Chapter Text
The first time Izuku meets the man with the sleepy eyes and kind smile, he doesn’t think much of it.
They’re in the park, Kacchan leading the way through their usual playful activities. In their hands, the All Might action figures come to life, slicing through the air as if the hero is really there, manifested through the imaginations of two enthusiastic three-year-olds.
Their mothers sit on a bench nearby, chatting amicably and subtly keeping an eye on their sons.
Izuku feels like he has everything in the world here, with his mom and his best friend and his All Might action figure by his side. He feels like he could leap into the air at any moment, so elated and high on adrenaline he could burst.
Kacchan’s laughter echoes in his ears. As Izuku turns his head to look at the other boy, he misjudges where he’s stepping. With a twist in his ankle that’s so sudden he’s more startled than hurt, he stumbles. Crashes to the ground, scraping up his knees in the process.
He doesn’t make a sound, even though he can feel the stinging sensation in his legs. Kacchan hasn’t noticed yet, still laughing a few feet away, absorbed with his own action figure. When he looks at his mother, it seems she’s deeply involved in conversation with Aunt Mitsuki, and hasn’t noticed either.
Izuku can’t decide what to do. He thinks he should be crying in pain by now, like other boys his age would. But then again, Kacchan said the last time Izuku hurt himself that big boys didn’t cry, and heroes certainly never did, either.
“Are you okay, yoi?”
Izuku whips his head around. So absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the man approaching until he’d spoken.
The man has blond hair, styled so that he vaguely looks like a pineapple. His eyes are kind yet sleepy, and his voice holds an accent that sounds odd.
“I—“ Izuku stops, looks back at his mother. He’s not supposed to talk to strangers.
Sleepy man seems to understand, because he smiles a bit and follows Izuku’s gaze. “It’s alright. I just want to help, yoi.”
And he does seem like he wants to. Izuku can’t sense anything bad about him, just that he really is only a kind stranger who saw Izuku fall.
“I-I’m okay,” He says, small and shy. “I’m a big boy, you know.”
“I’m sure you are,” Sleepy man says, amusement bleeding into his voice. “But even big boys can get hurt. And it’s alright for them to cry if they get hurt, too.”
“B-But heroes don’t cry!” Izuku protests. All Might would never cry.
Sleepy man hums. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” He shifts Izuku so that he’s sitting on his bum instead of his knees, putting his hands over the new scrapes that are surely there. “I’m a doctor, you see. Even a lot of pro heroes cry when they come into my office with ouchies that need help, yoi.”
Izuku’s eyes are wide as he stares at the blond. “Really?” He asks. The man’s hands are so gentle on him that he barely even notices.
“Of course,” Sleepy man affirms. “So if pro heroes are allowed to cry, you should be, too, right?”
And just like that, Izuku feels his tears welling up at those kind words. He nods wordlessly, lip wobbling. Sleepy man looks at him fondly, removing his hands from Izuku’s knees.
“You should go tell your mom you fell, okay? A mother’s hugs and kisses are the best kind of treatment for ouchies.”
Without replying, Izuku does as he’s told, getting up from the ground to race over to his mother. Midoriya Inko is immediately worried, and does exactly what Izuku wants her to when she reaches down and cuddles him into her body. He stays there for awhile, happy for the comfort and thinking about the sleepy man’s words.
When he looks over, the sleepy man is gone.
(It isn’t until later, when he gets home, that he looks down and realizes that the scratches on his legs are completely gone, too. As if they were never there.)
—————————————
The second time Izuku meets him is in the middle of a villain attack. He’s eight.
Their eyes meet between one moment and the next, as Izuku looks up from the journal he’s jotting notes in, analyzing the fight. Izuku does a double take, and watches as the sleepy man does the same.
Sleepy man’s eyes widen with recognition as Izuku holds his gaze, pencil hanging loosely between his fingers. Then, the man shifts, making his way to the younger boy’s side. His hands are stuffed into the trenchcoat’s pockets, seemingly nonchalant as he comes to a halt and looks Izuku up and down.
“You’ve grown, yoi.”
Izuku can’t come up with a response immediately. Such an odd greeting.
The sleepy man raises an eyebrow when he receives no response but a blank stare. His lips quirk up into a tiny smile.
Finally, Izuku shakes himself.
“I—Yes, it’s been awhile, um...?” He still doesn’t know the man’s name. He never had a chance nor desire to before, when he’d only been a small child, without the weight of society on his shoulders. His mother had been baffled at the time, when Izuku recounted the strange man who had helped him regain some spirit.
“Marco.”
A foreign name? That explains the accent.
“Marco-san,” Izuku says, testing the name on his lips. It’s an awkward pronunciation, for sure. “I never got the chance, before. To t-thank you, I mean.”
“Whatever for?”
“For—“ Except. Izuku doesn’t really know, does he? Maybe Marco is playing the fool for a reason. Such an ability, if Izuku’s theory is correct...
Well, it would certainly be sought after. A lot of attention would be brought to it.
“For cheering me up,” He finally settles on. Marco’s eyes hold a spark of amusement and knowing in them, as he nods.
“It was no problem. Though, I wouldn’t exactly have called it cheering you up, yoi.”
Izuku laughs quietly, to avoid drawing attention to himself in the crowd. The fight is still going after all.
“So. You like to watch hero fights, yoi?” Marco asks, changing the subject abruptly.
Izuku nods eagerly, eyes returning to watch the fight in its last dregs. He’d missed most of it, so he hadn’t been able to analyze properly, but he’d gotten enough. The villain had been relatively low-level, if there was such a thing, and as such not much of a challenge for the rookie hero that’d shown up on the scene.
“Yeah,” Izuku says. “I like to analyze their quirks.” He doesn’t realize he admitted that until Marco chuckles. Izuku backpedals quickly, hands flailing. “I-I mean—!”
“Don’t worry about it, kid. I won’t tell anyone,” Izuku sighs with relief, but quickly flushes again as Marco grabs the wrist of the hand holding his notebook, bending the blond head to look at the cover.
“‘For the future’, huh?” Izuku quickly hides the notebook behind his back, looking away. The embarrassment is quickly becoming an ugly feeling of shame in his gut. “Do you want to be a hero?”
Marco’s curiosity is just that, and Izuku can’t make out anything else in the man’s voice about his thoughts.
“I—yes!” Izuku says, firmly. He still hasn’t looked at Marco. “But...well...”
“But, what?”
“I...don’t have a quirk.” The shame threatens to consume him, hopelessness clawing at his insides. He knows. He just knows that this will turn out like all the others. That he’ll be told that it’s impossible, that you can’t be a hero without a quirk. And reality will come crashing down on his head once again.
There’s silence for a moment. And then,
“So?”
Izuku’s head snaps up. What...?
“So, you don’t have a quirk? And? Is there a problem with that, yoi?”
No way. No way this is really happening. Izuku feels frozen to the spot, staring wide-eyed at Marco.
“I-I can’t be a hero without a quirk!” Izuku parrots back all the things he’s been told, even though his very soul seems to protest the idea. He can feel hope blooming in his chest. Dangerous, tortuous hope.
“Bullshit.” Marco spits the word, doesn’t look at bit chagrined at swearing in front of a kid. “Who says you need a quirk to be a hero?”
“But...” Izuku feels shaken. Never had he ever thought he’d be hearing these words. Not since he was four and everyone around him had given up and he’d been plunged into ice-cold despair.
“If you put your all into it, kid, then I believe it’s possible. You can be a hero, yoi.”
Tears well up in his eyes. Twice now, Marco has been kind to him for no reason at all, has given him hope. Izuku clutches his journal to his chest tightly with one arm, reaching up with the other to wipe at his eyes. Marco stands patiently, and when Izuku looks up he sees the soft smile on the man’s lips.
“T-t-thank y-you!” People are dispersing from the crowd now, the villain having been caught, and some spare odd looks at them as Izuku bows deeply.
A hand settles on his hair, ruffling fondly, and he hears Marco chuckle.
“No problem, yoi.”
The hand retreats, and by the time Izuku looks up again, Marco is gone.
———————————
He doesn’t see Marco again for another seven years. That second encounter stays with him, though. Even when everyone else says it’s impossible, Izuku has never given up, keeps hearing Marco’s words in his head.
Time goes by, he gets attacked, meets All Might, trains until his limbs feel like they might fall off, and gets accepted to the most prestigious hero program in Japan.
Oh, and he gets a quirk.
He feels like he’s cheating a little, maybe betraying Marco’s faith like this even, but the quirk definitely doesn’t hurt (well, it does hurt physically actually, but that’s another matter) when he’s trying to become a hero.
The third time he meets Marco is when Aizawa-sensei introduces a quirk specialist to the class, and it just so happens that in walks the kind blond.
Izuku sucks in a surprised breath.
“This is Marco Newgate, a close friend of mine who specializes in analyzing and developing quirks,” Aizawa says, tone bored but body language friendly as he and Marco smile fondly at each other. “Each of you will have a session with him, alone, where you discuss the strengths and weaknesses of your quirks that you already know, as well as your general quirk family history.”
From across the room, Marco locks eyes with Izuku, just like they did with the villain attack encounter. His eyes widen again, most likely startled, and then look so fiercely proud that Izuku grins broadly back at him.
One by one, Izuku watches as his classmates are pulled out into sessions with Marco throughout the day. His nerves spike, going through explanations for the quirk Marco didn’t think he had, and eventually settles with the late-bloomer excuse.
When he’s finally alone with the man, however, the words don’t even get to leave his mouth.
“It was Toshinori, wasn’t it, yoi?”
Izuku’s mouth drops open, all thought processes screeching to a halt.
Marco smirks knowingly at him. “Toshinori and I have been friends for a long time. I knew the moment I saw your picture in the files, registered to a quirk. No one manifests so late in life.”
Suddenly, all Izuku can feel is hot shame. “I—I’m sorry, Marco-san,” he says, but before he can look away, Marco puts a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
“Why are you apologizing, Midoriya?” It’s weird hearing his name like that, spoken in such a fond tone, and it’s then that Izuku realizes he never actually told Marco his name. That he left the man to find out from a school record. Even more guilt rises.
“I couldn’t become a hero without a quirk, like you believed in me to do,” Izuku whispers, the admission like something physically painful as it leaves his lips.
“No, but Toshinori chose you to inherit his quirk for a reason, yoi. That you didn’t have one might have been part of it, but becoming a hero isn’t all about quirks, you know.”
Izuku’s brow furrows. “So the reason you told me I didn’t need a quirk was because...?”
“You have the spirit, yoi. Ever since we met, I could tell.”
Breath whooshes out of Izuku in relief. Relief that Marco isn’t angry, perhaps, but also that his words weren’t just empty promises that day.
Then, something pops into Izuku’s mind out of nowhere.
“Marco-san, I thought you were a doctor.”
The man twitches, and drops his hand from Izuku’s shoulder. A deep sigh as he sits in a chair across from Izuku in the small room allocated for the purpose of his interviews.
“I used to be, yoi,” He says cryptically. Izuku blinks. “A very long time ago.” Marco’s expression is almost indecipherable, but what is visible is clearly something painful, so Izuku decides not to push too much.
Too much.
“Is it why you believe people can be heroes without quirks?” Curiosity overcomes him, wanting to know more behind this man, the story behind the pain in those eyes as they flick back to him.
“You’re quite perceptive, Midoriya. I like that, yoi.” Marco sighs again, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. “I already know about your quirk, so I suppose I can dip into my own story a bit. To answer your question, yes. I had friends without a quirk, and they proved very well that you don’t need one to be strong, yoi.”
“Had?”
Marco’s gaze drifts to the window, melancholy. “I lost them a long time ago, too.”
Ah, time to stop pushing.
“So, what can you tell me about my quirk, Marco-san?”
———————————
It’s on their fourth meeting, days after the sports festival and the whole Stain fiasco, that Izuku finally asks about Marco’s quirk. They’re sitting in a cafe together. Every meeting is by chance at this point, so Izuku isn’t too surprised to have encountered the man once again.
“It’s a healing type quirk, right?”
Marco hums, seemingly considering the question. “Of sorts, yoi.”
“Does it activate through physical contact? How severe an injury can it heal? Does it alleviate pain, too? What’s the drawback?” Izuku is in full analyzation mode.
Izuku notices the way Marco looks about the cafe, somewhat warily, and quickly lowers his voice.
“Can you apply it to yourself?”
Marco turns a serious gaze back on him. “I’ll tell you, yoi. But only because I trust you enough to keep this a secret.”
Izuku nods hurriedly, eyes widening. He already has one life-altering secret on his conscience, what’s another one?
“Only two people know my true quirk, besides you now, and one of them died more than thirty years ago, yoi.”
“Who is the other person?”
“Your mentor. Toshinori, yoi.”
Which means that this is a more closely guarded secret than even One For All. Izuku sucks in a surprised breath. For something to be so hidden, it’s highly likely that it could be used by others if discovered. And with his new knowledge of All For One, Izuku is wary.
“My quirk is called Phoenix, yoi,” Marco explains quietly, leaning in and away from any cameras that may be able to read his lips. “I can regenerate at will from any wound or illness, and even apply a small flame of rebirth to some else in order to accelerate their healing.”
Phoenix. Regeneration. That would make sense, for Marco to hide such a powerful quirk. Izuku shivers at what some people might do to take advantage of such a thing.
“I can also transform, but I haven’t done that in ages, yoi,” The corner of Marco’s mouth tilts up into a sardonic little grin. “Frankly, I’m out of practice.”
“Wow,” Izuku says breathlessly. “So you have two quirks, technically? A bird mutation quirk and a regenerative healing quirk.”
The blond nods, looking amused. “Yes. Though, officially I’m registered with a quirk that allows me to turn my feet into those of a large bird of prey, yoi.” Subtly, he demonstrates, motioning under the table. Izuku looks to see one large, blue taloned foot, similar to what one might observe on a falcon or eagle.
The sight is impressive enough even if Izuku hadn’t known the additional details of Marco’s quirk. The talons look extremely powerful, and Marco flexes them once before gradually returning his foot to its original form.
“Someday, I’ll show you my full quirk, yoi. And maybe we can have a good spar in the meantime.”
Izuku looks up at him in surprise. “You can fight, Marco-san?”
Marco smirks. Without helping it, Izuku feels a shiver go down his spine. Something sparks in that gaze. Something dangerous, and almost gleeful, like a creature waiting to be released. It disappears as quick as it came.
“You think Gran Torino and Shimura Nana are the only ones to have mentored your favorite teacher?” The blond winks. “Why do you think Toshinori is the only other person who knows my secret?”
All that follows that revelation are rapid-fire questions about the Number One Hero’s youth, secret quirk completely forgotten.
——————————
Izuku swallows nervously. The paper in his hand is crumpled and slightly damp from the sweat of his hands, as he looks back at it and then at the splintering door in front of him.
Filled with more questions than Marco had had time to answer on their last meeting, the older man had given Izuku his address, requesting that he come discreetly whenever he had the time. Which has led the green-haired teenager here, to this dirty apartment complex in the sketchier part of town, several eyes following him in his school uniform and brightly colored backpack as he traipses up the stairs to the top floor. If Izuku had known Marco less than he does now, this would’ve set off major alarms in the younger’s brain. All of his instincts are screaming at him to turn tail and retreat back into the safer part of town.
But Izuku trusts Marco. Knows that if he weren’t trustworthy, All Might would have never associated with the man, and he trusts his mentor’s instincts. He trusts his own as well, which is why he finally raises a hand to knock at the door.
A moment or two of silence ensues, before the door creaks open ominously and reveals one sleepy blue eye peaking out. The eye widens upon seeing Izuku, and the door opens wider to reveal Marco.
“Midoriya-kun,” Marco greets, obviously surprised. He looks behind Izuku, scanning, brow furrowed. “Did you come here alone?”
Izuku nods. Marco levels him with a stern look.
“This isn’t a safe neighborhood. Even if you’re an aspiring hero, it’s not good to wander around here alone, yoi.”
“I-I know! I just...erm...wanted to come see you again,” Izuku explains, thoroughly chagrined. Marco is right, as he usually is, in that he should have probably brought one of his friends along. “B-But I told Aizawa-sensei that I’d be going to meet you, at least.” It’s a flimsy excuse, and Izuku smiles sheepishly.
Marco sighs. “And if you’d told him you were coming to my home, he might have insisted on escorting you himself, yoi.”
Izuku looks away, flushing.
“But you’re here now, at least. Go ahead and come in, yoi.”
Still flushed, he follows Marco inside, slipping off his shoes at the front. The only other pair of slippers (that Marco himself isn’t wearing) are about six sizes too large, and he does his best not to trip over them as he makes his way further into the surprisingly neat apartment. Considering the rest of the neighborhood, the interior is very well-kept. It’s obviously an older building, and Marco seems to have kept those older touches as well as added a few more modern ones. It’s a nice contrast.
For a two-room apartment, there are still very little personal possessions scattered about, and Izuku furrows his brow as he considers the implications of that.
In the main room is a small couch, as well as a kitchenette, with the doors to what are presumably the restroom and bedrooms off to side. Marco opens one of the kitchenette cabinets, retrieving a well-loved kettle that he sets on the tiny stove-top after filling it with water.
It’s as Izuku stands there, in the middle of his apartment, looking around, that he notices the sketchbook sitting on the small table in front of the couch.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Izuku reaches down and picks it up to examine. And with barely a thought, he opens it.
He inhales sharply.
“I’m making some tea now, so you can make yourself comfortable, yoi,” Marco says from behind him, but he barely registers the words. He’s too busy paging through the sketchbook, his breath stolen by each drawing he comes across. He can at least tell that Marco has finally noticed what he’s doing, though, because all movement in the apartment ceases, and he hears a soft, “oh.”
Each page is a different caricature, strikingly realistic and unique. Some are drawn in ink, some only half-finished, and others are only bare outlines, but each one has obviously been drawn by a hand with intensive care. Izuku can only look, and appreciate each one.
As he reaches the last one, the only one done in color, Izuku feels his heart wrench. It’s so vivid. He can almost imagine how the freckled cheeks of the man in the drawing would crinkle in laughter, how his eyes would darken with anger. It feels like he’s looking at the man in person, and not on a sheet of paper.
Before he can turn to the end of the sketchbook, because he can feel a couple of loose papers stuffed in, a large hand covers the page. Izuku looks up.
Marco’s face is lined, tired, as he looks down at the drawing peaking beneath his fingers.
“I didn’t know you were an artist, Marco-san,” The teen says softly. Marco huffs out a strained laugh.
“I used to be. These are old sketches, yoi. I take them out sometimes to reminisce in my old age.” There’s a deep seated pain buried there, a grief Izuku is hesitant to draw out more of. He should’ve asked before he looked in the book, he realizes.
“Are these...your friends?” And there, that flash of pain again in Marco’s eyes. The blond sighs, taking the sketchbook from Izuku’s hands and settling on the couch. He pats the spot next to him as a sign for the teen to join him. He does.
Silence permeates the apartment for several moments, the tension making their pulses thrum beneath their skin.
Finally, Marco breaks it. “They...were more like my family than my friends, yoi. Nakama.” Marco says the word so reverently, Izuku feels even more like he’s intruding on something highly personal.
Izuku swallows. “What happened to them?”
“What happens to everybody eventually. Death, yoi,” Marco’s voice goes flat and numb. “Some, earlier than they were ready for.” A forefinger traces the sketch of the freckled man, as light as a feather and yet so obviously loving.
And that’s definitely grief in the man’s voice now.
“This...This is Ace,” Marco says, and the name chokes in his throat like even just saying it is too much. “Portgas D. Ace.”
Izuku’s brow furrows. “What did the ‘D’ stand for?”
A harsh chuckle. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever will, at this point, yoi.” How odd, Izuku thinks.
They lapse into silence again, until Marco turns to another page. This one shows an older man, with a mustache so smooth it looks more like a crescent moon was glued to his lips by some mischievous pre-schoolers.
“Edward Newgate,” Marco says, and this time his voice holds a different kind of fondness, softer and more innocent and obviously a bit more healed over. “But my siblings and I knew him as Oyaji.”
It goes on like this for a while, with Marco flipping to a new page every few minutes to reveal a new face and a new name, with their own stories. Marco only tells Izuku the brief ones, but they do their jobs nevertheless, and Izuku can feel himself getting choked up as well, by the love Marco and his family hold for each other through his stories. He almost loses track of time. By the time they’ve gone through all the sketches, it’s nearing dusk outside.
Marco hesitates as he flips to the last drawing again, brow furrowing in what is obviously inner conflict. His fingers drift to the edge of the page, as if contemplating whether he should show Izuku the loose pages trapped inside.
“Marco-san?” Izuku asks gently. “What’s wrong?” Is there something different about the loose pages?
The blond inhales slowly, and then turns a serious gaze towards Izuku.
“There’s another secret, yoi,” He says, and the green-haired boy blinks in surprise. “One even more important than my quirk. One that no one else knows besides me.”
More important than a regenerative, phoenix quirk anyone would kill to get their hands on or take advantage of? What could this secret possibly be, that such caution is required? Izuku is admittedly curious.
“If you swear on your life to protect it, then I’ll tell you,” That stern gaze intensifies, morphing into something almost animalistic and highly dangerous. Izuku swallows nervously once again, starting to understand why none of the miscreants in the area have seemingly bothered Marco. “Understand, it’s not something to be taken lightly. If you tell anyone else, then I’ll be forced to kill you.”
Izuku blanches. Kill him? The part of his brain with common sense screams at him to retreat, to activate full cowl and dip the fuck out. However, the more reckless part, the part that is more interested than it really should be, immediately takes over.
“I swear,” He says, hands clenching and green eyes determined. If he can take some of Marco’s pain onto his own shoulders, then he will. Without a doubt. Such a kind man more than deserves it.
Marco studies him carefully for a moment, before nodding decisively.
Then, he flips the page.
There, staring back at them, is Marco’s own personage.
For several long seconds, Izuku is confused. It seems like just a regular photograph.
That is, until he notices the number below the picture. As well as how old the paper is.
“M-M-Marco-san,” Izuku stutters, mind racing as he takes in the look of picture-Marco’s eyes, how young they seem compared to the current versions. How reckless and free the man in the photograph is, like he’s looking at completely different person.
His thoughts jump to a conclusion. An impossible, impossible conclusion. Slowly, he turns his head to meet Marco’s stare. What he finds there only cements the thought in his brain until he can barely think much else, like how the shit is this real because that photo is at least two hundred years old judging by the state of the paper. (He had too much free time in middle school, so yes, he did look up how to tell the age of a piece of parchment. Don’t judge him, ok?)
“I don’t remember exactly how old I am, yoi,” Marco states softly, looking down at his own face nostalgically. “But I think I’m somewhere around six-hundred.”
Six-hundred?! Six-hundred years old?! Izuku feels ready to faint, with how shocked he is. No wonder Marco insisted he not tell anyone upon threat of his life. This is insane!
Wait.
But...
Quirks only manifested around a century ago.
“H-H-How—?” Is about all Izuku can manage, but Marco seems to understand nonetheless.
And so he explains. He tells Izuku, about the fruits that once granted people powers in exchange for their ability to swim. About the pirates that roamed the sea, the great ocean that meant freedom to many of her children, the powers contending with each other for that freedom. About the impossible world now forgotten in the eyes and ears of history, buried until only fabrications and twisted truths remained.
Izuku can only gape, barely comprehending what he’s being told, until he points back to his picture.
“This,” Marco says, “Was my wanted poster.”
And...yeah, actually that earlier gleam in his eye does make sense now, if Izuku considers that Marco was once a pirate. What he still can’t get over is six-hundred years. Marco has lived for so long, so impossibly long, thanks to his Phoenix powers, and not once has he said anything to anyone until now. What a whopping secret.
When Marco finally moves his wanted poster (and that’ll take quite a bit of getting used to), he reveals yet another one. This one is familiar too, if only because it looks almost exactly like the last sketch in the book, of the freckled man with the intense eyes.
A third poster is revealed as well, but Izuku doesn’t recognize the cheerful, smiling face on this one, nor the messy black hair, worn straw hat or thin scar beneath the person’s eye. Monkey D. Luffy, is what it reads. The bounty is the highest of all three, soaring above even Marco’s.
Marco runs a finger over the freckled man’s picture again, and Izuku finally understands that there must have been something deeper than friendship there.
Everything about this scenario is unbelievable, even when Izuku pinches himself just to make sure it’s reality.
He came to Marco’s apartment with questions, but has left with exponentially more of those than answers. The blond walks him home, not trusting the younger to get there himself with how late it has gotten, and still Izuku is trying to acclimatize for Marco’s sake.
He’s the only other person that knows this secret in the whole world now.
Just as Izuku is about to open the door to his own apartment, Marco speaks up again.
“You don’t have to talk about it, if you dont want to, yoi,” The man reassures. Blue eyes are hesitant as he reaches up to rub a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It’s nice that someone knows now, though,” he mutters.
And just like that, all the doubt Izuku just had is gone in the face of someone who needs help. In a move so sudden that it startles the blond, Izuku is bowing deeply enough that he could touch his forehead to his knees.
Thank you for trusting me, Marco-san,” He says firmly, voice thick with emotion.
When he looks back up, Marco is smiling broadly. “Just Marco is fine, kid.
The green-haired boy shoots a brilliant smile back. “Call me Izuku.”