summary: Mirio tears himself apart, and you're there to heal the pieces.
word count: 2k
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, strangers(ish) to lovers, AU where UA is college, not highschool (i dont want 2 write about minors), mirio is quirkless and is Dealing With It, slow burn, trauma and anxiety coping
ao3
He splits another knuckle open.
It’s no different than any other exercise or training, but he’s different. He’s stronger now, and smarter but he’s still less. He punches the wall again, willing it to go through. For a second, he thinks he can feel the soft tendrils of the void past the surface beckoning him, urging him forth. It’s asking him where he’s been, that it missed him and that he’s back. For that second, it’s real. His hand is sinking through and he’s back.
But the rough texture of the wall sinks into the cuts he’s ripped into his skin and he’s pulling back, sucking in air through his teeth and withholding curses.
He cradles his right hand with his left, blood trailing down the grooves of the taught tendons on both battered hands.
Mirio’s chest is heaving, his breaths varying from deep to shallow, his heart rate erratic. The buzz in his pocket disrupts his stare at the red stains his punches had left.
TAMAKI
where r u
It hurts to curl his hand around the device, but he does anyway. He wipes the other hand on his pants before responding.
Training! What’s up?
TAMAKI
patrolling tn. just wanted to lyk
Okay - Stay safe! 😀
Mirio pockets his phone. He wants to manually rub the grime out of the cuts or even just leave them the way they are. The sting is a juxtaposition from how his life was before. No longer can he float in the nothingness, phase through infinity until he needs to come up for air.
He feels everything now.
He makes his way towards UA’s medical clinic. It’s late, past dinner at least, which means it’ll be empty save for one person. Recovery Girl doesn’t work the hours like she used to, not since you came in. The clinic after hours feels safe, secretive and his. You’re always there late, as far as Mirio knows. Since the first time he injured himself by pushing himself past his newfound limits (which were significantly less than what they used to be) you’d always been there when he’d sneak in.
Tonight, you were hunched over textbooks, highlighter dangling out of your mouth. If he could’ve, he would’ve lingered in the doorway to watch you. Instead, the few droplets of blood spilling from his hands alerted you of his presence. You peek over your shoulder at him before capping the marker and nodding for him to sit on one of the empty exam beds. It was routine.
“You outdid yourself this time,” You said as you cleaned the open wounds. He’d beaten the flesh raw, almost exposing bone and you wanted to scold him but you knew it was useless. He’d just brush you off with a shrug, a smile and tell you it’s not that big of a deal. Pain is part of getting stronger.
Mirio doesn’t respond. Instead, he chooses to let his eyes flick around the room. Recovery Girl’s absence is notable - no more jar of candy, and you’ve taken over her desk and littered it with your own knicknacks. Your textbooks, an All Might water bottle, a Kamui Woods pez dispenser. It’s cute, he thinks.
“Did you have a punching match with one of those hardening quirks?” You’re frowning as you pop a piece of jerky in your mouth. “Maybe Cementoss?”
“Cementoss,” he confirms, only because that would be the only way he’d have so much...particulate within the splits. Cementoss was made of rock, and Mirio would rather die than admit to you he was relentlessly punching a wall.
You snort, shaking your head as you chew. You both know he’s full of it, but you drop it. You always do.
A soft, blue glow escapes from underneath your hand. His hand feels fuzzy, like it's fallen asleep before it dissipates and you remove your hand, motioning for him to lift his other so you can begin the same process.
As you clean the other hand, Mirio watches you work. You ignore the weight of his gaze the best you can, focusing on repairing the skin and not how strong and smooth his fingers are. His hand is heavy in yours, and the glow of your quirk flickers as you lose focus imaging what his grip would feel like on you.
“Done,” you said, flicking your used gloves into the wastebasket by your feet. Mirio flexes his fingers. Healed. “Y’know, after all these visits,” You raise an eyebrow, “I think you owe me.”
Mirio looks up from his hands to tilt his head at you.
“Tell me how you really get these injuries,” you grab one of his hands loosely and run your thumb over the freshly regenerated skin.
He wasn’t expecting that.
Mirio gapes at you like a fish out of water, like you’re Thirteen and you’ve sucked all of the air out of the room. He pulls himself from your grip to rest his hands in his lap. He’s uncomfortable, uneasy now. He’s liked this place, liked you because questions weren’t asked that he had to give real answers to. It’s not betrayal that Mirio feels, it’s more like loss. It’s the loss that comes with the realization that you can’t outrun everything you want forever. With all the training, all the work Mirio had put in, he thought he could.
“They’re self-inflicted. The bruising, the wound placements. It’s like you’re training yourself to death.”
“It’s not like that - I’m fine, I promise!” Mirio throws his hands up in a defensive motion. He’s summoning the sunlight, the optimism and charm that swooned UA and motivated him to keep working, keep training, to save a million people. He can feel it churning in his chest, but it’s been pressed so deep he’s grasping at the edges and they don’t want to meet his fingertips.
Mirio knew you never believed his excuses - you knew he knew that and you’d been pulled thin between wanting to show concern and ask what was up and respecting his privacy. But at the previous state of his knuckles, you couldn’t drag your feet any longer.
You watch him, face soft and stoic. You’re not coddling, but you’re not cold either. He realizes that you’re just simply waiting.
“I just train too hard,” he gives in, just a little. You raise your eyebrows a fraction and he continues. “I have a lot to make up for, so I tend to overdo it!” He laughs it off - the injuries are a joke, truly. They’re funny to him.
“You get more banged up than Midoriya,” you look at him over the clear frame of the glasses you seem to only wear at the clinic. “How does your training get you more banged up than the other heroes?”
“I’m not a hero,” he’s quick to say, and it stings more than it should. He was, should’ve been, should be.
Your face is soft again, and it’s an art you’ve mastered over time. You’re good at composing your features to appear passive and static. In your many hero encounters, pity is the quickest way to lose trust. So you watch Mirio, with his soft smile and now long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He’s analyzing you just as you are him, and you keep your eyes from flicking to his knuckles when you respond with, “Okay.”
His stomach is churning, still sour with his words but he rubs his hands on his thighs. Why are they so sweaty?
In his distracted state, Mirio doesn’t notice you scribbling down something on a notecard shaped like an anatomical heart. You hand it to him, knocking him out of his trance.
Seven digits, followed by the letters 3G, and four more digits.
“What’s this?” he asks. Obviously the first line is your number, but you lost him with the rest.
“My number,” you aren’t looking at him. Instead you choose to refold the sleeves of your white coat as you continue, “and the passcode to get into my dorm building.”
Mirio does white. The passcode? Why would he need that?”
“I can’t be staying here late every night in case you show up.” You hated trudging back to your dorm on the nights he didn’t show, both eyelids and textbooks weighing you down. “Just stop by my dorm if it’s late like this.”
Mirio opens his mouth but you cut him off.
“Floor 5F, my name is on the door.”
He closes his mouth and smiles, nodding and bowing in thanks. He doesn’t trust his voice, not right now. You’re packing up your textbooks as he exits the clinic.
It doesn’t hit him until he gets back to the 3A dorms that he doesn’t know your name.
He beats himself up about it the whole night. He wishes he could go into Tamaki’s room to distract himself, to ask him about the person who’s basically taken over Recovery Girl’s mantle. Tamaki frequented the clinic as well - used it as an excuse to get out of the heroics lessons and sleep. He’d definitely know your name, unlike his golden counterpart who visited her frequently and never thought to ask.
Mirio tried to comfort himself by thinking that maybe you didn’t know his name either. You’d never asked. But then again, Mirio is (was?) part of UA’s Big Three. The aftermath of the Shie Hassaikai was all anyone talked about for weeks. You’d definitely have to know who he was. Mirio Togata, the kid who lost his quirk. Le Million, the hero who gave and lost everything. You went to UA yourself - there was no way.
He didn’t want to be that sob story to you. But he was constantly coming to you with injuries - split knuckles, a dislocated shoulder, a torn achilles. Maybe he wasn’t exactly that sob story, but he knew you pitied him regardless. Maybe that’s why you always stayed so late - you felt bad for him.
The thoughts makes Mirio uncomfortable.
And so much so that to make himself feel better, he adds your number to his phone. Typing in the numbers, he thinks about how he likes that your handwriting was shitty. Another little thing you let him see, let him learn about you. In lieu of a name, he makes your contact name the stethoscope emoji. He laughs to himself when he saves the contact and types out a message:
How late is too late?
He hesitates, but hits send. It delivers, and after fifteen minutes, Mirio is worried he confused one of your twos for a seven or vice versa. Or, maybe he should’ve introduced himself instead of just sending you a basic question that revealed his identity in no way whatsoever. In the eighteenth minute, you buzz back a response.
🩺
Why?
Might break a bone tomorrow.
It only takes eleven minutes for you to respond this time, and Mirio hates that he’s counting.
🩺
I’ll be sure to eat breakfast then.
No later than midnight, tho.
Okay!
Seven minutes this time. He wasn’t expecting a response.
🩺
You don’t need an injury to stop by, you know.
Mirio grins. A real one.
If you insist. Still might have a scratch or two, though. 😀
Two minutes. Mirio is oblivious to the fact that you are cringing hard at his emoji usage.
🩺
don’t be taking advantage of my quirk :(
You’re right… promise you will be compensated for your time. 👍
It’s immediate.
If it’s not edible, I don’t want it.
Mirio decides he might take it a little easy when he trains tomorrow.
hey guys! some of you might have seen the post that my blog is one year old now. so far I have over 2.000 followers and I’m thankful to each of you. however, I never came up with something like all the other blogs did whenever they hit a milestone. this time I’d like to try it out so here is my idea!
I’d like to “celebrate” with you all a bit. nothing too fancy but I’ll try to be active and interact with you guys. here are some things I came up with!
what your fav character says about you (I did this once in the past, who can remember this? 👀)
kiss - marry - kill
unpopular opinions / confessions (do it guys, I love these kinda things)
short headcanons (?)
let’s talk about your dreams, crushes or whatever is going inside your head! share your secrets with me, rant to me or tell me a random fact about yourself, whatever your heart desires
a few matchups
who would rather
questions about it’s you? or headcanons you guys have or ideas or anything, I love reading what you guys think
MTL
ideas for my blog? what I could do better,,
these are my ideas so far,, nothing too spectacular but I hope the one or other will join me in my little celebration here!!
I don’t know how this kinda thing work (and I apologize if it’s awkward at the beginning sighh) but if you like to send something in, you can do this now and I’ll take my sweet time and answer you all as fast as I can :))
