Work Text:
As far as injuries were concerned, this one wasn’t so bad. Had it not been for the potent effects packed into the bullet that hit him, he probably could have walked it off and been perfectly fine. In the grand scheme of things, a bullet wound was much more manageable than some of the other, more extensive injuries a hero could suffer (as demonstrated by the wound which stole Sir Nighteye away from them), and he should consider himself fortunate that it didn’t hit anything vital.
Of course, Mirio knew that he was lucky to have made it out in one piece. All of his limbs were still attached, he had sensation in his extremities, and he didn’t suffer any permanent damage to any of his organs. Even the scars he bore were minimal, healed as much as they possibly could be through a combination of expert medical aid and specialized quirks. The feats of modern medicine were incredible, and there had been no holding back when it came to treating injured heroes.
Mirio was lucky. He knew that. He knew that, and he would never complain; never be anything but enthusiastically grateful for the care he had received as well as his own survival.
But every now and then, that little scar that carved out a spot on his upper back hurt .
There was no reason for it to hurt. The bullet had been removed long ago and the wound had sealed naturally, leaving nothing but a small dip where the offending projectile had entered his body. It wasn’t in a spot that was especially easy to strain, and even if it was, the sensation was much too sharp to be likened to the dull ache of a knotted muscle.
It was like his body was stuck replaying the moment he’d been shot with that concave scar acting as the core of the physical memory.
Sometimes, he felt it coming. If the muscles in his back were too tight or he was sore from a rigorous workout, he could feel it creeping up on him. The skin around the scar would prickle and tingle before swelling into a hot, sharp pain that spread across his back and took his breath away. His lungs protested taking in air, for the expansion only put more pressure on the old wound, but the warning gave him the chance to brace for it. He could excuse himself to somewhere private or grit his teeth and bear it, smiling the whole way through. He’d mastered the art of hiding his flare-ups with a smile; no one who saw him would be any the wiser.
That was how it had to be. A world in which he succumbed to pain and let it overshadow a hero’s smile was a world that Sir Nighteye would have despised. For the sake of the dead as well as the living-- for him as well as for her -- Mirio had to smile through it.
Sometimes, however, it caught him by surprise. He couldn’t count the number of times he had woken with a start in the middle of the night thanks to a jabbing pain in his back. Not wanting to alarm any of the other sleeping bodies, he’d roll onto his stomach and shove his face into his pillow to muffle the gasp that slipped out of him. His fists would bunch up in the sheets as he forced himself to breathe through the attack until the agony dulled, insolent tears sinking into the pillowcase and drying up before he ever lifted his head.
Naturally, he smiled through those incidents, as well.
So far, he had been fortunate enough not to experience one of these flashes in front of someone who knew better; someone who would see through the shine of his grin and lock in on the tension behind it. No one had noticed yet and he was hoping to keep it that way.
Because he was so lucky, so blessed, wasn’t he? Lucky that only his quirk had been stolen and not his life; lucky to carry the key to Sir Nighteye’s ideal future; lucky to be the hero that Eri needed; lucky to have the strength to keep his suffering contained behind his teeth.
At least, he had up to that point.
Ultimately, he had no one to blame other than himself for it sneaking up on him. He wasn’t being nearly as attentive to himself as he should have been and dismissed all of the warning signs in favor of playing around with Eri. What was some strain on his back if lifting her high up into the air made her smile so brightly? What did dancing around and making wild gestures really harm if it made her jump and laugh with him?
If he ignored that precautionary itch as it spread in favor of entertaining the little girl who’d captured his heart and soul, could anyone really blame him?
His body, apparently, was less than pleased.
Once Eri was settled down with a coloring book-- a nice, quiet activity to help them wind down from the earlier excitement-- Mirio retreated to the couch and flopped down beside Tamaki, slinging an arm behind his shoulders as Nejire ventured over to ask Eri about her art.
Tamaki looked at the girl happily doodling away on the ground before turning his attention to Mirio. “Did you tire her out? Or the other way around?”
“Ah, that was nothing! I could do that all day! But it’s nice to relax for a minute, too,” Mirio chimed in response. It was true, too; if Eri asked him to get up off of the couch and entertain her again, he doubted that he’d have the will to deny her. There was just something about that smile -- a precious smile that had only recently started to openly shine-- that made him weak. There wasn’t a physical toll he wasn’t willing to pay in order to draw it out.
But as his back hit the couch and tense muscles relaxed at the promised reprieve, he was quickly reminded that this ‘toll’ wasn’t as hypothetical as he’d like to believe.
The moment he let his guard down, all of the warning signs that he’d dismissed shot back through him like a bullet in their own right, and the force of it was enough to take his breath away. Pain flared up at that hellish epicenter and radiated out, blooming across his shoulder blades and down his spine. It curled around his chest, constricting his lungs, and rewrote tension back into his body. Had he been alone, it would have been enough to make him curse; a small, breathless allowance he allowed himself when there was no one around to hear.
Instead, he managed to contain his shock to a sharp intake of breath, forcing the remaining tension to bleed into a smile instead.
Immediately, Mirio was back on his feet.
“On second thought, I actually have to go to the little heroes’ room!” he announced, flashing that smile over his shoulder at Tamaki. “I’ll bring snacks for everyone on my way back!”
One glance at Tamaki’s face told him that he wasn’t convinced-- his expression was uncertain, dubious, concerned-- but Mirio didn't have the time to stick around and reassure him. Instead, he gave his friend a quick thumbs up before rushing away.
It would be fine. He could explain it all away later.
But not to Tamaki. Tamaki knew better. He knew that he knew better. He knew Mirio better than Mirio knew himself.
He worried about Mirio, even when Mirio didn't worry about himself.
There was nothing that he didn't love and appreciate endlessly about his dear friend, but this wasn't the time to be fussed over.
Not in front of Eri, who he was certain would take his pain to heart. She had been there when he’d been shot, knew that he’d taken that bullet for her, and he feared that no amount of consolation would convince her that it wasn’t her fault that the hurt lingered. Sometimes, bodies betrayed themselves, even when they were trying to help, and his own was no different. He didn’t want her to carry the weight of his own phantoms for even a second.
No, it was better for her to see him smile; better for the world to see him smile through it all as the unshakeable catalyst of a bright future.
He was barely able to shut the door of one of the single-occupancy restrooms before he was bracing himself against the sink and letting out a long, shaky breath. Exhaling brought a small relief, but drawing the breath back in felt tight, exacerbating the sharp pain in his back. This was par for the course, for better or for worse, but no amount of predictability made pain any less painful .
Mirio’s jaw clenched, teeth ground into each other, but he maintained that overbearing smile all the same. If the man in the mirror faltered, he feared that it would all fall apart.
Just breathe through it. In and out. In and out.
You’ve got this. This isn’t even the worst one!
Come on, Lemillion ! Breathe, smile, and bear it! This’ll all be over soon.
A knock on the door tore him from his thoughts.
“ Hey, Mirio? Are you alright in there? ”
Mirio’s eyes widened slightly. Damn . Steadying his breathing as much as possible so as to prevent the strain from leaking into his voice, he called back.
“Yeah, Tamaki. All good here! I’ll be out in a minute!”
It didn’t surprise him that Tamaki would come to check on him after that look he’d given him, but he’d hoped that his flare-up would have flared-down by that time.
It looked like his luck had run out.
A few beats of silence passed and Mirio listened intently for retreating footsteps, though he knew the attempt was futile. Whether Tamaki bought it or not (and he sincerely doubted that he would), there was no way that he would leave him there on his own. Not if he sensed that there was something wrong, regardless of Mirio’s willingness to admit it.
Sure enough, a moment later, he heard the telltale sound of a door handle being tested. In his haste to get somewhere private, Mirio had forgotten to lock the door, leaving him open to intrusion. Internally, he grimaced. That could have been bad…
The jiggling stopped briefly before Tamaki spoke up again. “Mirio, I… I’m coming in, okay?”
At that point, Mirio had two options: deflection or surrender, and neither of them felt especially appealing. If he wanted to keep Tamaki out and maintain the charade for a little longer-- minutes, most likely-- he could reject the company. A number of dismissive jokes rested right on the tip of his tongue, each loaded with the potential to keep his friend away for just long enough for him to recover. What could he say? Tease him for wanting to come in while Mirio was in the bathroom? Laugh about making it a community affair?
No, even if he laughed, Tamaki would hear the difference. There would be something wrong in the tone; in the inflection; in the duration; in something that only someone who knew him like Tamaki knew him would be able to detect.
Having someone who understood him, heart and soul, so intuitively was a blessing, but damn if he couldn’t have slipped through the cracks just once…
But did he really want to? For all that he had been nobly shielding others from his pain, Mirio was tiring of it. He was tiring of the recurring echo of his wound, the way his face ached when he had to force that smile, and hiding it from those who cared. It was exhausting to feign being fine when he wasn’t, and while he would go to any lengths to keep Eri from realizing the extent of his residual agony, Tamaki…
He could always seek out solace in Tamaki, no matter the ailment of affliction.
He didn’t have to be Lemillion around his sun.
So, surrender it was.
“...Yeah. Come on in,” he relented. Mirio tried to straighten his posture, only to lean further into his grip on the sink when a flash of pain disagreed with the attempt.
Alright. Message received. I’ll stay down.
Granted permission, Tamaki stepped inside before carefully closing the door behind him. The concern that had been on his face back in the living area had increased; he carried it in his eyes and the small frown creasing his brow and pouting his lips. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mirio had the sense to notice that Tamaki looked cute when he was worried, but-- really, wasn’t Tamaki always cute?
“Hey,” Mirio greeted, offering his friend a more subdued smile than the one he’d held in the mirror.
Tamaki didn’t mirror his expression; if anything, his frown deepened as he took in the sight of Mirio bracing himself against the sink. “You don’t look so good. What happened?”
“It’s nothing new,” Mirio reassured. “I didn’t hurt myself or anything, don’t worry!”
“Then what is it?” Tamaki pressed, clearly not about to let the matter drop. Not that he should . Letting something that upset him drop so easily wasn’t like him. “Are you sick?”
Mirio shook his head. “No, not sick. It’s definitely a physical thing.”
How to explain this without making it sound worse than it was? It would be difficult, especially considering how it was actively impacting him, but he didn’t want to worry his friend too much (even if his face was adorable when it was all pinched up).
He let out a sigh. “It’s just… where I got shot,” he explained. “Sometimes, it flares up and hurts. That’s all.”
Tamaki paused, blinked, and stepped closer. “You’re in pain?” he asked, reaching out tentatively as if in fear that making contact would exacerbate his condition. “Around your scar? How long has this been happening?”
“Since it healed up,” he confessed. As reluctant as he had been to admit his pain aloud, finally giving it a voice took a certain weight off of his shoulders that he could almost feel lift off. “It comes and goes. Normally, it’s not so bad, but I think I overdid it playing with Eri, ha…”
His voice trailed off and his breath caught as he felt the most delicate of touches against his back, so close to the root of his troubles, and his reflexes demanded that he tense up to ward off the contact. The touch hesitated, not applying more pressure than a feather before dropping away.
“And you ran off because you didn’t want her finding out,” Tamaki muttered, answering an unspoken question. Once again, Mirio found it in himself to be flattered by how well Tamaki understood him. He was so bright, so intuitive, so attuned to him…
Mirio knew that he was in love. He had been for years and, if asked, he wouldn’t bother to deny it. There was no way that he could have ever been anything but enchanted by Tamaki. The boy inspired him and continued to motivate him; he wanted to be good enough to walk side by side with someone destined to be so incredible. They balanced each other out in a way he couldn’t ask from anyone else, and moments like these only further proved it.
Tamaki saw right through him to reach the core of his thoughts and feelings without Mirio needing to say a thing. How could he not love someone like that? Someone who knew and inspired him as deeply as Mirio knew and inspired him in return?
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I don’t want her getting the wrong idea or blaming herself for it. I don’t want to give her a reason to stop smiling around me.”
That would be the worst possible outcome. For Eri to get pushed back to square one after learning about what hid behind Mirio’s smile would devastate him. They’d made so much progress; they couldn’t backpedal now!
What kind of hero would he be if he couldn’t nurture one little girl’s smile? Certainly not one that could carry a world of light and humor on his shoulders.
Behind him, Tamaki nodded, the gesture barely visible in the reflection in the mirror.
“I understand,” he assured. “But I wish you’d told me-- or, us,” he corrected, likely referring to Nejire. “I hate to think that you’ve been going through this alone.”
In hindsight, what Tamaki said made sense. Keeping his pain from Eri, who wouldn’t be able to fully grasp the situation without taking a personal blow, was one thing; keeping it from his friends and mentors was another. In the heat of the moment, being strong and keeping up appearances had been at the forefront of his mind-- he had to be heroic in every way he could without the aid of his quirk, after all, and he had Sir Nighteye’s legacy to carry-- but the more Tamaki’s voice sank into his mind, the more he realized how foolish he had been.
Mirio had been suffering alone by choice-- gritting his teeth, smiling, and breathing through it-- and had all but forgotten that he didn’t need to. Tamaki, Nejire-- they wouldn’t change their opinions of him for a flash of weakness.
This wasn’t the first time Mirio’s decisions had led to something harmful, but with himself as the only true victim, he could afford to laugh at it.
And laugh he did, no matter how it made his ribs feel like cracking. It was a small chuckle, a low vibration directed inward at his own ridiculousness.
Tamaki frowned. “What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing,” Mirio was quick to reply. “You’re right. I should’ve said something to you. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize to me ,” Tamaki insisted. He looked back to the area where Mirio’s scar was hidden under his shirt and hesitated only a moment before speaking up. “Can I… Would it be okay if I looked at it? Just to make sure there’s nothing else going on?”
Generally speaking, Mirio felt no shame about his body-- he couldn’t afford the embarrassment with how often his quirk left him completely bare-- and this was especially true when it came to Tamaki. They’d been by one another’s side since they were children, and his friend had borne witness to some of Mirio’s more humiliating incidents. There wasn’t a piece of him that Tamaki hadn’t seen and he was fine with that.
But there was something about the way he so tentatively asked for permission to see his body that made Mirio’s heart flutter.
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed. Ignoring the surge of pain as he straightened up, he silently praised himself for wearing a button-up rather than a plain shirt; having to lift up his arms to peel it off would have only exacerbated his condition.
He tried not to think about how much easier removing his clothes would have been if he still had his quirk. There was no need to linger on something painful while already in pain.
Once the buttons were undone, he shrugged it off of his shoulders and displayed himself to Tamaki. He returned to his original position against the sink to ease some of the discomfort and looked back into the mirror to watch his beloved friend’s movements.
Tamaki’s expression was guarded as he assessed Mirio’s old wound. Though he hadn’t seen it himself-- he wasn’t nearly flexible enough to look directly at his own back-- he had a general idea of what it looked like. Outside of the context he’d received it in and the damage it had done, it didn’t look like much; it was little more than a small, discolored dip in his flesh. There shouldn’t be anything especially concerning about it, but Tamaki’s brow furrowed as he took it in all the same.
For a moment, Mirio wondered if there was an additional, visibly physical factor to his pain-- could the tendrils of agony be raising up on his skin and flowing outward?-- but those thoughts were quickly silenced when Tamaki moved forward, his face disappearing from view.
The sensation of soft lips over the tiny, provocative scar made Mirio’s world stand still.
It was warm, gentle, and oh-so tender; a gesture of affection and support that threatened to make him weak in the knees. Had he not been holding onto the sink, he may have sunk down just to keep himself from collapsing. Once his heart remembered how to beat, he had no doubt that it would pound hard enough for those lips to feel its pulse from behind.
Heat rushed to Mirio’s face and, while the pain didn’t ebb away at the command of a sweet kiss, he let it fade into the back of his mind.
He had something much more important than a phantom bullet to pay attention to.
Healing with a kiss . Outside of Recovery Girl’s quirk, which took the sentiment very literally, the thought had been passed down through countless generations. There was something so profound about the idea that love alone could heal the deepest of wounds (though it was rarely effective outside of the occasional bump and bruise). Even if it was primarily the medicine of a child who tripped that was given to them by an adoring parent more than an actual treatment, Mirio had always found it so beautiful .
Precious .
As quickly as he had formulated these thoughts, the gentle lips tore away from his skin with a gasp, leaving him tingling for an entirely different reason. Tamaki met his eyes in the mirror and, for a beat of silence, they simply stared at one another.
Finally, as it began to process what had just happened, Tamaki began to turn red . The color reached the tips of his pointed ears, and the vividness of the color made Mirio surprised that he hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.
“I… I… I’m sorry,” Tamaki stammered, averting his gaze from where they had locked on Mirio’s own reflected one. “I don’t know what came over me. I should’ve asked before doing something like that. That was… I don’t know…”
Mirio listened for a moment as Tamaki dished out apology after unnecessary apology and felt a smile blossom across his face with every word. It was warm, genuine, and made his muscles ache in all of the best ways. Within the barbed confines of the pain wrapped around his chest, his heart began to melt, numbing the hold of its claws until he could breathe normally.
The first thing he did with that breath was laugh .
Pushing himself off of the sink, he turned to face his beloved friend head on with his eyes pinched up in an adoring smile and mirth on his lips.
“What are you apologizing for? That was so sweet!” he exclaimed. There was more gusto in his voice than before, and he was sure that Tamaki heard it.
A kiss may not have been enough to rid him of pain entirely-- only time and patience would do that-- but it certainly helped improve his attitude about it.
Cautiously, Tamaki looked at Mirio again, that flush still high in his cheeks. “Sweet…?”
“Really sweet,” Mirio emphasized. He placed his hand over his own heart and let his smile shine, filled to the brim with warmth and affection rather than burdened with expectation. Such a smile felt so much different on his face than the one he wore through his flare-ups and he loved that it was directed towards someone he loved. “In fact, I’m feeling much better thanks to you!”
“Oh.” Tamaki blinked and his lips-- those soft, warm, gentle lips that had graced his skin just moments ago-- pursed slightly. “But I didn’t actually do anything…”
“Nonsense,” Mirio replied. Sure, the sting itself would fade on its own time with or without coaxing from an outside source, but Tamaki…
He made it so much more bearable .
“If that’s how you’re going to treat my aches and pains, I’ll have to come to you from now on!” he decided. It was a joke (mostly) and said with the intention to ease Tamaki’s nerves, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
Tamaki showing him such care and affection would make any wound easier to suffer.
Instead of brushing him off, however, Tamaki shifted slightly in place. “Really? I mean, if you really want me to…”
That wasn’t the answer that Mirio had expected, but to say that he was anything but delighted by the prospect would have been a lie. A jolt of excitement ran through him that overpowered the lingering pain and he couldn’t stop himself from excitedly reaching out and cupping his friend’s face between his hands and pulling him close.
“I would love it! You’ll be the best doctor, Tamaki!” he chimed, only to pause when he heard his friend’s breath catch. It took a moment to realize what had caught him off guard, but once he clued in, it was admittedly enough to make him falter as well.
They were close. Very close . Close enough that if Tamaki hadn’t been holding his breath, they would have been breathing the same air. Mirio noticed the way that indigo eyes dropped from his own down to-- oh, he was staring at his lips , wasn’t he? And Mirio-- he just couldn’t help but return the favor.
Those lips had been so kind as to try and kiss his pain away. They had felt so warm, so soft, so sweet, and he was sure that his own would agree with that assessment. It would be so easy to just give in and…
Mirio let out a breathless laugh and released Tamaki’s face, stepping away to give them some space in the process. For as much as he loved Tamaki and wanted his feelings to be returned, he wouldn’t dare give them their first kiss in a bathroom of all places. Especially not when there remained a slowly retreating ache in his back to contaminate the moment.
Another time. There was no shortage of precious moments from his beloved Tamaki. There had to be a better time to give into temptation and dive in; one that was worthy of etching itself into Tamaki’s memory forever.
Even so, he swore that he saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes as their closeness was eliminated.
Picking his shirt up off of the floor, Mirio slipped it back on and started to work the buttons back up.
“Really, though. Thanks for that,” Mirio reiterated. “I actually do feel a lot better now.”
Tamaki let out a shaky breath, likely still recovering from the almost kiss they had shared. “That’s good. Glad I could help.”
“You’re always a help,” Mirio insisted, flashing his friend another smile. “Haven’t I ever told you how lucky I am to have you around?”
“Only all the time,” Tamaki muttered.
“And I mean it.” Without Tamaki, honestly, Mirio didn’t know where he’d be. This incident in the bathroom was only another example of that.
Popping the last button into place, Mirio rolled his shoulders back as if to shake off the last of the ache and started towards the door.
“Let’s get out of this gross bathroom and into the kitchen, yeah? I promised the girls snacks,” he reminded, opening the door to let his friend out first.
Nodding, Tamaki exited and waited for Mirio to follow him out before walking. “I think Eraser stocked up on those fruit pouches that Eri likes,” he mused.
Mirio beamed. “Perfect! Let’s grab a handful of those!”
With that, they headed off to the kitchen, walking side by side with a lingering tension between them. It wasn’t the kind of tension that threatened to break Mirio, though, but rather something pleasant; a tether connecting them together; an almost with the potential to become something much more, should they nurture it.
As they scavenged together some snacks for them all to enjoy together, Mirio set his mind on one very important thing:
He was a very lucky person, wasn’t he? Lucky to be alive; lucky to have friends who loved him; lucky to have someone willing to see through him and cherish him; lucky to have a man so wonderful as to try and ease his pain with a kiss.
No matter what hardship he underwent, Mirio was lucky because Mirio had Tamaki by his side.
And that was something innate to him that no villainous bullet could ever take away.
Mirio would make sure of it.