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The music blared loud enough to make the speakers crackle as you tried to shoulder your way through the crowd to the bar.
After a brutal workload at school, Halloween was supposed to be a fun mid-semester break. A time when you and your friends could let loose, have fun and relax. And it would have been—that is if your friends weren’t literally the worst.
You should have known better. Should have just stayed home the moment they changed the plan from going to the usual on-campus party to this skeezy hole-in-the-wall bar everyone on the campus had been whispering about.
Unfortunately, your desire to be accepted by the friends you’d never quite fit in with, overran your common sense. So, by the time you’d slid into the car only to discover that they had all decided to dress ‘sexy’ instead of ‘funny’ at the last possible minute you weren’t even surprised.
A more assertive person might have called it quits right then and there. Maybe demanded they stop the car and strut back to their dorm with as much dignity as one could muster when dressed up as a giant packet of ketchup. But you would rather pull out your fingernails than rock the boat. The little people pleaser in you forcing you to laugh along with them as they teased you mercilessly for your choice in costume.
So, here you were.
Wholly and completely forgotten by your “friends” in what had to be the shadiest bar you’d ever seen dressed as a ketchup packet. All because you couldn’t put your foot down. That, and apparently even Uber deemed the area sketchy enough to avoid; you were stuck there until said friends decided to leave.
“Excuse me,” you said, narrowly dodging the elbow of a dude dressed as a zombie. He either didn’t hear you, or chose to ignore you, but you still managed to squeeze into the gap he’d created as he turned to leave the bar.
Adjusting your glasses you tried to flag down the bartender who, to be fair, was absolutely killing in the the costume department. Dressed in a dapper vest, his head was an oscillating orb of black and purple mist. You squinted, trying to determine if it were an elaborate prop or just a part of his quirk.
Unfortunately, he didn’t notice you either.
You’d just raised your hand to try again the writhing mass of bodies behind you jostled you forward, causing the air to leave your lungs in a whoosh as your stomach was shoved up against the hard edge of the polished mahogany bar. Your glasses tumbled to the counter with a clatter, and you tried to expand your lungs.
“Watch it, assholes,” a raspy voice snarled and suddenly the weight trapping you against the bar was gone.
Able to breathe again, You sucked in a much-needed breath and righted yourself. A blurry hand came into view, offering your glasses as you adjusted your costume.
“Thank you,” you said, accepting them. Sliding them onto your face, you turned to your savior. “I really appreciate—” you gasped. “Oh my gosh! That is the coolest Dabi costume I’ve ever seen!”
Your savior's eyes widened in surprise at your outburst, his brows shooting up to disappear beneath his spiky white bangs.
“Did you paint these yourself?” You asked, grasping his arm to examine the faux scars disappearing beneath his sleeve. You ran your finger lightly over the skin, careful not to mess up what had to be hours of hard work then gasped again as you felt actual texture.
“No! They’re prosthetics?! Dude! How long did this take you?”
You glanced up, marveling at the way the staples seemed to pull at his skin as his expression shifted from surprise to amusement.
“Years,” he said dryly, in that signature Dabi drawl you’d heard played over and over, thanks to the infamous clip he’d made on national television—airing out all of his family’s dirty laundry.
You laughed, delighted at his dedication to remaining in character. Then, to your mortification, realized you were still practically holding his hand. You dropped it quickly, covering your embarrassment with a cough.
“Sorry,” you began. “I guess I got a little excited.”
He looked down at you quizzically, like you were an enigma he couldn’t quite figure out. “So, you like one of those creepy Dabi stans or somethin’?”
You laughed again, this time thankful for the dim lighting warmth that flooded your cheeks. This is exactly why you had such a hard time making friends. You always got a little too passionate about the things that interested you.
“I’m a criminal psychology major,” you explained, fidgeting with the hem of your costume. “I’ve always found Dabi’s case particularly interesting.”
“So, you are a stan,” he teased, waving down the bartender with no more than a flick of his wrist. Eyes, so blue they had to be contacts, glanced back at you. “What’do you want?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Come’on, let me buy my biggest fan a drink.” The teasing lit to his voice coupled with the spark of mischief in his pretty blue eyes had butterflies dancing in your stomach.
Biting your bottom lip, you tried and failed to hide a smile. Was he flirting with you? It wasn’t that you thought yourself ugly, but out of all your friends, you were never the first to catch the interest of a guy, and considering your costume, it was hard to believe you’d be catching this kind of attention at all—at least not this kind of attention.
“Okay,” you finally agreed, flattered beyond belief. “If you’re sure?”
He gave you a lazy smile. “I am.”
Several minutes later, with a fresh beer in hand, you allowed yourself to be ushered through the crowd by the mystery man dressed as Dabi. His hand splayed low on your back burning hot through your costume as he guided you towards an empty booth nestled into a dark alcove in the corner of the room.
You were a little disappointed when he sat on the opposite side of the booth, a polite distance away, but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed the view when his leather jacket stretched across his flexing muscles as he took his seat. It looked hand-stitched and you once again had to admire his dedication to the costume.
“Thank you, again,” you said, trying to get your bulky costume situated in the narrow seat. “For helping me at the bar, and for the beer.”
He waved you off, bringing his beer to his lips. “So,” he drawled. “Why ketchup?”
The tale-tell sting of embarrassment returned to your cheeks.
“Oh, well. We were supposed to all dress up in funny costumes—me and my friends,” you gestured to where they all huddled together dancing out on the floor in what practically equated to lingerie. “But, I guess they all kind of decided to change the plan at the last minute and forgot to tell me.”
His half-lidded gaze followed your own, eyes flicking disinterestedly over the group before settling back on you. “Eh, I like yours better.”
You scoffed. “You don’t have to lie, you’re not going to hurt my feelings.”
“What? I’m serious,” he grinned again, in a lazy bad-boy sort of way and your heart did another strangle little flutter. Even with all the prosthetics and piercings he was devastatingly handsome.
“A sense of humor and a Dabi stan? What’s not to like?”
“I am not a Dabi stan,” you protested, unable to stop yourself from laughing. “I just find his case interesting, you know? It’s all so tragic and heartbreaking.”
He scoffed, arching a pierced brow. “Tragic and heartbreaking?”
You took a drink of your beer, letting the tangy flavor wash over your tongue, and nodded.
“Of course! I can’t even fathom the amount of pressure he had on his shoulders, and that’s not even considering the outright abuse he went through at the hands of his father.” Your finger traced the rim of the beer bottle as a heavy sadness settled on your chest. “He never stood a chance.”
“He’s a mass murderer,” he stated plainly. Not in the condescending way you’d come to expect when the subject was brought up.
“I’m not saying he’s a good person,” you said, finger trailing down to pick at the label. “Just that, it’s…sad. Thinking about how much different things could have been had someone actually cared.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, you glanced up and resisted the urge to wince, finding him staring at you with an unreadable expression.
You’d done it again.
Prattled on like a lunatic to a complete stranger about your obsession with the psychology behind Japan’s most dangerous villains. It was no wonder you didn’t have any real friends. Why your roommate ignored you, and the girls you’d come with tonight always keep you at arm's length?
You’d possibly found the only person who would look past the monstrosity which was your ketchup costume and you had chased him off before you’d even gotten his real name! Why were you like this? What was wrong with—
“So, it’s a savior complex, then?”
Your sudden spiral came to a screeching halt and you looked up and him, befuddled. “I—what?”
“Why you’re into villains,” he said, leaning back against the booth wall. He stretched his arms out along the tops of the seat, a cocky grin twisting his lips. “You’ve got a savior complex.”
Heat crawled up your neck as you gave him your most indignant glare. “I most certainly do not.”
He barked out a laugh, the sound unusually pleasant for someone with such a raspy voice.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he teased, all lazy and cool and obnoxiously hot, even. “You’ve got it bad for the morally grey bad boys.”
You wanted to argue, to protest, but a brief search of your Kindle library would determine that to be a lie. And the little shiver that went down your spine at the pet name was just another nail in the coffin.
Deciding to save yourself any more embarrassment you changed the subject. “So, what’s your real name?”
“Touya,” he said, a sly smirk twisting his lips.
You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “I’m starting to think, you’re the real Dabi stan here.”
A harsh bark of a laugh sent a spike of arousal through your middle.
“I think that would actually make me a narcissist.”
Now, it was your turn to laugh, delighted at his wit. He took another swing of his drink, his eyes drifting back out to the dance floor before once again returning to you.
“You wanna dance?”
“Dance?” You balked, looking down at your monstrosity of a costume. “In this?”
“Why not?” He shrugged, his tongue snaking out to lick the residual beer from his lips.
Why not, indeed?
You were here and he was already making your night ten times better than you’d thought it’d be. Taking a drink of your liquid courage you matched his shrug.
“Alright, let’s do this.”
The wicked grin that curled one corner of his mouth had you questioning your decision but you took his offered hand and let him drag you out onto the dance floor.
You didn’t have a ton of experience dancing with anyone other than your friends, especially to the kind of music that was blaring from the speakers but as the bass buzzed through you like electric you lost yourself in the beat of it. In the way his body felt, all hard lines of lean muscle pressed up against you until you could think of nothing else.
It was hypnotic, it was mesmerizing, and it had heat burning low in your belly. Especially when his hands slid down your sides, your silly costume cricking under his touch that settled on your hip.
“This okay?” He asked, his tone delicious and raspy next to your ear.
You nodded enthusiastically, suddenly finding that your tongue felt like cotton and he chuckled. In any other situation, you would probably be embarrassed, but then he rolled his body against yours and you found embarrassment was the farthest thing from your mind.
When the music finally changed tempo to something slow and syrupy he ducked his head and asked:
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Your eyes fluttered open, and you felt a little dazed as he pulled you back into reality. You knew it probably wasn’t the wisest decision to go off with a stranger, especially one dressed like a villain. Knew you should at least tell your friends where you were going. But your enjoyment of the night was severely clouding your ability to make rational choices.
Touya, or at least the man pretending to be him had paid attention to you. Had made you feel desired and sexy and for what was quite possibly the first time in your life made you feel special.
Was it even possible to feel such attraction to someone you’d only just met?
You didn’t dwell on it, or the things you probably should have done and instead decided to give in, just this once, and let yourself live in the moment.
So, you didn’t hesitate when he offered you his hand. Didn’t so much as even look for your friends as he led you across the room and down a dark hall off to the side of the bar. Didn’t even blanch when he herded you into a random room and backed you up against the door.
His broad shoulders filled your vision, not that could distinguish much in the darkened room even if you could see past them.
“Noticed you as soon as you walked in,” he breathed, his nose brushing along your jaw.
“I’m sure that wasn’t hard,” you panted, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. “It’s not every day you see a giant ketchup packet.”
He snorted softly, nipping at your ear for your cheek. “That certainly caught my eye, but your choice of costume ain’t why I sought you out. Thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”
You drew back a bit, surprised by his omission. “Really?”
His eye seemed to glow despite the dim lighting, staring down at you with a soft expression. His thumbs traced soothing patterns on your back as he opened his mouth to reply and that was when a thundering boom shook the building.
You stumbled forward into his chest, his grip tightening on you as screams erupted from the direction of the bar.
“What’s happening?” you gasped, as another explosion shook the building.
“Sounds like the heroes came to crash the party.”
You frowned, your pulse racing in your ears. “Heroes? Why would they care about a bar?”
The man dressed as Dabi didn’t answer and instead ushered you across the room to a small window. The ancient wood groaned as he forced it open. Then, he lifted a black combat boot and dislodged the screen with one swift kick.
“There’s an alley out back that. Should take you back to the main drag, if you hang a left. You’ll be able to join the civilians who’ve been evacuated there.”
You braced yourself against the window frame when he tried to push you through, then spun around to face him when he relented. “But what about you? Are you coming with me?”
He smirked, staples and shadows twisting his handsome features into something wicked. Holding up his hand, a ball of brilliant blue flame flickered to life in his palm.
“You wouldn’t want to get caught fraternizing with the villain.”
Your blood turned to ice in your veins, a stark juxtaposition to the fire burning less than an arm’s length away.
“I—but, you…you said—”
Touya, the Todoroki Touya snickered, his feral grin illuminated in blue. “I’m exactly who I said I was, doll.”
Then, he leaned in and crushed his mouth against yours, his tongue parting your lips so skillfully that by the time he drew back, you found yourself reeling—and it had nothing to do with his omission.
He smiled down at your dazed expression, planting a chaste kiss on the lips for good measure, and then he was gone. The door closed behind him as darted back into the fray. And you were left alone to navigate your way out a window with nothing but your ketchup costume and a whole new mess of confusing feelings.