Chapter Text
Summer rain pattered the awning. Toshinori had wished for sunshine today, but the universe, of course, had declined.
The murky swathe of graves down the steps looked almost like a miniature city, serene and still. They were the oldest stones; even without the downpour, you probably wouldn’t have been able to spot Inko’s from here. At least the tinny echo of rain in the alcove drowned out the racket indoors.
Toshinori sat against the wall, legs stretched out on the concrete. Beside him, closest to the steps, hunched Izuku; damp and miserable. The wake may have ended already (harried along by the rain and what must have been Japan’s most overworked priest), but the reception was still going on inside; a gaggle of coworkers and family who were all strangers to Toshinori.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true; the Bakugos had left not long after the memorial service. Mitsuki and Masaru had both talked to him, Izuku timidly nodding and thanking in turn. Young Bakugo himself hadn’t said a word; in fact, he’d barely looked at his classmate the entire time they were there. For the umpteenth time, Toshinori had watched from across the room and wondered what their past held as a court of perfect strangers hemmed and hawed around him.
Unfortunately, Toshinori didn’t have the luxury of anonymity. More than once, he and Izuku were swept into separate conversations, and every one of Toshinori’s eventually diverted to the same topic. It was only when Izuku would reappear at his side like a lost puppy that all talk of heroes or the state of the world ceased abruptly. Toshinori supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was still stiflingly uncomfortable being prodded into talking about Kamino so many times; especially today.
Izuku hadn't been faring much better. His grandparents had passed long ago, but Inko herself had two sisters, each with much larger families of their own. And they were all rather.. loud. Like they'd inherited the share of loudness originally meant for Inko. If he didn't know better, Toshinori would never have pegged the boisterous group as related to the mild-mannered Midoriyas he knew.
Toshinori wasn’t the only one who felt overwhelmed by them. Less than an hour in, Izuku had gone from meek conversation to one-word responses and nodding as he was also drilled with questions. A great majority of them were about UA, the Sports Festival, and other similar things that struck a bitter chord with Toshinori.
A hundred times, he’d heard what’s it like to be taught by heroes— real heroes? floating in the air, but not once had he heard Izuku’s relatives ask how he was doing— or anything that didn’t have to do with the limelight, really. Eavesdropping like he was, you could almost forget that they were here for a funeral.
They don’t see you either, Toshinori thought caustically. They don’t see either of us.
The poor kid looked like he was underwater; going pale and twitchy whenever people got too close. Jumpy as he was, though, he didn’t flinch when Toshinori put a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, jitterbug," he'd said, smiling halfheartedly. "Let's get some air, okay?" And the clouds had lifted from poor Izuku’s eyes as he’d nodded. Fervently.
Which led to now; sitting outside the parlor doors in blessed silence (save the din of the rain).
Toshinori was between Izuku and the entrance, ready to shield him from anyone that might come prying. Izuku leaned on the wall next to him, knees drawn up, staring into the distance with an unreadable expression.
A gust of wind sent mist washing into the alcove, and Toshinori was quick to shrug off his suit jacket. Izuku only glanced at him as he dutifully tucked it over his shoulders, finding his hand again once he’d finished. Toshinori had hardly let it go the entire morning.
“Izuku...” he murmured. Toshinori had hedged on whether to call him that, at first. Then he'd realized with a sting that the only other person he'd seen call him his given name was Inko. Toshinori sorely wanted to do the same, as long as the boy would allow it. This wasn't the time for formality anyway.
“You know, can cry now if you need to," he said. "It’s okay.”
Izuku only sighed.
“And…” Toshinori continued, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay not to cry.”
Izuku blinked. “Huh?” he mumbled, turning sluggishly to look at his mentor.
Toshinori winced at the dark circles under Izuku’s eyes. With the dim gray-green wash of the weather, the boy looked downright sick. In reality, he probably felt even worse; Toshinori doubted Izuku would have eaten had there been any reception food. Really, it was only drinks and hollow words that were being offered inside.
“It’s okay,” he reiterated. “Even now.” Izuku was still staring. Lost.
Sighing, Toshinori wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side, switching hands as he did. “Izuku, when you feel so much in so short a window of time, it burns you out.” Toshinori looked knowingly down at his charge, brows creasing at the middle. “And I can tell you are very burned out.”
“So what do I do?” Izuku whimpered. Toshinori softened his gaze, ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as he carded a hand through Izuku’s hair.
“Rest, jitterbug,” he said quietly. “Just rest.”
“Now?”
Toshinori shrugged. “I’m not going back there in anytime soon.”
Izuku took a moment to deliberate, staring at out into the gloom, before wordlessly (shyly) sagging the rest of the way into his side. The effect was immediate; Izuku's eyes slammed shut as soon as he settled.
Toshinori smiled genuinely for the first time that day. His other hand was still wrapped firmly in Izuku’s, and he traced patterns in the boy’s knuckles as his breathing deepened, lulled by the sound of rain.
“I’ve been thinking,” Izuku mumbled drowsily. “About… you know. The thing we talked about?” Toshinori nodded, heart sinking ever so slightly. “Well,” Izuku continued. “What about a bracelet? With her name carved in it, maybe.” Toshinori squeezed his hand.
“I think that would be very nice,” he whispered. Izuku hummed sleepily against him in kind, falling silent once more as sleep finally took him. Looking down at him; face softened by youth, Toshinori’s promise burned in his chest.
I’ll take care of you.
Rolling thunder hummed low in the distance, and Izuku’s eyelids twitched, caught in some wakeful dream already. His breathing quickened, and Toshinori leaned closer.
“Shh,” he hushed, stroking his hair again.
I’m here. I’ve got you. I love you.
That last thought took him a bit by surprise, but Toshinori welcomed its warmth, craning down to lean his cheek against dampened curls as he hugged him closer.
I’ll take care of him, Inko, he thought, staring into the rainswept steles over Izuku’s head.
No matter what happens, I’ll take care of our boy.