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Mirio never cried, at least not while anyone could see. That was the greatest lesson he took from following All Might’s career: always smile, never let them see you upset. If you frown, then that means you’ve lost control of the fight. If the hero keeps smiling, then that means everything will be alright. That was what it meant to be the Symbol of Peace.
So Mirio always smiled, he kept optimistic. He strived to, as Tamaki repeatedly put it, “shine as brightly as the sun”.
It was hard to look on the bright side when it felt like a big part of you was missing. It wasn’t like a hole in his body, per say, just like an absence. A loss. He lost his Quirk, permanently, as far as anyone could tell. They were still running tests on the drugs, seeing if there were any ways to reverse them, but so far, nothing. Most days he could busy himself. He could never forget the lack, but sometimes he could distract himself. Taking care of Eri helped. Knowing he helped her made the loss worth it. After graduation, he and Tamaki moved to Kansai together, and those days were so busy he didn’t have time to think about anything but the move, let alone feel sorry for himself.
But now Tamaki was a Pro Hero. He worked most days and left Mirio alone. Mirio could try to keep himself occupied but sometimes, his thoughts won out. He remembered how hard he worked to master his Quirk and become someone worthy of the name, “Hero”. He drove himself to exhaustion. He relied on Tamaki more than he should have. He did his best, and yet—
And yet here he was, empty.
On those days, when his energy waned and he couldn’t find the motivation to get out of bed, he cried. He was allowed to feel sorry for himself, part of him figured.
His phone buzzed. It nearly took all his effort to extend his arm and grab it from the nightstand. Blinking against the glaring light in his dark room, he checked the new message.
Tamaki <3: Quiet day. Bored.
Another incoming text.
Tamaki <3: Have you woken up yet? You don’t usually sleep so late. How are you feeling?
Another onslaught of hot tears threatened to fall. He didn’t deserve Tamaki. Tamaki deserved someone who could stand beside him, proud and brilliant. Like I was supposed to be, he thought.
Me: I’m fine
Tamaki <3: You sure? I can stop by during my lunch break.
Mirio could almost see Tamaki fretting on the other side of the city, his anxiety rising because he somehow thought Mirio was mad at him. He’d yet to internalize that Mirio could never be mad at him. Mirio wasn’t sure Tamaki was physically capable of doing something he’d be angry about.
Me: Don’t worry about me!! I feel great. Just miss you lots <3 <3
That would make Tamaki blush. Mirio only wished he felt well enough to smile about it. He could fake it over text messages, but if Tamaki came home, or even called him, he would tell in seconds that Mirio was not alright.
Tamaki <3: If you say so
Me: See you later. Luv u
A long moment passed before his phone buzzed again.
Tamaki <3: I love you too
No more texts came in, so Mirio let his phone fall on the opposite side of the bed. He should have been hungry, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy.
Time passed. He had no recollection of it, just the flowing waves of despair and numbness. Tears fell and receded like tides, only to return again. His thoughts buzzed as stinging hornets.
Not good enough.
Failure.
Didn’t try hard enough.
What use are you now?
You could be doing something but you’re just sitting here, wallowing.
You let them down.
What’s going to happen to all those million people you were going to save?
A million? You barely saved one.
What happens when Tamaki meets a better hero than you?
You let Sir Nighteye die.
Your parents are disappointed.
Tamaki regrets you.
You failed.
You shouldn’t have been born.
You let him die.
He hiccupped, and another sob threatened to escape but his eyes felt dry. His body was finally too dehydrated for tears to fall.
Mirio started when he realized Tamaki was in the room. The other man set down a glass of water and, wordlessly, lay in bed with Mirio. He stretched his firm, lean body out, half-laying on top of Mirio, and tucked his face against his neck.
“It’s okay to cry,” Tamaki murmured, lips pressed to his skin.
Mirio didn’t want to cry in front of Tamaki of all people, but a more logical part of him conversely knew that Tamaki was the only one who wouldn’t judge him for it.
Tamaki’s arm wrapped around his chest and squeezed. “I came home early. You didn’t seem alright this morning.”
“I’m not alright,” Mirio admitted.
Tamaki nodded. “I know.” He tangled their legs together. “Do you want to talk?” It was the same offer Mirio made whenever Tamaki had anxiety attacks. He could talk if he wanted, spill every little thing bothering him out to a loving, listening ear without fear of being judged. Or it was an offer to wait it out in silence together, held and cherished.
When Mirio didn’t answer right away, Tamaki settled in, content to just lie there if needed.
After a few minutes in silence, Mirio whispered, “It’s gone.”
Tamaki nodded and moved his hand, absentmindedly running it back and forth along the curve of Mirio’s lower ribs.
“I’m nothing.”
“You’re more than your quirk.”
“I can’t save anyone.”
Tamaki rose up onto his elbow to look Mirio in the eyes. “You saved Eri.” He smiled ruefully. “You keep on saving me.” His face became somber again. “Can’t we be enough?”
They could. They were. Eri loved Mirio and looked up to him. The fact that she could smile now, that she could finally sleep through an entire night without nightmares, was because of him. Tamaki was everything to him, his whole world wrapped up in a shy smile and brightness greater than the sun. “You are.” He brought a hand up to wipe at the dry crusting at his tear ducts. “I’m sorry. This is probably going to happen sometimes.”
Laughing, Tamaki replied, “I’d be a hypocrite if I complained. Be upset. Be depressed. Feel what you feel. We’ll ride it out together.”
Tamaki still hovered above Mirio. The blond man tapped him on the nose and rest is hand on the back of Tamaki’s neck. “I love you.” A small, hesitant smile was his reply and Mirio’s heart leapt.
Leaning down slowly, Tamaki kissed the corner of Mirio’s mouth. “I love you, too,” he whispered against his lips before pressing them together. As Mirio deepened the kiss, his insides settled. He had lost his quirk, but that wasn’t the only thing that mattered in life. He had gained something that occupied a different space inside him. He may have lost his original purpose but he’d strive to gain a new one. And with Tamaki’s support, he would be able to stand again.