Work Text:
The playground was quieter than Ochako remembered.
The swings creaked gently in the late afternoon breeze, chains rusted with age, paint chipped and sun-faded. She slowed her steps without meaning to, her eyes lingering on the sandbox, the slide, the low jungle gym where laughter used to live.
Her fingers curled instinctively around the ribbon in her pocket.
Red. Soft. Worn thin with time.
Memories surfaced before she could stop them.
---
She had been six.
Too small, too round, cheeks perpetually pink no matter the season. The other kids had noticed before she ever did.
"Pig cheeks"
"Hey, piggy!"
"Smile so we can draw on you!"
They caught her when the teachers weren’t looking, smearing marker and chalk across her face while they laughed. Sometimes they pulled her hair back just to expose her cheeks more, just to mock her.
So she grew her hair out.
Long. Long enough to hide behind. Long enough to disappear.
Until the day everything changed.
---
She remembered the heat first.
A sudden rush of warmth, sharp and startling, followed by screams.
The kids scattered like pigeons, crying and shrieking as a burst of fire scorched the ground in front of them---close enough to scare, far enough not to burn. They ran, sobbing, calling for their mothers.
Ochako had frozen, heart hammering.
Then she saw him.
An older boy—thirteen, maybe fourteen—standing with hands shoved into his pockets like he hadn’t just sent a fireball flying. His hair was a deep, messy white, eyes a striking, impossible blue.
He crouched in front of her.
Without asking, he gently gathered her long hair and tied it back with a ribbon pulled from his pocket. The motion was clumsy but careful.
"There" he said, grinning crookedly. “You’re not bad-looking at all.”
Her cheeks burned hotter than any fire.
"In fact" he added with a quiet chuckle, "I'd say you’re pretty cute"
Ochako had stammered out a thank-you, barely able to look at him. By the time she gathered the courage to speak again, he was already walking away.
He never gave his name.
But she never forgot his face.
---
The present came rushing back.
Ochako stood at the edge of the playground now, a hero with scars and strength and confidence hard-won. She pulled the ribbon from her pocket, running it between her fingers.
A symbol.
Not of rescue—but of being 'seen'
She tied it loosely around her wrist and smiled softly.
---
Across town, Dabi sat on a broken couch in an abandoned building, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.
Toga hummed as she flipped through stolen trinkets, stopping when she found a familiar strip of red fabric.
"Oooh, this one's cute!" she chirped, twirling it around her fingers. "Yours, Dabi?"
He froze.
His eyes locked onto the ribbon.
Red. Faded. Soft.
Just like--
"...Yeah" he muttered.
Toga skipped away, already bored, leaving him alone with the memory.
A little girl with pink cheeks. Hair too long for her age. Eyes wide with fear--and then wonder.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
'Where are you now, kid?'
'What do you look like?'
'Do you even remember me?'
The thought twisted something uncomfortable in his chest.
He scoffed, clicking his tongue.
"Tch. Doesn’t matter"
Villains weren’t supposed to get sentimental.
Villains weren't supposed to care about playgrounds, or ribbons, or little girls who grew up strong.
Still—
His fingers brushed the ribbon at his side.
And for just a moment, Dabi wondered.