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It started as a regular day. Touya—Dabi to most of the school—was in his usual spot at the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against a bench with a couple of his friends. The day was sunny, loud, and full of life, but his gaze had wandered to Tenko, sitting alone on the grass, plucking at little white flowers growing near the edge of the field.
Tenko didn’t notice Dabi watching him; he was too busy fiddling with the delicate petals, his brows knitted in concentration.
Something about him seemed so unbothered, so distant. That should’ve been fine. Tenko was an easy target, and teasing him was something Dabi had grown far too good at. But it wasn’t fun, not really—not when Tenko rarely fought back, just looked at him with those big, quiet eyes, like he didn’t understand why Dabi was doing this.
That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
“Watch this,” Dabi had muttered to his group, sauntering over to where Tenko sat.
Tenko didn’t react at first. He just kept picking at the flower in his hand, completely oblivious to Dabi looming above him.
“What’s that supposed to be, a present for your imaginary friends?” Dabi snorted, nudging Tenko’s shoulder with the toe of his shoe.
Tenko flinched slightly, looking up at him. His hearing aids were visible today, small and unobtrusive, but Dabi knew they didn’t make much difference. Tenko had learned to read lips to compensate.
For some reason, that knowledge made Dabi falter. But his pride wouldn’t let him back down, not in front of his friends.
“Seriously,” he added, his tone sharp, “what are you even doing here? Don’t you get tired of being such a—”
He stopped mid-sentence as Tenko’s expression changed.
There was no anger, no resentment—just quiet hurt, pooling in his eyes like water threatening to spill over.
And then it did.
A single tear slipped down Tenko’s cheek, followed by another, and another, until his hands were trembling as he tried to wipe them away.
Dabi froze, the words dying in his throat. He hadn’t meant for this. Not really.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, dropping to a crouch in front of Tenko. His friends called after him, but he didn’t care.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft now, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Tenko shook his head, curling in on himself like he was trying to disappear.
“C’mon,” Dabi tried again, his hand hovering awkwardly before settling gently on Tenko’s shoulder. “Don’t do that. Don’t cry.”
But Tenko wouldn’t stop. He was trembling, sniffling, his quiet sobs breaking something in Dabi that he didn’t even know was there.
Before he realized what he was doing, Dabi pulled Tenko into his arms, holding him close. It was awkward at first—Dabi didn’t know how to comfort someone like this—but his grip firmed as Tenko slowly stopped struggling.
“I’m sorry,” Dabi whispered, his words tumbling out faster than he could think. “I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t. You’re not—you’re not any of those things. I was just being a jerk.”
Tenko hiccupped, his face pressed against Dabi’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Dabi murmured, his hand coming up to gently stroke Tenko’s hair. “But I am sorry. You’re... you’re not what I said. You’re just...”
He trailed off, searching for the right words.
“...you,” he finished lamely.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Tenko’s tears slowed, and his breathing evened out as he clung to Dabi’s jacket, as if afraid to let go.
Finally, Tenko leaned back, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Dabi’s.
And then, for the first time, Tenko smiled.
It was small, soft, and hesitant, but it was a smile—a real one, bright and beautiful and so painfully sweet that it made Dabi’s chest ache.
He felt something shift inside him in that moment, like a door opening where there hadn’t been one before.
“If I want to keep seeing that smile,” Dabi thought to himself, “I’d better cut the crap.”
Still holding onto Tenko, Dabi reached up and brushed the tears from his cheeks with his thumb.
“There,” he said quietly, his lips twitching into a small smile of his own. “Much better.”
Tenko didn’t say anything—he never did—but the way he looked at Dabi then, like he wasn’t sure what had just happened but was willing to trust him anyway, was enough.
From that day on, Dabi couldn’t bring himself to tease Tenko the same way again. He still called him names sometimes, but they were gentler, teasing rather than cruel. And instead of shoving him, Dabi started nudging him lightly, just enough to make Tenko look at him.
He didn’t know what they were yet, but one thing was certain: Tenko had managed to sneak under Dabi’s skin in a way no one else ever had.
And Dabi wasn’t sure if he wanted him to leave.