The hero within us all

💉      𝒽𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓀𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝒶 .      💉

          she’d   grin   back   at   him      through   the   dark   of   the   night ,      coming   closer   with   light ,      bouncing   footsteps ,      box   cutter   fit   comfortably   in   her   right   hand .       she   didn’t   doubt   him .      but   of   course ,      she   wouldn’t   take   back   her   own   words   either ,      though .      because   at   the   very   least ,      he   shouldn’t   be   out   by   himself   tonight .      had   gotten   unlucky   being   caught   by   her .      the   wrong   place   at   the   wrong   time .

          it’s   a   quiet   street .      one   nobody's   on   at   this   time   of   night .      “     guess   you’re   just   in   the   wrong   place   at   the   wrong   time ,      then !      ”      bright   &&   cheerful   as   she’d   quickly   close   the   distance   between   them   on   light   feet .      big ,      golden   eyes   watched   him .      assessed   him   closely .      “      sorry   i   gotta   cut   you   up   a   little ,      but   if   ya   promise   not   to   call   the   cops ,      maybe   i’ll   be   nice   enough   to   leave   you   alive ,      too !      ”

Ryoichi gasped, completely caught off-guard by such a threat. He hurriedly stepped backwards as he heard the girl begin to walk towards him, attempting to maintain distance. “I-I don’t have any money. I don’t really have anything for you,” he couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice, and a suddenly raised area of the pavement made him stumble and stop in his tracks, nearly dropping his cane in the process.

@handofsmite​  asked

“  i  have  my  reasons  for  being  this  way.  ”

Ryoichi could not say that he ever expected to be having a civil conversation with the former Symbol of Peace . . . or as close to civil as this counted as. As long as the man was not trying to beat or arrest him, he would consider it such. Even when All Might was at the top of his game (and alive, though that was another matter entirely), he’d never once expected to meet him face to face in any capacity. His quirk allowed him to stick to the shadows and find a million and one methods of escape before having to ever confront a hero, after all.

But this wasn’t All Might, not anymore. And this wasn’t a hero, either. The rotting corpse of his master in Tartarus spoke to that more than words ever could. And so Ryoichi gave the man a chance and heard out what he had to say—one hand resting in a deceivingly casual manner on a nearby wall for support. It would be foolish to not have a plan to quickly escape, should the need arise . . . there was no guarantee that their goals would mutually align, and he had a history of not always seeing eye to eye with All for One or his pawns.

They called him weak. Useless. A waste of space. Just as as he’d been called back home, just as he’d been called by this damned society as a whole. He couldn’t see, but he could do so much more. And it proved more often than not to be a fatal mistake not to recognize that. Only time would tell here if his new companion would make it as well, but something gave him an oddly good feeling about it.

@memoryrot​​  asked [from]

“You shouldn’t be out here all by yourself this late at night.”

“What?” The comment brought him back down to Earth from his daydreaming, and Ryoichi glanced in the direction the voice had come from. He’d been unable to sleep, and had taken to wandering the streets to try to alleviate the burdens that weighed on his mind. The cool night air made him shiver and the thought belatedly crossed his mind that perhaps leaving in only a t-shirt and sweatpants was a bad idea for this time of year.

There were few sounds permeating the silence of the night—the skittering of small animals running to and fro, his light footsteps and the rhythmic tapping of his cane on the pavement ahead of him, and now the sound of this girl’s voice.

Nejire sighed and regretfully shook her head. “No I haven’t had the chance to with my studies. I did start something new but I’ve only gotten about 50 pages in.” She wasn’t sure what to say without reminding him of something Mirio would do or say. “Um… what about you?” She asked softly and tried to keep a small smile on her face.

“I haven’t had much downtime lately, I’ve been busy with work,” Ryoichi admitted, lounging back in his chair in an attempt to make it any more comfortable. “I’m afraid the only thing I’ve been reading as of late is lots and lots of paperwork—and that is just as much fun as it sounds.” That did elicit a laugh, even if it held very little of the joy that usually came with it.

Nejire gently rubbed his back, and carefully comforted him the best she could. Honestly, she wasn’t ever that good at comforting. That was what Mirio was good at. She needed him. He was her guide every day, and without him, she was lost. It wasn’t until then that Nejire realised just how much she leaned on her two best friends, and how much they meant to her.

So, instead of dwelling Nejire tried to focus on someone she could help, someone she could relate to and distract. “He’s… he and Tamaki… they’re all I’ve got, too.” She wiped away a tear from her face and took a deep breath. “On a different note… did you like the recordings I sent?” Maybe this would help, at least for a little bit.

Nejire pulled him into a hug, and leaned against his shoulder. She tried and hoped that her hug would help him the day it always seemed to help Mirio. (He always said she had the best hugs). She put all of her warm and loving energy into it, hoping to at least ease some of how he was feeling. She buried her feelings deep enough to deal with them later, knowing it would only be worse for her when she was alone- but she didn’t have the heart to as to lean on him either, no matter the fact he had acted as a better father than her own.

“I don’t know either… he… he never fails to make someone smile.” Nejire blinked back her tears again, refusing to do anything other than help Ryoichi. “He’s going to come back to us.” She was going to fight for him, and make sure that no one ever had to feel like this again. She would do better, Nejire wouldn’t fail again.

“He has to come back to us,” his voice was hollow, so far gone from the warmth and peace it usually radiated. There’d always been limits to that happiness, and he’d fallen so far once . . . but this had to be an all new low, and one that Ryoichi wasn’t confident he could come back from. There were no other options but for Mirio to come back to them, to make a recovery no matter how difficult, no matter what happened to his quirk—

There, again, his heart ached so much it felt as if it’d tear apart. A sob choked itself in his throat, shoulders trembling as he tried so desperately not to make a sound. It was bad enough that the poor girl felt like she needed to comfort him, he couldn’t go and prove her right.

Nejire paused. “Do- do you want a hug? Anytime Mirio was sad, he’d… he’d come and ask for hugs. It said it always helped whatever was going on in his head.” As soon as Mirio gets better, she’d better get a Mirio hug.

If he gets better.

No. Don’t think like that. He’ll be fine.

If she could at least comfort someone else, she could ignore her own emotions. She could ignore her guilt, and her pain, and fear, and agony to eat at her later, when she was alone. Because it was her fault. She could’ve done better, should have done better. But right here, right now, someone else needed her to be okay, so she was going to try to be.

That—that managed to crack a smile, or at least something resembling one in spite of his watery eyes. He managed to lift his head up enough to nod in assent to the offer. “I think he may be onto something.”

And do not think of all those times he’d come running to you with a scraped knee from running around the house, bumps and bruises from his magnificent adventures in the yard with his friends, when the stresses of school and his quirk got to him . . . do not think about them.

Do. Not. Cry.

“Even when sad, he’s always been my little sunshine. I don’t know how he does it,” Ryoichi’s voice cracked pathetically and the tentative smile broke along with it. He just couldn’t do it.

Nejire shook her head. “No, not really. Other than one deep cut that might scar… but…” but nothing like Tamaki, or Mirio.

It should’ve been me.

She took a deep breath and sat down next to him. “I should’ve made them let me go in.”

I should’ve been there to protect him.

Her voice was cracking and her throat hurt from suppressing all of her internal emotions. “I’m sorry I-I failed you, I wasn’t there to protect him.” Nothing could stop her tears now, or the hiccup that followed, no matter how hard she tried.

“You didn’t fail me,” his heart broke at hearing the guilt in that voice, “You didn’t fail anyone. The one to blame here is Overhaul and him alone.” If only he truly believed that, but that guilt gnawed into him just as he was sure it did into her.

Ryoichi tried, but ultimately failed to conjure up a smile behind his tears. He just buried his face back into his hands to hide it, instead. “I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more comfort,” he mumbled behind them, “This-this is literally my worst nightmare.”

Nejire had finally gotten herself away from the doctors and nurses that told her to calm down, and tried to keep her from seeing Tamaki and Mirio. She was fine, nothing more than a few bumps and scrapes, and a sorely overused quirk. She saw them carry Mirio out, she heard the diagnosis, and it took multiple people to keep her from going with him. Rage, and anger, and fear, and anguish coursed through her heart. She failed him. She couldn’t protect him.

Her warpath ceased when she saw Ryoichi, and it wasn’t until that moment that Nejire paused. That she allowed the tears to bubble up, that she allowed herself to feel something. She quietly walked up and stood there for a moment, blinking back tears.

Nejire had failed him too. Had failed in protecting his son, and had failed his trust in her. Something cracked in her chest and she couldn’t help the tears that fell down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely above a whisper, and she wasn’t even sure Ryoichi could hear her speak, but it said enough. She hadn’t been enough to help Mirio.

Ryoichi startled, so caught up in his turmoil that he hadn’t even heard anyone approach. He looked up towards the source of the sound, barely making out that it was Nejire’s voice, she’d said it so quietly. He hurried to wipe away any evidence of tears from his eyes, but new ones appeared as fast as he could get rid of them, escaping down his cheeks.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he did his best to reassure, though it came out tired and hoarse. He’d had so many conversations with doctors and nurses and heroes and students and and and . . . everything was a complete blur. The only thing that stood out in his mind was the apologies from the heroes who had allowed his to happen, and the hesitancy in the voices of the hospital staff who couldn’t even tell him if his son would survive.

He squashed that sudden surge of anger down, ashamed for letting it rise up at all. It wouldn’t do Mirio or anyone else any good to be throwing around blame, especially not when they needed each other right now to get through this mess.

This can’t be happening. Not again.

Ryoichi almost laughed at the absurdity, no, the audacity of this entire situation. But he couldn’t—truth be told, he couldn’t really feel much of anything at all. He’d have expected panic, anger, even pure, unadulterated TERROR. But not this all-encompassing numbness that seeped into his very soul and throughout every pore in his body.

He sat in a hard, unforgiving chair in the waiting room—when did he even get there, and how long had he been for everyone else to have come and gone? He sat hunched over, not even having the spirit left to hold himself up anymore, and held his face in his hands in an attempt at...

...at what, exactly? To hold back the tears, perhaps, that periodically welled back up in his eyes no matter how much he tried to will them to cease. Ryoichi blinked harshly, insistently, and dug his fingers into his hair with frustration.