Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Musutafu General Hospital has a garden. 

Shouta has never stayed long enough at the hospital to notice this before. 

Underground heroics took its toll on him, no matter how much he liked to claim otherwise. There was always one more person who needed saving - one more villain that needed taking down - one more underground ring that needed to be disbanded. However, the most recent raid didn’t go quite as planned. Their stealth team got caught, and from where Shouta had been stationed on the roof, he’d come crashing down, breaking a leg.

So here he is. Confined to the hospital, because a half-healed broken leg prevents him from making his usual escapes from the hospital, and Hizashi nagged at him enough that he finally caved and decided to make a quick trip outside.

The garden isn’t grand, by any means. There’s an unassuming fountain that’s not quite plain but comes rather close to it. A couple of trees are planted around the area. It is spring - the flowers bloom beautifully, of all sorts of colours and kinds. 

There are no sakura trees.

Shouta suspects that planting a tree whose flowers symbolize the brevity of life in a hospital wouldn’t be auspicious, but he still wishes that he could see them. 

Leaning on his crutches, he moves forward to sit at a bench. The air is fresher and cooler than his hospital room. As much as he grumbles about it, Hizashi is right - going outside does wonders for his mood. He isn’t a man that enjoys being idle, but he knows to appreciate the moments of peace and quiet when he can. 

So he lets his eyes drift and resists the urge to take a nap. Instead, he latches onto small details - the petals drifting, the birds singing, the scent of sweet roses wafting by. It’s idyllic, almost. Fantastical.

And it’s why he sees the boy when he does. 

Shouta tilts his head. The boy can’t be older than twelve, with how small he is. He has messy green hair akin to the bushes surrounding him. He’s sketching something on his notepad. Though his eyes are focused on whatever he’s drawing, Shouta can still make out the bright green of his irises and the freckles on his cheek.

As if he feels the gaze that Shouta trains on him, the boy turns around and startles. 

Because Shouta doesn’t have a grain of knowledge on the art of social interaction, he just continues staring. 

The boy raises a hand awkwardly. “Um, hello, sir.”

Oh, right. He should probably respond.

Shouta clears his throat. “Hello.”

A breeze blows by. Shouta swears he can hear Hizashi laughing at him.

The boy in front of him tilts his head to one side, as if appraising him. “Are you here temporarily?”

Shouta blinks. “Pardon?”

“Temporarily.” The boy repeats, gesturing towards his broken leg. “Are you going to stay here for a long time?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The boy blinks, then nods. “Okay.”

Shouta looks at him. Truth be told, he finds the question a bit odd. Why would a boy’s first question toward an adult staring at him be that? Why would he be concerned over this?

The boy studies him a bit more. “Do you like it here?”

“This garden?” Shouta clarifies.

The boy nods. 

“I suppose I do.” Shouta relents. “It’s peaceful here. Gets me away from the stuffy indoors of the hospital.”

He has never liked the hospital. The hospital is filled with people who are being pulled away to death, one way or another, and run by people who are trying to pull people away from death, even when they don’t always succeed.

That raises another question, too.

Why is the boy in front of him here?

Shouta opens his mouth to ask the question, and then he closes it again. It isn’t any of his business. 

In fact, he should probably get back inside. Maybe then he’ll be able to get some work done. Mark some papers, maybe. Or plan the next part of his curriculum.

“I should get going.”

The boy in front of him nods, then turns back to drawing. Shouta grabs his crutches and stands up, slowly, ignoring the twinge of pain and focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Sir?”

He turns around.

The boy is looking at him.

The boy is smiling, actually. Shouta thinks that the smile is just as radiant as the sun beaming down on them.

“You should take more time to rest. Then you won’t have to be in the hospital for very long.”

Shouta stares.

The boy goes back to drawing and pays him no further attention. 

He shakes himself out of his stupor and continues making the slow trek back to his hospital room. 

That one is a peculiar case, indeed.

Musutafu General Hospital has a garden, and there’s a boy who visits it frequently.

The boy has green hair and green eyes and a smile that shines as bright as the sun. The boy likes drawing. The boy is always there alone. 

Shouta’s stay at the hospital is much longer than he thought it would be. He has no homeroom to teach this year, and they don’t need him for any special classes just yet. In fact, he suspects that Nedzu had a hand in this… extended vacation of his. 

Hizashi visits him often. He can’t be here all the time, between his three jobs and his homeroom class, but he tries his best.

But it’s still a bit lonely in the hospital room. There’s only so much curriculum to plan and so much paperwork to fill out. 

Or, technically, he does have some unfinished paperwork to do… but the deadline isn’t tomorrow, and thus, he doesn’t need to do it just yet. 

So while he tells Hizashi and Nemuri that they don’t need to go out of their way to visit him, he still finds that he actually craves company. He’s been sleeping far too much lately, in his humble opinion. 

A week after his previous trip, he goes to the garden again.

The boy is there.

The boy notices his presence far sooner than last time, and Shouta subconsciously praises his increased situational awareness. He turns around, meets his eyes, and gives him a smile right away, this time. “Hello, sir.”

“Hello.” Shouta responds. 

In all honesty, he isn’t expecting to see the boy again. 

(He’d hoped that he wouldn’t. Because that would mean that the boy no longer needed treatment. But knowing that he is still here, drawing in the hospital’s garden, is a kind of unique curse that Shouta has never before experienced.

He wonders how many boys there are like him that stay so long in a place where Shouta himself cannot stomach being in for more than a month.)

So the conversation is a little stilted, a little awkward. This time, the boy is sitting on a bench instead of on the ground. His pencils are scattered around him, but Shouta still makes his way over to sit on a bench next to him.

Often, Shouta doesn’t like to make small talk. But referring to the boy as “the boy”, even in his own mind, is getting a little bit tiring. “What should I call you, kid?”

The boy blinks at him. “Why would you need to know that?”

Shouta ignores his instinctual misgivings. “I would like to get to know you.”

At that, the boy laughs softly under his breath. This throws the hero for a loop - he isn’t expecting for the boy to be amused by such a thing. 

“I hope you don’t have to stay long enough to get to know me at all, sir.” The boy tells him, and his tone is earnest and honest and sad all at once, and Shouta can’t help but think that he shouldn’t bear so much sadness in his eyes. “But my name is Midoriya Izuku.”

“Midoriya.” Shouta tries the name on his tongue. “A fitting name.”

Eraserhead doesn’t like to give out his name to people. It holds a certain danger to it - because if enough people know who Eraserhead is, and enough people know that Aizawa Shouta is the same person, then everyone that he knows and everyone that he loves is at risk. Eraserhead has made many enemies in his time, and many of them would jump at the chance to take revenge, no matter what means they have to use to do it.

And yet…

“You don’t have to tell me your name, Eraserhead.”

The use of his hero name makes him jolt in surprise.

His first reaction is fear and anger. He resists the urge to ask him how he knows, how can he know, because if he’s doing his job right then no one should know that name. But the boy looks at him with amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“I took an interest in heroes back when I was three years old, sir. Even the underground ones.” He shrugs, spinning a pencil in his hand. “Underground heroics were very interesting to me, sir. There are very few pictures of you online, though - and people would only be able to find it if they knew what they were looking for. Rest assured that still, no one knows anything about your personal life.”

Shouta can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s still impressive, kid. Not a lot of people can recognize me out of costume.”

“I used to do analysis of heroes. I still do.” Midoriya gestures at a stack of notebooks sitting beside him, titled Hero Analysis. “The fighting style of each hero is different, and there’s lots of things to take note of. I can’t be drawing all the time, the doctors say. It’s good for me to have more hobbies.” 

“That’s commendable.” Shouta says gruffly. Midoriya offers his most recent notebook - numbered seven - and the hero flips through the pages as the boy watches.

There are lines and lines of messy handwriting, interspersed with sticky notes and small diagrams. He finds a drawing of Nemuri and huffs.

Midoriya looks a little bit nervous as Shouta reads, and Shouta wonders why. “I mean, it’s not as impressive as it looks, I guess. It’s just a pastime.”

“I don’t give empty compliments, kid.” He closes the book, handing it back to the boy, who takes it gratefully. “Ever considered applying to U.A.?”

Midoriya doesn’t meet his eyes. “No.”

Shouta raises an eyebrow. “Heroics not your thing?” He’s surprised, considering the things that he’s just read. The boy in front of him, with his seemingly guileless bright green eyes and nervous disposition, has a brilliant mind that any teacher would kill to get their hands on. Especially Nedzu. But he can hardly blame those who don’t want to get into heroics, either - if Midoriya has researched underground heroics as much as Shouta suspects, he would have seen enough to be disillusioned.

But none of those reasons are why Midoriya shakes his head.

He’s still smiling, Shouta notices.

“You could say that.”

The garden quickly becomes Shouta’s favourite place in the hospital.

He tells himself that it’s because it’s no longer stuffy whenever he walks outside. The scent of flowers on the wind is more than enough to calm his nerves. He chalks it down to the peace and calm that can be found outside, compared to the ever-stressful environment inside, but knows that those aren’t the only reasons.

There is a boy with green hair and green eyes named Midoriya Izuku, and he visits the garden so often that Shouta idly wonders if he has nowhere else to be. 

Hizashi is here with him this time. The very notion that Shouta would willingly want to go outside for a change gives him enough interest to stick with him while he hobbles outside. 

Midoriya is there, and smiles brightly at him when he sees him approaching. “Hello, sir!”

“Midoriya.” Shouta inclines his head and gestures to his friend, who is currently staring, gobsmacked, like the idea of Shouta having a civil conversation with someone that isn’t Hizashi is a foreign notion.

Admittedly, that is a completely fair assumption.

Shouta ignores this. “I brought a friend of mine. You might know him as Present Mic.”

Silence. 

(Well, not quite. The birds are still chirping - although, Shouta gets the impression that the birds are laughing at them, somehow.)

“ Present Mic?” Midoriya splutters out, eyes widening and darting back and forth. “Uh- I mean- sorry, I don’t mean to- to insinuate anything, sir, but-” he gestures wildly at them. “Present Mic and Eraserhead, friends?”

Hizashi startles him by laughing. 

Ah, no, laughing is not quite enough of a word to describe the utter glee in his voice. It’s honestly more of a cackle - one that would come out of Nedzu’s mouth after a plan particularly well executed. “I like you, listener! Admittedly, a lot of people are surprised when they learn that we’re friends. I picked his hero name, actually!”

Midoriya chokes. “You did?”

Shouta groans. “Hizashi.”

“You’re not even going to let me grace your newest friend with stories of your edgy youth? How cold, Eraserhead.” Hizashi puts a hand to his heart in mock distress. “Why, I’m hurt.”

“Hizashi.”

“Ah, all those tales I could have regaled him with. Eating whatever leftovers you decided was best for that day on the roof. Leaving your umbrella over stray cats because you’ve always had a soft spot for them. Breaking your wrist because you were so enamoured with your capture scarf, and Recovery Girl chewing you out immediately after.” Hizashi shakes his head. “All these stories, forever untold.”

“Hizashi.”

Midoriya laughs.

That gives Shouta pause, somehow. He’d never heard him laugh before. This isn’t the first time, nor second, nor third, that Shouta has seen him smile with the colour of a thousand flowers - but it is the first time he hears that melodic laugh. It’s a sound as bright as the sun itself. 

The laughing tapers off. “Ah, sorry, sir - I didn’t mean to come off as disrespectful-”

“It’s alright.” Shouta surprises himself by saying that.

It’s worth it, to see Midoriya’s smile stretch a bit more, seem a little more genuine and less tinged with sadness. 

(Not for the first time, the underground hero wonders why a boy aged twelve holds that much sadness in him - enough to make it seem like the flowers are already withering, the foundations of the earth cracking, the stars splintering. Sometimes, it makes his smile look paper-thin and fragile.)

Hizashi turns to him with a mischievous grin. “I’m going to take that in a way that you probably did not want me to take.”

Shouta stares at him. He hopes that he can convey the disappointed and tired and all around done manner of his attitude. “ Hizashi.”

“Settle down, listener!” Present Mic (the entertainer, because Hizashi has always been so much better than Shouta at entertaining people) claps his hands cheerfully and takes a seat on the bench, Midoriya following suit and looking just a little bit starry-eyed. “I have so many things to tell you about our dear underground hero.”

Shouta might have regrets. 

He never thought that he’d one day be officially discharged from the hospital. 

Hizashi called it a miracle. So did Nemuri, actually. And Cementoss, and Snipe, and Ectoplasm, and Power Loader, and even fucking Thirteen and Lunch Rush. Hell, even Nedzu gave him a raise. Hizashi probably owes Thirteen money, actually.

Maybe Shouta should stay his full length of recovery more often. 

But the fact is this: he, pro hero Eraserhead, Aizawa Shouta, has willingly stayed at the hospital until his leg was fully recovered, and he is lingering for even longer. 

He doesn’t need crutches anymore. He’s walking normally. In fact, Shouta has a patrol slotted for this evening to dawn, and yet he’s still here.

He’s staying after he’s discharged, to pay the garden another visit before he leaves.

(Eraserhead does not delude himself into thinking it will be his last visit. He will get injured dozens, most likely hundreds of times in the future. Not all of them will warrant a trip to the hospital, but this will not be his last visit.)

Shouta breathes in the cool air of the garden.

Midoriya Izuku is there. 

He’s sketching something. As always, though, before Shouta can get too close, he has somehow figured out that the underground hero is observing him, and turns around with yet another smile and a wave.

Shouta takes the prompt to sit beside him on the bench. 

Midoriya hums as he keeps sketching, eyes still on the page. “Are you leaving today?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.”

They share a beat of silence.

Or rather, not quite silence. It’s never silent in the garden of Musutafu General Hospital, because it is so very full of life - the breeze is blowing by, the fountain’s water is gushing, and the birds are always, always singing. 

Shouta finds that he likes this moment. 

“Are you going to be okay on your own?”

Midoriya puts down the pencil he was using and picks up another one. “Eraserhead, sir, I have company here in the hospital. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s good, Problem Child.”

The green-haired boy freezes. Shouta does too.

Midoriya turns to watch him inquisitively. “...’Problem Child’?”

Shouta sighs. Deeply. “Don’t think much about it. I call the best ones in my class problem children.”

He can’t help but see Midoriya’s blinding smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Shouta grunts in response. 

The air around them stills once more. It’s idyllic here. Peaceful. The world is colourful with its clusters of flowers. The clouds above dot the blue sky. The breeze carries with it the sweet scent of roses. 

Shouta’s eyes drift, as they always do. Eventually, his eye latches on the thing currently occupying Midoriya’s attention.

He’s sketching a branch of cherry blossoms. 

“Are you fond of sakura trees?”

Midoriya startles, a little bit, at being addressed suddenly, and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly when he realizes it. But he nods. “Yes, sir. I go to the Hanami festival every year to watch them.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Shouta isn’t lying. The sketch is detailed, each petal and seed drawn with painstaking detail and shades of gray. 

But maybe he is also talking about the cherry blossoms themselves, and the life that they represent. 

Midoriya smiles again. He’s always smiling - but this one feels different. Softer. More tender, somehow. “I think so too, sir.”

Shouta is quiet. 

The sun is beginning to set. He needs to get back soon, if he wants to make it to patrol on time. 

He stands up. “I wish you the best, Midoriya.”

The boy nods, tearing his gaze from his page to look him in the eye. “I do too, Eraserhead. I-” He purses his lips. “I hope we’ll never have to meet again, for your sake, but I know better.”

Shouta grins at him. It’s all sharp edges and brash attitude, but both of them understand the sentiment. “Of course, Problem Child.”

He turns and starts walking away, but stops right before he leaves the garden. 

“And by the way, Midoriya.” Shouta’s voice carries through the courtyard. 

His head turns back partially, just enough to see Midoriya looking at him. 

Eraserhead tilts his head. “The name is Aizawa Shouta.”

Surprise flickers across the boy’s face before he laughs. 

It’s a quiet one, but it’s still a bright sound.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

Shouta turns away, throwing a careless wave over his shoulder. 

Maybe it isn’t in Eraserhead’s best interest to give his name out to people who know who he is. 

He still can’t find it in himself to think that he made any kind of mistake. 

Chapter Text

If you ask Mirio, he would say that his performance during the entrance exam wasn’t the most impressive. 

He did rack up a decent number of villain points, and quite the number of rescue points, but he still lost his pants and had way more difficulty finding targets. His score was average, when put alongside other peoples’ numbers - even Tamaki would’ve been a better option.

So frankly, he is quite surprised to see the number one hero on his doorstep.

The smile freezes on his face. “A-ah, All Might! How can I help you today?”

Is it to talk about his U.A. entrance? Is All Might going to talk to him about his coming year? Kami, he can’t do this - the number one hero on his doorstep? That is too much for Mirio to handle. 

“Togata-shounen.” All Might inclines his head. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Of course!” Mirio steps aside hurriedly to let the lumbering form of the hero enter the doorway. “Sorry for the lack of hospitality, sir, I- I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

All Might ( All Might) chuckles. “It’s quite alright. I’m aware this is on short notice. Is there anyone else in your home?”

“My parents are out for a business trip right now. It’s just me.” Kami, Mirio has never stumbled over his words as much as he has today. Tamaki would find this situation funny - if Tamaki ever has the energy to be amused at his friend’s expense, that is.

“That’s good.” All Might breathes in.

He almost looks… nervous?

That can’t be right. All Might is the number one! He’s the Symbol of Peace - he’s the reason that Japan’s crime rate is so low. What does he have to fear?

“I came to you with a proposition, Togata-shounen.” 

Mirio’s brain screeches to a halt. 

“And I want to make sure that you know that this is absolutely your own choice.” All Might continues, as if Mirio’s world hasn’t just shifted left on its axis. “But either way, I beg you to hear me out, and no matter what your decision is, I hope that you will keep this a secret.”

“Of course!” Mirio gestures wildly. “Oh, of course- it would be an honour, All Might!”

“I have your word.” All Might stresses, and Mirio nods vigorously in response. 

“You have my word! Locked lips, sealed!”

And then All Might deflates.

Mirio can’t help but gape at the form of a very… normal man in front of him.

The man in front of him is like All Might, in a way. The hair colour is the same, though the bangs aren’t sticking up. He’s much shorter. His body isn’t bulging with muscles anymore - his form is still defined, still healthy - okay, maybe a little less - but it looks painfully normal. 

“...All Might?” Mirio asks, hesitantly, and the man in front of him rubs the back of his neck. 

“I know, it must be a little bit of a shock.” He shrugs. “My civilian name is Yagi Toshinori, if that will make it easier. I don’t necessarily want this form to be recognized by the public.”

Mirio opens his mouth, and no sound comes out.

“But this isn’t the only reason why I came to you today, Togata-shounen.” 

(That’s still All Might, no matter what he says, though - because this man in front of him is the number one, the Symbol of Peace, and no matter how much difficulty Mirio will have in reconciling his image of the hero with the man in front of him, that is still All Might.)  

All Might takes a deep breath. “I want you to know the truth of my quirk.”

That gives Mirio pause. “Isn’t your quirk strength enhancement, All Mi- sir?” He opts for instead, trying to ease himself into addressing the hero by anything other than his hero name. 

All Might chuckles. A wry smile pulls across his lips, and it’s nothing like the one he sees on television - no, this one is a bit drier, less reassuring, yet somehow more… human.

“Not exactly, my boy.”

It’s not long before Shouta lands himself in the hospital again. 

Which was honestly to be expected. It isn’t even that severe of an injury this time - just a snapped wrist from a capture weapon move done wrong, and yet he’s here. 

Unfortunately for him, Nedzu has found it necessary to threaten him into staying the full length of the hospital stay this time. That’s not necessarily saying that Shouta wouldn’t stay regardless, though. 

Because as much as he does not want to admit it, Midoriya’s presence makes his stay much more enjoyable. 

In the midst of the bleak nature and clinical environment of the hospital, Midoriya has all the colour and cheer that they need. Over time, Shouta gets to know more of him and his hobbies. 

“Back so soon, Aizawa-san?” Midoriya asks, his tone amused. “I thought you would’ve been gone longer.”

Over time, Shouta also gets to know his drier, more sarcastic side. 

“You know how it is.” Shouta gestures at himself with one hand, careful not to jostle his right. “Underground heroics. It’s part of the job description.”

“The other patients in long-term care are beginning to wonder why you’re such a frequent visitor, Aizawa-san.” As he says this, Midoriya doesn’t even pause in his current project - an intricate wire tree with bases of crystal spheres and leaves of gemstones. “You’re beginning to catch the attention of some of them.”

“Because of my injuries?” Shouta raises an eyebrow, and Midoriya laughs.

“What else, really?” He asks idly, twisting and plying the wires at his will. It’s a slow process, but it’s still interesting to watch, because he is creating something out of nothing, turning something unnoteworthy and plain to something beautiful. The wire trees that he has seen in Midoriya create are colourful and diverse. The way he forms loops and threads beads speaks of years of expertise. 

Midoriya continues, still not stopping as he speaks. “At the hospital, you can’t help but notice other people’s injuries. It’s part of the grim atmosphere, Aizawa-san.”

Shouta grunts in acknowledgement. “Part of why I hate it here so much.”

“Enough to make your escapes through the windows?”

Shouta stares.

Midoriya grins, unabashed. “Your reputation began here long before that day you actually stayed your full length to heal your broken leg, Aizawa-san. Even before you met me, I heard all about the man who would forcefully discharge himself early from all the nurses and doctors I talked to.”

The erasure hero blinks. “I… did not expect to have such a reputation here.”

“Musutafu General Hospital is the top visited hospital by underground heroes for a reason.” The leaves are beginning to come together, now. Midoriya takes the sets of wires he made previously and weaves them together quickly, efficiently, and soon there is a fully shaped branch in front of Shouta’s eyes. “It’s inconspicuous, as far as hospitals go. Everyone comes here - it’s the easiest way to get treatment without too much suspicion, unlike the hospitals dedicated to treating heroes.”

When Midoriya finally turns to look at him for the first time since they greeted each other at the beginning of the day, he finds Shouta looking at him. 

“Um… sir.” He begins hesitantly. “Did I say something wrong?”

Shouta shakes himself out of it. “Not at all, Problem Child,” he’s quick to reassure. If he were Midoriya’s teacher, he’d make him work on his self-confidence. “You’re completely correct. I was just a little caught off-guard.”

“An underground hero, caught off-guard? Now I’ve seen it all.” Midoriya mutters under his breath. Shouta catches it anyway, and he scowls, but the answering smile is more than enough to tell him that the boy in front of him knows it doesn’t come from a place of genuine affront. 

Damn it. He’s known the kid for about two months, and he can already read through his expressions and any possible future logical ruses. 

Shouta shakes his head (out of a place of fondness, he realises) and tries not to sound too disbelieving. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re observant, kid?”

“Observant? I didn’t think so.” Midoriya shrugs, turning his attention back to the wires and beads in front of him, starting a new branch. 

“It’s just that when you grow up like I did, you tend to learn how to spot certain things.”

Shouta narrows his eyes. “‘Certain things’?”

Midoriya waves him off. “Nothing much, sir. Don’t worry about it.”

Shouta frowns, but doesn’t pry. Not everything about the Problem Child is his problem, after all. Midoriya deserves his privacy. 

It still doesn’t stop him from worrying, though.

“My quirk is called One for All.”

Mirio is glad that they sat down before they had this conversation, because otherwise he’d probably collapse on his knees in shock now. 

“This quirk was passed onto me like a sacred torch.” All Might exhales, a little forcefully, and continues. “I was chosen as the bearer of its flame, and now I’m offering to pass it to you.”

Mirio doesn’t even know what to say. Which is honestly impressive in its own right - Tamaki would always tell him that he had so many things to talk about, all the time, no matter the scenario. 

Guess he finally has one to prove him wrong. 

“I know this is a lot to take in.” All Might continues. “But please consider, Togata-shounen.”

“Why me?” Mirio finally manages, because he’s asking it. Why him? He wasn’t very impressive in the entrance exam - if anything, it was a very humiliating display. He has minimal control over his quirk. He can think of so many other people who would be more powerful and benefit more from having a strength enhancer - why him?

“Why you, Togata-shounen?” If he didn’t know better, Mirio would think that All Might sounds amused. “You have potential. Nighteye was very selective in choosing who could be my successor, and Nighteye very rarely makes mistakes.”

“My quirk-”

“-has much potential.” All Might tilts his head - it’s still a bit surreal, seeing him as a normal man. He’s still having trouble reconciling this person in front of him with the Symbol of Peace. “Togata-shounen, think of what you could do with your quirk. If you trained your control over it, you’d be able to bypass any barrier, punch through any walls. You’d never get hit. You’d be able to show up and take down villains in the most unexpected of places.”

Mirio blinks, surprised.

He hadn’t really thought about that, to be honest. The only thing he’d really made use of, before this, was shooting out of the ground after using Permeation on his entire body. 

“Your quirk is already strong, my boy.”

“Oh.” Mirio says, eloquently. “Um.”

All Might lets out a chuckle at his expression. “You do not need to give me an answer now, Togata-shounen. I am more than willing to wait. But if you do accept-” he hands him a slip of paper, and Mirio accepts it with shaking hands, “-call Nighteye at his agency. He’ll help you.”

The number one hero ( the number one hero) makes eye contact with him. “I reiterate, my boy, you are not obligated in any way to accept. This is a heavy burden to shoulder. We will not take offense if you decline.”

Mirio swallows. As if he could ever. Not just because All Might is the number one, no - to have the opportunity to become the hero he’s always dreamed to be? To actually have a chance at saving a million people?

He’d be a fool to turn it down.

The hero hopeful’s mouth moves a little bit more before he finally manages to speak. “I- I just have a question.”

All Might nods. “Ask.”

“Why are you looking for a successor now?” It rushes out of him, because the worry has been sitting with him ever since he saw All Might’s- no, Yagi-san’s true form. “Don’t- don’t you have a lot more years ahead of you as the Symbol of Peace, All Might? You’re-” A flash of panic races through him. “You’re not dying, are you?”

The man before him doesn’t speak for several long moments.

These long moments may very well be the longest ones of Mirio’s life.

(In the future, he will realize that that is a lie.)

“No.” All Might speaks. “I am not dying, Togata-shounen. I still have just as much power as I did in my prime.”

Mirio lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“But that is only because of a… a miracle.” All Might continues, and Mirio’s eyes snap back up to him in shock. “I was dealt a severe injury four years ago. It made me realize that I could not be the Symbol of Peace forever. I need to make sure society will not collapse after my inevitable retirement - and I can think of no one better to hold up the shield of humanity in my place.”

“...was the injury that bad, All Might?”

The number one hero’s hand subconsciously makes its way to his left side. “Worse than you could possibly imagine.”

Mirio breathes out shakily. “I’m- I’m glad that you were helped, then, All Might.” He offers. 

Somehow, that only makes All Might look even sadder.

“Will you go to the Hanami festival this year, Aizawa-san?”

Shouta’s already set to leave, this time. His recovery period is much shorter - and so he’s back in the garden, admiring the sunset, when Midoriya asks him this question.

He makes a noise of contemplation. “Probably not. Why?”

Midoriya looks away. He looks embarrassed. “I- I was going to invite you to come with me, sir, but if you’re busy-”

“No, not at all.” Shouta sighs heavily. “It’s just that I usually go with Hizashi and Nemuri, but Hizashi’s off in America for a case that needs his quirk, and Nemuri is slotted for emergency patrol the entire week due to a couple of complications.”

“You’re still busy, though.” Midoriya says, quietly, and the implication is clear: too busy for me.

Shouta shakes his head. “I don’t need to be.”

Midoriya turns to him, like he can’t believe that Shouta just said that. Truthfully, he can’t believe it either - Eraserhead might not have many patrols, but the curriculum could always use more planning in advance, and he’s never caught up on his paperwork ever since he started his hero career ten years ago.

But there must be something in his expression that gives away the fact that he's sincere about it (ugh, emotions-) and Midoriya’s smile lights up the dusk in the place of the setting sun. 

“I’m glad.” He turns back to the west horizon, watching the hues of orange, pink and red streak the sky like paint across a canvas. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Shouta turns an inquisitive gaze to the boy beside him.

Midoriya only beams and offers no answers. 

Shouta huffs. “Sure, Problem Child. Suit yourself.”

“You won’t regret it, Aizawa-san.” He says earnestly. 

(Someday, he’ll realize the true meaning behind this conversation, and agree wholeheartedly - perhaps even more than he does in this moment and the one during the festival itself.)

“I’m sure I won’t.” Eraserhead replies, tone just a little biting and sarcastic. 

But of course, because Midoriya is a Problem Child, he only smiles even brighter. 

Shouta leaves before the sun sets completely, but he suspects that Midoriya would’ve lit up the garden in its entirety if he’d stayed.

Chapter Text

“ Oka-san?”

“Mm?”

“Is Izuku-kun still coming to visit you?”

Rei smiles. “Of course he is.”

“I’m glad.” Fuyumi twists her hands in her lap from where she’s sitting on the picnic mat, under the sakura trees. The Hanami festival has become a tradition among the Todoroki family - or at least, what’s left of it, anyway. 

Because as soon as Endeavor got his hands on the ideal son, his legacy, Todoroki Shouto, he stopped caring about any of them, as long as they didn’t so-called “interfere” with Shouto’s training. Rei’s smile faltered when her thoughts reached her son, as it always did - but her expression smoothed back when she thought of how lucky she was to be able to have contact with her children at all. 

I truly am lucky, she muses, watching Fuyumi fiddle nervously. 

“I mean, I’m in my first year of college, so… I can’t visit you as much, Oka-san. And Natsu doesn’t always pick up the slack as much as I’d like to.”

The affronted Hey! from the other side of the tarp, muffled by a sandwich currently stuffed in the said brother’s mouth, makes both of them giggle for a moment. 

Rei shakes her head fondly. “It’s alright. You shouldn’t worry so much about me - you’re getting so much older. You’ll have your own responsibilities soon, Fuyumi.”

“That doesn’t mean I should leave you behind, Oka-san. ” Fuyumi asserts, firmly. There’s a burning desire, a burning resolve in her eyes that only Rei can truly see, and she knows what it’s for - the belief that one day, maybe her father would be willing to start making amends. Maybe Shouto would be allowed to reconnect with them.

Maybe, just maybe, in the future - they would be able to be a family again.

(Rei wants this too. But Rei doesn’t know if she wants Enji in this family - no, she doesn’t know at all. She looks at him and can only remember the tortuous years in the household, Shouto’s screams and cries before she did the unthinkable and was sent away - but still, some part of her knows what Enji is thinking, even if her children do not.)

The mother sighs. “It would be easier for you, Fuyumi.” She tries, but she knows the battle is lost before it even begins. 

Fuyumi puts her hand on top of Rei’s. “Let’s not talk about such things today. It’s the Hanami festival!” She smiles, bright and wide, and Rei can’t help but smile too. “Izuku-kun will be here soon. We can have a nice picnic here, just like we have all these years."

Her expression turns distant. 

Rei knows the unspoken words.

And maybe, for years to come, with more of our family alongside us.

Fuyumi’s eyes brighten noticeably, suddenly fixated on something behind Rei. She doesn’t even need to turn around to know that there is a mop of green hair and green eyes, and Fuyumi waves excitedly. 

But when Rei does turn around, she doesn’t exactly expect to see two figures approach them. 

Shouta might have regrets.

No, Shouta definitely has regrets. 

What possessed him to go to the Hanami festival without Hizashi nor Nemuri acting as a buffer between his lack of societal tact and everyone else, all of whom expect great levels of societal tact? He doesn’t even know anymore. This is quite possibly the most illogical decision he has made to date.

There’s someone I’d like you to meet.

Midoriya is making his way to a picnic tarp under the sakura blossoms. 

There is a woman with pale, icy blue hair. Two children are accompanying her- her children, Shouta suspects. 

(He feels exposed out here. Under the sakura trees, whose blossoms easily hide any potential attackers camping in its branches - even outside of patrol and outside of hero costume, he can’t help but feel alert. Always on alert, like any underground hero (regretfully) should be. Subconsciously, he buries himself deeper into his capture weapon around his shoulders - a mere scarf to the untrained eye, but both a weapon and a comfort item to the underground hero who uses it.)

One of the children is waving at Midoriya. Midoriya waves back, smile somehow still noticeably bright and colourful despite the environment. 

“Fuyumi-san!”

“Izuku-kun!” 

Midoriya runs over, and Eraserhead resists the urge to walk away, blend back into the crowd, and pretend that this entire interaction never happened.

It wouldn’t be a feasible action anyway. Because the girl - Fuyumi, his mind supplies helpfully, although it’s probably the first name if Midoriya is on a first-name basis with this girl - has taken note of him, and she’s inquiring after him already. “Who’s your friend?”

Friend.

Shouta hates that she’s right. 

“Oh!” Midoriya spins around on his heel (too much energy, Kami, Shouta has regrets-) and gestures toward Shouta’s general form. “This is Aizawa-san! He’s been keeping me company in the hospital these past few months.”

The woman raises her eyebrow. “Company?”

Midoriya shrugs, then raises a cheeky grin at Shouta. “He gets injured a lot.”

Shouta resists the urge to facepalm.

He fails. Miserably. Because Midoriya is a Problem Child, with emphasis.

Instead, he opts for grounding himself with exactly one deep breath, and holds his hand out for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There is mirth in the woman’s eyes. “Of course. My name is Todoroki Rei - though please, call me Rei.”

Shouta blinks, startled by the lack of formality. “I’m not sure that I should-”

“Please, I do insist.” Todoroki-san - no, Rei inclines her head. “There are three Todorokis present. Keeping up pointless customs would be inefficient, Aizawa-san.”

He swallows dryly. Courtesy calls for him to offer the same - to tell them that it would be okay to call him by his first name, by Shouta, but-

But he can’t do it.

Shouta is a name shared by very few friends. Shouta is a name shared with whispers between a trio once called the Three Dumbingos of U.A. - a name that is now no more than a whisper of nostalgia upon the wind, right beside the scent of sweet flowers. 

It feels like betrayal, almost. To even think about offering up his given name towards a stranger he has met for all of two minutes.

Shouta bows his head. He can’t.

Desperate for a change in conversation, he grasps at straws. 

“...How did you and Midoriya meet?”

“How did we meet?” Rei echoes, looking a little bit more amused. The subject of names and honorifics has mostly been forgotten by her, it appears, and for that Shouta breathes a sigh of relief. “It was at a Hanami festival just like this, actually.”

Shouta blinks. Stares. Looks at Midoriya.

Midoriya laughs nervously. “I begged the doctors to let me go to the Hanami festival ever since… yeah. I’d always been fond of the sakura trees - as I’m sure you know, Aizawa-san.” His eyes meet Shouta’s, bright green flashing against dull black. “But it was still a little lonely… so one day, Natsuo-kun here asked me if I wanted to play.”

The boy - presumably Natsuo - splutters. “I did not-”

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, Natsu!” Todoro- Fuyumi laughs at her sibling. “You were barely thirteen!”

“I was already thirteen.” Natsuo grumbles. “Midoriya is turning thirteen this year, and you don’t see him looking for random, sad children on the benches to play.”

“Oh no, I would.” Midoriya admits breezily, and Natsuo chokes on the sandwich he was in the process of eating. “There just aren’t any that need help today.”

Rei’s laugh is chiming. “You’ve always had a way of finding people who need help, Izuku.”

“Like Oka-san.” Fuyumi says, off-handedly.

Shouta narrows his eyes. Like Rei?

Rei sees the questioning gaze trained on her and sighs. “I live in a psychiatric ward.”

Fuyumi’s smile dims. Natsuo pauses - this time, not because he has choked.

“It’s not as bad as the media makes it out to be. The nurses and patients are friendly, and I feel safer there. And after a while, the psychiatrists did acknowledge that I was… of relatively sound mind, but home wasn’t the best place for me. It became more of a permanent stay in a hospital, but legally labelled differently. It’s why I’m allowed here, outside, at all.” Rei’s eyes focus on something far away - Shouta doesn’t know what it is, and suspects that no one does, except for Rei herself. “But… having company outside of my family is nice.”

Her family.

Aizawa Shouta is not an idiot. He’s an underground hero- he can’t afford to be one, because if he is, then countless lives that depend on him will be lost. So he notices that this woman’s name is Todoroki Rei - that this is the name of Endeavor’s wife - and Endeavor himself, alongside their youngest son, isn’t present at the festival today.

The Hanami festival is meant to be celebrated with families and close friends.

(What does that say about the number two hero, that he is considered neither by his wife and children?)

But it isn’t Shouta’s place to pry, no matter how much he wishes it were so, so he stays silent and listens. 

Rei exhales. The puff of air in front of her materializes in a little cloud of ice, and Shouta can’t find it in himself to point out the public quirk usage, nor activate Erasure. 

“Izuku demanded to know why I looked sad all the time. He wouldn’t stop until I told him where I was staying, so that he could send flowers and come visit me when he had the time.” Her eyes turn to Shouta’s. “You’re lucky to have a friend like him, Aizawa-san.”

“Friends? …yeah, I guess that’s the closest word for us, huh?” Midoriya chuckles, busying his hands quietly by twisting them. “I had no tact back when I was nine.”

“And I’m all the happier and more thankful for it.” Rei’s eyes sparkle in the way only fractured glass can, and Shouta can’t help but think it’s fitting. 

Fractured glass is all too similar to fractured ice, after all, and the refractions that such materials provide often break light apart into tiny, small rainbows. 

Rei shakes her head. “Enough of that.” She smiles again, and it is tiny, not radiant, but Midoriya mirrors it and reflects that light until it is once again illuminating the atmosphere. “We’re here to celebrate the Hanami festival. Aizawa-san, tell me, what kinds of foods are you partial towards?”

Shouta blinks. “Ah. Um. Food. Right.”

Midoriya and Rei narrow their eyes in almost perfect unison. 

Aizawa Shouta is an underground hero who has worked for a decade. He has seen horrors great and small, witnessed humanity at its worst, and done the unthinkable to keep Japan just a little bit safer.

“I… don’t have much of a habit of eating in what people deem…” Shouta winces. “a healthy manner.”

Faintly, he thinks that the twin glares of people who have shown him rather sunny dispositions up to now really shouldn’t feel as threatening as it does.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how you expected us not to pile you with food after you just admitted what you did.”

“Midoriya-”

“But you could’ve chosen a worse time, I suppose. I am of the opinion that everyone should try Fuyumi-san’s cooking at least once in their lives. Then again, now Fuyumi is stressing over whether or not she brought enough for five people - but you gain some, you lose some.”

“Midoriya-”

“Would you like to try the dango? Or the bento? There’s only four bento here with us today but Natsuo and I can probably share. I don’t eat much anyway.”

“Midoriya-”

“Izuku, did you bring any wires and beads?”

“I haven’t finished my other wire tree project, so I wasn’t very keen on starting on the cherry tree project here yet. You know how it is with me and unfinished things. I brought origami paper, though.”

“ Izuku, you say that every year. You know that with all three of us working on it at the same time we could get it done within the day.”

“I can’t help it! It’s just instinctual!”

“Now now, boys. We do this every year anyway, don’t we? Think of it- folding cranes and flowers under the falling sakura petals. It’s like our own tradition. Isn’t that nice?”

“...well when you put it that way, onee-san-”

“And Izuku-kun will teach us something new again, won’t he? He does every year.”

“Only if you’re willing to fold parts to make a whole.”

“Of course!”

“It’s like you’re our sensei.”

“Aww, you’re right! Izuku-kun, our little sensei!”

“ Midoriya-sensei-”

“Guys, please-”

“They’re good for each other.”

“Mm.”

“Not that talkative, Aizawa-san? That’s alright. I don’t tend to talk too much either, you know. It’s… safer to stay silent.”

“...you understand.”

“Perhaps in a different way than you did. It was safer for me to stay silent because silent rebellion meant a safer environment for my children than speaking up did. I did not want them to see me in a state of weakness when they were surrounded by fear.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s- It’s the job of heroes to protect people, not harm them. If I had known that Endeavor-”

“-what could you have done?”

“I’m an underground hero. I’ve taken cases like these before-”

“There isn’t any case against Endeavor, Aizawa-san.”

“Because he’s the number two hero?”

“Exactly because he’s the number two hero. We can’t do anything just yet - the media would take the word of Endeavor over any of us, except for the tabloids, and no one trusts the tabloids. The long game would be to hope that one of us gains enough credibility to give a testimony and reveal the truth to the public… in a day where losing the number two hero wouldn’t bring the entirety of hero society crashing down.”

“...our single-pillar system really is quite illogical.”

“They’re doing their best. All Might can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Izuku-kun, have you gone stargazing?”

“...I haven’t, actually. It’s on my bucket list! It’s just that- well, I’m sick, and all- so the doctors aren’t really keen on letting me out on the roof past midnight to feed myself to all the bugs.”

“...then you should come with us! When you’ve gotten better! We can go stargazing together. Right, Natsu?”

“Yeah, onee-san’s right. It’s a different experience in person, you know. Different from seeing pictures and embroidering them.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll try my best!”

“The sun is setting.”

“Izuku always thinks the sunset is the most beautiful time of the day.”

“It’s quite colourful.”

“I think I’m going to have to go back to the hospital now… today was really fun!”

“Aww. Can’t stay a little longer?”

“Natsu! You know that he’ll get in trouble with the doctors if he doesn’t get back soon.”

“I know, onee-san, but… even though we can visit, you’re in college, and I’m in high school… we won’t be able to see each other as often anymore.”

“It’s okay! I have a phone, Natsuo! Save your free time for visiting Rei-san - she needs it more than I do.”

“You deserve our time, Izuku-kun.”

“I appreciate it, guys… but really.”

“I’ll have to send the Problem Child back to the hospital soon. I’m not quite willing to incur the wrath of doctors when I’m not even a patient. Might I know which psychiatric ward you’re staying in?”

“Just the Musutafu one. It’s the most inconspicuous.”

“I would like to bring over one of my friends. You might know her as Midnight? I think you two would get along quite well, really.”

“Midnight? I don’t often look at the news, but some of the other patients have talked about her. I wouldn’t mind, really. Company is quite nice.”

“Then I’ll see you some time, Rei-san.”

“Thank you. And… Aizawa-san?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t tell anyone about what’s going on. It’ll do more harm than good, and I’d hate to cut short your career.”

“Rei-san, I am an underground hero. I couldn’t honestly care less about what the media says about me. But I’ll keep it in mind.”

“...thank you, Aizawa-san.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

As they walk away, with the sun setting over the horizon, Shouta asks a question. 

“How do you know where to find them, Midoriya?”

Midoriya tilts his head at him. “I’m not sure I follow, Aizawa-san.”

Shouta huffs. “Problem Child. You know what I mean.”

He nods back at the tree that they’re getting further from, at the spot on the grass where they had laid out a tarp hours prior. “Rei-san told me that she isn’t allowed a phone yet. Sending letters, while they serve as a method of communication, gets difficult when one is in a psychiatric ward and the other one seems to live at the hospital all the time. And I doubt that Natsuo and Fuyumi would play messenger for that long.”

The answering grin is more than enough of a confirmation. “The first time we met, it was the first Sunday of May. The sakura blossoms open up during a different time every year - but even so, the first Sunday of May has yet to be a day where the sakura have not bloomed.”

Midoriya gestures around them - at the falling flurry of sakura petals, not unlike the flurrying snow that had been present in Musutafu only four months ago. “While life changes and the sakura both flower and wilt, the tree trunks stay the same. We only need to find our way back to our own landmarks every year.”

Midoriya’s grin turns a little lopsided, a little amused. “And if one day, the first Sunday of May brings no sakura blooms, then we’ll simply have to appreciate them the following year.”

He says it with such certainty. This boy before him is so confident in saying that there will be a next year to see these sakura, even if they don’t see them in any given year. 

Shouta wishes that he could have the same kind of certainty. Underground heroism means that he must be prepared to die in the line of work at any time. In that sense, Hizashi and Nemuri are so much more likely to survive longer than he will - and not only because they have the public backing of more officials and medical professionals. 

But Midoriya’s confidence is infectious, almost. 

Shouta shakes his head in fond exasperation. “I didn’t take you for a poet, Problem Child.”

Midoriya’s laugh is as bright as the petals falling around them. “What can I say, Aizawa-san? The sakura trees are awfully inspiring around this time of the year.”

Shouta rolls his eyes. Midoriya’s laugh is chiming, and it has nothing to do with the windchimes around them as they walk through the residential areas.

Midoriya is a Problem Child. That’s all.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to Nighteye’s agency.” The sidekick beside Mirio ushers him in as soon as he sees him. “Sir is waiting for you just inside.”

Mirio nods at the sidekick - Centipeder, his mind helpfully offers. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath to ground himself. He isn’t… well, he’s nervous, certainly. Inheriting a centuries-old quirk created to stop the supervillain of all evil isn’t a thing you do every day. 

He raises a fist to knock, but All Might opens the door before his knuckles can make contact. 

Mirio blinks, startled. 

All Might is in his civilian form. Which- makes sense, Mirio supposes, given that it must be tiring to keep up his hero form at all times of the day - but it still throws Mirio for a loop, because he isn’t exactly prepared to see the number one hero today. 

He thought it would just be Nighteye.

The hero’s voice in question echoes behind All Might. “Ah, that must be Togata. Come in.”

All Might - Yagi-san, Mirio’s getting better at this, he swears- steps aside to let him in. Swallowing nervously, Mirio steps into the office of the person who will train him to become the Symbol of Peace’s successor. 

Nighteye is famous for a… variety of reasons, the greatest of which is his partnership with All Might. And yet he’s still an enigma. For one, no one knows his real name. For another, no one knows what his quirk is.

For all intents and purposes, despite how prevalent he is in the media, he may very well be an underground hero. 

“Sir- Sir Nighteye.” Mirio stutters. That is Sir Nighteye.

Nighteye looks at him. Appraises him. Huffs, as if he has failed some silent test that Mirio didn’t even know he was subject to. 

“You’ll do well to get rid of your hero worship, Togata. It’ll only be a hindrance in our training going forward.”

“Sasaki.” All Might hisses.

“I’m not here to coddle him, Yagi.” Nighteye bites back, tone sharp. “Either he learns to let it go, or we waste time here. He will make a great successor, but he has a long way to go.”

Mirio stands a little straighter. Nighteye’s attitude is - refreshing, actually. Knowing that his mentor will not mince his words and be brutally honest if need be is a comforting thought. Mirio has never been good at picking apart which “no”s mean “yes”, after all.

He bows to the two heroes. “I will do my best not to disappoint, Nighteye-sensei!”

Nighteye snorts, like he’s amused. “If I thought you wouldn’t, boy, I wouldn’t have picked you in the first place. Straighten up.” Mirio complies, and makes eye contact with irises of dull, wise gold. “First lesson: any quirk can become suited for heroics if you know how to use it. Tell me, do you have any ideas as to how you could help use your quirk in combat?”

“Well-” Mirio starts, but he gets cut off by Nighteye before he can put more words in.

“Good, because change of plans. We’re going to do everything but that.” His mentor looks at him with a glint in his eye. “Today, you’re going to train using unexpected and improvised techniques.”

Look, in Shouta’s defense, this time it really wasn’t his fault. 

He doesn’t know how exactly their position was given away this time, but there was too much panic for anyone to act logically at that point in time. So when one of the rookie underground heroes he was working with saw a man of unknown identity dressed in black approaching him with lightning speed from the shadows, he raised his gun and fired.

Thank Kami that it was just on the side. But hell, being shot hurt like a bitch.

So here he was. Again. The same hospital, because the Problem Child was right and Musutafu General Hospital remained the best place for underground heroes like him - except this time he was in a noticeably more sour mood because it hurt to stand up.

It wasn’t even like the first time, when he had a broken leg. This time, it hurt to even get up because moving requires extensive use of the torso, apparently. Maybe next time Shouta should just get shot in the leg.

But the fact remained that he was essentially confined to bedrest right now, and couldn’t see the garden. Unless, of course, he got himself into a wheelchair, but he really wasn’t feeling up for the humiliation today.

Damn. And he’d been looking forward to seeing the Problem Child, too.

(Shouta doesn’t look forward to being in the hospital. This is for a multitude of reasons - in all honesty, the stuffy air and acute sense of mortality and stress are only the smallest part of it. The largest part is the concern of Hizashi, of Nemuri, of even Thirteen and Ectoplasm and everyone he has made an acquaintance with over the years. He has classes to teach. His students may resent him for being so harsh and strict with them, but it won’t stop him from getting them ready for the world they’re stepping into - and he hates being confined like this, unable to do work, feeling so useless.

The garden had helped - because it was a silver lining among a series of terrible events. But now he couldn’t even visit it.)

Shouta groans. Fucking damn it. 

“Aizawa Shouta?”

The nurse’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks at her, standing in the doorway. “What?”

“You have a visitor.”

Shouta narrows his eyes, trying to think. Hizashi and Nemuri aren’t supposed to make their round today, so unless something has happened- oh fuck, what if something happened?

“Aizawa-san?”

That fucking voice.

“Problem Child?” Shouta says in disbelief.

Sure enough, there he is. Midoriya is standing in the doorway, head tilted innocently as if he wasn’t meeting Shouta somewhere that wasn’t the garden.

Which, admittedly, is less ridiculous than it had felt, now that Shouta actually names the reason for his surprise, but… still. The Problem Child. Outside the garden.

Midoriya laughs, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Hi?”

“How did you even know I was here?” Shouta demands.

Midoriya shrugs, although the way his grin tilts looks just cheshire enough for Shouta to think that he did this on purpose. “Bumped into Present Mic on the way back from the garden. Didn’t think you’d be here, but I pointed him to your usual room.”

“My… usual room?”

“Didn’t you notice that you’ve been staying in the same room the entire time, Aizawa-san?”

Shouta stares.  

Fuck, he hadn’t realized. 

This is embarrassing.

Midoriya takes one look at the expression on his face, and chokes. “Oh Kami, you didn’t.”

“Problem Child-”

“Oh. Oh Kami. I didn’t think-” Midoriya shakes his head, his entire body trembling with laughter. “I didn’t think- they were thinking about just keeping your name on the door, Aizawa-san, oh, this is too funny-”

Shouta drags a hand down his face extremely slowly. Then, he gives up and opts instead for just burying his head in his hands completely. 

This is embarrassing.

“The underground hero, Eraserhead, not realizing that he’s been in the same hospital room every time-”

“Problem Child-”

“Again!” Nighteye barks, voice just as unrelenting as every jab that he does with his heavy-duty stamps. 

From where he’d been knocked to the ground, Mirio breathes heavily. Training with Nighteye is certainly more… brutal than he thought it would be. The man spares no feelings in dishing out criticisms and pointing out every single flaw in his fighting style. 

Which, okay, Mirio knew that he isn’t the best fighter around, but wow.  

Maybe there should be an award for the strictest mentor around. 

Before Nighteye can heckle him again about staying on the floor too long to catch his breath, he pushes himself back up. They’ve been going like this for a week or so - just Mirio getting the floor thoroughly wiped by his mentor while All Might- Yagi- stood to the side and watched impassively. 

It was far more rewarding than it sounded. 

Mirio yells and charges in again. 

There is no start, no countdown to their matches. Mirio raised the point, once - all he was rewarded with was a raised eyebrow, a dry comment about how there are no countdowns in real-life battles against villains, and another stamp to the gut, effectively knocking out the breath in him.

Mirio’s next attack is effectively and gracefully dodged by Nighteye. Mirio almost believes that Nighteye used his foresight, despite the hero’s claims to the contrary. 

In one fluid motion, Nighteye puts his arm around Mirio’s and twists, sending a sharp bolt of pain through his shoulder that makes Mirio lose his balance for a fraction of a second. It’s only a fraction of a second, but it’s enough - and soon Mirio is once again dazed and on the ground, looking at the lights above him, with yet another stamp to the gut.

Nighteye huffs, this time. “Too direct. Even against an opponent that isn’t me, you’re telegraphing your moves too much. You’re telling your opponent what you’re going to do before even doing it. Take minimal preparation for the maximum power.”

Mirio resists the urge to groan. He’s been getting the same advice for a solid week. Granted, he does think that it’s getting easier - he’d almost touched Nighteye just now, almost- but it’s still not any less frustrating.

“Enough of this for now.” 

Mirio blinks up at the blinding lights above and tries not to cheer. 

“Take a quick fifteen-minute break. We’ll resume right after.”

Feeling as if his limbs have turned to lead, he struggles back up (just like he has, hundreds of times before) and stumbles his way over to the bench, where All- where Yagi is sitting.

His other mentor offers him a water bottle. Mirio gratefully takes it, and then nearly chokes when the cool liquid washes down his parched throat. 

Yagi chuckles. “Having a difficult time?”

“Absolutely.” Mirio admits, after he’s had his fill of water. “Though I don’t mind. Nighteye-sensei is an amazing teacher.”

“He’s right, you know. You would do well to take all of his teachings to heart, even if I don’t necessarily agree with his methods.” Yagi shifts nervously, in the way that he only ever does when he’s about to have a One for All conversation with him. “The circumstances surrounding the inheritance of my quirk are quite fragile, after all. Once I pass it onto you, society’s Symbol of Peace will be on a time limit.”

Mirio nods.

“And it’s not just that, Togata-shounen. One for All is a quirk that has already been passed on seven times. You will be the ninth holder. You will be inheriting a great amount of power. It is not unreasonable to say that if your body is not ready, once you try to use it-” Yagi mimes an explosion with his hands, and Mirio freezes. “Allow us to say, you’ll be lucky to walk away with only a couple of broken bones.”

Mirio swallows dryly. “I suddenly have a great incentive to go back to training with Nighteye-sensei.”

Yagi laughs. 

“A bullet to the side, huh?”

“I told you, Problem Child, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I don’t know, sir. It sounds like you should’ve made yourself more obvious to your peers.” Midoriya’s grin is exactly what Shouta would describe as a shit-eating grin. It’s terrible. He hates being on the receiving end of it. Actually, he now kind of gets why the class groans whenever they see it. 

Shouta tries not to bury his head in his hands for the second time in the past fifteen minutes. “I’m an underground hero, Midoriya. It’s my job to be unnoticeable.”

“Then maybe you should’ve made yourself less noticeable so that you could join back into their ranks before they had the time to shoot you, sir.”

“Then they probably would’ve panicked and shot me in the face.”

“I don’t know, sir. Still seems like you have places to improve in.”

Shouta scowls. Midoriya’s grin does not falter.

Damn it. This Problem Child. 

“I’ve been spending too much time with you. You know all my tells already.”

“What can I say, Eraserhead?” Midoriya gives him an all too innocent expression. “I’ve learned to read people for how they fe-”

“ Shouuuuta! Are you here, you oaf?”

Shouta and Midoriya pause in perfect unison.

Kami. As if his luck can’t get any worse.

In the next second, Kayama Nemuri pokes her head into Shouta’s bedroom (without consent, thank you very much-) and grins at him.

“Oh! You must be Shouta’s new little friend! Hizashi has told me all about you, Midoriya-kun!”

“Mid- Midnight?” Midoriya stutters out, eyes blown wide and flickering back and forth between the two heroes, as if not comprehending that they can possibly be friends. Which Shouta supposes is fully warranted. Again.

It does not stop him from wanting to bury his head in his hands a third time.

He gives into the urge.

“Shouta, he’s so cute! Why didn’t you tell me that he was this cute?”

“Nemuri, I’m fairly certain that me, a grown adult, calling a twelve-year old cute would be enough for me to get my license revoked.”

“Don’t be silly! You don’t see me getting myself suspended!”

“Because that’s your entire brand, Nemuri.”

“And you’re an underground hero. Tsk, Shouta, I knew you didn’t know anything about the media, but I didn’t think you were this bad.”

“S-sorry, but… Midnight? Midnight is your other friend?”

“Ha! Hizashi told me all about how surprised you were when you learned about them. Yes! Shouta simply attracts the most extroverted of us.”

“Nemuri, I have a knife.”

“You also have a bullet wound in the side. I’d easily be able to beat you in a fight right now, you oaf, even without my quirk.”

“I am not an oaf-”

“H-hold on, please, hold on- Aizawa-san? You’re… friends with Midnight?”

“Problem Child, I have regrets.”

“Ooh, Problem Child~”

“ Nemuri.”

“Oh no, I’m not letting this one go. Mr. Strict Teacher, the fear of all students in U.A., going soft on a boy that he’s met for all of three months.”

“...Aizawa-san, what?”

“Oho, Hizashi didn’t tell you? I’m surprised. Then again, if I know him at all, he’d have taken the opportunity to tell you about our innocent youthful years instead.”

“Midnight, I swear to Kami-”

“So! Allow me to tell you all about the most feared teacher at the most prestigious hero school in Japan, Eraserhead, whose expulsion numbers are in the triple digits-”

“-In the triple digits??”

“Nemuri.”

“That’s enough sparring for today. Rest, Togata.”

Mirio takes two seconds to catch his breath before he dips into a bow. “This student thanks Nighteye-sensei for his teachings.”

Nighteye wrinkles his nose. “That’s a mouthful, isn’t it?”

Yeah, a little. Not that Mirio is going to admit it.

“Just call me Sir. That’s what my sidekicks call me, at any rate.”

Mirio nods. “Yes Sir!”

Nighteye waves him off. Mirio takes the dismissal and makes his way over to the bench, where all his belongings are.

All Might- yikes, Yagi- waves at him when he sees him approaching. “That was a productive day, Togata-shounen.”

“Certainly.” Mirio forcibly slows his breathing long enough to gulp down some water.

Yagi hums. “That’s good. We won’t have training tomorrow, at any rate.”

Mirio furrows his brows. “Why not, Yagi-san?”

“We’re going to be paying a visit to someone.” Yagi gives him a grin, but it looks just the slightest bit crooked. Not exactly like a criminal’s, but… definitely not in the happier, excited sense. “Someone I’d like you to meet.”

“We owe him a great deal.” Nighteye’s voice - doesn’t exactly come out of nowhere, because Mirio’s gotten better at pinpointing where the underground hero slinks to at any given moment, but it’s still startling. “And he’d like the company.”

“Of course. I would know, Sasaki.” Yagi responds.

If Mirio didn’t know better, he’d describe that tone of voice as acidly.

Something flashes in Nighteye’s- in Sir’s- aureous irises. It almost looks like… guilt?

Something isn’t adding up.

“Sir?” Mirio looks between his two mentors. “Who is this about?”

All Might and Nighteye hold each other’s gazes for a few more moments. 

Eventually, it’s the sidekick that breaks eye contact. “We’ll be leaving for Musutafu General Hospital at our usual starting time tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

Mirio sends him a salute, a way to acknowledge that he’s understood.

But he doesn’t understand at all.

“Unfortunately, I am being called for patrol soon.” Midnight stands up, tone regretful. “But it was nice getting to know you, Midoriya-kun! I hope you found my stories entertaining.”

Midoriya smiles. “You won’t have to worry about that, Kayama-san! It was a delightful experience.”

Shouta feels faintly betrayed. 

Nemuri laughs boisterously. “I’m glad, I’m glad! Take care of Shouta for us, will you?” She winks at him. “You know how he is with self-care. Of course, not your responsibility, Midoriya-kun, but… well, we’re busy people.”

“I understand, Kayama-san. I’ll do my best.” Midoriya’s eyes sparkle with humour.

Their smiles are bright.

The setting sun outside hits his eyes at just the wrong angle for a split second, and he bites back a wince reflexively. Too bright.

“Well, I’ll be off.” Nemuri gives them both a last wave. “See you, Shouta! Don’t forget to text Hizashi!”

Shouta rolls his eyes. “ Present Mic should learn that the light of a phone irritates my dry eyes.”

“And Eraserhead should learn that he really is a terrible liar to those who know him.” Nemuri shoots back.

Shouta lets her have the last word. The amused smile on her face makes it worth it, anyway.

When he turns back to face Midoriya, he finds him also packing up his twines and beads. “Leaving, Problem Child?”

“I should stop bothering you, sir.” He says honestly. “Besides, I’ll need to wake up a little earlier tomorrow morning. I’m having a visitor.”

“Alright.” Aizawa gives him a wave, too. “Good night, Midoriya.”

Midoriya grins. “Good night, Aizawa-san.”

A visitor, huh? Shouta muses as he watches the green-haired boy take his leave. That’s good. It’ll do Midoriya good to have company other than the underground hero.

Shouta scowls at the window. Even if that means he’s going to be stuck with just Hizashi and Nemuri tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

Mirio kind of wishes that he was imagining the less-than-friendly exchange that he saw All Might and Nighteye have. Evidently, though, he wasn’t. 

He definitely isn’t imagining it this time. And now that he names it, everything over the past month of training makes sense. 

All Might and Nighteye aren’t the same friends that they used to be. 

The change is slight, barely noticeable. Mirio doubts that even if Yagi were in his “muscle form” right now, on the train, no one would be able to tell that there is anything wrong with their relationship. 

But Mirio has spent weeks with his two mentors and seen the way they talked with each other. Each comment is a barbed remark, barely concealed… not quite contempt, but it’s certainly not respectful. 

Yagi is sitting in the window seat beside Mirio. Nighteye is sitting in the window seat across the aisle from Mirio.

Even though there’s such a distance between them, Mirio really wishes that he wasn’t stuck in between them. Kami, the tension’s so thick that Nighteye could probably shatter it with a stamp. 

He looks to his right. All Might is staring out the window.

He looks to his left. Nighteye is also staring out the window.

Mirio resists the urge to sigh. This is going to be a very long train ride. 

The elevator takes them to the long-term care floor of Musutafu General Hospital, and Mirio’s curiosity only grows. 

As far as he knows, All Might doesn’t have any family to speak of - though, to be fair, there seems to be a very big disconnect between the general identity of Yagi Toshinori compared to the Symbol of Peace. Nighteye he knows less of, but if this personal investment were Nighteye’s alone, he doubts that All Might would’ve come along. 

So this is a matter that both heroes believe they have a responsibility to.

Mirio’s brow furrows as the door opens.

Yagi steps out first. He moves with purpose and with precision, as if he’s done this many times before - for all Mirio knows (and suspects), he has. The walk is quiet, and there is only the occasional nurse or patient roaming the hallways.

It’s quiet. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere of the hospital in general, but Mirio hates that it feels so sombre and colourless. 

Yagi steps in front of a door and knocks. “Midoriya-shounen?”

“Come in!” A voice calls from the inside. 

Yagi opens the door, and suddenly, Mirio sees a room of colour.

The boy on the bed’s hair and eyes are a matching shade of brilliant green, and his smile is just as bright. It’s a big contrast - jarring, almost - to the pale shades of his clothes and the bed, but so are the rest of the ornaments surrounding his room.

Because his room is lived in - it is extremely lived in. Keepsakes and photo frames line the shelves, all of which appear to be extra furniture from outside brought in. There are wire trees stationed on drawers, origami cranes hanging from the ceiling, sketchbooks filling the desk and sewing fabric and thread tucked in the corners. 

Upon seeing them, the boy’s eyes light up even further, if it’s even possible. “Yagi-san! And Sasaki-san! And…?” Those green irises turn to him with a questioning tilt of the head. To Mirio.

Mirio grins back, trying his best to match the energy of the boy before him. “Togata Mirio! I’m currently training under Sir and A- and Yagi-san here!”

“A trainee, huh?” The boy before him nods. “Well, Togata-san, I’m Midoriya Izuku! You must be quite strong if you’re training under All Might, right?”

Mirio blinks, brought to a sudden stop at the mention of All Might. Which, yes, he knows that it’s All Might standing beside him but- but how does Midoriya know? Didn’t All Might say that this form isn’t revealed to the publi-

“Midoriya-shounen has known about this form for a while, Togata-shounen. You needn’t worry.” All Might reassures him, and Mirio lets out a breath as Midoriya lets out a laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Midoriya tells him in an apologetic tone. “I just figured - well, yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mirio manages, still reeling but pulling himself together, once again smiling widely once he has his bearings once more. “Don’t worry about it! It was a reasonable assumption to make, truly.”

Midoriya laughs nervously. “I guess so… then I hope you won’t mind me asking some questions?” His eyes start sparkling again, with a twinge of hope. “Of course, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I really do enjoy doing quirk and hero analysis and I really do wonder what it’s like to train with All Might! I mean, the- the number one, you know?”

All Might chuckles. “You could’ve asked me, Midoriya-shounen.”

“It’s a different experience coming from someone on the receiving end!” Midoriya insists. “And besides, Nighteye’s teaching style is bound to be different, but Sasaki-san never-” He falters. 

Mirio cocks his head. “What do you mean? I’m sure Sir would be happy to answer any of your questions. Right, Sir?”

But there’s no response, and when Mirio turns to his side, frowning, the underground hero is nowhere to be seen.

Mirio’s smile freezes on his face. “Yagi-san… where’s Sir?”

All Might sighs, and it sounds world-weary and tired. “Let Sasaki be. He’s always been like this - stays just long enough to see that Midoriya-shounen is doing well, and leaves right after to go do some paperwork or another.”

“I don’t mind, really.” Midoriya hurries to reassure them both upon seeing Mirio’s expression. “It’s just… well… Sasaki-san knows that it wasn’t his fault, right?”

“It was, Midoriya-shounen.” Yagi refutes, and the words that spill out are just shy of vitriolic. “He might have done the right thing and saved lives, but that was on his hands. It doesn’t change that.”

“I tricked you both.”

All Might flinches.

That stalls Mirio right in his tracks. All Might has grimaced, sure. He has hissed out words and shown disapproval and discontent far more readily than Mirio had ever expected in the past few days - some kind of righteous fury or another, not quite blazing, but still flickering within his heart. 

But All Might has never flinched.

“You weren’t supposed to be able to trick us.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve, Midoriya-shounen. We should’ve known better.”

“It’s no use dwelling on that now. What’s done is done.” Midoriya waves it off, trying his best to dispel the tension now present in the air, but Yagi still purses his lips, even if he doesn’t decide to press the issue further. “Besides, we aren’t here to talk about what happened. You both only ever visit once a month - I’d like to make the most of your time here, Yagi-san!”

Midoriya kicks off his blankets and throws his legs over the edge, hopping into his slippers and travelling over to one of the drawers in the corner. “I’m sure we can find better uses for our time, sir, doing things that would better interest us.” And he turns to Mirio, tilting his head innocently. “What would you prefer to do, Togata-san? I- well, I do have a preference, but I have endless time to do everything anyway, so it doesn’t really matter if we make wire trees or do embroidery or anything else today.”

His movements are far more energetic and stable than Mirio expects, somehow. He’s not sure if he thought that Midoriya would be weak- but the boundless excitement is still present, and he rummages through drawers with vigour that Mirio would not expect from a young teenager trapped within the walls of his long-term care room.

Part of Mirio wants to press further. The question has been bugging him for weeks now, after all, and his curiosity demands to know what is the thing that’s widening the rift between Nighteye and All Might, the best two mentors he’s ever had. Training at U.A. certainly has helped, but he would’ve still been stuck controlling basic parts of his quirk if it weren’t for them. 

But maybe Midoriya is right. He probably doesn’t want memories of his visits being tainted with heavy conversations and discussions about whatever it is that happened. 

Besides, there will be more opportunities in the future to ask after it. 

So Mirio gives him a smile. “Wire trees, Midoriya-kun? I’m certainly curious about that - I haven’t heard of them!”

The answering grin somehow manages to brighten the room, just a little. “Then I suppose we have our activity for the day, Togata-san!”

It’s just a little brighter.

Dear Aizawa-san,

I hope you’re doing well. I heard from Izuku about your injury, but I am sure that you were able to recover fully, just like the hero you are. Still, remember to take care of yourself and eat proper meals. I will not hesitate to ask Izuku to demand it of you personally. 

I also do hope that it isn’t presumptuous of me to mail U.A. a letter directly like this. Hopefully this does not cause you troubles, but the doctors still do believe that it isn’t a good idea for me to get a phone, so I’ll have to stick to an old-fashioned form of communication for now.

To put it simply, I am writing because I’d like to cultivate a kind of friendship with you. I know that you may not care much for social convention and circles, but support systems are important to have in place. Of course, I could be a little too forward, stating my intentions as boldly as I am now, but you’re a good man, Aizawa-san. I like to offer my limited help where I can. 

And besides, it does still get a little lonely. My only company are my children and Izuku, as well as the other patients in the psychiatric ward. It’s nice to have an outside opinion and more adults I can debate comfortably with. 

Please pass forward a hello to Nemuri-san to me, too! I’d love to have her over again any day - and that extends to you too, Aizawa-san.

With regards,
Rei.

Rei-san,

I thank you for your letter, although you did end up mailing it directly to Nedzu’s office. He ended up giving it to Nemuri to deliver to me, and Nemuri, as you might know, takes every opportunity to aggravate me the best she can. I didn’t get the chance to stop her from reading the letter beforehand, so there’s no need to pass on the message. She would like to pass a hello back. 

Do not worry about being too forward. Kami knows that Hizashi and Nemuri would be even more insufferable if I told you that I wasn’t here to make friends, and I do see the practicality and logic in finding a greater support system. Although, in the future, please send any letters to the address I have attached instead, if only to keep Nedzu from scheming and finding more ways to blackmail me into selfcare. 

As for your request, Nemuri insists that we find a regular schedule to visit you. I opposed it on the principle that having all three of us with you at the same time may prove to be overwhelming and counterproductive, so she has agreed to stagger the visits throughout each month. I cannot guarantee a fixed schedule, as we are heroes who are often ostensibly not on call but in reality are, but we will try our best to come on regular days. 

I am glad that you find our debates enjoyable. It’s rather nice to have someone who doesn’t find my opinions and disposition too… off-putting.

Regards,
Aizawa Shouta.

“Problem Child.”

“Yes, Aizawa-san?”

“How many other visitors do you get?”

“Not many.” Midoriya answers more honestly than Shouta expects. “At least, I don’t believe the number qualifies as many.” The boy fidgets with his pencils, a sketch of cherry blossoms forgotten in his lap. “Even before I moved into the hospital, I didn’t have many… friends. It was just- well, I suppose we counted as childhood friends.” Midoriya shrugs. “He doesn’t know where I am, though, and I don’t know where to find him.”

“But other than you?” Midoriya sets down the pencil and begins counting on his fingers. “Fuyumi-san and Natsuo come by semi-regularly, although the visits have been getting a little sparse with their high school and university days. There’s another pair of… friends… although I suppose it’s a trio, now…” He trails off briefly, and Shouta waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts again. 

“...yeah. There’s another trio of friends that come by once a month. And most recently, Kayama-san and Yamada-san have popped around occasionally. But otherwise… no one.”

“No one?” The question has been nagging at Shouta for weeks, truthfully, and Eraserhead has never been one to beat around the bush. “What about your parents?”

Midoriya’s expression shutters. The light in the garden dims. 

(The years spent teaching have tempered Shouta in a way that he hadn’t previously thought possible. He is still harsh, but it comes from a place of genuine well-meaning intent. Teaching some students with more special needs, who have found the scarring parts of hero society far too soon, has taught him how to be gentle.

But not nearly enough.

He still has much to learn, it seems.)

Something in Shouta’s expression must shift, at that moment, because Midoriya’s eyes widen in alarm and he starts flailing. “A-ah, Aizawa-san, it’s really not as bad as you think it is! It’s- well-” His voice falters again, and Shouta narrows his eyes further.

Midoriya’s facial features twist, like he’s trying his best to weigh what things he should share with Shouta, and finally settle into something resigned after a few moments of silence. 

The green-haired boy sighs heavily. “Well… I’ve never really had a father. Oka-san doesn’t really like to talk about him, anyway… he’s never been in the picture. I don’t know anything about him other than his name and the fact that he has a fire-breathing quirk.”

That gives Shouta pause. “Ah. And… your mother?”

“Well…”

“You don’t have to tell me. I just…” He hesitates. “I just worry.”

“Eraserhead, worrying about me?” Midoriya says, dryly, about one part starstruck, one part disbelieving, and three parts sarcastic. But even the humour is more subdued than usual, and Shouta stays silent while Midoriya ruminates, wondering if he truly has pushed it too far this time.

Midoriya sighs again. Shouta waits. 

“Well.” The boy starts, eyes cast far off into the distance where the sun is making the final stretch of the day’s journey. “We… We’ve never made a lot of money.”

Oh, Shouta thinks with startling clarity. 

“It only got worse as time went on and I needed more treatment, really.” Midoriya tells him, his hands once again picking up his pencil to fidget with. “ Oka-san needed to find better jobs and had to work more hours… and we eventually figured out that the only way she could do this was to sell our house so that I could live in the hospital and she could stay with a friend overseas.”

“...so you’re alone.”

“I wouldn’t say so.” Midoriya refutes with a surprising (and almost exasperating) lightness. “People are kind here. They… well, they’re the reason I can afford these hobbies at all. Charity, and… Natsuo is always looking for another reason to spend with Endeavor’s credit card.” Midoriya chuckles, and it somehow still feels full of humour. “But I suppose by the conventional standards, I am alone.”

He says it so nonchalantly that it hurts. Ironically, this brush-off attitude of Midoriya’s hurts Shouta because it speaks of the emotional detachment that can only ever be beaten into a person, no matter physically or emotionally. 

“ Oka-san does her best, she really does. We video call every night.” Midoriya’s eyes glisten, but for once it doesn’t quite look like there’s light coming from it - for once, it looks like a pale reflection of the setting sun, instead. “But… well, sometimes I can’t help but wish for more.”

Of course you do, Shouta does not say. We all do.

Instead, what slips out of his mouth is, “Are you amenable to having more visitors?”

Midoriya’s bright green eyes slide over to him, startled. Shouta almost regrets saying it.

And yet the key word here is almost. Because as much as he likes to vehemently deny it to Nemuri and Hizashi, he has grown fond of Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku, the boy in the hospital whose bright smile and sparkling eyes light up his surroundings and splash colour over the white, plain canvas of the hospital. Midoriya Izuku, the boy whose favourite place is the garden of blooming flowers, for all that the fountain is plain and the open space is small. Midoriya Izuku, whose hands twist wires deftly to create something out of nothing, who sketches pencil upon paper to produce verisimilitudes of cherry blossoms, who threads needles with the swiftness of the wind and folds paper cranes under fluttering petals. 

Midoriya Izuku, the lively green among the bleak white. 

Somehow, everything gets brighter when he smiles, and this time is no exception. “Really, Aizawa-san?”

“Really.” And Shouta does not know what prompts the genuinity of his offer to leak into his voice, but it does. “I’ll visit, Problem Child. Didn’t you say that company is nice?”

Damn it. Curse him and his softening heart.

Midoriya’s grin is blinding. “Of course, sir. Company will always be nice.”

Chapter Text

Dear Aizawa-san,

I am so very sorry for the trouble I caused you! It wasn’t my intention to email it directly to the principal… although I must admit that my mental image of the ensuing conversations that happened are quite amusing indeed. 

If I may be frank, I do see why people might find you off-putting. To say the least, Aizawa-san, you find the most cynical ways possible to present an argument. But if nothing else, you are brutally honest, and I do hate people that lie to me. 

And Kayama-san and Yamada-san are wonderful friends. You should take care to listen to them more often, Aizawa-san - I know that you’re not much younger than I am, but your health is important. You cannot save people if you push yourself too hard.

Regardless, the staggered visits have been working very well! I appreciate the thought, Aizawa-san - but really, you needn’t worry about overwhelming me with too much. None of you have fire quirks and bear no resemblance to him… it is unlikely that I would snap in your presence. In all actuality, keeping me here in the psychiatry ward is honestly more for my own safety and for the sake of the secrets he wishes to keep. 

Should your visits coincide, it will not be of much consequence. In fact… I do much prefer it when it is livelier here. 

Regards,
Rei.

“Togata-kun! I didn’t expect you to come today!”

“Truth be told, Midoriya-kun, I didn’t either.” Mirio tells him as he walks through the door frame, closing it behind him. “U.A. has been stressing me out, apparently… my homeroom teacher demanded that all of us take a break before our exams.”

Midoriya takes a sip of water. “And when are your finals?”

“Tomorrow.”

Midoriya chokes on the sip of water. 

Instinctively, Mirio stands up and thumps Midoriya on the back in hopes of helping him get the water out of his respiratory system. The green-haired boy chokes for a few seconds longer - long enough for Mirio to begin to get worried, but he lets it go when Midoriya’s breaths finally even out into quiet wheezes. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just-” The boy gasps. “ Tomorrow? Really?”

Mirio grimaces. “Please… don’t remind me. I dread to think about what our practical part of it will be - although I did hear rumours that they’re going to be robots. It’ll be a pain to figure out how to not embarrass myself again, especially since my hero costume isn’t ready.”

Midoriya takes a few more heavy breaths before shaking his head. “ Still? Didn’t you order them before school even started?”

“I did, but Sensei decided that maybe a couple of changes were in order.” The hero-in-training shrugs. “Honestly, I didn’t really think too much about using my quirk at first because… if I went fully intangible, I wouldn’t be able to hold onto my clothes. But Sensei made me realize the full capacity of the support department.”

“Let me guess.” The boy picks up his cup of water again, taking a drink (and making a point to swallow it first) before speaking again. “They weaved some of your DNA into the cloth so that it would go intangible with you.”

Mirio blinks. 

Midoriya continues drinking, almost too innocently. 

“...Hair fibres, actually. How did you know, Midoriya-kun?” He finally manages, when he’s slightly (only slightly, because Kami, how bright is the boy in front of him?) over his shock. 

“Truth be told? I didn’t.” The glass is set back on the counter with a clink, and Midoriya uses his free hand to wave Mirio over to the stool beside his chair, where he’s sitting at his workstation and in the middle of a wire sculpting project. “But it makes sense that if you’re not going to go underground, you’ll want a good public image. Also, there are few things that can stump the support department for very long.”

Mirio chuckles as he makes his way over to sit by his friend’s side. “Well, I suppose when you put it that way, it seems obvious… but that’s still impressive, Midoriya-kun.”

“Ah, I- I wouldn’t say so.” Midoriya mutters under his breath. It’s his turn to watch the other be embarrassed, and he watches as the younger one fidgets with the filaments of metal in his hands. “It’s… it’s not very impressive, really…”

“I would disagree.” Mirio tells him, kindly. “I know that Nedzu-sensei would kill to have a chance at moulding a mind like yours, Midoriya-kun.”

“You haven’t really seen me analyze, Togata-kun…” Midoriya tries to protest. “Really, it’s not a big deal…”

“Both Sir and All Might are impressed by you, Midoriya-kun. They… Well, Yagi-san does like to make idle chatter sometimes.”

That gets Midoriya’s attention as he splutters and turns a bright red. “ All Might talks about me?”

“Oh, yes!” Mirio grins. “He’s quite impressed, you know. And Sir, too! You must have great talents if you’re able to impress an underground hero who can see the future, Midoriya-kun. You know, one time, after I finished sparring with Sir, Yagi-san told me all about how…”

Midoriya buries his face in his hands. That does nothing to stop Mirio from talking - if anything, he only adds more flair to his stories. 

(He might be exaggerating a little bit, but the bare essence of what he’s saying is quite true. His two mentors are impressed by this boy in front of him - the bright green emerald of a boy who only shines brighter among the dull colours of the hospital. He can’t help it, really - Midoriya is simply too fun to tease.

And either way, if it’ll prove to Midoriya that he really is as impressive as they say, if it boosts his self-confidence a bit more… Well, Mirio certainly doesn’t see any problem with that.)

Rei-san,

Please, I beg of you, do not encourage them to be even more chaotic than they already are. Hizashi is Present Mic. I do not know how much significance that name might hold to you, but he is a hero who has built a career off of being loud. It’s terrible.

But it is reassuring to know that you won’t take much issue with Nemuri and Hizashi being… Nemuri and Hizashi. They’re good people, really, but some people are turned off by their excessive enthusiasm and overall almost… aggressive friendship.

I know that it can be hard to trust me, but I am telling the truth when I say that I will try my best to not deceive you. Being an underground hero is… difficult, unfortunately. I cannot avoid the occasional gag order, and I cannot reveal some aspects of my work to you. I know that I am asking for trust that I very well may not have when I ask you to trust me that it’s for your own safety, but I plead for your understanding. 

I am also writing to inform you that I am being called away for a case for the next two weeks, so I won’t be able to attend our regular meetings for this period of time. Hopefully, the others will pick up on my slack, though I pray that they don’t take your last letter as permission to blow out the windows. 

Regards,
Aizawa Shouta.

“Look. I did say I wanted visitors.”

“Midoriya-”

“But not like this.” The boy gestures to Shouta’s entire body, and somehow, despite being fifteen years older than him, Shouta gets the impression that he’s being scolded. Which is ridiculous. He’s an underground hero. He’s Eraserhead. He doesn’t get scolded, much less by thirteen-year-olds. 

“I did not,” Midoriya continues, exasperated, “mean that you should get yourself injured again so that you would be able to come back to the hospital. Again.”

“Midoriya-”

“It could’ve been worse, I guess.” Midoriya shakes his head, blowing out a breath like it’s a sigh. Which… yeah. It’s a sigh. That’s a sigh of exasperation, and Shouta’s on the receiving end of it.

“...Look, kid,” Shouta tries, “At least it was just a dislocated knee. I’m only here because they want to monitor me.”

“Suffering is not measured on a scale.” The green-haired boy tells him seriously. “Injuries are injuries, sir.”

“I’m being careful.”

“I know you are. Otherwise you’d be hearing a lot more from me- and from Rei-san, too.”

“Some injuries can’t be avoided.”

“I disagree.”

“Kid-”

“No, wait, Eraserhead- what I meant was-” Midoriya’s hands begin fidgeting with the pencil in his hand and he sighs again. “What I meant was - I know that heroes can do everything right, and there will still be things that go wrong. But… but what I meant was that going in with that mindset isn’t good, Aizawa-san. Shouldn’t you always fight to minimize casualties and injuries?”

“You’re not wrong, Problem Child, but…” Shouta trails off as he searches for the right words to say. 

Because how does he explain? How does he explain seeing a friend die as a hero, the self-loathing that came after and the hours of therapy it took for him to see that there truly was nothing that he could’ve done? How does he explain that maybe, just maybe, going in prepared to die and prepared to get injured to save others lessens the burden, just a little, of the shield that he carries every day of his life?

Can he even explain?

“...it’s complicated.” Shouta settles for.

“I don’t see why it should be.” Midoriya insists quietly, and there’s a note of frustration to his tone, too. Shouta can see why, even if it’s a little hard to understand. 

For all that Midoriya seems to have grown up far more quickly than others his age, there are still gaps of information that wisdom alone cannot make up for. Sometimes, a lesson is not learned through words spoken by teachers - sometimes, a lesson is learned through years of constant vigilance and fear. 

(Sometimes, a lesson cannot be taught in the classroom, and Shouta hates it every time he sees the light of naïveté fade from his students’ eyes, even if he’s secretly glad that they will only lose their innocence, not their lives.)

But he says none of this out loud. If Midoriya doesn’t want to go into heroics, then Midoriya doesn’t need to know. 

Too much wisdom is, in Shouta’s opinion, much more of a curse than a blessing - and so he stays silent. 

Midoriya stays silent, too.

(The garden is still a quiet soundscape, never soundless, but it still feels like silence between the two of them, even when the sun has set and they have left for their own hospital rooms. 

Shouta decides that he hates the silence.)

Dear Aizawa-san,

Don’t worry! I understand that being a hero like you is extremely difficult. I won’t press for matters that I shouldn’t pry into, but I do hope that you’ll perhaps trust me enough to tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you. 

Though I must say, Izuku was in a rather foul mood the last time he came to visit. I… do not necessarily agree with him on the front that injuries aren’t necessary. He’s thirteen, after all. But do you maybe think that you should listen to him on the front of mindsets?

We’re not heroes. The two of us aren’t those who have seen the same horrors that you have, so I’m very welcome to a debate on this topic, should you want to talk about it the next time you come to visit.

Still, don’t strain that knee, Aizawa-san!

Regards,
Rei

“Katsuki! Get down here, you little brat!”

Normally, such a harsh greeting from his mother would mean a retort from Katsuki himself. But… not today. 

He isn’t in the mood for normal today.

(He isn’t in the mood for much at all, today.)

( What happened to being heroes together?)

Sighing, he drags himself downstairs. “Hey, Old Hag.”

Upon hearing his despondent tone, his mother immediately frowns. Fucking perceptiveness. “Oi, brat. What’s wrong?”

Katsuki purses his lips.

(If you ask the kids at Aldera Middle School about their resident future hero, people will tell you this: Bakugou Katsuki is a terror, a person that no one should mess with. Because he is the strongest, and there is no one that will stand between his path to greatness. Everyone knows who he will be - a true hero, among the top ranks, never to be surpassed except for far, far, far in the future.

No one will tell you that on particular days, Bakugou allows himself to be weak. He never voices it, after all.)

The hag keeps staring at him. Katsuki scowls instinctively - but he knows that she never learned to fucking leave things alone. It crops up like this all the time, especially on these shitty days.

“…it was Deku’s quirk day.” He finally relents.

Immediately, the hag’s expression softens. Katsuki hates it - hates the pity that comes from his mother like that. It’s part of why he doesn’t like being fucking weak. He hates being pitied.

“Take a day for yourself, Katsuki.”

“I’m not going to.” He snarls. Every day has been a battle of looking for ways to get back into contact with Izuku, and this day will be no exception if he has anything to fucking say about it. 

“This isn’t healthy.” The hag counters. She almost sounds fucking disappointed. “Even I can’t get a hold of Inko. Izuku could be anywhere in Japan - away from Japan, even.”

“Just because you can’t get a hold of Auntie doesn’t mean I can’t fucking find Deku, Hag!”

“Calm yourself.” His mother says sharply, and Katsuki flinches when he realizes his palms are sparking.

Consciously, he forces himself to quiet his quirk. 

Katsuki flips her off and storms off. He wasn’t going to listen to her anyway. A foul mood isn’t helped by doing nothing while he still doesn’t know where Deku is.

If he can’t find Deku, then he’s just gonna have to be the greatest hero. Great enough for both of them.

(It won’t replace the feeling of his friend by his side.)

Rei-san,

You do not need to tell me about how dissatisfied Midoriya is with my general well being and mindset. He made that rather clear the last time we visited, though I can’t say that I fault him - or fault you, for that matter.

You’re right. There’s a reason that being a hero is a job that has so little success rates. U.A. tries its best to stop people where they can from going into heroics if they aren’t ready, but even then some “heroes” end up permanently scarred from simply not being prepared to bear this weight.

But a hero is not just someone who beats up villains in the interest of publicity. You are a hero too, Rei-san. You and Midoriya both. I teach my students to face overwhelming adversity and pull out stronger than before - you both have done that and more.

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Regards,
Aizawa Shouta

“That’s it for today. Good work, Togata.”

Mirio blinks. “That’s it? Don’t we have another hour, Sir?”

Nighteye waves him off. “Yagi wants to speak with you.”

That gets his attention fairly quickly. If the conversation is important enough for Nighteye to be alright with cutting short a training session, then it’s likely a One for All conversation.

For a strength enhancement quirk, One for All is ridiculously complicated. Then again, Mirio supposes that its history is the furthest from simple, but…

He pauses his train of thought as he walks away. Strange. He isn’t that winded. 

Yagi’s face visibly lights up upon seeing his successor. “Ah, Togata-shounen. Just the one I wanted to see.”

“Yagi-san!” Mirio grins. “What is it today?”

“It’s…” Unfortunately, Yagi does not return the grin, which means that Mirio was right. This is going to be a One for All conversation, and a serious one at that.

Immediately, his expression sobers. “I’m listening, Yagi-san.”

The number one hero nods, then takes a deep breath as if he is steeling himself. 

Then he opens his mouth, and no words come out.

Mirio blinks.

Yagi sighs, shaking his head. “I have not been the most… candid with you, Togata-shounen.”

“Candid?” Mirio repeats, hesitantly. What would All Might need to hide?

“The injury that I was dealt four years ago.” All Might clarifies. “I asked for the battle to not be made public, but it appears that the enemy that I thought was gone… was not gone, after all.”

A chill runs through Mirio. An enemy that could cripple even All Might, who would be able to put All Might in the danger of dying…

“And I realize that I should have told you about him before I even offered you my quirk.” The Symbol of Peace continues, as Mirio is still reeling. “For that, I have been… remiss… in my communication. So if you wish to rescind your offer to take my quirk after you hear me out, my boy, we still will not take any offense.”

The hero-in-training swallows dryly. “I’m listening.”

All Might looks at him, and somehow it feels like the weight of a centuries-old gaze. 

Chapter Text

“There was once a man called All for One.”

All for One. One for All.

Mirio’s brain is whirling at a thousand miles a minute, and he doesn’t like where the train of thought is going. 

“He was born during the era we now call Dawn of the Quirks.” Yagi tells him. “He had the ability to take away and give quirks.”

“That’s- that’s impossible.” Mirio tries, even though the sinking feeling in his gut tells him otherwise. 

All Might shakes his head gravely. “It isn’t impossible. And I was a fool for underestimating him four years ago, my boy.”

“The Dawn of the Quirks was centuries ago. It wouldn’t have-” Mirio comes to the realization faster than he’d like. “Unless-”

“-unless he stole a quirk preventing him from aging.” All Might confirms gravely. “Even I do not know how many quirks he has, and what exactly he can do with them, my boy. This is a foe that I thought I had killed, but… we have reason to believe that he is still alive.”

All Might looks him in the eye. “One for All was created when All for One gave his younger, seemingly quirkless brother a simple strength enhancer. But his brother was not quirkless - he did indeed have a quirk. The quirk to pass on his quirk.”

“And- and that created One for All.” 

“And that created One for All.”

The whole story feels like a fairytale, almost. Mirio doesn’t even know if he believes it - and yet there’s nothing to point to the contrary. One for All is, by its own nature, an impossible quirk - but still, there is nothing in this world that can be classified as impossible. 

It hasn’t been impossible ever since the concept of quirks existed at all. 

“I do not know what All for One’s operations are this time.” All Might looks sombre, as if he’s attending someone’s funeral. “I pray that there will be enough time to train you properly so that you can inherit the quirk when you are ready, and for no other reason. But inheriting the quirk will paint a large target on your back, Togata-shounen.” 

Mirio tries to calm himself. Think rationally. “...how big are we talking?”

“Big enough that you will likely need the help of others, even if you’d rather them stay out of it.”

“Sasaki.”

“We are not making this mistake again.” Mirio’s other mentor says, sharply, having just entered the conversation. “Because the last time this mistake occurred, we nearly lost the Symbol of Peace. You know that if it weren’t for him-”

“Then Japan would be in a different situation, I know!” All Might snaps. “We’ve been over this, Sasaki. And I’m still not sure that you made the right choice.”

The golden irises of the underground hero flash with something unreadable. Nighteye is still unreadable, even after the months Mirio has spent training with him, over the summer and into the new semester. Treading around these moments, while they are few and far between, is just like trying to step around eggshells because he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. 

And honestly, it’s starting to get just the slightest bit irritating. 

But Yagi’s fury runs cold and Nighteye’s fury runs hot, and the two colliding form a kind of explosion that Mirio would not like to be in the radius of. 

So asking them directly would be out of the question - or at least, still is out of the question for as long as they are still feeling more standoffish than ever. 

“I’ve made mistakes.” Yagi admits. “I have. Both my pre- both Nana and I were foolish to see that going up against All for One alone was the wrong choice to make. I know that I was lucky enough to walk away from that fight alive, but-”

“Yagi, I wouldn’t make a different choice. He did it. He changed the future that I saw-”

“And maybe there was another way!”

“What’s done is done.” Nighteye’s irises harden into solid unforgiving gold. “We cannot change the past.”

“Would you have?” All Might demands. “If you had the choice and if you had known, would you have changed your decision?”

Silence.

Mirio knows that there is a boy in the long-term care of the hospital. He is the bright green against stark white, the splash of colour amidst the blank canvas. 

All Might and Nighteye do not visit him often. They are both busy heroes, one working the day shift and one working nocturnal - they have conflicting schedules spanning the entire day because of the very nature of their jobs. But in the five visits that they have come with Mirio to, it has been easy to see that Midoriya is very well involved in all this.

Nighteye can never bear to see him for more than a minute - just enough to see that he’s doing well. All Might can never bear to leave him at the end of the day, because he wants to make sure that he’ll be okay for just a little longer. 

It’s two kinds of guilt, pulling each hero in the opposite direction of the other. 

Whatever is going on here, Midoriya is the common denominator, and by Kami, Mirio will find out why.

“It’s getting colder, Rei-san.”

“I know. I enjoy the cold far more than you might believe, Izuku.”

Sometimes, the interactions between Midoriya and Rei still leave Shouta reeling. The non-symmetry of how they address each other is unconventional in and of itself, but Rei has never cared much for formality, apparently. Whatever goes on in Midoriya’s mind, however, is a complete and utter mystery. 

“Still.” Midoriya sets down the pencil that he’s currently using and picks up another one. The different shades are honestly all confusing to Shouta, but he can appreciate the meticulousness that the boy puts into every single one of his sketches. “Preferring the cold over warmth doesn’t mean that it’s good for your body.”

“I could say the same for you, Izuku.” Rei tells him, and it’s almost like an admonishment from a mother to a son.

(Shouta remembers what Izuku said about his mother, his Oka-san, and it sends a stab of regret and sorrow through his heart.)

Midoriya laughs. Somehow, it’s like that sound brings warmth on its own, and Shouta almost believes that Midoriya does not need any coat to keep himself warm in the autumn. “I’m sure Aizawa-san would agree that fresh air does me more good than staying in my stuffy hospital room does all the time.”

“I’m a biased standpoint, Problem Child.” Shouta refutes easily, like it’s instinct. “I am someone who does not like the hospital by default.”

“Still a valid standpoint.”

“ Midoriya.” Shouta frowns. “Do the doctors not recommend you stay outside? I always see you in the gardens.”

Midoriya’s smile dims a little bit, at that. “Well, I mean… I don’t really think that they need to be this cautious about everything. I mean. It’s not…” Midoriya chuckles as he scratches the back of his head. “It looks bad, doesn’t it? A thirteen-year old stuck in the hospital all the time. But really, Aizawa-san… you know my financial situation. It was the only decision that we could make.”

“And your illness isn’t severe?”

“It isn’t!” Midoriya hurries to say, a reassuring smile returning full force. “It really isn’t, Aizawa-san! It’s just chronic, and it’s rather inconvenient to be making consistent trips back and forth from a house overseas, so…”

“And that’s why it’s our job to keep you company.” Rei says firmly, placing a hand over Midoriya’s, effectively calming him. “We’re not going anywhere, Izuku.”

“We aren’t.” Shouta surprises himself by affirming it. “We aren’t going to leave, kid. You don’t have to be alone. Besides, didn’t you say that company is nice?”

His smile is nervous, somehow. It’s a little bit shaky. Shouta doesn’t know how to dissect it - he doesn’t know what to make of it, really, because Midoriya Izuku, despite his sunshine smiles and his seemingly outgoing nature, is surprisingly tight-lipped about so many aspects of his personal life. Every attempt Shouta makes at prodding about such details, namely what exactly the illness that Midoriya is afflicted with is, is deflected with impressive and increasingly worrying ease. The day when he finally admitted his situation with his parents was the most information that Shouta’s gotten out of him in the six months that he’s come to know him. 

Paradoxically, Midoriya Izuku is both close and distant with Shouta, and it’s a rather odd feeling. 

And the boy’s nervous smile only serves to further reinforce the fact. 

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Togata! Togata!”

Truth be told, Mirio hadn’t been expecting to make friends when he came to U.A. and got placed into 1-A. Tamaki was honestly quite the lifesaver, and for all that it didn’t appear to be so, Mirio kept his cards close to his chest. He was friendly with everyone, but those who could truly call him his friends were few and far in between. 

It did seem, however, that Hado Nejire became an exception, because the girl’s unmatched enthusiasm - except by Mirio’s own, perhaps - wormed its way into his heart eventually. 

Just like he can never help it whenever Nejire’s around, his face splits into a wide grin. “Hado-san! How are you doing today?”

Her eyes sparkle. She really is quite energetic, even in Mirio’s opinion. Tamaki’s quiet demeanor (and tired, if Mirio is honest) beside her is almost comical in comparison. Like a good friend, Mirio doesn’t laugh at him, but he will file it away for teasing later. 

None of this stops Hado from going on her tangents, as she always does. “Really, today was great! I mean, we had all the same classes together as always, but everyone really is so excited for the school festival, and I can’t help but be excited too, you know? A lot of people have said that I should try for the beauty pageant this year, do you think they’re right? Togata?”

Mirio has to hold back his laughter again at Tamaki’s strained expression. “I think they’re right, Hado-san! You’d win that pageant for sure!”

“Oh, but I’m not sure about that, Togata!” A light frown appears on her face. “I mean, there’s this support course student that’s really good at this, you know? Her name is literally Kenranzaki! I think I’d definitely have competition, right? Right?”

“You still stand a very good chance…” Tamaki falters upon seeing them both turn their attention to him, but barrels forward. “I mean… she’s the one who goes for… excessiveness, right?” Tamaki cringes. “I mean, sparkling. So if you went a different direction…”

The regret is painted clearly on his friend’s face when Hado brightens. “Kami, I knew it! You’re so smart, Amajiki! Come on, we should go pick out my outfit!”

This time, Mirio does laugh as she drags Tamaki away from the school’s gates. “Hado-san, it’s October! You have plenty of time to prepare.”

“You can never be too prepared!” Hado turns back, briefly, to wink at him over Tamaki’s resigned features. “Because we’re heroes, right?”

That gets him to pause, for just a moment. Just a little bit, because that wording strikes him as odd, somehow. 

For all that Hado is cheerful, bright, and seemingly just a little air-headed, she is perceptive. She wouldn’t be one of the most promising students in their homeroom if she wasn’t. 

And she is also surprisingly wise. 

Hado is certainly… a character. She has her own set of rules, her own philosophy to abide by. She lives life the way she believes it should be lived, and leaves little room for doubt, as if knowing that things are always how they should be - nothing more, nothing less. 

Because all she needs to do is try her best. 

Inexplicably, even absurdly, it reminds him of Midoriya. 

(He’ll ponder over why, for months and years to come. Hado shares Midoriya’s enthusiasm, but she does not stutter the way he does when he gets nervous. Hado is exuberant and loud in every aspect of the adjective - Midoriya is mostly a quiet splash of paint instead. When something is bothering Hado, Mirio is likely to be met with a pout and a bout of complaints. 

When something is bothering Midoriya, he is closed off, quiet and contemplative.

But for now, that is still neither here nor there.)

“Hey, Togata! Togata! Japan to Togata, are you still there?”

The voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Mirio belatedly realizes that he has slowed to a stop subconsciously. He refocuses his perception to meet Hado’s curious and azure-tinted eyes. 

Her head is tilted only slightly to the side. 

(The comparison may neither be here nor there, but Mirio can’t help but think that this slight tilt of the head, its seemingly inconspicuous innocence hiding wisdom, is a trait that they share so painfully well.)

Mirio shakes himself out of his stupor and grins at her. “Are we going for long dresses or skirts?”

The answering smile is more than enough of a prompt for him to do some catch-up jogging.

“...”

“...”

“...we have to stop meeting like this, Aizawa-san.”

Immediately, guilt claws at Shouta’s throat. “I can find more time to visit, Problem Child-”

“No, I didn’t- ah, Kami, I didn’t mean it that way!” Midoriya hurries to reassure him, the flailing endearing and somehow so very, very on-brand. “I didn’t mean it that way! I just meant that - really? Really, Eraserhead?”

“My capture weapon snapped.” Shouta tries, but Midoriya is having none of it.

“Why were you even perched on the tree in the first place?” He almost sounds hysterical, actually. “The leaves block your view! That’s one of the worst strategic positions you can possibly take given your quirk!”

“I wasn’t perching, excuse you.” Shouta shoots back. 

Unfortunately for him, Hizashi is with him today. Hizashi, Present Mic, entertainer extraordinaire, is here with him - and he is grateful, he swears, but really, sometimes Hizashi is too much and sometimes Shouta has regrets.

Because conversationally, as if Hizashi isn’t betraying his completely placed trust in him, he comments, offhandedly. “Yeah, he wasn’t perching, little listener. The cat was stuck in the tree.”

Midoriya looks at him. Stares at him. Incredulously. 

Shouta buries his head in his hands. “Hizashi.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this one.” Hizashi shrugs. “Honestly, I thought you would’ve had the reflexes to be able to stop yourself from twisting that ankle. I know Nemuri is disappointed.” A grin takes over his friend’s face, one that Shouta can only describe as shit-eating, and suddenly Shouta makes the vow to never smile like that ever again.  

(No, he doesn’t. He has students to beat into submission, after all. But by Kami, it is terrifying.)

Shouta feels rising dread as Hizashi continues speaking. “Maybe we should talk to Tensei about restarting those reflex exercises again.

“I cannot believe you.”

“Tensei?”

Shouta sighs. “As in Iida Tensei.”

“As in Iida Tensei?” The two heroes’ heads turn back to Midoriya, who is gesturing wildly with his hands again. “You would ask Ingenium to help you train your reflexes? Ingenium, the hero who has built a career off of speed?”

“Oh, during our time at U.A., it was Shouta’s idea.”

“It was what?”

“Hizashi!”

Dear Aizawa-san,

I must say, your previous letter really was rather flattering. To call us heroes would be a far stretch, Aizawa-san. You are able to save lives and help people. All I did was hurt the ones that I care for the most. 

Izuku used to have a dream of being a hero, you know. Back then, when he first made friends with Natsuo, they’d talk about all of the top heroes together. He’s a bright child - he broke down quirks and fighting strategies in ways I’ve never heard of. But I suppose every child is like that, aren’t they? I know Natsuo has grown out of that phase, and Izuku hasn’t mentioned heroes as much ever since. 

Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t snapped the time I did. My youngest son doesn’t visit me, though I’m not sure how much of that is the fault of my… husband, or his own will. I would not blame him, but sometimes I do wish that I could see him again. If nothing else, then to apologize - to tell him that he can be a hero, that he doesn’t need to be tied down by what his father became.

Ah, I didn’t mean to get so wrapped up in my own issues. My sincerest apologies, Aizawa-san. I suppose I should burn this letter and start over.

Thoughtfully,
Rei

But she didn’t.

Shouta reads this letter over and over again in his small, dingy apartment complex. It’s small, but it’s more than enough - and the cat lovingly named Bastard has curled up in his lap, always needy, to take advantage of his warmth as he reads. 

In all honesty, Eraserhead is a man of few needs. His living area is the space of the bare essentials, and even then it might not qualify - Shouta knows very well that Hizashi and Nemuri drop by regularly to shove him so-called proper and nutritious meals. But for his double-life as a teacher and an underground hero, it’s so much more than enough. 

Because his priority, as both a teacher and an underground hero, is to help others. To save others. 

So he reads this letter, and instinctively, he only wants to know how he can help. Because no matter what was going on in the woman’s head, Rei did not burn the letter - no. She sealed it into that envelope and made the conscious decision to mail it. 

Almost subconsciously, Shouta takes his phone from where it is on the couch and types in the name Todoroki Enji.

Immediately, thousands of search results pop up. The Number Two Hero’s real name is hardly a secret, after all, if not widely known. He is a limelight hero first and foremost - digging up information about his family, even if he has tried his utmost to be secretive about it, is not difficult to do. 

Endeavor is a father of four children. Or rather, three, ever since the untimely demise of Todoroki Touya. 

Now that’s a surprise. 

But Touya is not the child he is looking for. Fuyumi and Natsuo’s names appear, too, but the name that catches his attention is Todoroki Shouto. 

Shouta narrows his eyes. If he knows anything about Endeavor, it’s that he would not settle for anything less for his so-called… masterpiece. U.A. is Japan’s most prestigious hero school for a reason. 

Todoroki Shouto is, at present, thirteen years old. Nearly fourteen - he will be, once the winter’s beginnings give away to greater snowstorms and the New Year arrives. 

He is still a year away from his own entrance exam, it seems. 

Shouta files away the information for a later date. Or, rather - a later year. 

Underground heroes are nothing if not patient and stealthy, after all. 

“Togata-san?”

“Yes, Midoriya?” Mirio barely looks up from where he’s helping with the creation of Midoriya’s new project. He has found that making wire trees are surprisingly calming. The wire bites into his skin, at first, even despite his rough and trained hands - but it’s getting easier, and while his motions are not yet as smooth as Midoriya’s, he’s beginning to match the younger’s pace. 

Midoriya hums thoughtfully. “Winter is approaching.”

“That it is.”

“The New Year will be here soon. And then, it’ll be a few months until the Hanami festival.”

Mirio looks at him oddly. “That it will be.”

“Do you have any plans?”

Mirio pauses in thought. “Not yet, Midoriya-kun. Why? Is something the matter?”

“Oh, not at all!” Midoriya gives him a reassuring laugh.

(Mirio is reminded, absurdly, of Hado Nejire - because the sparkling irises of their eyes, blue and green, especially when they laugh and smile- remind him so much of… the sun. No, that’s not quite the right description, isn’t it?

Because they’re like gems, not supernovas. Emeralds and sapphires. They are beautiful treasures of nature, sparkling colour hidden against dark and dull grey stone.

Mirio isn’t a poet, but the revelation leaves him breathless anyway.)

“Well,” Midoriya continues, and Mirio is suddenly aware of the slight dust of pink on the younger boy’s cheeks, brought on by embarrassment. “I just… I was wondering if you’d like to join us? Next year? I know it’s a little bit early, but…”

“It isn’t.” Mirio cuts through before Midoriya can go further.

(“You can never be too prepared! Because we’re heroes, right?”)

Mirio gives him a grin. “What’s the date?”

The answering smile beams back at him like the setting sun behind Midoriya’s back. 

Chapter Text

How does Mirio describe this feeling?

It’s not exactly nervousness. Midoriya has a way of getting the people around him to feel more comfortable and casual, somehow, even though he mostly puts himself at a distance from others. (Mirio remembers the amount of effort he had to put into getting Midoriya to use the -kun honorific. It was almost comical.)

But even so, there’s still a degree of anxiety following Mirio as he makes his way to the park in Musutafu that Midoriya told him to meet him at. It’s not big, by any means, but there are enough sakura trees that it’ll probably make for a great view anyway. 

Midoriya warned him in advance that there would be other people with him. It’s not that Mirio minds, because he doesn’t, but it still confuses him, almost. Why would Midoriya feel the need to warn him? As far as Mirio is concerned, the more the merrier. 

So he takes the train to the park near Musutafu General Hospital, taps his fingers on his knees the entire ride, except for when a child on the train cries when his ice cream drops on the ground. When that happens, Mirio comforts him, and upon being told that they’re getting off at the same stop, Mirio offers to buy the child another ice cream. He waves off the parent’s concern with a smile and a reassurance. 

It’s standard hero stuff, really. Nothing much, and Mirio can part with a couple hundred yen anyway. 

When all that is said and done, Mirio frowns at the message sent to his phone. Midoriya gave him an intersection, but never gave him a time, and “first Sunday of May” is hardly an exact date. It confuses him a little bit. Does Midoriya intend to stay there for the entire day?

(Honestly, Mirio can get behind that. A full day under the cherry blossoms? Sign him up! It is unfortunate that Tamaki never has the stamina to be social for that long, though.)

Nevertheless, he makes his way, chipper as ever, to the intersection labelled on the map for him.

At this point, he should probably be used to surprises. Midoriya is full of surprises, after all.

It doesn’t stop him from gaping at his Ethics teacher when Mirio finally spots him staring at him from where he’s sitting on the tarp.

Staring. Aizawa-sensei is staring at him. From the tarp. Like he’s forgotten to hand in something important. 

Instinctively, Mirio swallows dryly and runs his mind through all recent Ethics assignments they might’ve done recently that Mirio might’ve forgotten. Which he hasn’t. Because he’s a good student. He swears. 

Kami, Aizawa-sensei is terrifying. 

A pink petal falls down from the tree above him. Without blinking, the underground hero snatches it out of the air, like it’s child’s play. He doesn’t even look. In fact, his eyes are still very much trained on Mirio’s face, as if he’s currently being appraised. It feels like Nighteye’s glare, almost. Almost.

Has he mentioned that Aizawa-sensei is terrifying? Because he is. Terrifying, that is. Maybe, if Mirio is lucky, Aizawa-sensei will just leave him be as he looks for Midoriya. Hopefully.

Mirio’s eyes shift over to the figure right beside Aizawa-sensei. The figure has green hair. 

The figure is turning over to look at Aizawa-sensei. The figure is following Aizawa-sensei’s gaze. 

The figure turns around to meet Mirio’s eyes. 

The figure is Midoriya.

The green-haired boy’s face brightens visibly. Mirio feels dawning horror as Midoriya waves enthusiastically. 

“Togata-kun! Over here!”

Would it be rude to leave right now? 

Yeah, probably. 

Considering Shouta had already visited the sakura this year with Nemuri, Hizashi and even Tensei, he really didn’t need to be here. 

But he has grown soft. 

(Ah, fuck. He’s grown soft.)

But Midoriya, though he didn’t exactly use the so-called puppy eyes on him that Hizashi insists he’s weak for (which he isn’t), the boy still asked him so meekly and nervously and so earnestly that Shouta really couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. 

Damn it. 

So here he was. Seated on the tarp, waiting for Rei to come so that he would have someone to talk to and so that Midoriya wasn’t just folding paper by himself, when he spots one of his problem children.

Shouta wasn’t teaching a homeroom last year. Of course, his current homeroom is also non-existent, but that has to do with expulsion. Which is completely justified. Even Nedzu agreed. But last year, even though he had no homeroom of hero hopefuls, he was still teaching a great number of classes in Ethics, and stumbled upon a couple of problem children anyway. 

The student currently gaping at him, Togata Mirio, newly graduated first year and current second year in the hero course, is the Problem Child. The Problem Child. 

(In his words, Togata is full of potential. Overfilling with it, even. He knows that there’s some connection between the boy with the Permeation quirk (whose control over it has grown exponentially, almost inexplicably, over the past year) and the Symbol of Peace himself, with how often they talk, but he isn’t yet interested in investigating it. Even disregarding that, though, Togata as part of the newly declared Big Three is no surprise to him. The boy is strong, and he’ll become stronger still in the future.)

Ah. Togata is gaping. 

Maybe Shouta has focused on him for a bit too long. 

Out of the corner of his eye, the underground hero watches as Midoriya turns back to him, frowns in thought, then turns to look at whatever Shouta is looking at. 

Surprisingly, Midoriya’s smile brightens and he begins to wave. “Togata-kun!”

Okay, hold on.

Togata knows Midoriya?

“Togata! Hi! Meet Aizawa-san, he’s been keeping me company in the hospi… Togata-kun?”

“Eraser- Aizawa-sensei?”

“Togata. What.”

“You two know each other?”

“That’s what I should be asking you, Problem Child. What the hell? Togata is-”

“-a regular visitor of mine, yes. You know him! You’re- you’re his sensei?”

“Hold on, Midoriya-kun, when you told me about the underground hero that gets injured so much that you got to know him solely through his incidents, you were talking about Aizawa-sensei?”

“Togata.”

“I- I’m just surprised, that’s all! I mean, sensei, you aren’t exactly the type that seems like he would…”

“I have trouble believing it too, sometimes. I mean, Eraserhead! That’s Eraserhead!”

“Togata, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will expel you.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Aizawa-san? Who is this?”

“Ah, Rei-san. Apparently, the Problem Child has visitors from U.A. students. My students.”

“Izuku has friends from the hero course? Who is it? I want to meet them!”

“Calm down, Natsu… I’m sure that it’s that boy over there, right beside Izuku-kun. See? Oh, Izuku-kun brought the wires!”

“...and I didn’t want the fractal pattern to be too obvious, so I ended up moving this wire down here in the framewo- oh! Fuyumi! Natsuo! Come over!”

“Who is he?”

“Fuyumi-san, Natsuo-kun, meet Togata-kun! He’s a second-year hero course student at U.A.! He has such an amazing quirk, really, the applications of it are almost limitless-”

“Midoriya-kun, you think all quirks are amazing…”

“Well… I wouldn’t say that , but still! Your quirk has so many applications in hero work! You’re the first U.A. student I ever got to analyze up in person, Togata-kun, and really it’s been so fun exploring all the different possibilities of-”

“And he’s on the tangents again…”

“Natsu!”

“Teaching has been very quiet recently.”

“...Aizawa-san, I can’t help but think of the fact that you expelled your entire homeroom this year. Your entire homeroom.”

“The rat approved of it. They needed a lesson in the difference between self-sacrifice and laying down your life. They’ll be re-enrolled next year - after they’ve learned their lesson.”

“Your style of teaching certainly is unique, Aizawa-san.”

“Rei-san, I do what needs to be done. They need to know what is waiting for them when they step out into the world of heroics. Too many of them this year were blinded by the glory and media coverage of heroism.”

“It wasn’t an accusation, my friend. I trust that you do best for these children placed under your wing.”

“They aren’t my children.”

“Your problem children, then.”

“Rei-san.”

“What’s it like?”

“Pardon?”

“What’s it like? Learning to be a hero?”

“Natsu, you can’t just-”

“Ah, it’s okay, Todoroki-san. I can see why my education might be a point of interest to some of you.”

“Please, call me Fuyumi. Natsu doesn’t mind you calling him Natsuo, and I know that oka-san wouldn’t mind you calling her Rei, either. Having three Todorokis can get a little confusing sometimes.”

“...if you insist, then please call me Mirio. You too, Midoriya-kun! I think… well, after the past year, almost, we’ve grown close enough for that, right?”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose…”

“Ah ah, young man, you are not pulling the distancing card on us. You already call both of us by our first names. If the hero kid wants him to call him Mirio, then you should, right?”

“...I guess? No promises, though, you know how my memory isn’t very…”

“Don’t be modest, Izuku!”

“...not to interrupt, but the hero course, Mirio-kun-”

“ Natsu-”

“No, I really did mean it when I said that it’s okay. I mean… learning to be a hero is difficult, certainly, and a lot of our teachers are very strict to us. Aizawa-sensei in particular… he is terrifying.”

“I almost couldn’t believe Present Mic at first, when he told me about Aizawa-san’s expulsion record. But he did expel his entire year this year, right?”

“Please, don’t remind me… I’m glad that he wasn’t assigned to have a homeroom last year…”

“...I have a son younger than Natsuo.”

“You mentioned this. In our letters.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“...”

“...”

“...Enji will make him go to U.A. next year.”

“Rei-san-”

“And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but- but he’s young. He’s fourteen, Aizawa-san. I don’t know if he’s filled with hate against his father or me, even though I know that both is likely, and he’ll need help, help that he can’t really get anywhere else, not when his father is the Number Two, and it’s a lot to ask but please-”

“Rei-san.”

“He needs help, Aizawa-san. Help I can’t give.”

“I know. The rat told me that I’ll be slotted for a homeroom of first-years next year because I expelled my entire class this year. It’ll still be a tossup as to whether or not Shouto will make it into my class, because I have to share them with the blood basta- with Vlad, but I suspect that Nedzu knew this would happen. Somehow.”

“...the principal of U.A. didn’t get his reputation for nothing, I see.”

“Hell if I know. The rat’s always got something cooking.”

“Thank you, Aizawa-san.”

“For what? Doing my job? Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you.”

“Shouto has potential. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“The sun is setting.”

“So it is, Izuku-kun.”

“...”

“...Izuku-kun? Are you alright?”

“...it’s nothing, Mirio. Nothing.”

“Are you leaving already, Izuku?”

“I have to go back, Natsuo-kun. The doctors want me back a little earlier.”

“But- but it’s Hanami! And you still have to go stargazing-”

“We shouldn’t bother him, Natsu… but… he’s right. We’re losing more time together. You’ve never left this early, Izuku-kun.”

“Don’t worry! It’s just… well, the doctors are really busy, and the specialists are also really busy, and they couldn’t take any other day…”

“...oh. Next year, then.”

“Next year, Natsuo-kun! I promise!”

“You didn’t have to leave with me, Aizawa-san.”

“Nonsense.” Shouta huffs. “I’m still not sure how your doctors looked at you and told you that you could go to the Hanami festival, Midoriya. Taking trains on your own at eight years old? Illogical.”

“I was nine.” Midoriya tries weakly. “I could handle myself.”

“Still a child.”

Childishly, Midoriya sticks his tongue out at him. Rather than sending him a glare, though, Shouta finds himself surprised - because that’s one of the few times that Midoriya has ever acted childish. 

Midoriya is a little bit of a paradox, and he only gets more confusing as Shouta gets to know him. The boy will turn fourteen in a matter of weeks, but sometimes, Shouta can confuse him with one of his third-year students, in the ways he acts. It’s odd. 

But that does remind him…

“Any plans for your birthday, Midoriya?”

At that, Midoriya lights up and gets even brighter, as if protesting against the rapidly dimming light of sunset. “Oh, yes! Actually, Oka-san will be coming back to celebrate my birthday with me!”

“Really?” Shouta doesn’t bother hiding the surprise in his voice, although the surprise does still hurt him a little bit. 

Midoriya bobs his head up and down, working himself up into an excitement in a matter of seconds. “I haven’t seen her in a while! I mean, obviously I have, because we still- you know- call-” he gestures wildly, “-but it’s still different. In person, I mean! And she’ll be staying a couple of days so maybe you can come and meet her, and-”

Shouta’s brain does a record screech. “What.”

“She’d love to meet you!” Midoriya rambles on, and Shouta swears he’s doing it on purpose. “ Oka-san has been so curious to meet with you, Aizawa-san, and she’s really sweet and she’s been meaning to thank you for a long time, so can you come? Please?”

Maybe the reason why Shouta is so caught off guard is that Midoriya rarely goes on such long tangents like these. Or, rather, he’s rarely excited enough about a topic to run his mouth like this. Even when talking about his other hobbies - sketching, wire sculpting, embroidery and origami - he doesn’t fill with quite the same life as he does when he talks about hero quirk analysis. Or this.

So sue him. Maybe he is soft for the Problem Child, after all.

“Are you sure?” He asks again, because he is still hesitant to overstep even after over a year. “I wouldn’t want to impose, Midoriya. It should be a day for you and your mother.”

Something softens in Midoriya’s green (bright, bright viridescent irises shining like the sun) eyes. “Birthdays are meant to be celebrated with family, Aizawa-san.”

Without another word, Midoriya gives him a smile, a wave, and he’s gone and departed for the next train platform over. 

Shouta takes an embarrassing amount of time to drag himself out of his dumbfounded state and turn away. 

Chapter Text

“I want to know why.”

There’s a burning drive in Mirio’s words, and Mirio knows that Yagi hears it. He’s sweaty and tired and has just been thrown around by Nighteye (although that’s to be expected), but he needs to know. He’s tired of guessing. 

And yet his mentor still avoids his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my boy.”

Mirio resists the urge to snap. He doesn’t snap easily - Tamaki once compared him to a rubber band. No matter how much stress he is put under, it’s like Mirio can always bounce back.

They forget that sometimes, the rubber band does snap apart, and violently so.

Maybe the only thing properly reigning him in at this moment is the fact that he is speaking to his mentor, the number one hero, the Symbol of Peace, All Might. Nighteye had told him to get rid of his hero worship, and it has gotten much easier to distinguish Yagi from All Might and take criticism without falling into an uncharacteristic nervous mess, but it’s still present, just under his usually bubbly exterior.

He’s grateful for it, right now. He doesn’t want to lash out at anyone.

But he’s tired of the secrets.

“You know what I’m talking about, Yagi-san.” Mirio settles for, consciously keeping his voice even. 

(It comes out a little flat. He knows this, and winces internally.

But it does get the job done.)

Mirio has always been of the opinion that Yagi is world-weary. The contrast between him and his hero persona is as stark as night and day - while All Might is all chiseled grins and hearty laughs, Yagi Toshinori is small smiles and quiet chuckles. Being the Symbol of Peace is tiring, he tells him. It drains the energy out of him until, when he’s reverted back to civilian Yagi Toshinori, all he can bother to maintain is just his true self.

He’s tired. Perpetually so.

Yagi’s next sigh only further reinforces this fact. “Togata-shounen…”

“Yagi-san, with all due respect…” Mirio becomes fully aware that he’s getting more agitated, and forcefully calms himself down with a breath. “Yagi-san. You still have yet to explain your relationship with Midoriya-kun. Every question about him, you sidestep, or Midoriya-kun brushes aside for you. I want to know why.”

Yagi flinches.

(Somewhere, Mirio wonders when he stopped being surprised by this motion.)

“My boy-”

“Please.”

(And that’s the question, isn’t it? When has he stopped being surprised by the notion that maybe, just maybe, the Number One Hero is just as human as the rest of them?)

Yagi twists his fingers. “It’s not just my secret to tell, Togata-shounen. Perhaps… I’d even say it’s more of Sasaki’s right. Or even Midoriya’s. Not mine.”

Sir Nighteye once told him that he’d have to start learning the tones of other people’s voices. Centipeder and Bubble Girl had given him dozens upon dozens of clips and Sir had walked through the emotions of each one with him, ceaselessly, until he’d learned to identify the patterns he needed like an investigator. It’s one of the many things Sir has taught him that he’s grateful for.

Yagi Toshinori speaks with guilt, and it’s clear to him.

“You feel responsible for him,” Mirio realizes. “Or some part of him. Some part of his situation.”

It clicks, partially, this piece of the puzzle that he still can’t get the full picture for. But now that he looks for it, he sees it - the Symbol of Peace doesn’t just take a full day break every month for anybody, and Yagi-san has always had a terrible guilt complex.

“Yes,” Yagi muses, “I suppose I do.”

“Why?”

Yagi shakes his head. “If you want to know, my boy, you have to know another secret of Midoriya’s - and that’s one that’s entirely his decision to make. And as for Sasaki…” he winces. “I don’t think I have the right to influence your perception of him like this either.”

“They- you- you’re both my senseis, All Might,” Mirio says, tone pleading, the hero name slipping out without his notice. “I don’t think I’d-”

“Sasaki told you, at the beginning, that you’d do well to get rid of your hero worship.” The man closes his eyes, and he has never looked as old as he does at this moment. “That meant for him, too.”

Mirio swallows and looks at the ground. 

“We are human, Togata-shounen. And I suppose we are still scared of how much faith you might lose.”

Unconsciously, Mirio’s hand clenches into a fist. “Don’t you think I should know? I know Midoriya is related to something in the past, likely to do with your injury-” 

He doesn’t miss the way Yagi tenses, coiling tight like a spring, but he barrels forward-

“-and he knows enough to recognize your civilian form. Why? How?”

The hero doesn’t say anything.

Fine, then.

If he won’t tell me, he thinks, a little bit filled with reckless abandon, then I’ll find out myself.

“No.”

“Sir.”

“I said no, Togata.” Nighteye’s voice is harsh, but it’s not quite filled with the same firm guidance that Mirio is used to - it throws him for a loop, briefly, because he’s never heard Sir’s words filled with so much self-hatred and disgust. “Yagi was right. It’s not our secret.”

“All Might told me that it’s more yours than his.”

“That still doesn’t make it my right.” Nighteye closes his eyes, as if he could will away a vision in his mind - deny the future that he sees, as much as he knows it isn’t possible. “I did many things that I would rather you not know - and if that makes me a coward, then so be it.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“It’s Midoriya’s secret more than it is ours.” His mentor sighs, clasping his hands in front of him. “These stories are inextricably tied together, Mirio. And the second one is undoubtedly Midoriya’s - and that makes this his right.”

That gives Mirio pause. 

Nighteye has never used his first name like this before - he gets the distinct impression that he’s being taught a lesson. 

What lesson, though?

That people need support systems? That one person’s secret will reveal another’s?

(That actions have consequences?)

“Fine. I’ll just have to go ask Midoriya-kun, then.”

Nighteye says nothing - but when he opens his eyes again, staring into him with pale gold eyes flashing with knowing and knowledge no one should be burdened with - Mirio, briefly, wonders if he will regret this. 

I suppose we are still scared of how much faith you might lose.

The voice of All Might echoes in his head, almost mockingly. Mirio elects to ignore it.

“-and Natsuo-kun was starstruck, you know, Aizawa-san, because he’d never really seen a hero in action before and even though he’s heard all about it and seen the best on television it’s just a different matter entirely to see it in person- oh! Togata-kun!” Midoriya waves at him, despite Mirio interrupting him in the middle of his tirade. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Eraserhead stares at Mirio as he walks in, and Mirio winces, trying not to think about the botched essay he wrote only last night and turned in at the last minute. 

Some of it must show on his face, because Aizawa-sensei lets up. “Togata. Don’t you have another essay for Mic due in two days?”

His tone of voice suggests that this is very much a statement, not a question, and that he has read the essay he handed in and is thoroughly unimpressed, and Mirio laughs nervously. “Ah, y-yes, Eraserhead! I just- well, I had a question that I needed to ask Midoriya, but if you two are busy then there’s no need to-”

“No need.” His teacher stands up, brisk in his efficiency as he always is. “I have a student that needs my attention at U.A. after-hours today. I will take my leave.”

Mirio bows, hastily, trying not to look too out-of-the-sorts. “Thank you, sensei!”

“No need.” Aizawa drags himself out of the chair, slinging his bag over his shoulder and putting his hands in his pockets. Even in his hero costume, he looks like… a human. Personable. Kind. Nurturing. “I will see you, Midoriya.”

Midoriya waves cheerfully. “See you, Aizawa-san!”

Eraserhead gives nothing more than a two fingered wave over his shoulder as he slouches out, but Mirio can’t help but feel that the gesture is filled with warmth. 

(It’s an odd side to see. Mirio knows, distantly, that Aizawa-sensei is a good teacher - one of their best, even. He knows, distantly, that he cares deeply for the next generation and does all that he can to stop them from dying. But it truly is another matter to experience it in-person.)

“Togata-kun?”

That snaps Mirio back to attention. “Ah, Midoriya-kun!”

“You wanted to talk to me about something.” He tilts his head, looking all the more innocent - and from somewhere a wave of guilt crashes over Mirio, sobering and startling him into clarity. What is he going to lose?

Laughing sheepishly, he scratches the back of his neck. “Can’t a man see his friend?”

“You can,” Midoriya says, easily. “But that’s not what you’re here for.”

The way he says it - calm, assured, matter-of-fact - it makes Mirio wonder why he’s asking at all. 

“Perceptive of you! I was sure that I’d perfected the art of keeping my cards close.” Mirio grins again, but it feels a little more strained, especially when Midoriya blinks, keeping those eyes trained on him with an unreadable expression. 

“To others, maybe.” Midoriya shrugs. “But people learn to hide when they fear getting hurt. It’s easier to know how people hide when you’ve been doing the same all your life, isn’t it?”

(The moment is like a cave, a musty underground buried pocket of air surrounded by kilometres of stone and dirt, filled with gems forever undiscovered, beauty never to be appreciated and yet still shining, even as their dull lights begin to fade.)

Something akin to unease fills Mirio. “Midoriya-kun?”

(The moment passes.)

Midoriya’s eyes clear, and his lips stretch out in a wry smile, twitching once more. “Ah, sorry, Togata-kun. I got carried away.”

“...No worries.” Mirio relents, dropping the topic.

The green-haired boy in front of him huffs, and it sounds a little bit like laughter. He gets up, stretching a little, before walking to one corner of his room (still lined with arts and crafts, still colourful in the midst of the stench of hopelessness and the sound of deathly silence) and rummages through his drawers. “Nevermind that. Still! You wanted to talk about something, Togata-kun. What is it?”

(The mirth passes, too.) 

Mirio swallows something lodged in his throat. Funny, that his hesitation appears now, in front of the boy he arguably has the least to fear from. 

Briefly, he wonders if this is worth it. Knowing the truth - what good will that even do?

But a part of him still sings the old and familiar song of curiosity - cheerful tactlessness, slightly foolish stubbornness - the urge to help, even if he doesn’t know who he’s helping or why he’s needed. 

Mirio takes a deep breath, and steels himself. “How did you meet All Might and Sir Nighteye?”

Midoriya’s eyes flicker to him, briefly, from where he’d begun collecting pliers and plastic beads. “What’s this about?”

His voice is carefully measured, like he’s testing the waters. If Mirio hadn’t already confirmed it, this would’ve been the nail in the coffin - Midoriya is cautious, like he doesn’t know how much Mirio knows or how much he’s looking for. 

Mirio raises his hands up, waving them in front of him. “Nothing- well, nothing bad that you’re probably thinking about. But… well, forgive my curiosity.” He shifts from foot to foot, watching as Midoriya continues his motions, gathering materials and setting them aside, as careful as every motion seems to be. “It gets… difficult. Sir and Yagi were meant to be best of friends, partners in heroics - it’s jarring to see them behave so distantly with each other.”

Midoriya says nothing, though his grip on the rock base looks rather tight. 

“They both told me that this was your story to tell, whatever that meant.”

Midoriya blows out a breath. It sounds like a sigh, world-weary and tired, even as much as All Might’s. “I… suppose it is.”

A silence falls between them.

Mirio, despite all perceptions to the contrary, has never been afraid of the silence between words the same way others have been. He talks because it is comfortable - but typically, a silence between friends, being in the company of each other simply for being in the company of each other, is fine in his book. 

This one isn’t that. 

This one feels like a wall between him and Midoriya - a wall that Mirio has fought endlessly in the past year to bring down. 

(Midoriya, despite all perceptions to the contrary, rarely allows himself to form vulnerable connections with others.)

Thankfully, though, it does not fall upon Mirio to punch through the barrier today. 

Midoriya sits down on his bed. “How much do you know about the injury that he sustained five years ago?”

“There was a- a supervillain.” Mirio shivers, thinking about him. “He dealt All Might an injury severe enough that it got All Might worried about the pillars that our society stands on. He… he said he recovered, though.”

Somehow, it looks like whatever Mirio just said has aged Midoriya by years, and he closes his eyes, leaning back with his hands supporting his body on the mattress. “Interesting. And they feel responsible for me?”

“Was it because you were injured in the fight?” Mirio asks, suddenly, the pieces falling in place. All Might’s guilt, telling Nighteye that he might not have made the right choice and Nighteye refusing to admit so - “Did Nighteye have to make a decision between saving you or helping All Might, and they-”

It makes sense. All Might’s sense of responsibility. Nighteye being unwilling to see Midoriya beyond checking on him. Maybe that battle led to him being stuck in his hospital. Chronic illness. A direct result of Nighteye’s choices. Maybe-

It makes so much sense that Mirio’s thought process grinds to a halt when Midoriya shakes his head. 

“Not… exactly.”

Mirio blinks.

“Well, kind of.” Midoriya sits up again, in favour of twisting his fingers in his hands and fidgeting in the way Mirio has learned means he’s nervous. “It… My situation got worse only after the battle ended. This-” He waves around, as if to say, everything, “-was not the result of the battle.”

That gives Mirio pause. “Then what?”

“All Might said that his injury was healed. Did he ever mention how?”

“No, but-” Mirio stops, and this time, when the pieces fall in place, Mirio feels them slot in like a complete picture, one that isn’t incomprehensible and suddenly also explains everything. 

Midoriya’s words only confirm it. “Nighteye had heard of a boy who could heal anything.” 

“B-but- how?” Mirio asks, demands, because if it really was Midoriya who saved All Might then Mirio doesn’t know how he feels, knowing that his mentor is the one benefiting from his close friend’s sacrifice- “Surely-”

Midoriya doesn’t deny any of it. All he does is wring his hands, watching him silently, gauging his reaction as if trying to figure out the best way to approach this. 

Mirio doesn’t understand.  

“Nighteye had heard of a boy who could heal anything.” Midoriya repeats. He smiles, but this time, the smile is less genuine and more bitter, more jaded and tired and filled with an indescribable type of resignation. “But unbeknownst to him, the boy could not heal anything without severe consequences. All quirks have a backlash, after all.” 

Mirio only stares at him. 

Midoriya continues, still maintaining eye contact, irises not quite thirteen-into-fourteen for how old they look and for what kind of knowledge they hold. “The protein frataxin is truly… extraordinary. It could do many things, especially with the help of my quirk. It could heal. It could heal anything. But the frataxin had to come from somewhere.”

“Frataxin, it-” Mirio’s mind whirls through the possibilities - he’s never been really good at the sciences, least of all biology, but if he’s right then-

“It had to come from me.” Midoriya shrugs, like he isn’t talking about his own chronic illness, the thing that keeps him rooted to this hospital room, a musty cave suffocating his gems of brilliance the world is lucky to have at all. “I was diagnosed with Friedreich's Ataxia at age eight. It was only to be expected.”

“Age eight?”

“Yes.”

“So they-” There’s indescribable anger lining his words now, disgust, how could they sentence a boy eight years of age to this life-

“But Nighteye only reached out to me when I was twelve.”

That brings Mirio to a stop once more.

(Absurdly, he thinks he feels like an unstable train. Start, stop. Start, stop. The jerking motions happen so much that he’s not sure what he should be accustomed to anymore.

He wonders, partially with fear - what station will the doors open at?)

“T-that doesn’t make sense.” Mirio tries, tries to piece together the narrative in his mind. “What about- what about your first four years, Midoriya? What-”

“It wasn’t wholly their fault. In all honesty, perhaps it was mine, for landing myself in this situation.” Midoriya sighs. “A story of a boy who gave so much of himself and was so happy with it that he didn’t realize how little he had left until it was too late. A tale as old as time, isn’t it?”

There’s a difference between self-sacrifice and laying down your lives, the voice of Aizawa-sensei echoes in his mind, like it’s mocking him.

Mirio feels his hand curl into a fist. 

That’s certainly one way to put it, Midoriya-kun.

Chapter Text

“Oka-san! Oka-san! I have a quirk!”

Izuku remembers his quirk day. Looking back, it was just like any other day for the rest of the world - another Sunday, another sunrise and sunset.

But to Izuku, it was the day everything changed. 

He remembers the way his mother’s face lit up - so full of pride and joy, the smile breaking across her face like the dawn over the hills. “Izuku! Oh, Kami, oh-” 

She’d teared up, the clear rivulets coming down in joy, as much as she’d tried to wipe them away as she scooped him up and held him in her arms. “I’m so proud of you! I always knew, I always knew you’d have a wonderful quirk-”

Izuku, from where he’s buried in his mother’s arms, squirmed a little, giggling. “I didn’t even tell you yet!”

“It doesn’t matter, Izuku! Oh, a quirk-” She laughed, the sound so full of wonder and joy that for a moment, Izuku too was dazzled. “I’d be proud of you regardless, Izuku! Quick, tell me!”

Everyone told him he had a wonderful quirk. A rarity among rarities. 

“Truly, I never thought that I’d see such a great power in action…” The doctor murmured, fascinated by the way that cut on his hand that he’d been nursing had closed up and disappeared, leaving behind unblemished skin. “Your boy has a wonderful quirk, Midoriya-san. He has the potential to be an amazing healer - to save hundreds, if not thousands of people.”

Izuku lit up. “I can save people?” 

His mother ruffled his hair, a soft smile gracing her features. “Isn’t that great, Izuku? It’s your dream!”

The doctor nodded in agreement. “You have special potential here, young man.”

Izuku nearly cried in excitement. His mother, as she appeared to do more often nowadays, swept him up and hugged him again. 

He buried his head in her shoulder, sniffling and laughing at the same time - emotions in a little bit of a mess, but there’s still that overwhelming happiness warming him like the sun rising on his skin. 

His mother had hugged him just as tight, surrounding him in love and happiness, so comfortable that Izuku had nearly missed the next words his mother spoke over his shoulder. 

“Then, Tsubasa-Hakase… What are his drawbacks?”

Izuku straightened up, tilting his head. “Drawbacks?”

The doctor had shrugged. “I don’t appear to see any effects. Midoriya-kun’s quirk is already such a mutation… it could be possible that the drawback develops slowly, so he’ll benefit from  being more careful. However, many quirks don’t have too bad of a side-effect, including powerful ones - I am cautiously optimistic.”

Little four-year old Izuku didn’t take cautiously optimistic as “proceed with caution”, however. 

What he heard was a green light. 

“Deku!”

Izuku perked up. “Kacchan?”

They’d fallen into an odd new rhythm during these past few weeks. Izuku knew that Kacchan had been thrown a little off-kilter the moment Izuku developed a healing quirk - more passive than full-on obvious power. 

But one thing was certain - whenever the other classmates tried to take advantage of his quirk, Kacchan would always step in. Despite still calling him Deku - which Izuku had nearly insisted on, having heard it as Kacchan’s way of nicknaming him and finding it too odd to hear anything else - Kacchan saw his worth more than anyone else. 

Izuku, though, wanted to help people. 

And that’s how he found him here - healing Tsubasa because he didn’t want to get in trouble with his mother about falling and scraping his knee. 

That didn’t stop Kacchan from forcibly cutting the connection between them, though - he grabbed his hand, slightly rough, and the scrape on Tsubasa’s knee now looked days old instead of healed fully. “I told you to stop using your quirk so much.”

Izuku frowned. “But Tsubasa-kun is injured!”

“Demon Wings can deal with the fallout of his own actions.” Kacchan glared. “Didn’t the doctor say that there’s a possible drawback? How are you supposed to be at the top with me if you can’t take care of yourself, huh?”

Izuku laughed at that, pushing Kacchan’s hand away and placing his palm on Tsubasa’s knee again, this time healing it completely. “I told you, Kacchan, it’s fine! Besides, plenty of quirks only have minor drawbacks.”

Kacchan scowled and turned away, muttering something about “recklessness” and “a stupid heroic streak”. 

Izuku didn’t mind, though. Not when Tsubasa-kun grinned so wide and told him “thanks, Izuku-kun!”

That made it worth it, even as the boy ran off without another word. 

Kacchan huffed, back still turned. “That extra owes too much to you.”

“Don’t call them extras, Kacchan.” Izuku chastises, if only half-heartedly. “If I have the ability to help, shouldn’t I at least try?”

Kacchan was still frowning. 

Something had bothered his friend, even back then. 

(Maybe, if he’d acted on it, things would be different.)

“Izuku! My arm really hurts and I have a test to write next period… can you help me?”

“Izuku-kun! I twisted my ankle and I just really don’t want to go home, we have gym next period…”

“Izuku! I’ve got a papercut and it’s really small but bothering me a lot so can you-”

“Izuku, can you help my friend? It’s- she’s scraped her elbow and-”

“Izuku-kun, can you-”

“Izuku-”

“I’m gonna blow their faces, I swear-”

“Stop it, Kacchan! Alright, everyone, be patient, I’ll try to get to everyone that I can…”

“Still no signs?”

The doctor hesitated - eventually, at length, smiling and shaking his head. “Your boy seems healthy as ever, Midoriya-san. Truly, a special quirk to behold.”

Izuku had lit up even more than his initial diagnosis two years ago. 

His mother, though, still looked worried. “Are you sure?” She stressed. 

Doctor Tsubasa nodded reassuringly. “I’m sure, Midoriya-san. Trust me, I want the best for this boy as much as you do. He will grow up to become a fine young man.”

Izuku, six and still trusting, had taken the words at face value. “Oka-san, Oka-san!! I can help people!”

His mother still looked conflicted - but perhaps, swept up in her son’s enthusiasm, she had dismissed her worries, returning the grin and smiling shakily. “Our little Izuku is going to grow up to become a hero, huh?”

“Yes!” Izuku said, brimming with excitement, like the sun in midday, the light bathing the world. “I’m going to be a hero!”

(It’s crushing, later, when Midoriya Inko finds out that Doctor Tsubasa shares a name with Doctor Kyudai Garaki, lieutenant to a power dedicated to weakening heroes and society until All for One is primed for takeover. 

But in this moment of sweet, fragile joy, that’s neither here nor there.)

“Stop hounding him, extras!”

“Kacchan…” Izuku tugged at his friend’s arm, not missing the way his murderous glance was directed at everyone asking for his help and the sparks on his palms. “Kacchan, come on! I can help!”

“You can help once they’ve learned their lesson.” Kacchan growled, sending a sweeping glare at everyone clamouring to see Izuku. “You can’t get held up by these extras. How are you going to climb to the top otherwise, huh?”

“Kacchan.”

“Don’t pull that tone with me, Deku.”

“Kacchan.”

“They’ll never learn-”

“They’ll learn eventually!” Izuku was full of optimism at that moment, sunshine bright smile firmly on his face. “Besides, the doctor said so himself - no drawbacks! Something would’ve manifested in the two years between those two appointments if there was one, right?”

Right?

There’s doubt on Kacchan’s face, though Izuku can’t figure out why - but he did eventually relent, muttering something about “too good to be true” and leniency.

Izuku didn’t really care, though. 

It was good that he got to help people. He’s always wanted to do that - he’s just got more of a head start!

And that’s when everything went wrong. 

“Deku? Deku, what’s wrong with you?”

Izuku blinks slowly, coming back to himself. “Ka- Kacchan, what?”

Kacchan scowls, but he can’t hide the relief when Izuku’s eyes focus on him. “Damn it, Deku, you can’t be worrying me like this! You weren’t- you weren’t-”

Izuku blinked. 

Kacchan’s hands, still on his shoulders, clenched tighter. “You weren’t responsive. Damn it, Deku, what’s going on?”

Izuku blinked again. Kacchan was worried about him. 

He laughed, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. “I wasn’t… sorry, Kacchan! Just… needed to get my bearings for a moment. I’m fine, promise!”

Kacchan’s expression was still dubious. 

Izuku patted his arm. “It’s okay, Kacchan.”

“You know you can stop, right?”

It’s more of the uncharacteristic serious tone of voice from Kacchan than the words themselves that gave Izuku pause. 

His friend continued. “You can stop, Dek- Izuku. You don’t have to heal those extras. Let them suffer the consequences of their own actions for once. If this is hurting you-”

“It’s not, Kacchan.” Izuku pushed his hands off his shoulder, standing a little more firm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be worried. The doctor said I was fine, remember?”

Kacchan was still scowling. 

Izuku flashed him another wide grin, trademark sunshine and all. “Come on! We were going to get ice cream - can’t ruin our day!”

“Wait, Deku-”

Izuku latched onto Kacchan’s arm, pulling him with him. “Come on, Kacchan!”

“Wait-!”

It’s fortunate, in hindsight, that he grabbed onto Kacchan, because in a split second the wave of dizziness he’d been pushing back caught up with him again, and he stumbled. 

“DEKU!”

Kacchan caught him, reversing their positions before he could fall - but Izuku blacked out anyway.

When Izuku woke up, he heard the beep of machinery first. 

Something was holding his hand. His arm felt slightly itchy. There was also something attached to his face, and when he eventually managed to pry his eyes open, he saw dim lights against stark white. 

Turning slightly to his right, he sees his mother. 

“Oka-san?”

The words are whispered, his voice scratchy from something - dryness and disuse, perhaps. But it was enough. His mother stirred, blinking blearily at him before she registered that he’s talking to her, and her eyes widened, immediately filling with tears.

“Izuku!” The next thing he knew, Izuku could only see the world above his mother’s shoulder, and her embrace was so tight that it was nearly suffocating.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop, though. Not when he could already feel her shaking, full-bodied sobs racking her body. 

Hesitantly, he brought his arms up to hug her back, despite how it tugged at the IV in his arm. 

He didn’t know what was going on, but that could wait until later.

“Friedreich’s Ataxia?”

“Yes. I’m not sure why your previous doctor did not mention the dip in his frataxin levels. To their credit, however, it’s difficult to diagnose without electromyograms or other similar tests. His blood tests should have shown elevated glucose and Vitamin E levels at the very least, though.” The doctor frowned. He wasn’t a doctor that Izuku was familiar with, but his mother seemed to trust him, at least. 

His mother wasn’t reassured, though. If anything, she only got more worried. “Is… is he going to be okay?”

Izuku frowned at the waver in her voice. 

The doctor sighed. “I won’t lie to you, Midoriya-san. Patients afflicted with Friedreich’s Ataxia most often experienced greatly shortened lifespans. However, the gene that’s responsible for producing frataxin in Midoriya-kun’s body appears to still be in functioning order.” He tapped at something on the diagram that he’s pulled up. “Given some treatment, medications and physiotherapy, he should be able to live a normal life once his frataxin levels have stabilized.”

His mother breathed a sigh of relief. 

“He isn’t out of danger yet, however.” The doctor continued, and she stiffened again. “Quirk overuse to this degree might have affected his FXN gene in another way that can only be detected with time. Given the symptoms, I suspect that it will indeed take longer than we expect for his levels to return to normal, even if he does not use his quirk at all.”

“What do we need to do?”

Even underneath that uneasiness and fear, there was determination. 

Izuku was proud of his mother for that, even if he didn’t fully understand why. 

The doctor gave her an indecipherable look. His eyes were an odd shade of blue. Izuku wondered if that was part of his quirk. “Regrettably, you’ll need to go to downtown Musutafu for proper treatment. We do not have the materials here for making orthoses. And… it will be expensive.”

“That won’t… that won’t be a problem.”

“I sincerely hope so.” His gaze softened. “It’s alright, Midoriya-san. He’s a strong boy. He’ll live through this.”

Izuku hugged his mother. 

He still did not quite understand the true gravity of this situation - but it was enough, for now. 

“Oka-san… why are you leaving?”

“I’m- I’m sorry, Izuku, I’m really sorry-” 

Izuku had never seen his mother cry so much before. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” She was shaking again. 

He had never seen her so scared. 

Eventually, she gathered herself enough to speak. “We- We can’t afford this, Izuku, not with my job, and your father isn’t sending enough money, I’ll have to get a job somewhere else I’m sorry Izuku I’m so sorry-”

Izuku, nine and having spent nearly a year in the hospital’s care, didn’t understand a lot of things. 

He knew that he was sick, and that he had to stay in the hospital, and that he couldn’t use his quirk - but he didn’t understand why Kacchan never visited, why they had to sell their house, or why he couldn’t go to school. 

He knew that mother was scared, and that the money they needed for his treatment had to come from somewhere - but didn’t understand why that required her to go overseas. 

But he did understand that despite everything, she was trying her best for him. 

Izuku hugged her back just as tightly, even though the thought of her leaving brought tears to his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay.”

“-I’ll call as much as I can, okay? I promise, this will be over soon and I’ll come back and we can live together again, like a family, I promise-”

“It’s okay.”

He’d say that for years to come-

-even when it wasn’t okay. 

He got a little bit better, eventually. 

It didn’t matter. Because Izuku was in a hospital full of hurting people, and he had the ability to help. 

Because every time someone’s pain got too hard to bear, and every time he saw them and knew that he could help - that set him back. 

Staying at the hospital was constantly a game of steps forward and steps backward. Somedays, it would be three steps forward. Some days, it would be two steps forward and one step backward. Some days, it would be three steps backward and no steps forward at all. 

People noticed. 

(No one talked about the illegal quirk usage. They would regret not trying to stop him in the future.)

In return for his kindnesses - little acts Izuku never thought much about, even though they’d leave his bones feeling weaker and his legs shakier right after - he received things. Some were small things, like chocolates, or flowers from the patients’ family. Some were bigger things, like company, or a smile, or a brief lesson on the different types of flowers. 

One day, someone gifted him a sketchbook and a set of pencils. 

Then, another day, someone left him an instruction book and wires, plastic beads, and pliers. 

Someone else gave him a needle and sewing thread. Others gave him bolts of fabric to practice on. 

In one particularly moving instance, a patient who’d been not the most materially well-off had painstakingly cut pages and pages of paper into neat little squares. They weren’t perfect, but the origami lotus Izuku made from them is still one of his most prized possessions - right up alongside All Might’s tenth anniversary limited edition figurine. 

It was little things like this that kept his new life in a peaceful routine. Four years in the hospital seemed unbearable to everyone else - but for Izuku, it was rather calm. It was even happy, sometimes, when he was smiling and laughing with other people, despite the despair, the stench of sorrow, the all-overwhelming presence of hopelessness permeating everyone in the long-term care wing. 

But as most good things in Izuku’s life were, they could not last. 

The thing that Izuku had least expected that day was to see Nighteye supplicating himself in front of him. 

But here he was - the underground pro hero, All Might’s sidekick himself, kneeling in front of him after having made no more than three steps into the room. 

Izuku blinked, startling. “N-Nighteye? Wait, please, get up-”

“I pray that you’ll hear me out to the end, Midoriya.” Nighteye’s voice was grave, but there’s an undercurrent of fear and worry to his words. It brought a chill down Izuku’s spine - little could phase Nighteye, after all. 

Izuku, twelve and young and trusting, has never been addressed as ‘Midoriya’ before - no honorific, simply for the pure, unbridled urgency.

Not quite knowing what else to do in this situation, Izuku waved his hands quickly and strode over, tugging at Nighteye’s arms and getting him to stand up. “P-please, Nighteye-san, no need for this…”

“Midoriya.” The underground hero complied, despite the obvious reluctance. Izuku didn’t understand why he was looking at him like that - someone to speak with on equal terms, like he wasn’t the hero and Izuku wasn’t the ordinary citizen. 

“What is it?” Izuku asked, because at this point it was worrying, to see a hero with the ability to foresee the future be so worried. 

Nighteye hesitated. 

Izuku shifted uneasily. 

“I need your word.” Nighteye said, stressing the last word, as if it were the entire point of his speech. “I need your word that you will not speak of this to anyone. I understand if you do not wish to be involved - but it has everything to do with All Might, and I fear that I’m running out of time.”

At the mention of the Number One, Izuku straightened up, eyes widening. “All Might?”

“I need your word, Midoriya.” Nighteye repeated. “Please.”

Izuku, twelve and young and trusting, gives him his word. 

There will be no regrets for this moment in the future, but there will be too much room for wishes of better paths. 

“Nighteye…”

“Trust me on this one, Toshinori. Please. Just this once.”

Izuku had never felt as under scrutiny as he had, then, with All Might blinking at him, mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t quite believe that this boy in front of him would be able to heal him, and subvert the future that Nighteye saw. 

It was odd for Izuku to see the hero he idolized for all his life appear so… weak. Fragile. Human.

He tried for a smile, because if there was one thing All Might taught him, it was the value in a comforting grin, even when the stench of sorrow and pain permeated the environment around them. 

“Don’t worry, All Might. Nighteye-san has already sworn me to secrecy. And, if all goes well, you’ll be back in your prime soon.”

“But quirks have a drawback. All quirks do.” All Might insisted. “Mirai, I don’t know how you didn’t - there’s a drawback, right? Is this worth it?”

Izuku hesitated. 

Nighteye turned his golden eyes on him, gaze sharpening. 

The terrible thing about heroes, Izuku discovered, was that they were filled with endless, short-term selflessness. All Might would never agree to this arrangement - and neither would Nighteye, for that matter - if they knew of the price they had to pay. It didn’t matter that Izuku was one person compared to the thousands they would save in the future. 

All that mattered was that right now, it would be either Izuku’s life or their own, and All Might, who once ran into a burning and collapsing building to save one life, who once caught a bullet with his hands while shielding another, who once stood with shaking limbs lifting up a collapsed beam for others to escape - who had smiled and told them all, “I am here” - would never agree.

He was there, and he would save everyone, no exceptions, come hell or high water. 

But there was no other way. 

So Izuku lied. 

(Izuku had always been a liar, after all, even when he wasn’t aware of the fallacies he was telling from a young age.)

And Izuku had known, from the long years he spent helping and collapsing and gritting his teeth to get back up again in the hospital, that the best lies were partial truths. 

“There’s only a slight drawback. My frataxin levels will dip after I push it into your body for healing.” Izuku told them, honestly. 

“I will recover,” he said, less honest.

It was technically the truth. 

Nighteye narrowed his eyes at him. Izuku held his ground. 

He never did state the extent to which his recovery would be, after all. 

Hesitantly, Izuku stretched out a hand, an offer. “You need to be actively willing, All Might. Once it starts, I won’t be able to stop it, and beyond severing the physical contact, I don’t think there’s another way to prevent full healing. It’s better for all of us involved if you let me go all the way.”

There was still hesitation. All Might had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, after all. “Are you sure, Midoriya-shounen? I- I am missing a lung and a stomach. That’s not an injury to be taken lightly.”

“I promise you, All Might. It will be fine.” Izuku told him. 

All Might continued to maintain eye contact with him, as if searching for a way he didn’t have to do this, to burden an innocent boy with troubles regarding a mysterious supervillain who could nearly kill even All Might. 

But Izuku had spent more time hurting in a different way than All Might had. It was not a matter of callousness or lack of empathy, no - it was simply a different form of understanding that All Might could never learn to detect. 

Finally, the hero sighed. “I agree to your terms, Midoriya-shounen.”

Izuku nodded, unmistakable relief filling him. Nighteye nodded and stepped aside as Izuku moved forward, placing his hands on All Might’s stomach - the hard part was over. 

He’d been saving his quirk for this. There weren’t going to be too many visible side effects, not right away - it would be okay. Nighteye and All Might would leave, this incident nothing more than a bad memory - and then Izuku would continue his quiet, peaceful life in the hospital for much shorter than previously anticipated, but that didn’t matter. 

(Sorry, Oka-san. But I must do this.)

No one had to know. 

So Izuku closed his eyes, and let his quirk do its work. 

Perhaps it was seconds later - or minutes, though it felt like hours. 

But when Izuku felt the flow stop, he opened his eyes and saw the sight he most hoped to see: All Might, fully healed and staring at his side, brushing his fingers over it reverently, as if it were all a fragile illusion that could be shattered any second. 

Izuku leaned back, tired but smiling - because it worked. 

It worked. 

“It worked,” Izuku said, out loud. 

Immediately, Nighteye seemed to lunge at All Might - All Might let him, let him stare into his eyes and Izuku watched as his eyes flashed purple, eye whites turning into a void, a galaxy, and the future flashed before his eyes. 

Izuku stared up at the white ceiling. It was okay.

It must have been okay. 

“Mirai?” 

All Might’s voice was shaking - with relief or fear, Izuku did not know. 

A moment. A silence. 

A beat between scenes, the brief blackout, the actors changing costumes and the stages being changed. 

It felt like eternity, even though it couldn’t have been more than half a second. 

But it was half a second during which Nighteye blinked himself out of his stupor, and Izuku watched as his eyes darted between All Might, Izuku, the band on his wrist marking him as a long-term patient - All Might again-

“Toshi. Toshinori, I-”

“Mirai, wait- did it work?” All Might asked, pressingly. 

“Yes. Kami, Toshinori, yes it worked, yes it did, but-” Nighteye blinked again, this time focusing his gaze once more on Izuku. 

It was okay. Right? Izuku did his job, he thought, distantly, staring at the scene before him but still not quite looking, present but not. “My quirk did its work, right? It should be okay now.”

“You- you changed the future. You did.” Nighteye stressed, blinking rapidly, as if trying to see the what-is overlapping with the what-will-be. “But-”

“Then nothing.” Izuku said, quickly. “I’m glad, Nighteye. It worked.”

“No.”

The tone of voice stopped Izuku in his tracks. 

Belatedly, he realized that Nighteye’s fists were clenched. 

All Might noticed too, and frowned. “Mirai?”

“Midoriya, you-” Nighteye’s voice cracks. “You knew.”

“Knew what?”

“You knew what this would do to you. You knew.”

All Might’s gaze snapped back to Izuku. “What?”

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question anymore. 

Izuku sighed. 

Nighteye’s quirk was called Foresight because he could see someone’s future. If… if Izuku had miscalculated, and it turned out that All Might was far more involved in his future than he had anticipated, then when Nighteye looked into All Might’s future, he would have seen them.

He would’ve seen Izuku, wasting away, looking older by the day, even when he was still so young. 

“Yes,” Izuku conceded. “I did.”

“Why?” 

Nighteye’s voice was scarily calm. 

Izuku had always thought that Nighteye’s anger would run cold. 

“Because you wouldn’t have agreed, if I told you.” Izuku said, simply.

All Might shook Nighteye’s arm, standing as he did so. “Mirai, what-”

Nighteye slumped against the chair behind him, as if the fight had drained out of him. 

Despite Izuku knowing that he did the right thing, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. 

(He did lie to them, after all.)

“No,” Nighteye murmured, “I suppose Toshinori wouldn’t have.”

“Mirai, I need to know.” The number one hero, never annoyed or angry but only pleading, implored. “What- what did you see?”

Nighteye’s eyes flickered - golden, violet, white, black. 

He told them a story. 

He told them a story of a number one hero in his prime, who continued to save everyone, a smile never leaving his face as he did. 

He told them a story of a contingency plan set in motion - someone that the number one hero would choose as his successor, and train to take his place. 

He told them a story of quietly detoxifying the poisonous parts of hero society, purging corruption and bringing back the ones that could, one day, hold up the pillars in place of All Might. 

He told them of a new generation of heroes, brighter and better than the last - less than half a decade away, ready to take on the mantle, going through trials and weathering setbacks but appearing so much stronger for it. 

He told them of a war prevented because the second time he fought him, the number one hero would finally lay to rest the supervillain of centuries. 

But he also told them of a story of a sickly boy in a hospital, who tried to stay the colourful splash of paint amidst stark white, but whose colour faded over time anyway. 

He told them of a story of a dying boy with green eyes and hair, who knew he was running out of time and made the most out of it, to help as many as he could before he was gone. 

He told them a story of brittle wires, smudged graphite, fraying threads and flimsy paper. 

Izuku was summoned by a doctor who’d been alerted to the sudden, stuttering pulse by his wrist monitor - and Nighteye cut his story short, to catch the boy as he fell and shouts of panic replaced quiet words of pain and grief and guilt. 

Everything changed, then and there. 

(There would be no regrets for this moment in the future, but there would be too much room for wishes of better paths.)

“The doctors recognized All Might, obviously. They knew he was in the hospital - Nighteye swore them all to secrecy over it. And doctors are smart - they could put two and two together easily.” Midoriya fiddles with the threads of metal, but for once, he doesn’t look like he’s awfully interested in his hobby. “They told me that I’d really crossed the line. A lung and a stomach is no joke. I’ve permanently damaged my FXN gene.”

If Mirio weren’t already sitting, he suspects that he would’ve sat down, hard, at that moment. 

Midoriya shrugs, continuing blithely, as if this isn’t his mortality, his death, that he’s discussing right now. “They knew. I knew. The doctors had to enact their emergency medical authority over the heroes to get them to leave, so that they could save me. Admittedly, I miscalculated on several fronts - I was twelve, after all. I made mistakes. But… it had been three years.” Something haunts Midoriya’s eyes when he looks up. “All Might had been fighting with that injury for three years. I couldn’t let that happen any longer.”

“You-” Mirio’s voice cracks, pathetically, and for a moment he feels nothing like the hero he’s always sworn he’d become. “You almost died. It was you?”

(“I am not dying, Togata-shounen, but that is only because of a miracle.”)

The boy before him spreads his arms out, as if to say, yes. That was me.

(Perhaps with anyone else, it would be said with conviction and pride. Look at me, others would say. I saved the number one. I am the reason All Might is still here today.

With Midoriya, it looks like nothing more than a simple, I’m glad I could help.)

Mirio shakes his head, like this can pass over and he’ll wake up to this just being a bad dream. “So you- there were- why didn’t you tell me?”

It slips out before he can stop it. 

For half a second, Midoriya looks stricken. 

Mirio hurries to amend his mistake. “I mean, sorry, obviously you had the right to keep it a secret but- but I thought…” he trails off. 

Absurdly, he’s reminded of Tamaki - the way he falls silent whenever the words don’t come to him, when he tells him that he can’t find adequate words to describe who Mirio is to him, nor how much his friends truly mean to him. 

“Sorry,” Midoriya says quietly. 

(Morning birdsong, the rustling leaves. A wind breezes through past the window. Midoriya has always loved keeping the windows open, even on the chillier days. He’s always said that the wind blows away the stench of sorrow.

Even amidst the calm, quiet, usual cacophony of sound - every noise that punctuates and overtakes the deathly silence - Midoriya’s every breath and word cut through them, as if all of these sounds part for him, speak for him, breathe with him.)

“No,” Mirio tells him. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Pushing.”

“You didn’t push. I offered.”

“Would you have told me, if I hadn’t asked?”

“No,” Midoriya says, simply. 

(Mirio will wonder, in the future, if that’s cruel of him.)

“It would’ve been a cleaner end,” Midoriya tells him, almost clinically. “I stopped trying to find Kacchan after I found out I had less than four years to live. He’s better off without me.”

“You can’t know that,” Mirio tries. “You- you’re a pleasure to be around, Midoriya-kun!”

Some of the forced cheer even makes it into his voice. 

And yet somehow, even with Midoriya’s sombre mood and calm, quiet voice, he’s still effortlessly more of a brightening ray of light in this room than Mirio will ever be.

(Mirio is a false sun, an artificial flashlight lighting the darkness and glancing off dirty and raw gemstones, deep in a cavern where no one else dares approaches, for fear of how it will change them. 

Rather than taking the elevator back up to the surface, Mirio hefts his pickaxe and gets digging.)

“Your childhood friend. What was his name?”

A soft smile, then. It’s the smallest peek of the sunlight that Mirio has always seen bursting from this boy - just in time for the dazzling rays of a setting celestial body to illuminate the sky in warm rays of ruby and topaz.

“Bakugou Katsuki. He had the perfect quirk for heroics - explosions, from nitroglycerin on his hands.” His smile is tinged with melancholy. “I wonder if he still wants to be a hero.”

“I will keep an eye out,” Mirio promises, repeating the name and quirk in his mind ceaselessly. 

Alongside the precious bit of Midoriya’s life, this memory burns itself into his mind too.

Midoriya hums, noncommittal, turning away to watch the sunset - the goodbye of yesterday, to make way for the dreams of tomorrow. 

Mirio hesitates, then forges forward even more. “I can bring my friends, too. Hado-san, and Tamaki. I talked about them, didn't I?” Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his head - this is more familiar, comfortable territory, them talking about less consequential things and exchanging stories of their different lives. “They’d love to meet you, I’m sure!”

The mention of more company gives Midoriya another smile - this time, more hesitantly bright, like he’s willing to peek out of those blankets he’s always been fond of sitting on. 

“Company would be nice,” he murmurs. 

Mirio grins at him despite the squeeze in his chest and gives him a thumbs up. The boy before him, despite the look in his eyes older-than-thirteen, returns the gesture with much of the same enthusiasm. 

It doesn’t diminish the pain of knowledge newly acquired, but, in this moment, ducking back into the thin, fragile film of childlike innocence and sweet joy is enough.