Work Text:
Dearly Detested
“Do you suppose you could permanently injure someone with an oyster fork?” Mirai muses to Toshinori within minutes of meeting Hakamada Tsunagu. Mirai is twenty-one, Tsunagu is nineteen. Years from now they will look back at this meeting and marvel at how very young they were.
Toshinori, who would never dream of impaling anyone with an oyster fork, no matter how annoying, blinks big, blue, confused eyes at him and earnestly asks, “Is everything all right?” He even scans the room, as if All for One could be crouched, gargoyle-like behind a potted plant. “Villains haven’t infiltrated the event, have they?” he whispers.
Unfortunately, All Might’s whispers tend to be carrying, especially in crowded charity events. Already, several people have tensed around their champagne flutes and canapes. Mirai pitches his voice to travel when he replies, “No, no, there’s no danger. I was asking a hypothetical question.”
Toshinori relaxes, laughing his big, booming All Might laugh, “Oh, well why didn’t you say so?”
Mirai sighs. He needs more violent friends. Well, no. All Might isn’t exactly a pacifist. What he really needs is more malicious friends. Toshinori is simply not equipped for the amount of petty annoyance that leads one to contemplate oyster-fork mutilation.
The object of his ire stands across the room, chatting serenely with Gang Orca, carrying his own champagne flute and looking entirely unruffled by their earlier altercation. As if sensing Mirai’s irritable stare, he turns his head slightly and has the sheer audacity, the utter cheek, the unmitigated gall to wink at Mirai.
“Oh, did you make friends with Best Jeanist?” Toshinori asks, all big-hearted cluelessness, “He’s a real up and coming hero. You’re close in age, I’m sure you’d have a lot to talk about!”
Toshinori is Mirai’s dearest, most beloved friend. They’ve survived life-threatening peril together. They’ve endured interminable stakeouts together. They’ve done their agency’s taxes together without killing each other. They’re very close. But sometimes Toshinori forgets that he doesn’t have to be the entire planet’s camp counselor and sometimes Mirai has to resist the urge to snap at him that he doesn’t want to make friends his own age, thank you, he’s a grown man.
And he especially doesn’t want to befriend a man who thinks napkins folded into glasses instead of folded, freestanding on a plate is an appropriate table setting for a formal event. Even less does he wish to befriend a man who would dare suggest the oyster fork might be irrelevant. Or, horror of horrors, a man who would wear a cotton suit the color of jeans. Mirai doesn’t care if it’s on-brand for his hero identity, or if his quirk inexplicably functions better with cotton than any other fiber, no suit should look like denim. Ever.
“Every time I think I understand you; you say something that only deepens the mystery,” Mirai drawls in the face of Toshinori’s attempted friend-match-making.
Toshinori frowns. “You and Tsunagu have a lot in common. You could come to appreciate each other.”
Across the room, Tsunagu removes a handkerchief, also patterned like denim, from somewhere, and gallantly offers it to another party guest whose drink spilled. He even does a little flourish as he extends the rag.
No, Mirai decides, he could never have anything in common with that man.
…
“Well, aren’t you going to elaborate on your incorrect assertions re: tableware?” Tsunagu says when they’re seated next to each other at an awards dinner.
“Are you going to start wearing sleeves with your horrible little denim vest?” Mirai cannot imagine what Best Jeanist thinks he’ll accomplish wearing a denim tank top and jeans as a hero costume. Wouldn’t sleeves give him more fiber to work with? The man is really unfathomable.
“I had considered a denim shirt in its place, actually.”
“Hm?”
“But now that you’ve suggested it, I suppose the vest must stay.” Tsunagu takes a sip of wine. “Ah, delightful.”
He thinks red wine pairs delightfully with salmon? Truly, the man must be stopped before his ignorance spreads.
…
Another year, another charity gala, another squabble with Tsunagu.
“What on earth have you done to your hair?” Mirai asks archly when the other man flings himself into the chair beside him.
“Re-branding,” Tsunagu says, “I’m becoming iconic.”
“It looks like blonde soft-serve ice cream.”
“And people will find it gently reassuring whenever they see it,” Tsunagu gives a Best Jeanist flourish, “It’s part of my look.”
“The look of a flattened ice cream cone?”
“A very handsome, reassuring flattened ice cream cone, yes,” Tsunagu preens, “I can’t imagine you’d understand. You haven’t had a decent hair cut the entire time I’ve known you.”
“My hair is perfectly serviceable.”
“Hair shouldn’t just be serviceable!” Tsunagu exclaims, “It should say something about yourself, it should inspire confidence, both in yourself and in all who behold it! Hair is part of aesthetic, aesthetic is part of one’s brand, and when one is a hero, one’s brand is what citizens recognize best! A hero’s brand should be a message of hope and gentle comfort for all who behold it! Merely serviceable hair cannot do that.”
“A hero shouldn’t faff about with gimmicky appearances,” Mirai huffs, unaccountably irritated by Tsunagu’s extremely audible italics. Mirai himself may use italics in the comfort of his own head, but never out loud. “it’s more than enough to wear practical, professional clothes which express confident competence!”
“Expressing banality is more like it,” Tsunagu says, his single visible eye sparking with anticipation of the bickering match sure to come.
Mirai does not disappoint.
…
A heroes’ awards ceremony – All Might has been nominated for nearly everything. Mirai has been nominated for exactly nothing.
“Does it bother you?” Tsunagu asks unexpectedly. He’d been nominated for some small thing, and eliminated early in the competition. He doesn’t seem terribly broken up about it.
“What?” Mirai asks, eyes fixed on the stage, where Toshinori is giving the speech they’d written together last week. Mirai resists the urge to mouth the familiar words along as he goes.
“That he’s their golden boy and half of them don’t even know your name.”
Mirai bristles, ready to tear strips off Tsunagu in a way he hasn’t been for years, as their sniping has settled into companionable bickering, but Tsunagu’s gaze, when he meets it, isn’t cruel. It’s gentle, open, and genuinely curious in a way that makes Mirai feel uneasily seen.
“No,” he settles on. “No, it doesn’t bother me.” And then, because Tsunagu is still standing there, gaze still open and curious, “He’s what they need.”
“Why do you say that?” Tsunagu asks.
“Why do you swirl your hair like ice cream and wear fifty layers of jeans?” Mirai quips, but there’s no bite to his tone, “People need a symbol. Someone or something they can look to and feel safe.”
“You could be a symbol, too.”
“I’m not suited to it, I’m afraid. I’m much better at being the power behind the throne than the beloved king.”
All Might’s speech finishes onstage and the audience explodes into applause.
“You’re an unusual man, Sasaki Mirai,” Tsunagu says over the roar of the crowd.
“And I am content to stay that way,” Mirai replies.
…
Every year the Hero Commission hosts a series of tedious formal affairs. Mirai always wonders that every two-bit villain with a ray gun doesn’t come crawling out of the woodwork every time they throw one of these things, considering the number of major heroes whose attendance is mandatory.
“Save me,” Tsunagu says, clutching a glass of wine and sashaying over to Mirai’s mostly deserted corner of the ballroom. “I cannot discuss current events or the weather a single moment longer.”
“And why do you need to seek me out for this topic change?” Mirai asks, swirling his own, mostly-untouched glass. He doesn’t drink much at these things; he needs to keep a clear head and an eagle eye on Toshinori. The Hero Commission circle him like piranhas at these events, waiting to tear chunks off of that bleeding heart of his. All Might is a force of nature in the hero world, and as the Hero Commission’s power has grown, they’ve had to reckon with the fact that All Might is the only hero whose leash they can’t pull. Mirai will do whatever he has to in order to keep them from fitting a collar around All Might’s neck. He doesn’t trust the Commission as far as he can throw them, and he certainly doesn’t trust them to have Toshinori or anyone else’s best interests in mind.
“Of course,” Tsunagu says, breaking through Mirai’s increasingly dark thoughts, “You are the only person I’ve ever met who cares so passionately about all my interests. Such a shame your opinions are all terrible.”
“I can’t devote my full attention to our sparring, Tsunagu,” Mirai says absently, “I have to keep an eye on Toshinori.”
“Keeping your golden boy out of the Commission’s claws?” Tsunagu asks lightly. He tilts his head when Mirai shoots him a surprised look. “Of course, I noticed. Anyone who wants to get anywhere in this game knows how the Commission plays. And anyone can see the glaring gap in their winning hand. They can’t control All Might.”
Mirai stares at him for a long moment.
Tsunagu shrugs, “All Might may not realize it. But he’s the weight on the other side of the scale that keeps the Commission off the rest of our necks.”
Mirai slowly blinks at him, “You…agree with me? About this?”
“Horrible, isn’t it, agreeing with each other?” Tsunagu says, “Now, let’s discuss something actually interesting. I’ll pick an easy topic so you only have to give your dreadful opinions half your attention.”
…
“Tsunagu. Why are you on my doorstep?”
“Kugo wants a waterproof suit, and he wants me to make it for him!”
“How do you know where I live?”
“You’re the only person I can think of who knows almost as much as I do about suits and fabrics, so you’re going to help me.”
“Oh, yes, just barge right into my home.”
“I brought wine and fabric swatches. Oh, your décor is terrible. We’re buying you new furniture after this; I can’t be seen in a place so bland.”
“Give me the wine, and maybe I won’t kill you.”
…
“I had no idea you and Kugo were friends,” Toshinori says at the next charity event, after Kugo enthusiastically thanks Mirai for his ‘invaluable assistance’ fashioning his new hero costume. “That’s wonderful, Mirai!” Toshinori is beaming at him. Mirai is uniquely immunized to Toshinori’s blinding smiles, having been around them so much for so long, but they’re still rather staggering, even to him.
“He’s a nice man. Very sharp dresser. Of course, I helped him,” Mirai says.
“And he mentioned you collaborated with Tsunagu for the project! I’m so glad you two have set aside your differences.”
“We have not.”
“What?” Toshinori frowns at him.
“We have not,” Mirai restates, “We nearly dueled over fabric compositions.”
“But you didn’t!” Toshinori says cheerfully.
“Our enmity is still assured.”
“It’s so nice you’re networking with other heroes.”
“Tsunagu is my hated rival and nemesis.”
“I don’t think costume design is something one does with one’s nemesis,” Toshinori says encouragingly, “I certainly wouldn’t do it with All for One.”
“Tsunagu is a special kind of enemy.”
“The kind that’s a friend?”
“Stop trying to blind me with the sunshine smile, it won’t work.”
…
“Tsunagu.”
“Mirai. How did you get this address?”
“Let me in, I have wine and a project.”
“That is…quite a lot of wine.”
“Toshinori wanted to wear a polyester suit to the awards ceremony.”
“Oh, this is a two-bottle problem. I’ll get the corkscrew.”
…
The thing about having a rival is, there’s no one who can quite understand you like them. You like all the same things, you have similar hobbies, your interests and employments are perfectly aligned. You, quite simply, care about the same things on the same irrational, near-incoherent level unmatched by others.
There is something extremely comforting about a rival. There’s nothing quite like knowing, when you do something outwardly insignificant, that there will be someone out there who will passionately detest it, and may even be compelled to do something themselves to counteract whatever malign influence they feel you’ve introduced into the world by putting your decorative napkin art onto plates instead of into glasses.
A rival inspires you. Motivates you to do better, be better, even if your self-improvement is confined to tying your ties in increasingly complex knots just to spite a denim-clad troglodyte.
Rivals are, in Mirai’s entirely unbiased opinion, healthy and natural.
…
“You’ve been cheating on me, you dog,” Tsunagu falls into step with Mirai as he bids farewell to Ms. Joke at the Hero Commission’s annual post-licensing-exam picnic (attendance Strongly Encouraged).
“Ms. Joke and I compete over telling jokes. You and I compete over everything else,” Mirai says serenely.
“I thought I was your one and only rival,” Tsunagu mimes wiping away a fake tear.
“Now, now, we can still make each other miserable even if we annoy other people.”
“Very well, but I have to find another rival too,” Tsunagu declares, “to make it even. Perhaps I can start a fight with Uwabami.”
“Over what?”
“I don’t know. Snakeskin in clothing?”
“Too personal,” Mirai dismisses, “Rivalries are for petty nonsense, not personal attacks.”
Tsunagu sighs regretfully, “True, true. Unfortunately, my charming personality has left me with few options on the antagonism front.”
“Don’t worry,” Mirai reassures him, “I’m sure you’ll find someone else able to see through your façade eventually.”
…
Mirai opens his door to Tsunagu, still in his tattered, stained hero costume, hunched in on himself, his hair dislodged from its usual swirl. It’s sometime after two am. Mirai’s only been home an hour or so. Tsunagu looks up when the door swings open and his eyes are red.
“I almost lost an intern,” he rasps through a throat worn raw from shouting over the noise of battle. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was, I was almost too slow. She’s a kid. I had to call her parents to tell them she was in the hospital. She’s a child. Mirai, I…” But he’s run out of words, shoulders folding further inwards, like a paper napkin left in the rain.
“Come here,” Mirai says, and opens his door wider, extending an arm as if to gesture Tsunagu inside or perhaps offer a hug – and whether offered or not, Tsunagu takes the suggestion, folding himself into Mirai’s shoulder as if they’re the kind of people who do this sort of thing all the time. And Mirai, who isn’t the sort of person people touch, startles a little bit at the sudden embrace. But he wraps an arm around his nemesis-rival-friend’s shaking shoulders, holds him steady, and closes the door.
…
“Do you think,” Mirai asks Tsunagu as they watch Endeavor win number 2 hero yet again, “that the Hero Commission wants All Might to fail?”
“What do you mean?”
Onstage, Endeavor grimaces through accepting his award, practically baring his teeth all through his speech.
“I wonder, sometimes, if the Commission isn’t waiting for All Might to finally fail.” Mirai folds his hands, steepling his fingers and pressing them against his lips. “Endeavor isn’t All Might. Endeavor isn’t a symbol of hope for anyone but himself. If All Might ever falls, the ranking system will fracture. Hero society will splinter. And who would stand tall in the face of chaos and uncertainty? The Commission. Always the Commission.”
“We can’t do anything about it, even if you’re right,” Tsunagu says, voice tight. He’s wary of the Commission. He understands at least a little of what Mirai means. But he doesn’t know about All for One. He lives in a world where there’s nothing that could possibly stand against All Might. No looming threat. It must be nice, to live like that.
“Of course not,” Mirai says, “We can only carry on as always and hope the ax over our heads isn’t sharp.”
…
“You need my help,” Tsunagu doesn’t so much show up at Mirai’s door, but barges through the moment Mirai cracks it open. He’s carrying shopping bags. Mirai regards them with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Tsunagu drops them on Mirai’s kitchen table and spins around to regard him, jumping back with a tiny yelp when he actually lays eyes on Mirai. “Oh, oh it’s so much worse than I thought. What have you done to yourself?”
“We needed an undercover operative,” Mirai huffs, folding his arms defensively, “Toshinori is hardly subtle, and there are children bigger than Gran Torino. With dyed hair and color contacts, I become at least passingly ordinary-looking.”
“Passingly ordinary-looking?” Tsunagu says skeptically, “You look like a green and yellow picnic blanket a black ink pen exploded on.”
“Well, I looked ordinary enough before the dye began to fade,” Mirai grimaces.
“Did you, though?”
Mirai glares.
“You’re six and a half feet tall, and have the build and disposition of a hostile brick wall, except when you’re telling bad jokes with a rictus grin on your face, forgive me if I suspect you weren’t as subtle as you think.”
“Are you here for a purpose or just here to antagonize me?”
“My purpose is always to antagonize you, but in this specific circumstance I’m also here to help. Let me fix your hair and I’ll keep my snide comments to a minimum when you tell me how your adventures undercover went.”
“That is a terrible bargain. No.”
“I brought that horrible red wine you drink.”
“Pour me a bucket of that and we’ll see.”
…
Mirai has never read Tsunagu’s future and he’s promised himself he never will. They’re heroes. Their lives are dangerous and frequently short. And Mirai never liked knowing the end of the story.
…
“Have you ever been in love?” Tsunagu asks because they’re drunk and maudlin at a wedding. The Water Hose heroes are a lovely young couple and Mirai has spent most of the reception hiding behind various shrubs and furniture because, for some insane reason, weddings make people want him to divine the happy couple’s future. Mirai refuses to ruin a perfectly good new marriage with his quirk. He used up his one vision for the day earlier just in case.
“No,” Mirai says. “Lots of people think I’m in love with Toshinori,” he snorts derisively into his drink at the thought. “Pfft. No. Like, there’s love,” Tsunagu nods like this is sage wisdom, “and there’s love.”
“Exactly,” Tsunagu says.
“Exactly,” Mirai agrees. They both might be slurring a bit. “And I love Toshi, but not, like, like that. Anyway, he’s still hung up on David Shield.”
“I knew it,” Tsunagu breathes.
Mirai nods, slow so his head doesn’t roll off his neck. He’s definitely drunker than he thought. “Yep.”
“Does Dave know?”
Mirai shakes his head and regrets it. “Nope. It’s sad, I think.”
“It is sad!” Tsunagu agrees, “All Might shouldn’t be lonely!”
“No, he shouldn’t!” Mirai agrees. A thoughtful pause. “He’s got me and Torino.”
“Not the same, I guess.”
“I guess,” Mirai agrees. “I wouldn’t know. What I have has always been more than enough for me. I’m happy.” Another pause, and then a truth, “I didn’t used to think I’d get to be happy.”
Tsunagu shoots him a tragic look, “Why?”
“Everyone thinks they want to know the future,” Mirai says, flexing his hands, staring at the backs, the blue rivers of his veins, the fine, straight bones of his fingers, “But they don’t, really. No one wants to know how the story ends.”
No one touched Mirai as a child. After his quirk came in there were no more hugs, no one ruffled his hair or patted his back or held his hand.
Beside him, in the present, Tsunagu leans his shoulder against Mirai’s. “I’ve never been in love, either,” he says.
“Are you happy?” Mirai asks.
“Yes.” Tsunagu bumps his shoulder emphatically into Mirai’s and Mirai nudges him back. They sip their drinks and watch the happy couple dance.
…
When Mirai’s world ends, he comes to Tsunagu. Not right away. Right after, he spends every waking moment hovering by Toshinori’s bedside or whispering with doctors in the hall, or pacing the floor outside the operating room like a shadow. Like a ghost.
Toshinori.
All Might.
In a half-hysterical, exhausted daze, after the fifth surgery meant to save the Symbol of Peace’s life, Mirai realizes something.
All Might was going to kill Toshinori.
He’d never thought of them as separate before. Toshinori and All Might. Most heroes have a persona, a public personality they take off and put on just like their hero costumes. It’s how most of them stay sane, really. But All Might had never been like that. Toshinori lived, breathed and bled All Might. He’d refashioned his entire life around being All Might. And the world had loved him for it.
And it was killing him now.
“He has to stop,” Mirai whispers to Gran Torino in a deserted hospital hallway, “he has to stop before All Might kills him.”
Gran Torino grimaces at him, “You think that idiot’s going to stop?”
“He has to.”
“He won’t.”
Mirai loves All Might. But he loves Toshinori more. Toshinori, who watched Mirai barge into his life and reorganize it from the ground up with a befuddled smile. Toshinori who challenged Mirai to do all his paperwork and laughed with surprise and delight when Mirai presented it to him with a gift bow and a petty smirk the next day. Toshinori who shook his bare hand like it was nothing, even after learning of his quirk. Toshinori who encouraged him to make friends, of all the ridiculous things. Toshinori who was never afraid of him, never flinched away from him, listened to him, cared about him.
Mirai would kill for All Might. But he’d burn down the world for Toshinori.
He’d do the one thing he swore he’d never do, if it meant finding a way to save him.
So Mirai reads him. Reaches out and touches cold fingers to Toshinori’s feverish skin. And he sees the end.
And later, screaming, pleading, begging like he’s never begged before in the hallway, Mirai realizes how futile it is.
Because while he’ll pick Toshinori over All Might in a heartbeat, Toshinori will never do the same.
…
Mirai collapses on Tsunagu’s couch in a stupor. He’s wearing the same crumpled suit from the hospital. His hair’s probably in disarray from the number of times he’s raked his fingers through it. He hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol, but the room is spinning anyway. Probably exhaustion.
He’s all out of words and everything feels very far away. Tsunagu keeps asking him what he’s doing here, his voice sliding from annoyed to concerned to frightened, before going silent. Good. Mirai doesn’t have anything to say.
He hears the murmur of Tsunagu’s voice farther away, on the phone with someone. Probably Gran Torino. He might have tried calling Toshinori, but Toshinori won’t answer, will he?
Tsunagu uses his quirk to draw a blanket over Mirai’s huddled form. Runs a gentle hand over Mirai’s mussed hair.
Mirai curls into a tight knot of limbs and closes his eyes.
…
“What happened?” Tsunagu asks the next morning.
“Toshinori was hurt. He nearly died,” Mirai says. It’s supposed to be a secret, but fuck that. Fuck all of this. Mirai will keep One for All and All for One under wraps, but he’s not hiding this just so Toshinori can cling to the shreds of All Might with his ragged, bleeding fingernails.
“I see.” Tsunagu doesn’t see, not fully, and Mirai won’t make him. He’s not cruel.
“So, I read his future.”
Something shifts in Tsunagu’s posture, surprise, maybe. He’s unsettled by Mirai’s admission, certainly. He knows full well how Mirai refuses to use his quirk on those he loves.
“If he continues like he is, he will die,” Mirai says bluntly. “Now this year, not next year, but soon. I saw it. And I told him. I,” admitting this is difficult, and Mirai doesn’t know why, “I begged him to take care of himself. I pleaded with him.”
“What happened?”
“He refused. He said All Might was more important.”
“And what did you do?”
“I told him I wasn’t going to watch him kill himself. I couldn’t.” Mirai closes his eyes against the sight of Toshinori, frail, broken, swathed in bandages, clinging to the wall and refusing to listen. “I won’t watch his slow suicide,” Mirai whispers, “I can’t.”
Tsunagu reaches out and rests his hand over Mirai’s fingers where they lie, white-knuckled in his lap.
“I wanted him to choose Toshinori. But he chose All Might instead,” Mirai says through bloodless, numb lips.
Tsunagu squeezes his hands.
…
Mirai goes on. He starts his own agency. Amputates Toshinori from himself like a gangrenous limb. But he keeps his memorabilia. Keeps his mint condition posters and action figures. Decorates his office with them, keeps them close. Waits for Toshinori to come back to him, even though he knows he won’t. Watches All Might’s increasingly abbreviated public appearances and tries not to let the ache swamp him.
Tsunagu helps him furnish his new building (his taste is atrocious, Mirai takes him shopping and deliberately buys the opposite of everything he suggests). They go to UA’s sports festival and the hero licensing exams and scout sidekicks and bicker over who gets to recruit who.
All Might’s agency was always ludicrously understaffed for a major hero agency, All Might being constitutionally incapable of delegating. Mirai fixes that with the Nighteye Agency. He recruits Moashi Juzo from Tsunagu’s graduating class just to spite Jeanist (who’s been trying to lure Centipeder over to his agency for years) and together they build something worthwhile. Something stable, something good.
…
“A young woman called Bubble Girl just informed me that she’s going to be my new sidekick,” Mirai tells Tsunagu after the hero licensing exam.
Tsunagu might scowl, it’s hard to tell between his ridiculous jean collar and swirl of hair, “I wanted to recruit that one.”
“Too late,” Mirai says smugly, tapping away on his phone, “I’m sending her the paperwork right now.”
“I thought you weren’t recruiting this year,” Tsunagu huffs.
“I wasn’t. But when a young person declares they’re going to work for me, I listen.”
“Why?” Tsunagu says incredulously.
Mirai offers him an enigmatic smile, “Because that’s what I did to All Might once upon a time. I feel this is something akin to paying it forward.”
Tsunagu sighs, “You’re ruining this event for the rest of us. Leave.”
“If I left every time you told me I ruined an event, I’d never stay anywhere more than five minutes.”
…
“You can’t replace All Might with a smiley blonde apprentice,” Tsunagu tells him in private, after meeting Mirio for the first time. “It isn’t fair to him or to you.”
“I’m not trying to replace All Might,” Mirai snaps, “I’ve hardly been pining all these years.”
‘The shrine in your office would beg to differ.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“I’m not using Mirio to replace Toshinori,” Mirai snarls.
“No, you’re using Mirio as a surrogate Toshinori,” Tsunagu barrels on before Mirai can open his mouth, “You see that smiling child, all full of hope and heroic resolve and you think that if you can get to him young, guide him the way Gran Torino clearly failed to guide Toshinori, that you’ll prevent another All Might level tragedy twenty, thirty years from now.”
Mirai opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He closes it again. “You’re wrong,” he finally says.
“No, I’m right, and you just won’t admit it. The public may not see it, but we top-ranking heroes knows something’s wrong with All Might. We can sense it. He’s fading, isn’t he? That injury, the one that nearly killed him, it did something to him, didn’t it?”
Mirai swallows convulsively and wonders if he was right to confide in Tsunagu after the hospital. After his world ended and he was half out of his mind with grief. He can’t meet Tsunagu’s eyes, can’t confirm or deny what the other hero has guessed.
“Endeavor is too blinded by his petty jealousies to notice, and Hawks is too young, but the rest of us can tell things are changing. Edgeshot, Kugo, Ryukyu, myself. We know better than to be complacent,” Tsunagu presses on, “And when the balance tips, things are going to get ugly. And you’re just as scared as the rest of us, and you’re acting irrational.”
No, Mirai is more scared than the rest of them will ever be. The top heroes might have an inkling of what’s coming but they don’t know the height or depth of the tidal wave bearing down on all of them. Mirai does. And yes, maybe he sees Mirio and thinks maybe he can save this one. And maybe he sees Mirio and thinks ‘this is the kind of apprentice All Might should have spent the last few years searching for’. And yes, he hates that Tsunagu of all people is the one who knows him well enough to see straight through his bluster.
“You’re not wrong,” Mirai admits.
“I know.” Tsunagu says.
…
They still go to awards ceremonies, but now Best Jeanist is onstage and All Might’s speeches aren’t nearly as clever. Mirai is still in the audience, but now Centipeder and Bubble Girl are with him.
“What on earth are you wearing?” Mirai asks when he sees Bubble Girl’s outfit for the Billboard Award ceremony.
She twirls giddily, showing off her blue and white suit, complete with lemon yellow tie. “I thought we should match! Go team Nighteye!” she pumps her fist excitedly.
Mirai just blinks. He has…absolutely nothing to say to that. He thinks he might be touched, underneath the surprise. This is…unexpectedly sweet, even from Bubble Girl, who’s easily the sweetest member of their little agency. And her suit looks wonderful, perfectly tailored to her taste, the colors a cheeky little reference to her hero costume. It’s really excellent work.
And then she says, just as chipper, “Do you like it? Best Jeanist designed it for me!”
Mirai’s face almost twitches. He’s been tricked. He’s been deceived. Tsunagu that bastard made him like something he made.
Tsunagu is backstage, where Mirai can’t cheerfully strangle him with his own decorative belt, and Bubble Girl is standing in front of him, beaming, completely ignorant of Tsunagu’s conniving, so Mirai smiles broadly and says, “You look absolutely wonderful.”
Bubble Girl whoops, throwing her fists in the air, “Nighteye Agency represent!”
…
“Your agency looked so darling with your little matching suits,” Tsunagu says over champagne at the after party.
“I won’t give you the satisfaction of hurling this champagne in your face,” Mirai sniffs, “You’d enjoy being publicly jilted too much.”
Tsunagu is too image-conscious to laugh the way he clearly wants to, but he contents himself with a quiet snicker at Mirai’s expense.
…
Kamino Ward happens. Mirai finds himself sitting in another hospital, ringing in his ears, staring down at another blonde lying still and broken on starched white sheets. He clutches the blanket next to Tsunagu’s hand, knuckles creaking as he resists the urge to thread their fingers together.
He’d seen it all on tv. All Might standing, depleted and defiant in the tattered remains of his costume. Toshinori revealed at last. An authoritative finger jabbed at the camera.
“Now, it’s your turn.”
He’s chosen a successor. Mirai had his suspicions when he saw this year’s sports festival. But this confirms it. The newscasters were already speculating about All Might’s statement, suggesting it was a threat to future All for One-type-villains; but Mirai knows better. All Might is passing the mantle now that it’s been pulled from his hands. Too little, too late, and that green haired boy with all the broken bones is going to suffer for it.
Mirai’s mood was already dark when the phone had rung.
“Why me?” he asks the figure in the hospital bed. “Why am I your emergency contact, you denim clad nightmare?”
“Because,” Tsunagu rasps around the gaping hole in his chest (Mirai is guessing, he rushed in here without speaking with the doctor, but the amount of bandages swathing Tsunagu’s torso aren’t promising). “You’re my friend.”
“Disgusting,” Mirai says automatically, falling back into familiar territory as emotion threatens to swamp him. His eyes are swimming, Tsunagu’s face a blur through a film of tears. He almost lost both of them.
“I know,” Tsunagu musters up half a grimace, “terrible, isn’t it?”
Mirai tightens his grip on the blanket.
“Did you read me?” Tsunagu asks lightly, “What’s the prognosis?”
“No, I didn’t.” Mirai admits. “I learned my lesson last time.”
“Hm,” Tsunagu hums, “the least you could do in that case is hold my hand, then.”
Mirai blinks, “I didn’t want you to think,” he trails off.
“Well, I know better now,” Tsunagu frowns at him. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to hold someone’s hand when they’re in the hospital?”
Mirai threads their fingers together. Tsunagu squeezes weakly. Mirai tightens his grip.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Tsunagu breathes.
The tears finally manage to fall and Mirai barely bothers to blink them away, wrapping his other hand around his and Tsunagu’s tangled fingers, dropping his forehead down to rest on their clasped hands.
…
“What have you done to my apartment?” Mirai blurts when he walks through the front door. Tsunagu’s doctors have informed him that he is to convalesce under someone’s supervision, and, as he lives alone, this has somehow translated into him and his denim infesting Mirai’s guest bedroom.
“I made cozies for all the doorknobs and cabinet handles so I can open and close them from a distance with my quirk,” Tsunagu tells him, crochet hook flashing.
“It’s hideous.”
“It’s art and it’s keeping me from ordering you all-new furniture while you’re at work.”
Mirai has many regrets in life. One of them is apparently not stabbing Tsunagu with an oyster fork 17 years ago.
…
“Are you bullying children now, Mirai?”
“Who gave you my office phone number?”
“I’m not telling. You’ll just torture them with your horrible jokes and I’m a hero. I don’t believe in allowing others to suffer for my sins.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Did you or did you not challenge the Midoriya kid to a fight in your office?”
“I did not. I challenged him to take a stamp out of my hand.”
Tsunagu’s only answer is judgmental silence, which Mirai thinks is a bit harsh.
“All Might called about him,” Mirai admits. “The first time he calls me in six years and it’s to spout nonsense about how I should hire an infant with a volatile quirk and no self-preservation skills.”
Tsunagu sighs, “UA staff frequently recommend promising students for work study.”
Mirai can’t explain All Might’s quirk, and his need for a successor. It’s not his secret to tell, no matter how badly he wants someone to talk to about it. Someone more likely to listen than the brick wall that is Yagi Toshinori.
“I’m aware,” Mirai bites out. He has nothing against Midoriya, personally. He just knows the child isn’t ready, can’t be ready, for the burden All Might’s dumped on him. And he can’t help but resent Toshinori for letting his pride get in the way, for delaying the inevitable too long and then saddling a child with a legacy he lacks the training or experience to carry. Mirio is young, but he’s had years of training and guidance Midoriya hasn’t. He’s had a difficult, complex quirk for longer than the five minutes Midoriya’s had One for All. He would be a better choice. Nearly any adult hero would be better suited for the mantle than a high-spirited UA first year.
And yet this is the hand Mirai’s been dealt.
“I hired him anyway,” Mirai admits.
“Hm?” Tsunagu hums.
“He has potential.” And a destiny vaster than anything he can comprehend.
“You just want a little green-haired mini-me,” Tsunagu says.
Mirai actually does hang up on him this time.
…
When Mirai closes his eyes with a smile after Shie Hassaikai he assumes he’s going to die.
He doesn’t.
His eyes open again, only instead of weeping students and a stricken All Might, he sees Tsunagu and a doctor. Tsunagu, who is still recovering from a serious injury.
“You shouldn’t be straining yourself,” Mirai rasps behind his oxygen mask.
Tsunagu’s hand spasms irritably. “You. You. Are…are impossible.” He huffs behind his denim collar, “We can’t both be stabbed in the same calendar year. The scheduling is abysmal. I need to sit down.” He drops into the chair beside Mirai’s bed, taking his hand. “See? Hand-holding. It’s what you do in a hospital.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mirai whispers, “What happened?”
“You briefly flat-lined,” the doctor says, “We were able to bring you back, but it was a near thing.” She goes on to give him what sounds like more technical information about the state of his very damaged insides than he has ever wanted. Her voices fades in and out as she speaks, though, and Mirai gives up on comprehension and instead focuses all his strength on curling his fingers weakly in Tsunagu’s hand. The doctor finishes speaking, regards them, Tsunagu pale and weak from his encounter with All for One, Mirai more medical tubing than man, and sighs. “I’ll make sure one of your sidekicks gets all the information, Sir Nighteye.”
“That might be best,” Tsunagu acknowledges, “Thank you.”
She nods and exits.
“I should apologize to Mirio,” Mirai rasps, “And Izuku. I frightened them.”
“You should apologize to me, I nearly had a heart attack when I got the call,” Tsunagu huffs.
“Toshinori apologized,” Mirai says softly, “I never thought he would.”
“The power of the near-death experience,” Tsunagu observes.
“Perhaps,” Mirai allows. He hopes their tender, fragile truce outlives his hospital stay. He hopes they can rebuild. For the first time in a long time, he hopes.
“You’re going to live,” Tsunagu says, abruptly, “that’s what the doctor was saying when you stopped listening.”
“Ah. Very good,” Mirai says softly.
Tsunagu makes a sound that, in a less well-mannered man would be a scoff. “He nearly dies, terrifies everyone who loves him, and he says ‘ah, very good’ when he hears he’s going to live to aggravate me another day.”
“I’m hopeful, Tsunagu,” Mirai whispers. “The future can be changed. It was always about probabilities, not certainty. We can make a better world.”
Tsunagu’s mouth is hidden by his hero costume, but his eyes are smiling. “Of course, we can. It’s why we’re heroes, isn’t it? Hope for a better world.”
“Yes,” Mirai smiles to himself. “Hope for a better world. A better future.”
And perhaps once he’s back up and about, he and Toshinori will have another screaming match, or perhaps they’ve grown past that. Certainly, he’ll spend the next eternity recovering at home and resisting the impulse to murder the equally convalescent Tsunagu. He’ll tell Mirio he’s proud of him again. He’ll tell Midoriya he did well. He’ll apologize to Centipeder and Bubble Girl for the trouble his long recovery will cause them. He’ll get to see Mirio and Midoriya grow into strong, good heroes. He’ll watch Eri be happy and free. And he’ll see Toshinori live, now that the man’s finally admitted he’s willing to try.
And he’ll go to the next banquet he’s able to attend and he’ll squabble with Tsunagu, his greatest rival and dearest friend, about place settings and pocket squares and whatever else the impossible man sees fit to have incorrect opinions on.
And he’ll see the future dawn brighter.
…