#allnight

Dancing with you is like finding my rhythm in life.

also! part 1 and part 2

And right when I was enjoying my food...

All Might undertook to make this a nice night, presiding very amiably over the birthday dinner, joking with their friends and with the waitstaff, retelling his best old stories. He toasted Nighteye as the finest sidekick in Japan, a companion in the struggle, a comfort in adversity, a comrade in victory. Gran Torino gave Mirai a sidelong glance: “Get a load of those hard c’s, kid.” But if the old hero was impervious to All Might’s charms, Nighteye found that he himself was still taken by them. There was something about All Might—this All Might, bluff and jovial, as though all the evils of the world were paper tigers—that made him want to sit closer and warm himself, the way one would nestle under a heated kotatsu table. Even knowing that his easy cheer was a pose, a pretense, he felt it, and he tried to let the comfort of it seep into his blood along with the expensive wine. At their dinner table, the spirit of the holiday season still reigned. Torino and Tsukauchi both got a little drunk and started a cutthroat game of jyan-ken-pon; All Might cheered Tsukauchi on with outsized enthusiasm. Nezu ought to have been inebriated as well, given the amount of wine he was consuming with his imported cheese, though you never could tell with him. He and Centipeder had not met before, but they took to each other immediately, as Nighteye had expected they would. “Don’t human faces look outrageous when they sneeze?” Nezu asked, and Centipeder thrummed with laughter: “It is so humiliating for them, poor things! Thank heaven my physiology makes it impossible.” Before long, Nezu had Juzo talking about his ambition to divest from the cooperative of young heroes where he worked now and start his own agency. “I know it’s a pretty big feat,” his friend joked, “but I hope all my small ones will add up.” Nezu chortled, then squeaked as though he had thought of something tremendously clever, “Perhaps you should join him, Sir Nighteye, now that you’re getting on in years! You can’t be a sidekick forever, you know!” It was a natural enough thing to say, in theory. Sidekick status befitted young heroes, virtually all of whom had ambitions of rising independently through the rankings. Few were over thirty, and fewer of those had any reputation to speak of. Moving beyond the title didn’t necessarily entail a separation from one’s mentor, personally or even professionally. Often enough, people who got along, who had grown to depend on each other—and sometimes more, as everyone knew—would formally announce a shift to an equal partnership. It had happened with Team Kazan, and the Water Hose heroes, and plenty of others besides. But for himself and All Might, such a thing was obviously nonsense. For Japan’s top hero, the Symbol of Peace, unrivaled in combat and adored in the public eye, suddenly to become half of a set, the other of whom had no physical prowess to speak of and no taste for exposure? It didn’t even bear discussion.

I love a kid Nighteye in a Pokemon phase

Kiss Day