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The problem with insecurity, is that it hides its true nature in the form of shyness or timidity or meekness or rage.
The defense mechanism to counter is so deeply rooted that simple words can’t sway your reasoning and actions make you dig your heels in deeper. So, instead of allowing yourself to break away from old habits, you refine them. Nurture them. Cultivate them. And, soon enough, you have an absolutely luscious garden of social anxiety, fear, loneliness and isolation of your own making.
The young man nods vaguely as the red-haired teen continues to make small talk as they head towards the agency. He knows he should be listening but the throbbing headache just won’t quit.
“-should go home.”
The older teen blinks at the statement and finally looks over, only noticing now he’s about five paces behind his kouhai.
“… Senpai, I think you might be coming down with something,” Kirishima says, wording it slowly and purposefully, realising that his rant had been basically ignored until now.
Tamaki blinks again and rubs his forehead, “I’m sorry… headache…”
It doesn’t take Fat Gum and Red Riot long to team up and make it their personal mission to harass the Suneater into confessing that he’s been sitting with a growing headache since he woke up that morning. To make matters worse, he was now given the glorious task of being lazy and weak by heading back to headquarters. To put salt on the wound, the newest recruit, Red Riot, was given the task of being his bodyguard. It couldn’t get worse.
“I’m sorry…” Tamaki says, walking almost blindly in the streets now as he couldn’t open his eyes more than a fraction, the glare of everything was getting to him now. “I didn’t mean to burden you like this.”
The young man at his side, whom have been stepping in every now and again to make sure to clear the way in front of his senpai, made a strangled confused noise before staring incredulously at the other, “Sen… senpai? No? What are you talking about? It’s not a burden at all!”
The volume of the statement made Tamaki flinch, but did little to lighten the feeling of guilt swirling in his chest.
The red-haired hero spots the flinch that wracks Tamaki’s form and makes Kirishima realise his mistake and he quickly quietens.
“Do you have Togata-senpai’s number on your phone?”
“… I’d rather not bother him while he’s training.”
The statement makes Kirishima pause but he decides not to question what kind of training the currently-quirkless Lemillion could be doing. But, he wasn’t about to let his sudden plan go to waste either, “Amajiki-senpai, don’t you think that’s Togata-senpai’s decision to make?”.
The moment of silence that stretches between them atleast lets Kirishima know that the Suneater was taking his words to heart.
“I don’t think… I can call… ” Tamaki starts as he takes his phone out, paling at the thought of more noise.
“I’ll do it, senpai,” Kirishima quickly offers and holds out his hand, taking the phone with a word of thanks.
“… the code is one five zero seven…. ”
With a nod, Kirishima leads Tamaki into a quiet corner of a nearby alley in order to leave the other in relative peace as he makes the call. After a quick explanation of the situation, Mirio advises he’ll be there as soon as he can. It certainly didn’t seem likely, considering the noise of surrounding the echo of Mirio’s voice.
When the call ends, the young man makes his way back to Tamaki, pulling him up and away from where he’d been slumped down the wall of the alley. He leads him, this time by the hand, through the crowd until they finally make it back to Fat Gum’s headquarters.
The noise difference from the bustling outer city to the practically silent office did little to assuage the ever growing headache that slowly and surely took hold of Tamaki’s form.
“When will he...” Tamaki mutters halfway down the hallway to the barracks. He pauses for a moment before changing his words when doubts set in, “I don’t think Mirio will drop by.”
“You’re much too important Togata-senpai to -”
“He has… better things to do right now… than… ”
Kirishima feels the tremble from Tamaki’s grip on his hand and the young man squeezes his mentor’s hand reassuringly, “Senpai…I don’t think you know how much you mean to him.”
“While I am sure I don’t mean… ‘nothing’ to him…. I don’t… he has a lot more… he has better things-“ Amajiki pauses and takes a breath. The breath turns into an awkward gulp when a burst of nausea makes its way through his system. He forces it down with sheer will. He’s not sure if the headache or his own anxiety about the current topic was causing this wave of nausea. He guesses both. He breathes deeply, trying to calm himself.
The young man slows into a pause until he sees the intense concentration fading from the other’s face. With a soft nudge, he manages to get Tamaki moving again. So, he figures, a distraction might be best.
“Senpai, I’m not sure if your migraine is affecting your self-awareness or if you really think this… ,” Kirishima says softly, he flicks the lights of the next hallway off as he approaches and adjusts his grip on Tamaki’s hand, “But Mister Mirio practically worships the ground you walk on.”
A noise of confusion makes its way from Tamaki’s form, but he doesn’t have the energy to formulate a counter.
“I mean… he’s such a dedicated person… always puts work before everything else.. but he’d give that up for you, you know?” Kirishima states.
“I don’t think so.” Tamaki states. His words sure and clear. He manages the meet Kirishima’s eyes for the first time since early that morning before closing them again.
It was glaringly clear now to Kirishima that Tamaki Amajiki was completely oblivious. It makes Kirishima smile a bit. It was a bit amusing and very endearing. Though worrying too. The older teen’s anxiety was completely blinding him from the truth.
So, Kirishima continues, “I don’t know, senpai… He’s also always trying to show off when you’re around… His favourite food is ramen, but he only ever brings your favourites when he drops by…”
“Can you please stop?”
The young man looks over, examining the hunched over form of his senpai. He wasn’t sure if the older teen wanted the topic at hand to end or if he was just in such pain he couldn’t stand noise anymore. All the same, they silently walked to the end of the hall and into the barracks.
“Settle in,” Kirishima says and flicks off the fluorescent overhead lights. The soft morning light from the window was enough to light the room.
He helps Tamaki unto the bed, taking hold of the other’s cape in order to help take it off.
“Wha-HE-HEY-UNIBROW!” Tamaki suddenly yells, instantly flinching harshly as his own words resound deafeningly loud in his own ears.
“What…?” Kirishima asks softly, his hands paused in their actions. "I'm just taking off-"
“U… unibrow…. Unibrow!” Tamaki backs up a bit and Kirishima awkwardly retracts his hands.
“… I was just helping you take off your cape so you can…” Kirishima repeats in complete confusion. His hands still frozen mid-air now as a thought clicked, “Was that…. A safeword?”
“It… means… stop…” Tamaki wheezes out, tugging the pillow at his side up to make a barrier between him and the boy in front of him.
“Geez dude, if you guys have a safeword then he definitely cares about you,” Kirishima states softly, amusement in his voice.
“It’s for…. It’s for when…. It’s for when we do or talk about something and it’s …. Not something we want to talk about… or … something…” Tamaki explains, his breathing slowing down as he fixes his cape around him. Though, with calming down, the throbbing in his head increased incrementally, ”Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Kirishima says and backs up, giving the other space, “I’ll get going.”
He heads to the window and opens it. He always felt better when he felt sick and some fresh air filled his room. He was certain it would help. He turns, only to see Tamaki already in bed, head underneath his pillow, clutching the soft fluff tightly. So, he softly makes his way out, leaving the door ajar so he could keep an eye on him.
“My head hurts…”
“I know.”
The unexpected voice makes Tamaki open his eyes. It was dark in the room, much darker than it had been when Kirishima left. It also felt like a lot of time had passed somehow. Then again, headaches in general usually messed up his sense of time. But… still… wasn’t Mirio at training? Was he imagining his voice?
“I’m here. You can sleep,” Mirio’s voice assures him, a weight on his shoulder, much like Mirio’s hand makes him feel safer.
“Are you leaving …”
“I’m not going anywhere. I have your meds here for your migraine…”
“I never said I had a migraine…” Tamaki says stubbornly, though his overall body language begged to differ.
“You don’t have to.” Mirio argues softly.
Another moan, but Tamaki doesn’t hold out his hand, something he usually does when simply Mirio’s presence would be enough to help. It was a silent request, one Mirio realised that Tamaki was unaware of himself. It was the one that tell that Tamaki had that Mirio would count on to tell him what his friend needed whenever this happened.
Mirio knows it’s most likely just the last assignment that Tamaki has that caused this. Anxiety and overwork is certainly not a good combination.
A few hours ago, after arriving out of breath at Fat Gum’s headquarters and having Kirishima catch him up to the situation, Mirio set out to the barracks.
The sunlight in the room was sure to make Tamaki feel worse, Mirio knew Tamaki’d prefer a quiet, windless, dark room whenever this happened. So, he made sure to close the blinds –and having to feel his way back to Tamaki’s bedside since the room is now pitch black with the door closed- he managed to take a seat at Tamaki’s side again. He had come prepared with a cold washcloth, water basin and a bottle of water. He had to rummage through Tamaki’s sportsbag for his migraine meds, but he found them easily enough.
So, after returning and setting the washcloth, he readied himself for the wait. He wasn’t about to wake the teen when he seemed to be sleeping relatively peacefully.
That’s how Mirio ended up in a half-doze until being woken up by Tamaki’s words. Tamaki’s completely understated confession, to be honest. A headache. This was certainly more than just a mere headache.
“I didn’t get the sparkly stuff like last time…” Tamaki mumbles and takes a breath, “I think… maybe… maybe I’ve been working a bit too much. Noise doesn’t bother me as much as last time… I think it might just be a cluster headache…”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know how to tell … I don’t know why it’s …. You know what I’m trying to say,” Tamaki finally gives up and squeezes Mirio’s hand, “Did you bring….?”
“Two tablets of your usual, yeah,” Mirio answers the unasked question.
“I got a stronger prescription last time… these I can only take one at a time,” Tamaki explains and sighs, “Then I have to wait eight hours…”
“Ah… okay, no problem,” Mirio sets the unneeded medication out of reach before grabbing a water bottle from Tamaki’s bedside table, “One it is.”
Silently, Tamaki blindly takes the medication and water before laying down again, re-adjusting the washcloth. “I’m tired.”
“Just rest, okay?” the older male says, softly laying down next to him.
“It’s not as bad as last time…” Tamaki lies. His words a whisper.
“It’s been a few hours since I got here… you slept like a log through it. If your head is still hurting… it’s just as bad as last time,” Mirio counters and smiles fondly at the slow gaze that finally meets his, “You really need to learn your limits.”
“I’m trying.”
“It’s cold, okay?” Mirio says , changing the uncomfortable subject, referring to his hand with the washcloth he’d just cooled down in the water basin again, waiting for Tamaki to take his hand. If he were asleep it’d be fine. But the cold cloth might shock him with the temperature difference when he’s awake and conscious.
“I’m sorry… and after I promised I’d tell you if it happens again.”
“I’m not angry.”
“I thought it might pass… but it just got worse. I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t tell you…. After I said last time I would…” Tamaki repeats, he worms his hand out of the duvet and pats around before finally reaching Mirio’s hand, “I’m sorry.”
Repeating himself was certainly something Tamaki did a lot more when he’s sick or injured badly. The migraine was certainly in full-swing if it had him this affected.
Slowly they both lower the washcloth to Tamaki’s forehead. The heat from his form is still certainly a stark contrast to the cold.
Without another word, Mirio climbs over Tamaki to lie on the side closest to the wall, wrapping an arm around Tamaki’s waist.
“I’m just going to rest my eyes a bit…”
“Okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“You won’t leave, right?”
“Not until you ask me to.”
The words make Tamaki pause. The words certainly felt weighted. As if there was meaning to it. Mirio has said these words to him a thousand times and more, and yet, for the first time, the young man considered the meaning. The depth.
“I saw… Fat Gum tried to call me… Red Riot too… I’ll have to apologize for not answering…” Mirio whispers, his words muffled as he presses his forehead into the back to Tamaki’s hero gear.
“You did though…” Tamaki says slowly, remembering how out of it he felt that morning, “Y… you spoke to Kirishima.. didn’t you?”
“Oh… well, when I saw you were calling me… I didn’t think he’d be using your phone.”
“You only answered because you thought it was me?”
“well… yeah… um… you don’t call me for nothing,” the words tumble awkwardly from Mirio’s mouth. He sounded embarrassed, rushed. “I would’ve called the others back once the training session was done. They only called once, so I didn’t think it was an emergency. If I knew-”
Tamaki twitches unintentionally when the words sink in. He wraps his hand over Mirio’s, “You only answered… because you thought I was calling?”
“… ye-yeah. Sorry.”
The words the younger male had said to the Suneater that morning suddenly started to click into place. As if another depth of meaning suddenly came to light.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner though… ” Mirio says, his words still warbled as he spoke into the crook of Tamaki’s neck, “It took me half an hour to get here from the Police Academy…”
Once again, the words Kirishima spoke flooded Tamaki’s mind. ‘He’s such a dedicated person… always puts work before everything else.. but he’d give that up for you, you know’.
“Aren’t you… going to get into trouble…”
“Nah, it’s all good,” Mirio says confidently. Only, the short chuckle he gave afterwards gave it away. The sole tell that Mirio has when he lies. That short, light-hearted chuckle that is supposed to make his few lies believable.
Yet, that in itself, suddenly made Tamaki smile fondly as he realised the lie for what it was, an attempt from Mirio to protect his feelings. To protect him from feeling guilty for interrupting Mirio’s training. To protect him from his own anxiety. To protect him from himself. He squeezes Mirio’s hand tighter and brings it up to his lips, “You’re too good to me.”
“You’re too good for me,” the instant reply comes, as it always does.
And finally, it makes sense.
For the first time it makes sense.
Mirio’s words weren’t ones of self-doubt or lack of self-confidence. “You’re too good for me” weren’t words of admission of failure. It was a limitation. It was acknowledgement of Tamaki’s boundaries.
As Tamaki never expects anything from anyone. He never asks for favours, nor recognition, nor knowledge nor assistance. He could never allow himself to use people like that. His quirk did that enough. His quirk took whatever he had and used it for his own selfish wishes. His quirk was selfish. Selfish. Self-serving. It used everything to its own advantage. Tamaki was determined not be selfish like that. He wouldn’t use his friends to his own advantage.
Mirio had named him the Suneater. Irony in itself as Mirio was the sun. Mirio was the embodiment of light and life and energy and everything that Tamaki would forever admire.
So, Tamaki has set out to prove to himself, that he, as Suneater, would be the one whom never relies on others to win, or support him. He would stand alone and fight alone and win alone. And he’d be the one that the sun itself could rely on to clear the path for him. Someone Mirio could rely on...
But… Mirio …. Mirio would always gladly give everything he has to the one person whom would never want anything from anyone. He would gladly give everything he has and more to the one person whom never asks for anything. The one person whom never wants help or assistance. But, for Mirio, there was victory in the concessions that Tamaki would allow him.
Mirio knew that Tamaki craved love and affection, but could never allow himself to ask for it. Mirio knew he was pushing Tamaki’s boundries, and yet, the other allowed him to do so so easily. In every way. As if Mirio never had to ask. So, Mirio made sure to supply Tamaki in excess. Love and assurances and stability and support and affection. He would be the sun whom would bring warmth and love and life to Tamaki’s world. He’d be the support, always there, as certain as the sun in the East, for the one person that meant more to him than anyone else in the world.
And, for the first time, the non-chalant assured statement that Mirio makes next – as he always does- gives him chills. The words suddenly containing a promise that had been there all along, but something that Tamaki has never realised until now. That, from the first time to the last, Mirio’s confession of undeniable truth, would remain as it always has. A gentle verbal statement of irrefutable affirmation: “I love you.”
For the first time, Tamaki realises that they’ve been saying this to each other for years now. And for years upon years, the affection had only grown, their bond only secured, their relationship changed into something beyond friends. Far beyond. And yet, those weighted words left his lips as easy as breathing, “I love you too.”