“Say hi to Eri from us!” Nejire presses a kiss to Mirio’s cheek as she brushes past him. She’s barely been home for ten minutes, still smelling like makeup and bodypaint, the streaks of color still present on her skin. At dawn, she had been up and on her way to make it to a photoshoot a few hours away. Now, she’s headed for the shower, just as Mirio’s heading out.
“I will! Love you all!” He pitches his voice so that Tamaki and Yuuyu can hear and waits for their responses before stepping out the door to their shared car. It’s still warm from Nejire’s drive, and he slips into the driver’s seat and readjusts its position before turning it on and driving it off.
The drive is a short one, Mirio’s household not living far from where Aizawa and Yamada live. As he drives, he thinks about the past week-and-a-half, and the call he got on Friday. Izuku’s texted him once since then, a picture of Aizawa’s cryptid cat sprawled across his feet, which Mirio had responded to with a picture of their dog napping upside-down on the couch.
The week has been a stressful one. In the wake of their Number One’s sudden absence, hero agencies in his area of prominence—and all across the country—have been scrambling to pick up the slack. Of course, Deku’s team has still been active, but they can hardly fill in for the country’s favorite symbol without said symbol. And considering Mirio does most of the managing and behind-the-scenes work at Tamaki and Yuuyu’s agency, he’s been feeling the heat as well as they work overtime to keep the peace.
In all honesty, it reminds him of the year or two directly following All Might’s retirement, before the war with the League, when Japan had still been reeling from All Might’s loss and struggling to find a new equilibrium in a system headed by Endeavor.
He shakes his head to clear those thoughts. He will not be talking work during dinner, especially not to Izuku. Work is probably the last thing Izuku needs on his mind right now. He has a martyr complex bigger than UA’s campus, which is… impressive.
No, he needs to think of happy things. Puppies. Nejire and Tamaki and Yuuyu. The scarf he knitted that’s sitting in the passenger seat that’s one of many, many scarves he’s made for his friends and family since picking up knitting as a hobby. He picked it up to have something he could learn and do that would have tangible results, with the pleasant side-effect of producing things he can easily gift to the people around him.
He’s been at it for a few years, so this scarf is good, better than the lumpy messes he first produced. Striped in emerald green and black, he hadn’t been consciously thinking of Izuku when he first started making it, and hadn’t initially been planning on giving this one to him, but… maybe some part of his subconscious had been thinking of him. It’s appropriate, at least.
Before he knows it, he’s pulling into the Aizawa-Yamada driveway and turning off the car. He waits, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his clenched teeth before leaning over, grabbing the scarf, and exiting the car.
He doesn’t bother knocking—he’s expected, and he’s been here often enough in the past to even have his own copy of the house key.
The door opens to a household quieter than he was expecting. Normally, it’s filled with energy and noise when he arrives, Eri and Hizashi belting out showtunes at the top of their lungs in the kitchen as Eri and Shouta cook, banging pots and pans and whatever they’re cooking with on the counter.
Today, it’s hushed, Eri and Shouta moving quietly in the kitchen, and Hizashi meeting Mirio at the entrance.
“Hey!” Hizashi whisper-yells, throwing an arm around Mirio’s shoulder. “Midoriya passed out on the couch about half an hour ago, so we’re trying to be quiet and let him sleep. He didn’t say anything, but we don’t think he slept very well last night, so we’re letting him have this.”
Mirio nods. “Thanks for letting me know,” he replies. He follows Hizashi into the living room. Hizashi pats Mirio once on the shoulder and walks back to the kitchen, leaving him almost alone in the living room. He steps quietly, setting the scarf down on the side table and walking around the couch.
Izuku lays stretched out across it, his arm slung over his face. His breathing is even and slow, either deep in sleep or expertly faking it.
At first glance, Izuku looks healthy. And that observation holds: physically, he’s fine, although there may be issues that Mirio can’t see and hasn’t been told about. Other than the fact that his hair is overgrown and in desperate need of a trim ….
He’s okay. Mirio takes a deep breath, hiking his shoulders up and letting them drop with the exhale. Izuku is here, safe, and recovering.
That doesn’t mean he’ll stop worrying.
Leaving Izuku to his nap, Mirio walks to the kitchen. The sound of sizzling oil reaches his ears and he steps through the doorway to see Shouta rolling gyoza while Eri keeps an eye on the pan heating up.
“Hey, there,” he says, keeping his voice low.
Eri whirls around, a bright grin on her face as she catches sight of him. “Mirio!”
She doesn’t yell, but her voice carries the same excitement. Abandoning the pan, she rushes over and jumps at him, wrapping her hands around his shoulders. He holds her up for a moment and squeezes her in a tight hug before setting her down.
“It’s so good to see you!”
“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too!” he replies. “Haven’t talked to you much in the past few days—how are things going at school?”
“It’s good, it’s good!” She returns to the stove and picks up the formed gyoza, setting them in the hot oil. “It’ll only be a few minutes before dinner is ready. How’s work going for you?”
“It’s going well enough.” He might talk to her a bit more about it, later, but—“I’m not here to talk about work, though. I get enough of that at home!” He laughs, leaning against the doorway.
The four of them chat while the gyoza is cooking. Eri keeps a hawk’s eye on it, chasing off any offers or attempts to help with it from the others. In lieu of being allowed to help with dinner, Shouta pulls out the dishes and sets the table instead.
Once the table is set and the food is ready, Eri is sent out to the living room to wake Izuku up. Shouta, Mirio, and Hizashi all unsubtly lean towards the living room to eavesdrop on the two youngest.
“You’re already awake?”
Izuku mumbles something too quiet for them to hear. Eri laughs. Neither of them say anything else before walking to the kitchen table and sitting down.
Mirio finds himself squished between Eri and Izuku in the seating arrangement. He has no problems with this turn of events. With Izuku on his left and Eri on his right, Mirio reaches out and tosses his arms over their shoulders.
“Hey!” He grins. “I have both of my short little siblings here to tease!”
Eri snorts and shoves his arm off. “Stop it, you giant! Don’t forget, I am at perfect dick-punching height for you.”
“That’s one thing I wish Kouta hadn’t taught you,” Izuku mutters. He doesn’t shove Mirio’s arm away like Eri did or remove it from around his shoulders in any way. Instead, he seems to ignore it, turning slightly towards Mirio. “How have things been going at work?”
Mirio shakes his head. “I’m not here to talk about work.”
Izuku raises an eyebrow. “I’m not going to immediately turn around and go start throwing myself at villains again just by talking about work.”
“I didn’t think you would. I just get enough work talk at home, between Tamaki and Yuuyu.” That’s a lie—Mirio knows that if he mentions the scramble to pick up Izuku’s slack, then there’s a large chance Izuku will start feeling guilty and that will push him back into the field faster. In the long run, that would probably be worse for him than letting him take the time to decide when he’s ready to return for himself.
Izuku nods. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
Mirio lets his arm drop from Izuku’s shoulders when they begin to eat. Conversation flows easily between Hizashi, Eri, and Mirio, with Izuku and Shouta both watching quietly and occasionally providing their input.
Towards the end of the meal, Mirio decides to carefully broach the subject of Izuku’s leave of absence.
“So,” he begins, pointing his chopsticks at Izuku so he knows Mirio is talking to him. “Is there any reason other than your mental health that you’re taking time off? Not that your mental health isn’t a good enough reason on its own! I’m just curious because, well, generally you only take time off because you physically can’t work.”
Izuku sighs, a wry smile twisting his lips. The movement tugs at the scar across his face, drawing Mirio’s attention back to it. When did it happen, and how has Mirio never seen it before?
“There is something physical, yeah,” Izuku replies. He points to his right shoulder. “I haven’t exactly been taking the greatest care of this. I need to take some time and let it heal back up before I can really go back to work. Mei would be very disappointed in me if I needed another surgery to relocate the anchor points because I strained them too much.”
Now that Mirio’s looking for it, the skin around the anchor points does look pretty red. He nods. “I’m glad you’re taking the time to let them heal now! Better late than never, right?”
“Yeah.” Izuku nods, slowly, consideringly. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
They finish up dinner. Hizashi and Eri take care of cleanup, allowing no arguments. Shouta, likely drained from the interaction with someone from outside his daily social circle, retreats to his office, leaving Mirio and Izuku alone together.
“Hey, I brought you something, by the way,” Mirio says as the two of them move into the living room.
Izuku tilts his head, peering over at Mirio. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Dunno if you saw it when you got up, since I left it in here.” Mirio walks over to the side table and picks up the scarf. He tosses it at Izuku, who snaps his left arm out and catches it on reflex.
Izuku looks down at it, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline. He rubs it between his fingers and his lips part, just barely. “It’s soft.”
“Yeah.” Mirio nods, trying to keep the grin off his face and failing miserably at it. “I’ve been working with softer yarns lately, trying to make them sensory-friendly for more people. Should be soft enough for you to actually wear, right?”
After a few more moments staring at the scarf and rubbing it between his fingers, Izuku’s head snaps up and he nods. “Yeah …. Yeah, it, it should be. I ….” Izuku swallows. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, of course!” Mirio slings his arm across Izuku’s shoulders, tucking the younger man into his side. Izuku leans into him, pressing his head into Mirio’s chest. “Hey, um, while it’s just the two of us ….”
Mirio glances over his shoulder. Eri and Hizashi are still making noise in the kitchen, and Shouta is nowhere to be seen. That doesn’t rule out the possibility of him eavesdropping from around the corner, but Mirio’s not concerned about that.
“I’m gonna get really sappy here, okay?”
“Okay.” Izuku nods.
“I’m glad you’re still here. I’m glad my spunky kouhai is still sticking around! If you need anything from me, anything at all, you have my number, yeah? Feel free to call anytime, even the middle of the night. I’ve got your back, alright?”
Izuku’s eyes shine with tears as he nods again. “Alright.”
Mirio has the good grace not to point out the way Izuku’s voice trembles.
“Now,” Mirio pats Izuku’s arm and lets his own arm drop from around his shoulders. “You called me about hobbies, right? Sounded like you figured something out and I’ve been curious to know what ever since then. Feel like letting me in on it?”
“O-oh, yeah, yeah.” Izuku hangs the scarf around his neck and turns to a notebook tucked next to the arm of the couch. When he pulls it out and flips it open, Mirio sees it’s not a notebook, but a sketchbook instead, white pages filled with pencil sketches. “I’ve, ah, I’ve drawn for pretty much my whole life …. Kind of stopped doing it, in the past few months, but I’m picking it back up again.”
“Oh?” Mirio leans closer, peering down at the sketches. “Wow! These are good! Show me some more?”
Izuku bites his lip and hesitates before holding the sketchbook out to Mirio. “You can look through it.”
Mirio takes it, flipping to the next page. There’s a handful of dates written in the bottom right corner—these are all from months ago.
As he flips through, the dates slowly spread further and further apart until there’s a sudden jump. The most recent ones, from within the past few days, are shakier, and Izuku is obviously rusty, but the sketchy depiction of Eri draws a smile to Mirio’s face.
“These are great,” he says, handing the sketchbook back to Izuku, who had been watching the entire time. He had been a livewire of anxiety, humming next to Mirio, only relaxing once the sketchbook has been handed back to them.
“Thanks.” Izuku gives Mirio a grateful smile.
Mirio smiles back at him, warmth filling his chest. He finally lets go of his worry—Izuku will be okay. He has some of the best support someone could ask for.
And, without question, Mirio will be there for him in whatever way Izuku wants him to be.