"Dabi." Hawks called out.
"Hawks." Dabi acknowledged. "Did you get me those names yet?"
"Sorta." Hawks said.
"Sorta?" Dabi repeated.
"Oh, I got you your names alright — but there were far too many — far too many people who fit your description. I can hand over all the names if that's what you wanted, or you could narrow down the scope of who you're looking for and let me do the rest." Hawks proposed, worried that he had come across as too eager. "It's your call." He added.
"Ain't too often that someone offers to do more than they're asked of in the League, 'specially not a Pro-Hero."
"Consider it an extra show of loyalty then." Hawks declared.
Dabi "hmmmmed," in response. "Quirkless. Age in the mid 20s."
"You're aware that only 10-20% of the population is quirkless, right? With some regions below 5%? Not even taking age into consideration,"
"You asked for a narrowed scope." Dabi stated, condescending in his manner.
"I suppose so."
"I want all the names by tomorrow, can you do that?"
"Of course I can, provided you make sure Shigaraki knows I've been cooperative."
"Don't you worry about that, Hawks. He'll know."
"Good." Hawks left.
~
Dabi was elated.
He was confident that you were posing as someone quirkless, seeing as it was the only logical way to go about life remaining as discreet as possible. And as Hawks had astutely pointed out, there weren't many people who were quirkless in society.
That settled it. Dabi had a strong gut feeling that he would know exactly who you were by tomorrow.
Giddy at this realisation, Dabi thought it right to head to his usual bar for a preemptive, celebratory drink. He'd even go with the League, but the rational part of him wouldn't allow him to boast about his success without being sure of that very success first.
~
You couldn't bring yourself to go to work. Not after the incident with your neighbour. The sheer irony of what happened after made you sick. Ren Kiyotaka, that was your neighbour's name.
Later that evening, after Hawks had left, and after her husband had returned home from work, Ren alone knocked on your door. When you opened the door you were immediately drawn into a great big hug. "You saved my life, (Y/n)!" She said it over, and over, and over.
"Thank you so much for doing the best you could out there, especially considering you're quirkless. . ." She handed you a basket, presumably filled with appreciative foodstuffs.
You reeled internally, but kept the performance going. "I was only doing what any good, quirkless citizen would do. It's no big deal, really."
There was no point reminiscing in the rest of the interaction.
Recalling the events that transpired an hour or so ago would not change how you felt about it now. In reality, you had almost killed someone through inaction; complacence. Had you ever made a more selfish decision in your life? What if Hawks hadn't arrived in time? How could you criticise the HPSC for being immoral when you acted immorally just the same? How could you live like this?
You were spiralling. You didn't want to think. You needed a strong distraction, and in the words of your old friends from high school, you needed to "live it up a little!" You needed to go to the bar, just. . . Not the Red Herring, and not to stay sober.
You knew that you were being ludicrously impulsive, but hell, your conscience was already far more splintered than you wanted to admit. You were crumbling on the inside, truly. Crumbling on the inside as you pulled on a 'little black dress;' crumbling on the inside as you did your make-up, and crumbling on the inside as you slipped on your high heels. One last double take in the mirror and you were out the door, having grabbed your purse on the way out.
About halfway to the other bar, the absurdity, or rather, the rarity of what you were about to do set in. You never partied or drank, always afraid that you would make terrible mistakes when intoxicated.
Alas, two drinks in and you remembered that you could hold your alcohol pretty well for a woman. It made you that much more relieved. For you, two drinks was just the perfect amount for you to feel tipsy enough to get on the dance floor, but not tipsy enough for you to be incapacitated. Or, perhaps the drunkenness would hit later. You'd find out eventually, though.
On the dance floor, you had all the moves. Years of bartending meant that you knew just what to do out there. Shimmying your hips, keeping your arms high, taking small yet exaggerated steps with your feet that showed off your legs; it was a very simple game for an observant player such as yourself.
~
Dabi smothered his cigarette just across from the bar, the Eternal Night. Despite the fancy name, it was a bar more-suited to people like Dabi. Perhaps it was the location — or perhaps it was the atmosphere inside, whatever the case, no one who went to the Eternal Night meant to have a one-drink night out with friends. It was a bar for the heartbroken, discarded, and discontent people in society, and he counted himself as one of them.
Naturally, Dabi walked up to the counter and made eye contact with the bartender; he knew him. In fact, Dabi didn't even have to verbalise his order, for the man had his drink out for him on the counter in less than a minute. (He must've prepared Dabi's usual as soon as he saw him come in through the door.)
And so Dabi drank, taking the seat of the (h/c)'d haired woman he'd seen leave for the dance floor only mere moments before. Halfway down his drink his eyes moved to scan the dance floor, where he could recognize most of the people there. He'd even slept with some of them a number of times too, though, as a general rule, he never slept with the same person twice.
Now, in terms of Dabi's chances of finding someone new, it was a late night on the weekend. What could go wrong?
Another drink and Dabi had found his target. It was the (h/c) haired female whose seat he'd just taken. Upon closer inspection he felt that there was something familiar about her — but he was confident that he hadn't slept with her — which meant he considered her fair game.
He approached her.
Then, already almost at the dance floor, Dabi couldn't take his eyes off your tantalizing figure. Suffice to say, he wanted you all to himself.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here alone on a Friday night?" He rasped.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" You crooned, turning your head to face the man.
When your eyes landed on him you were surprised, but you would recognize those facial scars and that dark hair anywhere. He was the man who came to the Red Herring twice that week.
Dabi came to the same realization when you turned to him. He was surprised, too, but also strangely glad. If he couldn't have his way with you then, he'd certainly have his way with you now, he thought. "You feel like Playing With Fire, tonight?" He teased you.
Unhurriedly, you looked him up and down before replying — making him so fucking transfixed by you. He couldn't explain how you made him feel. It was like he was willingly walking into a trap in locking with your deep, (e/c) eyes.
You theorized what your gaze was doing to him, fully aware of the possible implications you were asking for — but even you of all people couldn't comprehend how badly he wanted to ravish you right then and there.
"I'd rather play with fire than watch it burn, if that's what you're asking." You feigned innocence in your reply.
Oh boy. Dabi hoped you understood that he was the fire in this case. Scratch that, he was sure you knew.
Taking the initiative, Dabi then closed in on you, smoothly making his way behind you to allow for your hips to spin in front of him. He snaked his arms loosely around your waist, too, taking in the smell of your perfume. You were slowly making him go insane.
Dabi whispered into your ear, his ashen breath tickling your neck."I'm surprised to catch you outside of the Herring, you know."
You turned to face him. "Well I can't be bad at work now, can I?"
"It's cute to think you call this bad behaviour."
"Oh really now?"
You hesitated for a split second before pulling him into a kiss. God. You had no idea what possessed you to do this. But what you did know is that you kind of liked being assertive, and that you kind of liked the attention. It was a kind of attention that you hadn't welcomed in a long time.
Dabi on the other hand reciprocated without hesitation, his hand travelling down from the small of your back to your ass.
It was a longer kiss than you thought, and when you pulled away for a breath he pulled you back in an instant, slipping you some tongue this time.
You both pulled away again. "You're so fucking gorgeous, doll."
You blushed at the mention. "You're not so bad yourself, handsome stranger." He started to pepper your neck with kisses — "It's Dabi."
"What?" You spoke soft and airily, distracted at his touch.
"Call me Dabi." He reiterated.
"Dabi." You repeated. Speaking of, he was growing increasingly handsy. It seemed his hunger for you couldn't be controlled, especially not when he'd just heard his name roll oh-so delicately off your tongue.
Stepping outside of yourself for a moment and looking outward, you acknowledged the openness of the bar — wanting to get away from the prying eyes that surrounded you.
Dabi picked up on this, and fast. "Whadaya say we get out of here and head somewhere more. . . Private?"
"You read my mind." You chided, excitedly taking his hand as he led you away from the dance floor and out of the bar.
To be continued. . .