Chapter Text
This is the best day of his life.
“You’re annoying,” Shouta tells him from the side, but that’s not breaking his stride, no no.
“You’re just jealous,” Hizashi sings. “Because you didn’t got nominated.”
“I don’t want to be nominated.”
“Who doesn’t want to be nominated?” He turns now, glaring incredulously at his best friend. “It’s a freaking gold medal.”
“It’s not real gold,” Shouta corrects him. “You’re not playing the Olympics. You got gold in the Sports Festival one year, why is this making you so excited?”
“It’s a Medal of Valour, that’s serious business. Valour!!!”
“Yeah, I got it the first time.” Shouta sticks his pinky into his right ear and twists it. “Thanks for bursting my eardrum.”
“I didn’t burst it. I can burst it though if you want me to.”
“Not right now, maybe later.” Shouta parks the car. “Will you be okay without-”
“Don’t you dare stay behind!”
-
It’s a shame he had to come in his hero outfit.
Sure it looks cool, but the medal will look stupid hanging right over his directional speaker. He could have worn a cool suit, mix up the old-fashioned needle-strip with some leather, spikes or bold colors.
“Oh, Present Mic, Sir, you’re right on time.”
“Of course, it’s such an honor-”
“Right this way, Sir,” he’s cut off, ushered down hallways. “You can wait in here until it’s time to step outside.”
Hizashi blinks. “Am I not supposed to listen to the speeches?”
The girl that had been guiding him looks a little confused.
“I mean, you can listen to them, but your presence is supposed to be a surprise, so you shouldn’t be seen from the crowd.”
“A surprise?” Behind him, Shouta lifts his head. Leave it to him to sniff out something weird.
“I’m sorry, maybe we got this wrong, but isn’t he nominated?”
“Nominated?” The girl stares wide-eyed in surprise. “No! Haven’t you read the letter we sent you?”
Shouta looks at him. He remembers the letter, but not the contents of it.
Nomination, Medal of Valour, something something.
“Uh…”
“You’re our special guest. You’re here to deliver the Medal.”
“Oh,” Hizashi feels about half his size now. How is he going to explain this to his colleagues tomorrow? They’re all waiting to see that damned medal.
“No harm done,” Shouta calms down the poor girl while he tries to regain his sense of self. “We figured it out in no time. He doesn’t have to do a speech or anything?”
“No, just… be himself and deliver the Medal.”
“I can do that,” Hizashi promises, fumbling with the zipper of his leather jacket. “I can totally do that. I just… I think I got confused, because, why me?”
“I really can’t stay any longer,” the girl excuses herself at that, all but fleeing the scene. So much for an answer.
“Don’t say anything,” he begs Shouta who’s smile is small, but telling. Oh, he’s definitely going to hear about this later.
-
The room is small, but cozy, with a mini-fridge filled with drinks.
One door leads back to the hallway and the other, Hizashi guesses, leads to the stage.
He pulls it open just a smidge so that he can listen.
The speeches are long and drawn out, as they usually are for an event like this.
Finally, they announce the names of the nominees.
It’s not a competition, Hizashi knows. Each one of them will be granted their medal.
There’s an older lady who saved a toddler by calling for help. A guy who carried his co-worker out of a burning building. And then there’s you.
Something changes, he’s not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the murmuring crowd or the guy explaining everything or maybe it’s something entirely else, but Hizashi listens carefully now.
You’ve stood up to a Villain, faced injury or worse in order to shield an innocent child.
He knows he’s missing something from the story, but he doesn’t know what.
-
“Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”
The older lady’s name is Yachi Hitoka. She calls herself a scaredy cat, but knew she needed to do something when the little girl in front of her seemed to have trouble breathing.
“I don’t have children,” she recalls, “but she held tightly onto my hand as we waited for help to arrive.”
The guy’s name is Tanaka Ryūnosuke and he talks about his deed of heroism like it was nothing but a walk in the park.
“Well I had to carry him out,” he recalls casually. “He couldn’t walk. It wasn’t that bad, just three sets of stairs. And he’s not that heavy, I think everyone could have lifted him-” He hesitates for a second. “Well, anyway, it was a good thing that I prioritize lifting over Cardio.” He chuckles over his own joke.
Finally, it’s your turn.
Your voice is friendly, but there’s an underlying hint of anxiety. No one’s calm on a stage unless they’ve had practice.
Your name doesn’t ring a bell and neither does your profession but your story touches him differently than the others.
“I just had to help,” you say, voice tight. “Just because they’re quirkless doesn’t mean they can be treated that way! And what kind of person would I be, just looking the other way?”
“What gave you the strength to stand up to this Villain? I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
“No,” you laugh. “But I thought about my favorite Hero. And that helped me a lot.”
“Oh, you’ve mentioned him before. What’s his name again, so that we all now?”
Your voice turns lower, as if you’re flustered.
“It’s, uh, it’s Present Mic. I’ve looked up to him since he’s had his debut.”
Shouta’s elbow digs deep into his ribs at that. Hizashi had forgotten about his best friend’s presence until that moment and he curses quietly under his breath.
Behind him, a door opens.
“Are you ready?” The girl from earlier asks and he turns to nod at her before facing the stage again, peeking through the open door at the thick curtain he has to step through in a moment.
- - - x - - -
It’s hard to focus with the bright lights all around you, your sweaty hands leaving damp marks on your arm rests and all those faces looking up at you.
Medal of Valour. Hah. You didn’t do it for a Medal.
You did it for yourself, growing up Quirkless. For all the looks and the rumours and the loneliness.
You did it, because you knew, if he had been there, Present Mic would have done it too.
At least you like to believe that.
“We were touched by your story,” the interviewer says now. “So we brought in an extra Guest today. Someone special to deliver the Medals.”
You swallow, unsure how to react.
Movement on your right has you shift your head and you glare into the bright light, trying to figure out what’s happening.
The curtains lift and you see something, someone, stepping through. Black leather, bight blond hair - you let out a weird sound that’s neither here nor there.
Present Mic is taller than you imagined him.
He’s staring at you like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing and you wonder if he noticed the cane crammed between your thigh and armrest or the dark shadows under your eyes that come from the anemia.
Present Mic opens his mouth. You think you’re prepared for his voice but you’re not. Or rather, you’re not prepared for his words.
“You’re pretty!”
He says it like he’s dazed, like one does after getting hit in the head.
Snickers are heard from the crowd and he snaps out of it, blushing a feverish red.
“Pretty brave,” he corrects himself and you choke out a nervous giggle, try to avert your eyes and find you can’t. “Pretty brave indeed. I heard all of your stories. That’s what heroism is about, right? To help when needed, even when it’s hard.”
He blunders on, puts one word after the other until he’s got a sentence and then another but his eyes don’t seem to leave you.
It’s crazy and strange and you’re probably imagining things - yeah, that must be it - but he’s suddenly right in front of you, handing you that medal you never thought you could want, his hands lingering on yours a little longer than necessary.
You watch him move on. Tanaka-san next to you claps Present Mic on the shoulder like they’re old friends. Yachi-san giggles like a schoolgirl in love when he compliments her up-do, not once mentioning the obvious grey.
It’s over too soon. You’re meant to leave the stage under the applause of a crowd but you can’t walk that fast and the applause ebbs away as you fight your way down the stairs, your hand gripping your cane shaking.
It’s the nerves, really, but you know how it looks like.
“Care to hold on to my arm?” Present Mic’s on your other side all of a sudden, his arm right where you need it.
You hold onto it, flustered when he puts his hand right over yours, warm and reassuring.
“Can’t let you get away from me before I have your number,” he mumbles but he’s not good at speaking quietly, it seems and heads turn.
You don’t care for them.
You only care for the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Well I could give it to you,” you tell him, a little braver now that you’re on solid ground, the crowd dispersing around you. “After all, you’ve been brave enough to ask.”
“Mhm,” he nods, smirking. “Brave enough to get a Medal of Valour?”
“Let’s not get too hasty,” you play along. “Start with my number first.”
“And a date second...”