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Snipe hadn’t meant to stumble into anything emotional that afternoon.
He’d been patrolling the U.A. grounds, checking the outer perimeter while the students finished cleanup from training. Easy work. Routine. The kind of patrol where nothing dramatic was supposed to happen.
But then he heard it—a small, choked sound coming from behind the storage sheds.
A sound that absolutely did not belong to some feral animal or rogue training bot.
“…kid?” Snipe muttered under his breath, adjusting his hat.
He followed the sound and stopped dead the moment he turned the corner.
Midoriya was sitting on the ground with his knees pulled tight to his chest, face buried in his arms. His shoulders shook with every quiet, miserable little breath. He looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, like he was trying to cry without letting anyone hear him.
Snipe froze.
Oh. Oh no.
Emotions.
He could face down armed villains without flinching, but a crying teenager?
That was new territory—terrifying territory.
He cleared his throat loudly, trying to announce his presence without… startling the kid into exploding. “Uh… hey there, partner.”
Izuku jolted hard enough to smack his elbow into the wall. “S-Snipe—! I—I’m sorry—!”
Oh lord, he was apologizing while crying.
Snipe’s soul left his body.
“Whoa, now, slow up,” Snipe said quickly, lifting his hands in a calming gesture. “Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for. Just—you alright?”
Izuku wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, but that only made him sniff harder. “Y-yes—I mean—n-no. I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be—”
“Kid, you gotta stop sayin’ sorry before your brain overheats,” Snipe said, awkward but honest. “Just talk to me. You hurt?”
Izuku shook his head. “Not—not physically.”
“Alright.” Snipe exhaled, relieved at least one thing wasn’t on fire. He walked over, leaning against the wall and leaving enough space not to crowd him. “So what’s eatin’ at ya?”
Izuku hesitated… but the tears welled up again almost immediately.
“It’s just—” He hiccupped. “I-I keep messing things up… I can’t keep up with everyone… I don’t want to make anyone worry anymore. I don’t want to be a burden.”
Snipe blinked.
A burden?
This kid?
“Midoriya,” he said slowly, “you know you’re one of the hardest workers in this entire school, right?”
Izuku sniffed. “…I-I try…”
“And it shows,” Snipe said firmly, pointing at him. “But you ain’t a machine. You’re a kid. Kids crack sometimes. Heroes crack sometimes. Ain’t shameful.”
Izuku’s lip wobbled. “I… didn’t want anyone to see.”
Snipe sighed. He didn’t do emotional speeches often, but hell if he was gonna let Midoriya cry alone behind a shed.
“Listen. Cryin’ ain’t weakness. It’s pressure leavin’ the body. You got more pressure in you than half the pro roster I know.”
Izuku stared at him, stunned.
Then—a weak little laugh slipped out.
Snipe relaxed slightly. “…There we go. That’s better.”
He hesitated before slowly lowering himself into a crouch beside him. Midoriya blinked as Snipe reached over and—very gently—patted him on the shoulder.
The most awkward, stiff, but heartfelt pat in existence.
“I’m not great at this comfort stuff,” Snipe admitted, looking away under the brim of his hat. “But I ain’t walkin’ past a kid cryin’ by himself. You can be upset. Just don’t go thinkin’ you’re alone.”
Izuku wiped his eyes again, voice barely above a whisper.
“…Thank you, Snipe.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Don’t tell Aizawa I did the supportive mentor thing. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Izuku actually laughed again—small, shaky, but real.
Snipe stood and offered him a hand. “Come on. Let’s get ya inside before someone else finds ya and thinks I made you cry.”
Izuku took his hand, and for the first time in hours, he felt steady.
And Snipe?
He walked back toward the dorms with a nervous cough, muttering under his breath:
“Hell. I need a coffee after that.”