Chapter Text
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For Mirio to say that these most recent turn of events - the ones he’s now unexpectedly, yet entirely inextricably, faced with - were only slightly surprising; well, that would be quite the understatement, to say the least.
Earlier, when his already unsteady fortitude and withering confidence had finally crashed down around him, he’d somehow found himself, completely unpreparedly, standing in front of his best-friend-since-childhood’s dorm room. The one, who, he might add, had been the subject of Mirio’s not quite subtle, all-consuming crush for the better part of his entire life, post third grade. The one he had been avoiding for the better part of the last few days due to sheer embarrassment and humiliation at having been, for all intents and purposes, rejected by.
Even after everything, he could not have ever anticipated what was about to be set in motion by the three succinct knocks he had rapped on that door.
Then, Mirio had been… unravelling, to say the least. Disappointed in his continuously inescapable insecurities, guilty over his ever-apparent shortcomings, and frustrated over his incapacity to ever seem to move forward, no matter how much he pushed. His inability to ever better himself enough to make up for all of himself that needed bettering, no matter how hard he tried - and he tried very hard.
A constant drive to outrun the shadow that hung over his head, omnipresent, threatening frustration, humiliation, discouragement with every step he took. Mirio did his best to ignore it, to brush it aside like he knew he ought to. And yet, sometimes, not often, but inevitable nonetheless, his conviction would falter, his assured facade would crumble, and some of that darkness would seep through.
Today had been one of those days.
His shortcomings had been impossible to disregard with a careless wave of his hand and a boisterous laugh on a day like today. The knowledge of his overall ineptitude, his incapability to ever move past such flaws hovered around him in almost tangible storm clouds, crackling with monumental thunder. The realization had struck him, that he was always trying to chase a few steps ahead of himself. Always trying to catch up, and inevitably always seeming to fail to reach his goal just as he finally caught a glimpse of what he had been aiming for all along.
Two steps forward, and always, always one step back.
But this time it didn’t feel like only one step back. It felt like 20, or maybe even 30 steps back.
Because he was supposed to be a hero. He was supposed to be the most promising hero. And yet, despite everything he had been working towards, had been working so hard on, he had ended up falling short once more. When it had mattered most.
Failure didn’t really get any easier with time. He’d once heard someone say that when he'd been younger. It wasn’t true at all. If anything, it got harder. Much, much harder.
And this time, this time it stung extra sharply. It gripped his gut tightly and held on, twisting it all up into a jumbled mess that tugged incessantly, ached badly, throbbed constantly.
He didn’t really know how he had ended up standing in front of Tamaki’s door, but all the same, he had somehow found himself there. (Really, where else would he have gone?) And then he had knocked. And had had to wait for what were probably three of the longest seconds of his life. But then, finally, after what felt more like three years, Tamaki had opened the door, and he had let him in, like Mirio had unconsciously been hoping for all along.
Tamaki had been there for him, when he’d been at his lowest. Somehow, though Mirio wouldn’t be able to say exactly were someone to ask, that comfort and care had led to something much more intimate. Their bodies wrapped up together on Tamaki’s narrow mattress. Their arms and legs tangled around each other, the rest of them even closer still.
Mirio could pick out every individual eyelash Tamaki had from this close up. They were really dark brown, but not totally black, and they were all squished up against his high cheekbones, the ones that Mirio had always thought made Tamaki look kind of regal. He was keeping his eyes closed tightly while he pressed his hot mouth against Mirio’s and kissed him back fiercely.
His nose was kind of pointy from this close up too, and it kept bumping slightly against Mirio’s as they continued to kiss. That was okay though, because Mirio didn’t really mind too much. Not when Tamaki’s mouth was moving like it was against his, and he kept making these little sounds that Mirio doubted Tamaki even realized he was making. They were really sweet and also really hot.
Mirio kind of really liked that.
He wasn’t really sure if he was doing all of this right, because it’s not like he had ever kissed anyone before, let alone done more, and let alone with the object of his constant and undeniable crush. Yet, here they were, doing just that. It was overwhelming, and comforting, and thrilling, all at the same time. Mirio couldn’t seem to get enough of this sensation.
He couldn’t help whispering aloud Tamaki’s name when they had to stop to catch their breath. Because Tamaki was truly amazing, and really special, and Mirio was kind of overwhelmed by how much he liked him, by how it was much more than simply liking him.
Tamaki’s reply was a little muffled, because he hadn’t fully opened his mouth to say it, and his eyes were fluttering closed really slowly and sleepily, which made Mirio just want to wrap his arms around the other teen even tighter. A soft warmth swelling up in his chest.
“Thanks,” He couldn’t help saying, watching as Tamaki’s eyes blinked rapidly open at the statement. Those eyes were so dark, a color that reminded Mirio of the night sky, and mesmerizingly beautiful when they were opened wide like that. Mirio felt his gut clench really tightly thinking about how much he liked the way that they were looking so deeply directed at him and not at anyone else.
Tamaki was opening his mouth, and whispering back Mirio’s name, his voice so quiet and soft, and Mirio’s heart began racing at those sounds his companion was making, restlessness rising with him. He didn’t mean to cut Tamaki off, he just felt like he had to kiss him right then. So, he ended up pressing a quick peck to Tamaki’s lips, and effectively quieting the other teen’s adorable spluttering whether that had been his intention or not.
“Thanks, for all this.” Mirio murmurs against the quiet of the small dorm room. “You were so-” amazing, perfect, beautiful. “And this was just-” probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Catching himself, Mirio cut off the end of those thoughts before they could be spoken out loud. He probably shouldn’t say those things, not yet anyways. They were too much, the feelings behind them too deep for a first kiss. He didn’t want to scare Tamaki away, not after they had finally gotten somewhere at all. So he kept them all to himself instead. Buried beneath his chest, pounding along with his overwrought heart.
However, he did let himself wrap his arms really tightly around Tamaki like he had been itching to do. Couldn’t hold himself back from the quiet, “just, thank you. I really needed this,” that escaped his lips unintentionally, but completely truthful in its sentiment. Tamaki didn’t say anything in reply, which made the sound of Mirio’s pulse pound even louder in his ears.
“I’m really happy we did this.” Mirio says, breaking the silence between them once again. He was starting to get self-conscious as reality began to catch up with them. That made him fidgety, and talkative, and he didn’t really know how to stop it all once it had started.
Being like this with Tamaki was making him a little nervous, more than he’d probably willingly admit.
Because he could never figure out what the other teen was ever truly thinking, which made Mirio concerned that Tamaki was actually thinking not such flattering things about his friend. Like maybe Tamaki had finally realized that Mirio was a bit of a bumbling klutz most of the time. Or about how he was hardly even competent enough to use his own quirk, to manage his own potential, no matter how many opportunities to improve were thrown his way. Or that he was already a failure of a hero before they have even become real heroes to begin with.
And that was terrifying to contemplate. It made him feel like his skin was too tight, like his body was too hot, like his breathing was too shallow. Like he was going to just explode any minute.
“M-Me, Me too.” Comes Tamaki’s hesitant words, and they break right through the wall of self-deprecation that was surrounding Mirio like a fortress, leaving behind only himself, open and vulnerable in their wake.
“I’m happy you’re happy we did this.” Mirio can’t help saying out loud, quickly backtracking to cover up his blundered, revealing words. “Shit, sorry, that sounded dumb.”
He laughs, but it’s his I’m-feeling-extremely-awkward kind of laugh, not his happy, carefree one. It makes him feel twice as self-conscious as he had felt only a moment previous. But luckily, Tamaki doesn’t seem to notice. “I just meant, I’m really glad we did this.” He amends quietly, a nod of his head following quickly afterwards.
He can’t help kissing Tamaki one more time, just to confirm that all of this is really real and not just his imagination. It wouldn’t be that big of a surprise if it were just a dream, because he’s been daydreaming about doing things like this with Tamaki a lot as of late. Perhaps even longer if he’s being honest.
It turns out that it’s definitely real, which is a little scary of a revelation all on its own. Tamaki isn’t really saying anything more, and Mirio can’t tell if he’s actually as pleased with everything that just happened as Mirio is himself. Tamaki’s hard to read, he always has been, and Mirio likes him a lot, probably more than just a lot. Alright, so maybe more than just a lot his mind whispers back to him tauntingly.
His heart is beating erratically against his ribcage, and he’s suddenly overflowing with all this restless energy that he has nowhere to store. He jumps up out of bed before he even has a chance to think over what he’s doing, body needing to get up and move a little at the very least. His head is a swirl of emotions and thoughts and considerations moving so fast he has no chance to focus on any one of them.
“I should probably go. You know, so you can get some sleep, and I can get some sleep. These beds aren’t really big enough for the both of us, huh?” Mirio tries to explain, tries to justify his uncalled for behaviour. He’s starting to feel really ridiculous for acting so erratically all of a sudden. He hopes Tamaki doesn’t mind too much after everything that’s just happened. The last thing he wants to be is difficult or annoying right now.
“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” He adds, his heart all but caught in his throat, displayed fervently on his sleeve, as he stares back down at Tamaki, the teen’s body sprawled out in a mess of limbs and dark eyes that meet Mirio’s from his position on the even messier sheets.
Mirio doesn’t want to leave at all in actuality, in fact, he really wants to stay put right there where he is. But he also doesn’t want to inconvenience Tamaki more than he already has by showing up so unexpectedly like this. He’s already been so emotionally raw, and revealing, and needy tonight. It wouldn’t be fair for him to expect Tamaki to put up with any more of him like this. He can’t even really tell if Tamaki would want him to stay. It’s not like the other teen has made any comment either way.
So, his body, moving on autopilot against his own, selfish wishes, somehow makes it back to that fateful doorway. There’s a final farewell on his lips that he speaks aloud as he can’t help stopping to gaze softly, and maybe a little longingly, back at Tamaki before he finally shuts the door between them. Closes himself off, expands the distance between them, and ends up doing the exact opposite of what he actually wants to be doing.
That night, the walk back from Tamaki’s room to his own one feels like it takes much longer than it normally would. Mirio feels as though he’s moving in slow motion through deep, churning water. It’s kind of like what it feels like when he’s using his quirk, even though he definitely certain he isn’t using Permeation at all right now. Like he’s holding his breath and moving blindly through almost impermeable thickness, just hoping that he somehow ends up where’s he’s meant to be going when he finally gets there.
His footsteps are heavy as they slowly propel him forward, out from Tamaki’s doorway, down the hallway and back into his own dorm room, even though he doesn’t feel like he really takes any of the short, yet endless, journey in. As a contrast to his feet’s sedated pace, his mind races ahead, thoughts weaving and looping around on top of each other at breakneck speeds as they begin to clutter up his brain in an anxious bundle of insecurities that scream of all the ways that he’s not quite deserving of what he can’t help but want despite everything.
There’s too much going on in his head, and he can’t figure any of it out, and it’s making him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous as a result. The only person he wants to help him talk it all out with is Tamaki, feels like there’s so much he needs to tell the other teen, feels like he’s the only person who could truly understand and help him. But he can’t exactly do any of that right now, not tonight anyways, so these feelings will all have to suffice until tomorrow morning at the very least.
Then it hits him, just like that. How when it all comes down to it, given everything that’s happened tonight, and everything that’s been building inside of him for what feels like the better part of his entire life, all Mirio can really know, if he’s willing to be honest, is that he’s completely and totally in love with his best friend.
He’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do with that fact.
But he really, really hopes that Tamaki ends up liking him back.
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