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On Mirio’s final day at Yuuei, Toshinori finds him deep in the recesses of the campus’s vast forest, sitting cross-legged under the cool shade of a sasaki tree. Toshinori carefully picks across the piles of leaves and fallen twigs, trying his best to avoid tripping and avoid startling Mirio.
He can tell when Mirio hears Toshinori approaching because he freezes, his shoulders becoming tense and his gaze fixing on a point far off in the forest. Toshinori doesn’t begrudge the boy his apprehension; graduation is a stressful enough time on its own. When you factor in the extra difficulties Mirio has had to face, it’s no wonder that he’s so on edge.
Still, Toshinori couldn’t let today pass without speaking to the boy that Mirai spent so long mentoring.
He slowly and painfully lowers himself to the forest floor, muffling his pained hisses in the crook of his elbow. Even after he’s as settled as he’ll get, Toshinori takes a few moments to catch his breath– and to inhale the tangy scent of the surrounding trees.
The more the silence holds, the more relaxed Mirio seems to become. His shoulders loosen. His breaths become audible, he takes up more space. He gradually edges closer to Toshinori until their shoulders nearly touch.
As the silence stretches on, Toshinori considers how best to break it. He considers if he should break it, or if his silent support is what Mirio needs most.
Then Mirio whispers, “I wish Sir were here.”
Toshinori feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he murmurs his own agreement, and says, “He should be the one sitting here beside you.”
Mirio exhales shakily, and presses a firm hand to his own sternum as if to steady himself. “If he was here, we would have gotten coffee together this morning,” he says. “Coffee, and then we would have talked until lunchtime, and then we’d talk some more until he had to bring me back to Yuuei for the ceremony.”
“I’m sure he would have had a corny joke at the ready,” Toshinori told Mirio, remembering his own experiences with Mirai. “When I was first crowned number one, he was the one to drive me to the ceremony. Afterwards, he told me that I had looked so scared up there that anyone would think they were crowning me number one public enemy, instead of the number one hero.”
Mirio’s resulting huff of laughter is like music to Toshinori’s ears– though it somewhat pales in comparison to Mirio’s typical boisterous laugh, it is genuine, and for Toshinori to hear it today of all days is something that he doesn’t take for granted.
“He got quite creative with his puns,” Mirio recalls. “I would give anything to hear another one of his jokes– no matter how unfunny.”
“I really got several of my jokes from him,” Toshinori admits. “I’m even worse at coming up with jokes than he was.”
“That’s almost impressive,” Mirio says. A small smile creeps onto his face as he tells Toshinori, “Some of his jokes were actually funny, though. He could always make me smile.”
“I’m sure he would be proud to see how often you make others smile, Mirio,” Toshinori says gently. “Even now.”
Mirio’s eyes widen, glistening with unshed tears. “Sir always said that the darkest moments required the most humor. That the most important thing was to bring a smile to someone’s face, no matter how brief.”
“And you’ve managed to do just that, time and time again,” Toshinori says. He carefully winds his arm around Mirio’s shoulder, pulling the boy in close. “I wish he were here to see the incredible man you have become.”
With that, Mirio’s tears finally begin to fall in earnest, and he buries his face into Toshinori’s shoulder. Toshinori’s own tears are quick to follow as he thinks about how it truly should have been Mirai here to hold Mirio.
It should have been Mirai here to see how far his boy had come.
Instead, Toshinori and Mirio are left to pick up the pieces of their broken hearts and hold themselves together as best they can. But they don’t face the day alone– they stand together. Even when it’s hard, Toshinori will always be there for Mirio. He will be the person Mirio doesn’t have to put a brave face on for, and he will be the one who encourages him to laugh on days when his grief is overwhelming.
Because as they both know… without joy and laughter to balance the sorrow, this world cannot hope to have a bright future.