Chapter Text
The first time you meet him, you are certainly not at your best.
You’re half asleep behind the register at the part time job you hate. You would call in sick, maybe even quit, but your family isn’t made of money and it’s important that you contribute to your college expenses. Even if it means dealing with customers after pulling an unexpected all nighter because you’d forgotten about a report due today.
You look like shit, but he doesn’t look much better as you greet him half-heartedly.
He’s wearing a white t-shirt about eight sizes too big for him and it’s littered with tears and dirt. He looks like he’s pulled a lifetime of all nighters, judging by the horrifying dark circles below his sunken eyes. His hair is a straw-like blonde mess and he’s practically a reanimated skeleton.
You try not to stare too much as you ring up a 3-pack of generic brand white undershirts. You shouldn’t judge. It probably has something to do with his quirk.
He fishes a wallet out of his tent-like pants, hands you a couple bills, and says, “Are you alright?”
You’re a little taken aback as you fish his change out of the register. He didn’t seem like the chatty type, and you’re a little ashamed that he’s the one being cordial when technically it’s your job to be nice to him. “I’m fine. How are you?”
His mouth is a hard line as he accepts his change. “You seem tired,” he continues, ignoring your question. “Please take care of yourself.” He collects his purchase and turns to leave. “This probably isn’t your ideal job, but keep your head up.”
You watch him leave, vaguely befuddled. What a weird thing for a stranger to say.
Surprisingly, though, you do feel a little better and you stand a little straighter for the rest of your shift.
The second time you meet him, you don’t know it’s him.
But you definitely recognize him.
There’s some kind of commotion in the middle of the shopping area, and normally you would stop to check it out, but you’re more interested in getting your shopping done. For once, finally, you have a little bit of spending money and you fully intend to use it so that you’re not the worst-dressed person on your college campus anymore.
You can kind of see two blonde tufts of hair poking above everyone else as you shuffle through the crowd. It’s thinning out a little, but you get caught behind a group of slow-moving teens. You clench the coffee you bought – at, like, a real café! – and try not to be too impatient.
A massive body bumps into you from behind. It’s not with a lot of force, clearly unintentional, but whoever it is has enough mass to jostle you and you drop your coffee. It splatters all over the pavement and onto your shoes.
“Fuck!” you exclaim. You bend down to pick up the cup, because it’s bad to litter.
You turn around to see who bumped into you, and you’re met with a booming voice and a giant, dazzling smile.
“MY APOLOGIES!” shouts a hero, your hero, everyone’s hero. You’ve never seen him in person before and by god, he’s even bigger and shines even brighter than you’d expect. All Might is huge in every possible way.
Immediately, you apologize, bending over a little and babbling.
He laughs, a big, booming chuckle. “It’s my fault!” he insists. “I wasn’t looking!” He points at the now empty cup in your hands. “Let me buy you another!”
“You don’t need to do that,” you say, but he just grins a little bigger and slaps you on the back so hard that you nearly drop the cup again.
“I INSIST!” he announces. The huge hand is still on your back, pushing you towards a nearby coffee shop.
Everyone stares, even people who weren’t in the crowd around him before. A few people follow the two of you, obviously interested. A couple people snap pics with their phones. It’s mortifying. He’s doing it to protect his nice guy image, you assume, but you really, really wish he wouldn’t. Your photo is definitely going to be on the internet later, with hundreds of people speculating who you are, what’s your relation to a famous hero, digging into your private life…
Horrifying. Too bad you’re too much of a spineless wimp to speak up to a top hero.
Thankfully, only one person actually follows you into the store. You’re frozen stiff, only walking because if you didn’t then All Might would simply scoot you along instead.
You pause to drop the empty cup into the trash by the door before joining him in line.
“What kind of drink did you have?” he asks, smiling down at you.
“J-just a regular coffee.” It wasn’t just a regular coffee. It was a very expensive blended drink, with whipped cream, practically a milkshake.
He raises his eyebrows just a hair higher. He knows, and you know he knows, and you break out into a cold sweat.
He orders you a ridiculously over-sweetened, expensive drink. The barista has to ask what flavor of syrup you want and you wish you could disappear. You can’t fathom a man this important and famous doing something like this for you while people watch.
You swear to god his muscles ripple when he takes the drink from the barista and hands it to you. He’s still grinning, almost mindlessly, like he has no idea what kind of trauma he’s putting you through.
He starts to ask you a question. “Are you a student?” he asks, with genuine interest.
You thank him, loudly and hurriedly, and then you bolt.
You see him, sometimes, that skinny skeleton of a man.
He doesn’t say much, only rarely offers words of encouragement like he did the first time he came to your store. He always buys the same thing – a 3-pack of white shirts, sized far too large – and he’s always wearing something all ripped up. It’s definitely because of his quirk, you decide, whatever it is. You feel a little sorry for him for having such an inconvenient power.
He likes to ask you questions, little things about what school you go to, what are you studying, where are you from. He seems to brighten a little when you say you’re from the United States.
It’s even more rare that he smiles, but when he does, you’re surprised at how much it warms you. The corners of his thin lips turn up just a little and it’s like a sunbeam is shining out of his face.
Nearly a year passes of him coming to this store, once or twice a month, with you slipping him little pieces of information about yourself.
Then you graduate, you get an office job, and you quit your job as a clerk. You don’t miss the store itself, but you feel a little twinge of nostalgia whenever you pass it, and you think of him.
Toshinori Yagi does not often indulge himself by looking at All Might fansites.
He certainly doesn’t dislike his fans, but as time passed he saw his place as a popular hero as strictly a thing of duty. Besides, hunching over his laptop and scrolling through the internet has never really been what he considers a leisure activity.
But occasionally, on a particularly bad day, he might look at one of the hero-centric forums. He pointedly ignores any that feature negative comments heavily, instead selecting from one of four sites he has bookmarked, as they’re known for being positive online community centers.
He worries that he’s being creepy by scanning the message boards for one username in particular. It’s not like he’s ever googled the name, and he doesn’t even know their real last name. He only knows their first name because he’s seen it on their nametag at work so often - though, he’s pretty sure they don’t work there anymore. He knows it’s unusual for a hero to have this sort of attachment to a fan.
He finds a post with their username attached. It’s old, from months ago, from before he was revealed to the world as a shell of the hero he once was.
“All Might bought me coffee once,” says the post. “He bumped into me in a crowd and made me drop the one I was drinking and insisted on replacing it. At the time, I was really embarrassed because everyone was staring, but I look back on it really fondly now. Not a lot of heroes would do that. I think in times like this, having a hero that thinks about little things like that and treats you like an equal is more inspirational than a figurehead you look at from afar. I admire him, but I think he focuses too much on being a figure now…”
Toshinori leans back in his chair and looks out of the window of his room onto the new campus grounds of UA. He would wonder if he made a mistake, wasting the remains of his power the way that he did before the last of One for All drained out of him. He would scrutinize the minutia of his every action, but he feels he’s done that enough already.
He’s not a hero anymore. He’s fragile. Now he’s the kind of man that needs to be saved from falling rocks by his own students.
He tells himself he’s moving on as he types the familiar username into his internet browser’s search bar.