for a moment, before he realizes she must be signaling him to retreat so they can meet up there. Curious as to why she asked him to do all this in the first place, he’ll listen for now. 

Dabi turns his comm on. “Ujiko-san, warp me out.”

He ignores Ujiko-san’s bitching about how demanding he is and lets that gross, smelly goo burst out of his mouth (literally couldn’t there have been a better way for it to work?), enveloping and teleporting him away. “Sorry, bunny,” he says without thinking, “guess you’ll have to have that rematch some other time.” Just before the blackness swallows up his vision, he sees Mirko rush at him, though not nearly as fast as she normally would. 

It’s strange how much of a performance they’re putting on for everyone else.

Dabi only has to wait a couple minutes in a back alley of the fashion district before Mirko finds him. Without warning, she throws her arms around him and squeezes him tightly. Dabi stiffens immediately, quelling the fire that threatened to burst out at the touch. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

“First time someone’s ever said that,” Dabi remarks, certain he’s about to get stabbed in the back, either literally or figuratively. He never prepared for the possibility that she would hug him. Didn’t even think it would ever happen. 

Mirko pulls away, looking as though she was caught off-guard. “Oh. Right. Uh, I just wanted to thank you for actually helping me. There was this lady, you see, and—”

“Never mind that. You found me in this place so easily. I didn’t even get a chance to send you my location. You got a tracker on me?” Was that why she hugged him so suddenly? She needed to update it or something?

She blinks owlishly, looking entirely innocent. Dabi refuses to fall for it. “No, no. It’s… a part of my quirk, I guess. Tracking people’s scents.”

“Oh?” Dabi’s eyebrows raise. “What do I smell like?” Ashes, he presumes. Smoke. Not pleasant.

Mirko shakes her head. “It’s not like that. People don’t smell like, I don’t know, vanilla or jasmine. It’s just that I can differentiate between individuals, but I’d never be able to describe anyone’s smell. And I’ve spent enough time around you by now that I can find you if you’re nearby.”

“We spend so much time together that you can recognize my scent even if I’m not there,” Dabi says flatly. “Great. Does that mean we’re, like, mated in rabbit terms?”

Mirko looks thoughtful instead of immediately reacting with disgust like he expected. The way most people would. She’d hugged him, too. Didn’t shy away from feeling his scars. She’s kind of weird. “I have no idea. Guess I’ll let you know if I start getting territorial about you.”

What the hell is even going on, Dabi thinks. “What’d you ask me to do all that for again?” he asks, desperately trying to change the subject. He does not need to think about how Mirko is unironically considering him as a mate.

A flush spreads across her cheeks. “Oh, yeah. There was this young mom who couldn’t afford formula for her baby. She tried to steal it but got caught, freaked out, and used her quirk, and next thing she knows the store is surrounded by cops.” Mirko scuffs the ground with her boot, then looks up at Dabi with an intense, crimson gaze. “I know I’m a hero, but I think being a decent person is what should drive heroism, not following the law. So I… let her go; I needed a distraction so the cops would forget about searching for her. And conveniently, you’re a big-shot villain that I can use to my advantage.”

Something in his chest… flutters with warmth at the thought that he’s useful for at least one person. Doesn’t comment on it. Scoffs, disgusted. “Doesn’t surprise me they villainized a mother trying to feed her child. That’s just the type of shit cops do.”

“Yeah,” Mirko crosses her arms over her chest, glances aside, “I don’t normally take calls like that, so it’s never happened to me before. But how many heroes, you think, didn’t question it and arrested people like that anyway? Used excessive force, even?”

“Most, if not all.” Dabi turns away from her, watching cars drive past on the road. People walking on the streets. They’re hidden by the shadows, but if even one person decided to take a long look they’d be noticed. And yet, Dabi is confident that’ll never happen, because society is too lost in their own worlds to ever notice what’s around them. “You’re the only hero I’ve seen think critically enough to act against what’s expected.”

Finds he means it, too. When did he start thinking of Mirko as someone different from the other heroes?

Would it… be possible to actually lure her over to their side? She’s already seen so much that has her questioning her role in hero society. And at this point, Dabi legitimately doesn’t think she’s hiding anything. She’s too genuine for that. Too innocent. Too idealistic.

If the number five hero went turncoat, there would be an upheaval in society. It would be bigger than any other possible scandal he could dig up.

Suddenly, Dabi has more of a reason to develop companionship between them.

Dabi calls Rumi for a meeting a couple days later. She heads out with only the stars for company, it being the night of a new moon. 

Dabi had mentioned seeing another possible recruit before their meeting, but Rumi doubted it would take too long considering what she’s heard happens to pretty much all of them besides her. 

As she arrives at the warehouse he’d specified, she sees the inside light up blue through the broken and cracked windows on the second story. Rumi wishes she’d been a little bit later, so she didn’t have to be reminded of the kind of person she’s been forced to fraternize with.

She hesitates on going inside, not wanting to see the remnants of Dabi’s latest victim. But then, another flash of bright blue. A scream that, with how broken down the building is, she can make out from outside. A cry of pain. 

From Dabi. 

Unfamiliar laughter. The voice that responds is lower, unable to be heard over the roar of the flames that didn’t dissipate this time. 

Rumi doesn’t think. She backs up before racing back toward the building, creating momentum for launching herself through one of the windows she saw the fire through. Her legs spring off the concrete, leaping into the cold air. She doesn’t care about the danger of throwing himself into fire, she just needs to stop whatever’s going on.

The scene that meets her is a mess of blue. Flames licking at the debris littering the floor, crumbling walls. Dabi is missing his coat, the white shirt underneath burnt and tattered, and has blood dripping down his temple, bruises along the side of his face and eye. Smoke is trailing from the seams on his arms, which are looking red and inflamed. He’s glaring at a man that Rumi doesn’t recognize, whose eyes widen when she enters.

“The hell is a pro doing here?” the man says.

“I could say the same to you,” Rumi says, hands on her hips.

“Maybe if you just died like you were supposed to do she wouldn’t be bothering us, you perverted bastard,” Dabi spits.

The man backs up, looking terrified as he gazes at Rumi. “I’m the victim here!” He points at Dabi. “I’ve never done anything in my life and that freak just went after me!”

“That is not what happened,” Dabi seethes. Rumi doesn’t know why he’s even upset about the guy lying, Dabi should know she’s going to believe his side of things. 

Not—not because she trusts him, but they are, technically, working together, and that requires a base level of camaraderie. 

Dabi glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Jump,” he says.

What—Rumi leaps as soon as she sees Dabi’s hand shoot out, sparks flying from his palm. She can’t explain the sensation that comes over her, but it is dizzying, as though her body is being squeezed and tugged at the same time. Blazing heat washes over her, and for a moment she thinks Dabi finally had enough and killed her, but the agony doesn’t arrive and she realizes that she’s on the ground despite never feeling herself fall and land.

She’s now in front of Dabi, and the man is where she was just standing in front of the window, although he’s groaning on the floor. 

A teleportation quirk, one that seems to be able to swap his spot with other people’s. No wonder Dabi’s been having trouble killing this guy and is looking a little singed. He must have directed his fire above their heads to trick the villain into thinking he was about to get burnt and panic and switch with Rumi into midair. A bit of a gamble, since he could have just swapped with Dabi instead, but it worked out.

Rumi doesn’t give the man a chance to think and launches her body forward, ready to kick his obnoxious ass into next week. 

She knows the exact amount of strength necessary to knock out a villain without harming them beyond minimal bruising, is even able to take their size and stature into account, which is why her heart stops when she sees her target switch to Dabi.

Without the leather coat, he’s… small. Thin. Clearly underfed and dependent on the strength of his fire to get his way. 

It happens in seconds. Her foot makes contact with Dabi’s chest, a crunch sounding, and he’s thrown into the wall. Rumi collapses onto him, having tried her hardest to avoid hitting him but failing due to the momentum that had built. His body is still, clearly unconscious, and Rumi is lying on top of him staring in horror and guilt (for what?) as she realizes she’s miscalculated severely.

She didn’t think the man would be able to reuse his quirk so soon, that he was even oriented enough to react.

That same squeezing sensation envelops her body again, and when it releases, she’s facing the man, who’s holding Dabi’s limp body. Rumi freezes on her knees, not wanting to make another wrong move and potentially hurt Dabi further.

“Thanks for helping me,” he says with a smug smirk that Rumi aches to punch off. “Hey, I got a secret to tell you. That guy’s actually a girl. I felt it.”

Rumi doesn’t want to imagine what he means by “felt it,” but no wonder Dabi was so pissed off at him. Cis people are always obsessed with what they have in their pants. “I don’t give a fuck.” She’d already figured, and it didn’t make a difference. Why should it? She’s not any different from him.

A shadow crosses over his face. “That crazy bitch went after me accusing me of things I never did, I was just defending myself.”

“You men are all the same,” Rumi says heatedly, finally standing, “it’s never your fault, right? He was just asking for it.”

He takes a step back. Rumi follows. “You can’t seriously be blaming me. Should’ve known a female would rather support a villain than the actual victim here.”

Rumi keeps her eyes trained on Dabi, the minute raising of his chest. She definitely cracked at least a couple of his ribs, but both sides of his chest are lifting equally, which should thankfully mean no pneumothorax. “Fine, I’m sorry for what he did to you,” she says. “Let him go. I’ll handle him from here.”

“Nah, I got it,” the man says, and he tosses Dabi through the window. 

Rumi’s brain comes screeching to a halt. 

Rumi’s known for being quick on the battlefield, as flighty as a rabbit. She doesn’t let anything faze her, not even the most grievous of injuries. She’ll keep fighting no matter how much she’s knocked down, and doesn’t hesitate to act when someone’s in danger.

But right now, as she watches Dabi disappear from her view in what feels like slow motion, her feet are glued to the hard floor. A strangled sound rips its way out of her throat, leaving it raw like glass shards had pierced it.

“What’s wrong, hero?” the man taunts. “You should be happy a villain like that is gone from the world.”

And just like that, everything speeds up again. She rushes to the window, shoving the man aside, as she leans over the edge and looks down at the ground. “No,” she chokes out, seeing what’s become of the what-should-have-been untouchable villain. 

Her ears flatten, fur prickling, as she whips her head around to glare at the murderer—no, not murderer. Dabi can’t be dead, not like this. He’s larger than life, commands all the attention in the room. Killed because he was thrown aside like trash, that’s not how Rumi could have ever imagined he’d go.

The man starts retreating from her seeing the look on her face, red eyes beaming straight through his body. “What? You’re acting like you cared about him.”

Care? No, but Rumi had learned to tolerate him. He’d become a regular part of her life, was even… pleasant to be around, sometimes. And how was she supposed to get into the League now? The rest of them were nowhere to be seen, and Dabi was cagey about their locations. This was a massive setback for the operation. 

Rumi doesn’t respond, charging straight at him. This time, when her position is swapped, she doesn’t let it disorient her, instead bouncing off the wall and whipping around. The man clearly hadn’t expected that and doesn’t react in time as Rumi lands a harsh kick to the face, instantly knocking him out. 

As much as she wants to take out her anger on him, Dabi takes priority, and so she hauls his body over her shoulder and stands, leaping back through the window and landing heavily on the concrete outside. 

She drops the man at her feet before turning and hurrying over to Dabi, just… surveying. 

She’s gone through this hundreds of times by now. She’s certified in BLS, has broken countless ribs just trying to keep a heart beating. She knows she has to check his ABCs. But she stands there, paralyzed, staring down at a crumpled form of black and red. There’s so much red. He looks like a shattered doll.

She numbly turns on her comm and connects to the hero network. “There was an altercation between Dabi and some other villain,” she’s saying, not even hearing her own words, “but we… we need EMS on the scene. He’s hurt, badly.”

The person on the other end is saying something, but her ears are buzzing with static. She drops to her knees next to the body. 

Not the body. 

Next to Dabi, because he was thrown out a window when she could have stopped it from happening, it’s her fault he’s on the ground bleeding out, possibly already dead from how high he fell, and Rumi doesn’t know why she’s so upset, she should be glad that such a heinous villain was taken out, but somehow she feels tears pricking at her eyes as she places two fingers against his carotid, desperately feeling for a pulse.