He didn’t expect to fool people. Izuku wasn’t well versed in deceit, even if it were to the benefit of those around him. He cursed himself for that; wearing his heart on his sleeve really had done no one- not him, nor anyone around him- any good since the start. But he couldn’t help it. He was trying to get better about it- place the cog back in the machine, hide it behind a trick door and shut it tight the way so many people around him seemed so adept at. It kept you safe; it kept others from getting hurt when you weren’t good enough at dealing with yourself not to burden them. But no matter what, it felt like the door was springloaded, that every time he forced his heart back in, something wrenched it back out into the open, exposed it, ruined his chances for privacy, for not burdening those around him.
He’d just have to try to get better-
Did that really feel like it’d be better…? Didn’t really feel like it… but what choice was there…?
But that’s what you did, right? You smiled- smiled to hide the fear and hurt inside, to trick yourself. Hadn’t All Might said that….?
All Might. His eyes popped up, looking at Recovery Girl with a wide-eyed surprise. He… reminded her…? He’d say it was the quirk, but Recovery Girl knew about the quirk properly So then… Ah- there it was. The slightest twinge of a sincere smile, of pride in himself for the briefest of moments. If he could hold even a flickering candle up to the inferno that was All Might, he’d say he was at least going the right way. The warm feeling felt misplaced, unwelcome in such a cold and sterile hallway as this, but he selfishly clung to it for the time being. Maybe that weak flame would keep him going for the time being-
“He was just as eager to go out there and go beyond-”
“- just as unwilling to show what he perceived as weakness-”
“- and just as oblivious to his own progress.”
…. and waned- didn’t extinguish, mind you, but the enthusiasm was more muted now. His own…. Consternation was evident on his face as he searched the woman for her intentions. He wasn’t hiding his weakness- it was all he had. He was a product of his faults and shortcomings and always had been. That was… that was the whole problem. What did progress matter if you still fell short? What did progress matter if you still weren’t good enough? The sweat, the tears, the blood- did it count for anything if you still ended up a failure? If you still let those counting on you-
He lifted a hand to his face with enough speed nearly to slap himself, a snap reflex, cursing internally that his body had reacted without his say so. This wasn’t- how the hell were there any more tears in him after earlier? He needed to stop being such a cry-baby. This was a learning experience, and a tough one; but that didn’t mean he got to sit here and wallow about it instead of learning, instead of progressing. He didn’t want to cry anymore. He wanted to be done with it.
So he sniffled, keeping the heel of his palm pressed firmly to his face as he muttered, “I don’t…. I don’t really feel that much like All Might right now.”
All Might saved people. All Might didn’t fail. He never had.
Guess Izuku was always meant to fall short, after all.
Knitting needles stilled and found their temporary place in Chiyo’s lap; it took but a moment of rummaging in one of her large coat pockets to find a packet of tissues to offer him. “It’s okay to cry, dear,” she told him kindly, her earnest gaze softened by sympathy. While she was relieved to see that her words had had the desired effect, she couldn’t help but wish he would understand that there was no shame in expressing his emotions. “everyone does.”
Instead of looking at him and potentially making the poor boy even more uncomfortable, Chiyo chose to pick up her knitting work again; for a few, long moments, the rhythmic chinking of her needles was all that filled the space between them.
“Aspiring to be like All Might isn’t a bad thing. He’s certainly the best hero your generation has ever seen.” This was old news, of course. Even so, the old nurse weighed her next words carefully. “But you’re wrong to believe that he's infallible, Midoriya. Toshinori has experienced his fair share of failures too – I watched him make a good amount of mistakes throughout the years, ranging from funny to tragic. I doubt he’d be too thrilled to talk about some of them if you asked him.”
A sigh fell from thinned lips, then, her gaze flitting over to the boy beside her. She wished he would see Toshinori as he was, not as he pretended to be – the man was as human as everyone else, and fallibility was part of his nature just the same.
Being a Hero doesn’t mean never failing, Midoriya. Heroes are humans, too.
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