The crimson glow of the setting sun painted the city skyline in shades of fire, mirroring the burning exhaustion that gnawed at me. Another night, another hit carried out. The pay was good, enough to keep a roof over Akira and Takiro's heads, enough to provide for their future. The morality of it all? Well, that was a luxury I couldn't afford.
My cremation quirk had always been a curse and a weapon. Now, it was a paycheck. I walked through the door of our modern apartment, the sterile environment a stark contrast to the grime and darkness I'd just left behind.
"I'm home," I announced, my voice raspy.
"Welcome back, Dad!" Akira chirped, emerging from the kitchen, a streak of crimson paint marring her cheek. Takiro trailed behind her, his white hair slightly disheveled. They were my world, my reason for pushing through the endless cycle of violence.
"How was school?" I asked, trying to inject some normalcy into the situation.
"Good," Takiro mumbled, heading to his room.
Akira, ever the more outgoing one, launched into a detailed account of her art class, her hands flying as she described her latest project. I listened, my focus unwavering, desperate to soak in every detail of their lives, to shield them from the ugly reality of mine.
Later that week, the Parent-Teacher Association meeting loomed. A necessary evil. I rarely attended, but this time, Akira had been particularly insistent. Reluctantly, I agreed.
Stepping into the brightly lit school gymnasium felt alien, a stark contrast to the shadows I usually inhabited. I scanned the crowd, a sea of concerned parents, before spotting Akira and Takiro near the back. As I weaved my way through the throng, I caught a glimpse of familiar blue hair. My blood ran cold.
Shigaraki Tomura.
He was here. In the same space as my children. A secret I had guarded fiercely was about to be exposed. He hadn't known about my kids, and I intended to keep it that way. He was bad news.
I plastered on a casual smile as I approached him after the meeting. "Tomura," I greeted.
His red eyes narrowed, surprise flickering across his face. "Dabi? What are you doing here?"
"My kids go here," I said, gesturing towards Akira and Takiro. "What about you?"
He hesitated, then nodded towards three figures huddled together near the basketball hoops. "My kids. Riku, Rya, and Teka."
The air crackled with unspoken tension. We had both kept secrets, and now, they had collided in the most unexpected way.
The sight of Riku later, on the football field, was unexpected.
Riku with his arms around a dark-haired boy, Hira, their faces alight with youthful affection. I felt a surge of something unfamiliar – pride. It was a stark contrast to the unease that settled over me when a red hair woman, radiating an air of privilege, stormed towards them.
"Riku!" she snapped. "What is the meaning of this?"
I recognized her instantly. His mother who left ten years ago and now dating a pro hero.
Shigaraki stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "He's happy. That's all that matters."
The woman scoffed, clearly repulsed by the sight of her son's relationship. "This is unnatural!"
Shigaraki's hand twitched, his quirk threatening to erupt. I knew that look. I'd seen it countless times.
"Back off, lady," I growled, stepping between them. "He's not hurting anyone."
The woman glared at me, then at Shigaraki, before flouncing away in a huff.
I left them to it, my mind racing. I needed to find Akira and Takiro. I found them in the art studio, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps. Takiro was leaning against his girlfriend, Athema, her hand resting on his arm. Akira was sprawled on the floor, her head resting in her girlfriend's lap.
The normalcy of the scene washed over me, a wave of relief momentarily drowning out the anxieties that constantly plagued me. They were just kids, falling in love, finding their place in the world.
That evening, I did something I never thought I would do. I invited Shigaraki and his kids over for dinner.
The atmosphere was awkward at first, strained by years of unspoken animosity and buried secrets. But as the evening progressed, a fragile truce began to form. Akira and Rya, with their bright energy, found common ground in their shared love for art. Takiro and Teka, both quieter and more reserved, bonded over video games. Riku, with his easygoing charm, managed to crack a smile out of even the perpetually grumpy Shigaraki.
I watched them, my heart aching with a bittersweet mix of happiness and fear. This was what I wanted for my kids, a sense of belonging, a connection to something beyond the darkness I had always known.
The dinners became a regular occurrence, a strange, makeshift family forged from shared secrets and unexpected connections. Riku and Takiro often excused themselves early, retreating to their rooms with knowing glances. I learned to turn a blind eye, choosing to focus on the laughter and chatter that filled the living room.
One night, as Shigaraki lay sprawled on me on the sofa, his blue hair tickling my neck, Akira and Rya exchanged amused smiles. The intimacy between us was something new, something unexpected, but it felt right.
The spell was broken when Riku emerged from his room, his face flushed, his hair was messy. He was limping.
Shigaraki and I exchanged confused glances. Akira and Rya burst into laughter, their eyes dancing with mischief.
"Hira must have come over through the window," Akira giggled.
Shigaraki's face paled. "He did what?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Teenagers," I mumbled.
Leaving Shigaraki to deal with the fallout of his son's nocturnal adventures, I decided to check on Takiro. I knocked on the door of the spare guest room, then cautiously peeked inside.
The sight that greeted me sent a jolt of shock through my system. Athema was straddling Takiro, her hands tangled in his white hair, their lips locked in a passionate embrace.
I quickly averted my gaze, backing out of the room. I didn't need to see any more. Teenage hormones were alive and well.
Back in the living room, I collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in my hands. The weight of everything threatened to crush me: the lies, the secrets, the constant fear of exposure.
"Everything alright, Dabi?" Shigaraki asked, his voice laced with concern.
I forced a smile. "Just a long day," I replied. "Too much stress for an old man."
He chuckled, pulling me closer. "You're not old," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of my makeshift family, I allowed myself a brief moment of peace. But even as I closed my eyes, I knew that the fragile happiness we had created was built on a foundation of sand, ready to crumble at any moment. The past was always lurking, threatening to drag us all down into the darkness. And I, Dabi, the villain-turned-assassin-turned-father, was the one standing guard, desperately trying to hold it all together. My kids didn't deserve the life I lived and I refused to put them through the pain of that.