You live on the outskirts of a town near Slender Woods. It's about the only place where you can hide you power to create and control fire. You put on shows weekend nights for tourists at the same bare you work at on weeknights.
You're setting up the stage, putting a protective covering on the wooden floor and walls before erecting your pole. You had a history of exotic dancing, albeit a short one thanks to you setting the stage on fire in your first year. In loo of that, you found a plaster that protects well against your fire. Now you work alone and put on less slutty shows for tourists. During the day, when the bar is part-restaurant and let's in whole families, your shows are extremely PG13, at night you change your clothes for the late-night patrons looking for a real show.
A family comes in. Two mothers with a son and daughter. The little boy comes over. "What's all that clear stuff you've got over everything?" He asks loudly. You think he's about seven.
You smile and bend down, opening your hand, palm-up and say "For this." A small flame appears there, no bigger than one belonging to a candle.
Shock and aw spread across his face in seconds. "Can I touch it?" He asks you.
You laugh. "No. It's still real fire and still dangerous." You extinguish the flames and return to your preparations.
An hour is so later and your first show is over. The little boy from earlier comes back over with his sister.
"You're really pretty miss! How do you make that fire?" She asks.
You smile an kneel down to their level again. Other children crowd around. "I am part of a very special group of people called Metahumans. There aren't very many of us, but we all have a special something. I can control fire. It's part of me." You explain as you spread your hand again, lighting a slightly larger flame from before your show.
All the children gasp, giggle and then run back to their parents. It's the same every night. You don't mind. You love spreading the word about your kind, hoping people will be less hateful in the future. A few adults come over to give thanks for the show and other similar formalities before leaving. It's almost time for your other kind of shows.
In a few hours your spinning on your pole, slick with sweat as fire dances all around you. You hair swishes, your toned muscles flex with every movement. You drop, making your ass fluctuate before slowly coming up again, your waist rotating. You do other flattering movements, making the feminine parts of your body more welcoming.
Hours later and it's your last show. One man sits at the bar and watches you prepare. He's been there since your first show for the kids. He has the exact same drink in his hand. Red wine. He has messy brown hair, but in a cute way. His shirt is a light blue, his jeans dark blue with grey tennis shoes on. His eyes, however, catch your attention. They haven't left yours. They're solid white, almost glowing. Something about him is familiar, but you can't quite place it.
Your final show ends as you twirl around your pole, bringing your flames in a tight ball of blue light before exploding it into the room, careful to keep it contained and high enough nobody gets burned. You pack everything up, dismissing the drunk, horny guys that come up to hit on you ass as always.
You're about to walk out when the man with white eyes holds open the door for you. "Ladies first." He doesn't sound drunk and he has manners. Interesting. You nod and thank him and walk out into the cool autumn evening air. He calls, "It's a chilly night. Would you like a ride home, (y/n)?"
You freeze at your name. Turning on him and ask "How do you know my name?"
He smiles and walks closer. "I've been watching you for a fair amount of time now. You're fire is beautiful." He wraps a hand around your waist and pulls you to him.
