Counting Drops

The rooftop was her place. Not a sanctuary—that word made it sound peaceful, and this was anything but. This was where the rain found her first, where the wind cut through her hoodie like she wasn't even there. Teka sat on the edge, legs dangling over a drop that'd kill anyone normal. The city below looked like a circuit board made of neon and shadow, wet pavement reflecting signs in smears of red and blue. She let the mist settle on her skin, cold and patient, and tried to forget what she'd seen that afternoon.

A villain with some Quirk that snapped bones like twigs had recognized her. Not as a hero. Not even as Todoroki's kid. No—as a woman. Prey. His eyes had lingered on the curve of her hip under her suit, the way her hair spilled out from her mask. She'd frozen for half a second too long before torching his arm with a blast of fire. “Pretty thing like you shouldn't be fighting.” She'd wanted to burn that tongue right out of his mouth.

But she didn't. Left him for the police and came here, to the one place nobody could see her shake.

Her fingers found the scar on her wrist—thin, pale, almost gone now. Two years ago it was fresh, and she was still Shoto Todoroki, a boy in a body that felt like a cage. The suicide attempt was quiet. Clinical. A bathtub, a blade, and that cold certainty that death was the only door left. But Endeavor had found her. Her father. The man who'd made her life a hell of training and expectations pulled her from the water, blood staining his hands, and for the first time in her memory, he'd wept.

“I'll help you,” he said, voice raw. “Whatever you need. I'll fix it.”

She didn't believe him. But he kept his word. A year of therapy, hormone treatments, a name she chose herself—Teka—and a body that finally felt like hers. She became a hero, climbed the ranks, and still the world looked at her like something to be claimed. Villains wanted her because she was beautiful. Her father's colleagues treated her with brittle politeness that barely hid their discomfort. And the one person who'd ever made her feel seen without wanting something from her was a villain.

Dabi.

She didn't know when it started. Maybe that first encounter, when he'd appeared out of a plume of blue fire, stitches pulling at his jaw, eyes like cracked glass. He'd called her Todoroki with a sneer, but there was weight to it—a recognition that went beyond Quirks. Later, in the chaos of battle, she'd caught him watching her with an intensity that made her chest ache. He was broken. Dangerous. Utterly unafraid of the fire she wielded. Everything her father hated.

And she wanted him. Wanted him with a desperation that shamed her.

Teka pulled her knees up to her chest, her worn hoodie and jeans damp from humidity. The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the air was still heavy, thick as a held breath. Somewhere below, a siren wailed and faded. She closed her eyes and let herself imagine dropping into the darkness, letting gravity take her. But she didn't move. She was done running from herself.

A flicker of blue light caught her eye.

Her heart lurched. Down in the alley three blocks east, a figure emerged from a shadow that had no business being there. Tall, gaunt, black hair hanging like curtains around a ruined face. Dabi. Moving with that loping, careless stride, hands in his coat pockets, chain on his belt catching the neon glow. He hadn't seen her. Never looked up.

Teka didn't think. She was off the rooftop before her mind caught up, sliding down a fire escape, landing silent and low. She followed him through the backstreets, keeping to shadows, her Quirk humming under her skin like a second heartbeat. He was heading toward the old industrial district, where factories stood empty and streets were dark. She should've called for backup. Should've remembered he was a villain. But her feet kept moving, driven by a need she couldn't name.

He stopped in a courtyard between two crumbling buildings. A single lamppost cast a pool of sickly yellow light on cracked asphalt. He turned, and she froze, pressed against a wall, breath held.

“You're not very good at this, are you?” His voice was low, rasping, with that sardonic edge that made her stomach flip. “I could hear you from three blocks away. Heavy footsteps. Bad technique.”

She stepped out into the light, chin lifted. “Maybe I wanted you to hear me.”

He laughed, dry and humorless. “Stalking villains now, little Todoroki? That's not very hero-like.”

“I'm not here as a hero.”

His mismatched eyes—one blue, one turquoise—narrowed. The stitches on his jaw pulled tight as he tilted his head. “Then what are you here as?”

She'd rehearsed this a hundred times. In her fantasies, she was smooth, confident—a woman of fire and desire who could confess without trembling. But the reality was her hands shaking at her sides, her voice cracking when she spoke.

“I don't know what this is,” she said, stepping closer. “I don't know why I can't stop thinking about you. You're a villain. You've killed people. You—you tried to kill my classmates.” She swallowed. “But when I see you, I don't see a monster. I see someone who's been burned the way I have. Someone who's angry. Someone who understands what it's like to hate your own blood.”

He went still. The mocking tilt of his mouth flattened into a line. “You don't know anything about me.”

“Then show me.”

The silence stretched. Rain began to fall again, soft at first, then harder, turning the lamplight into a haze of gold. Dabi stood motionless, rain streaming down his face, washing the grime from his scars. For a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. Then he laughed again, but this time it was different—softer, almost sad.

“You're a fool,” he said. “A beautiful fool. That's a dangerous combination.”

Her heart stuttered. Beautiful. He called her beautiful. She took another step, close enough to see the individual staples that held his skin together, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “I don't care if it's dangerous. I care about you.”

He caught her wrist before she could touch his face. His grip was firm, but not painful. He looked down at her, expression unreadable, then his gaze dropped to the scar on her wrist—the one she tried to hide. His thumb brushed over it, featherlight.

“You tried to end it,” he said. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“Because of your father.”

“Because of everything. Because I was trapped in a body that felt like a lie. Because the only person who ever loved me—my mother—couldn't look at me without seeing him.” She pulled her hand free, tears mixing with rain on her cheeks. “But I'm not that person anymore. I'm Teka now. And I want to live. I want to live for something real.”

He looked at her for a long moment. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and for an instant, she saw a ghost behind his eyes—a younger face, brighter, untouched by fire.

“You're right that I understand,” he said quietly. “More than you know. But this—what you're feeling—you need to stop it. You need to walk away.”

“Why?”

He reached up and pulled the collar of his coat down, exposing the full extent of the scarring that crawled up his neck and onto his jaw. The skin was a patchwork of grafted tissue and burns—some old and gray, others newer and pink. He met her eyes, and his voice dropped to a whisper that cut through the rain.

“Because I'm not just some villain, Teka. I'm your brother.”

The world tilted. She staggered back, shaking her head, denial already forming on her lips. “No. That's impossible. My brother Touya died. He—” She stopped. The blue fire. The recklessness. The way he'd always looked at her father with a hatred too personal, too old.

“He didn't die,” Dabi said. He held out his hand, palm up, and let blue flames dance across his fingers. “He burned. He burned for hours, and he crawled out of the ashes, and he became this. I spent years rebuilding myself, piece by piece, planning my revenge. And then I found out Endeavor had a new favorite. A new son. A son with fire like mine.”

“I'm not his favorite,” she whispered. “I'm not—I was never—”

“You were. You are. He helped you transition, gave you a new name, new body. He gave you everything he never gave me.” Dabi's voice cracked, and he turned away, shoulders rigid. “When I saw you fighting, I thought I hated you. I thought you took my place. But you're just another victim of his ambition. Another broken child he tried to mold.”

Teka's legs gave out. She sank to her knees on the wet asphalt, the cold seeping through her jeans. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments. Touya. The eldest son. The prodigy whose flames had burned too hot, who'd been consumed in a training accident Endeavor never spoke about. She'd grown up hearing the name in whispers, a ghost that haunted the Todoroki household. And now that ghost was standing in front of her, alive and scarred and utterly unreachable.

“I confessed to you,” she said, voice hollow. “I told you I cared about you. That I—” The word love stuck in her throat like broken glass.

“I know.” He didn't turn around. “And I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner. But I didn't know how. I didn't know if you'd believe me.”

“What do I do now?” She looked up at him, rain soaking her hair, tears invisible in the downpour. “What am I supposed to feel?”

He finally turned, and the expression on his face was raw, stripped of all pretense. He knelt in front of her, bringing himself to her level, and gently touched her cheek. His hand was warm, despite the rain.

“Hate me,” he said softly. “Be disgusted. That's what I deserve. I'm a monster, Teka. But you—you're not. You're the only good thing Endeavor ever made, and I won't let him ruin you too. So hate me, and move on. Be a hero. Find someone who can love you the way you deserve.”

She shook her head, a sob tearing from her throat. “I can't. I can't hate you. I don't know how.”

He smiled, and it was the saddest thing she'd ever seen. “Then keep my secret. For now. I have work to do. I have a war to finish. And you have a life to live.” He stood, pulling his coat tighter around himself. “Goodbye, little sister.”

He turned and walked away, footsteps splashing in puddles. She watched him go, her chest a hollow cavern of grief and confusion. She wanted to call after him, to beg him to stay, to explain everything. But no words came. She was frozen, trapped in the nightmare of her own heart.

When he disappeared into the dark between the buildings, she let herself fall forward onto her hands, the asphalt scraping her palms. The rain continued to fall, washing away nothing.

She stayed there a long time, counting drops, feeling the cold seep into her bones. Eventually, she forced herself to stand. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—her father, probably, wondering where she was. She silenced it without looking.

The truth was a weight she'd have to carry now. Her brother was a villain. Her father's sins had created them both. And the love she'd felt—that twisted, desperate love—was a ghost she'd have to bury alongside the girl she used to be.

Teka turned her face to the sky and let the rain kiss her cheeks. One tear slipped down, hot against the cold, and she let it fall.

Then she walked home, alone, through the neon-lit streets of a city that had no idea what it was built on.