Work Text:
The halls of UA are quiet, spare for the sound of approaching footsteps. Mirio grins as two people stroll into view, rounding the corner— Tamaki and Nejire.
Perfect.
It’s been a while since he’s succeeded in catching any of his classmates by surprise, let alone either of his best friends. Still, it’s always too fun to try! Mirio is up for the challenge.
They always manage to spot him too soon when he hides in the wall or floor. The ceiling is a decent enough hiding spot, but it just takes too much concentration to stay up there.
Of course, that spot also comes with the risk of falling naked at someone’s feet. Which isn’t typically his kind of humor.
At least, not anymore.
So this time he’s found the perfect spot just beside the water fountain. He’s low enough where it’s out of the usual line of sight for people passing by, and not too low where someone watching their feet would incidentally spot him.
Weirdly enough, it’s only the Tamaki and Nejire in the hall presently. No one else seems to be in the area.
Nejire, too, seems to notice that they’re alone. She twirls a little to face Tamaki, then starts looking at him with her typical level of intensity.
“Hey-hey Tamaki,” she says. Her voice isn’t a whisper, but it’s not as loud as usual…
Which for her is kind of a whisper. Hm.
“Can you like boys and girls at the same time?”
Tamaki ducks his head at her question, but Nejire is a pro at getting eye-contact just as much as Tamaki is a pro at dodging it. She ducks a little with him, and he meets her gaze through his bangs. “Why are you asking me? " he says.
Nejire, having gotten the eye-contact she wanted, straightens immediately. She turns on her heel as she talks, leading the way in front of him as Tamaki seems to reluctantly follow. “Well it’s just that you used to like me when we were first-years, but now you like Mirio so I didn’t know if you like both or if now you only like boys. Sometimes I think girls are really pretty but I’ve always liked boys, and I still do, so I wanted to know if you like both or just boys now.”
Oh.
Well Mirio certainly didn’t expect to hear his name come up that way.
Tamaki is bright red, covering his face with his hands. “Nejire, I… I never said…”
Nejire turns to him again. “Didn’t you? I guess I said it first, huh? Makes sense. Wait are you blushing because I said you liked me or because I said that now you like Mirio?” she leans closer, trying to peer through his fingers. “It’s okay that you don’t like me anymore, you know. I thought it was sweet but I knew it was just a little crush. Not at all like the one you have on—”
Tamaki strides past her with hurried steps, his face completely buried in his hands.
“—Tamaki, come back!” She has to jog a little to try to catch up to him, but he doesn’t lift his head. She talks to him anyways, the words falling from her lips in quick succession. “Hey hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Tamaki. I just don’t know if I like boys and girls or if I just think girls are pretty and great in not a like-like way. I don’t know if someone even can like both. But I guess some people can, since you can like chocolate ice cream or vanilla ice cream but some people like both, or maybe a swirl. Or maybe that’s not a good metaphor since there are lots of flavors of ice cream and not that many genders.”
Tamaki goes to turn the corner, but Nejire stops him by catching his elbow.
Mirio watches as Tamaki sighs and looks at her. There’s a tense moment where Nejire doesn’t say anything, and that’s when Mirio realizes that this time, her fast-talking isn’t born out of her usual exuberant curiosity— it’s a cover.
She’s nervous.
Mirio watches them, stunned into inaction. They passed right by him a few seconds ago and with them, Mirio’s opportunity to jump out and surprise them.
He can’t make himself stop listening to them. He knows he should, but he can’t.
Tamaki puts both his hands on Nejire’s shoulders, meeting her gaze head-on. “Liking both is okay. Some people do,” Tamaki says to her, before turning to the side again. Nejire tilts her head but doesn’t chase his eyes again. “But if you’re asking me if I like both… I don’t.”
He says it like it’s the end of the sentence, but he doesn’t let her go. Nejire waits quietly, and soon, Tamaki continues speaking. He still doesn’t look at her. “Just boys,” Tamaki says. Then, he adds in a soft mutter: “Or, just the one, I guess.”
Tamaki squeezes her shoulders, then drops his hands, putting them in his pockets. He looks at the floor. “I hope that helps,” he says.
Nejire flings her arms around him, and Tamaki’s hands fly out of his pockets to receive her. He visibly struggles to maintain his own balance while holding her.
“You’re great, Tamaki! Really great! And so is Mirio. I love you both but as friends, you know? Anyways I think you liking him is great because he is great and you are great, so you could totally be great together!” She hugs him tighter as Tamaki turns red again, his eyes noticeably wide before he hides them by covering his face with his palm. Nejire has a bounce to her step when she pulls away, an excited habit of hers that Mirio had failed to notice as absent earlier.
Nejire leads them away, sounding content as she continues to speak. Tamaki falls into place beside her. “I think I do like both. There’s a girl that I think is really great, and she’s pretty and kind in a way that makes me really happy to be around her. That’s how you feel about Mirio, right? Anyways, that doesn’t cancel out how I feel towards boys, and I’m glad you told me that liking both is okay. I think it’s all okay, really. Liking someone is great, right?”
Tamaki sighs. The two of them are nearly out of earshot, but Mirio hears him quietly say: “Sometimes.”
Nejire wraps an arm around his waist, pressing her head to his shoulder in a gesture that could only be perceived as one of comfort and support.
Tamaki leans his head on top of hers as they disappear from Mirio’s view.
Mirio continues watching the space they’ve vacated long after their departure. He doesn’t realize quite how long until a girl— a first-year student— gasps suddenly, backing away from the water fountain.
There’s two of them there, and Mirio automatically smiles at them. “Got ya!” He says. “Bet you weren’t expecting that, were you?”
He certainly wasn’t.
Tamaki hears a knock at the door to his dorm. He looks up from his notes, puzzled, but then hears the sound again.
When he opens the door, it’s Mirio standing there.
Tamaki probably shouldn’t be surprised to see him, considering Mirio and Nejire are pretty much his closest and only friends. It’s not like anybody else would be stopping by. Still, Tamaki wasn’t expecting it to be him on the other side of his door. Perhaps because nobody had seen Mirio for most of the day.
Perhaps because, truthfully, Tamaki still doesn’t understand why Mirio would want to be friends with him in the first place.
“Hey buddy,” Mirio says with that blinding smile of his. “Can I come in?”
Tamaki nods, opening the door wider to let him in.
It’s funny. Mirio can slip through anything, but only once did he ever use his quirk to enter his room. That day, months ago, Tamaki was having a panic attack and Mirio somehow knew. He still doesn’t quite know how— Tamaki always tends to turn inward when he’s freaking out. He goes quiet, nonresponsive. There was nothing to hear, nothing to make Mirio jump into action. Yet somehow Mirio knew, and Tamaki has never forgotten that day.
Tamaki doesn’t remember what triggered that particular panic attack, but he remembers Mirio suddenly being there and helping him through it.
“There were rumors you were sick,” Tamaki says, closing the door behind him. Mirio is standing behind his desk chair, looking down at Tamaki’s notes, and inadvertently blocking Tamaki from sitting there. He instead crosses the room to sit down on his bed. “Even back in elementary school, you never seemed to be absent, so I found that hard to believe. Still, I assumed that meant I wouldn’t see you today.”
Mirio laughs. “Rumors, huh? Boy, word sure gets around this place, doesn’t it?”
Tamaki tilts his head. The tone is right, ripe with his typical lively inflection, but there’s something interesting in the way Mirio sidesteps the implied topic of What brings you here?
Not that Mirio needs a reason to come here. Still, something about this visit strikes him as odd.
“You don’t seem sick,” Tamaki observes, studying his friend. “Are you okay?”
Mirio waves a hand, properly turning to him. “Fit as a fiddle,” he says. “Just had a lot on my mind today, that’s all, nothing to worry about.”
The more Tamaki looks at Mirio, the more he can’t ignore that something is off about him. Mirio’s always been a confident, sure presence, but something about the set of his shoulders projects guarded more than comfortable. His smile is bright, but his cheeks seem to strain with the effort of holding it.
It makes Tamaki’s chest ache. It makes his mind race with concern and worry.
Tamaki is not the strong friend. He’s the one that’s constantly being encouraged and reassured by Nejire and Mirio.
Except today, Nejire was the one who needed help— from him.
And now it seems like Mirio might need something, too.
Tamaki’s not particularly good at giving advice. Or comfort. Any kind of reassurance, really.
Optimism is not a strong suit of his, and giving physical comfort is even more difficult for him than the verbal kind.
It’s gotten easier over the years, through the power of sheer exposure therapy with Nejire and Mirio. Both of his friends have always been effortless in the way they use casual touch to connect to each other and to him.
Still, laying a comforting hand on Nejire’s shoulder is a whole lot easier than reaching out to Mirio. Easier to return her embraces or lean on her shoulder when they’re hanging out together.
Tamaki knows it’s his feelings for Mirio that makes it so difficult to be that way with him. Often, Tamaki wants nothing more than to reach out to him, or to sink into his friend’s spine-crushing hugs. But he can’t. If he lets himself do that, he’s worried Mirio will see how absolutely gone for him he really is.
Mirio is a good friend. The blond insists that he cares for and admires Tamaki as well, even though Tamaki doesn’t quite understand why. It would be selfish for Tamaki to exploit that casual touch— to indulge in it, enjoy it, or treasure it like he wants to.
No. He will not stoke the flames of his hopeless desire. Not at the risk of Mirio becoming uncomfortable around him. Or worse yet— cause Mirio to look at him with pity and sorrow, because Mirio is exactly the kind of person who would apologize for not returning someone’s affections.
Hearing that apology would just about kill him.
But in the present, Mirio seems to need him. He came to talk to Tamaki, and maybe he needs his help just as much as Nejire did this morning.
Which means, whether Tamaki thinks he can make Mirio feel better or not, he must. Even the strong need help, and Mirio sought him out, despite Tamaki being ridiculously under-qualified. He must rise to the occasion, and maybe he can be at least half the friend that Mirio has been for him.
(Mirio believes in him.)
(Somehow, that fact alone has always made him better.)
“Sit, Mirio, talk to me,” Tamaki says gently. “I want to help. What’s bothering you?”
When Mirio looks at him, and doesn’t further deny that something is weighing on him, Tamaki’s heart just about shatters. His smile falters a little, and those expressive eyes give him away.
It’s times like these— though Tamaki can’t seem to recall ever seeing Mirio quite like this— that he wishes he could just hug him like any normal person would for a friend who’s hurting. Wrap his arm around him, squish his cheek against his chest and promise to be there for him.
He really, really, wants to.
When Mirio finally lets the false smile fall, Tamaki could just about sigh with relief. It wasn’t Mirio’s unhappiness that was so scary. Mirio is human, after all, and Tamaki has seen him battle frustration, hopelessness, defeat, and anger— even anxiety at times— just like anybody else.
It was the hiding of those emotions just now that was so terrifying for Tamaki. Mirio is always so beautiful, so inspiring in how he wears his emotions— as if they were an extension of his skin, rather than something to shield or bury under armor.
Hiding those emotions, especially from him, just felt wrong.
Mirio walks over and sits on the bed, a safe though not awkward distance from Tamaki. Mirio doesn’t start speaking right away. He looks down, staring between his parted legs and through to the floor, elbows resting on his knees.
Tamaki just looks at him, taking everything in.
Mirio always stands tall. He has big dreams and, these days, big responsibilities to match, but he always carries them like they weigh nothing.
Not now.
“Hey…” Tamaki tries again.
Mirio looks at him for a moment, then back down at the floor again.
Finally, he speaks. “Those things you say about me sometimes,” Mirio says. “Not all of them are true, you know.”
Tamaki falters, coming up short. “I… Mirio, of course, they are,” he says. “I don’t say things that I don’t mean.”
Mirio shakes his head. “That doesn’t make them all true,” he says, by way of correcting him. “Like, when you say that I don’t care what anyone thinks about me… that’s not true.”
This makes Tamaki pause. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, though still feeling a bit caught off-guard. “I guess I just assumed that. You’ve never let what people say slow you down or stop you. But if I made you feel like you had to act like you didn’t care, then that’s not right, and I promise—”
“Tamaki,” he says, stopping him with only his name and a look. Tamaki looks back, pushing the rest of his sentence to the back of his mind. Mirio, too, seems to pause, mulling over his next thought. “Anyone, is the key word,” he says slowly. “Because that would mean that no one’s opinion of me matters. And— okay, right, most don’t, but…”
Tamaki waits for him to get the words out.
“But,” Mirio repeats, only to pause again. “There are some. Their thoughts matter to me. Like you, Tamaki. Yours.”
Tamaki simply continues to look into his eyes. Mirio speaks with such sudden clarity and purpose, like he’s just made his grand, awe-inspiring point, but Tamaki doesn’t understand.
Mirio must see something in Tamaki’s expression that’s amusing, because he laughs briefly, sitting up. This, at least, makes Tamaki smile, even just a little. The other man’s joy has always been infectious.
At the end of his laughter, Mirio sighs, his smile lingering as he resumes speaking.
“Of course your opinion of me matters, Tamaki. That’s always been true,” he says, like it should be obvious. Mirio turns his gaze to the ceiling, leaning back. His hands press into the mattress behind him. “I always wanted to be a hero, but I never was very good at things. Especially back then. You remember— we were just kids. But you told me that you admired how I never gave up. And that meant something, because nobody else saw that as a good thing. Not at first, at least.”
Tamaki feels like he wants to say something, maybe. But the words won’t come to him. All the same, Mirio continues speaking, so Tamaki listens. “I guess ‘not giving up’ is only admirable if you have a chance of achieving that thing you’re striving for. And back then, it didn’t look like I did. It seemed obvious to everyone that I was wasting my time. But you didn’t feel that way.”
When Mirio looks at him again, Tamaki’s traitorous heart skips a beat.
“The craziest thing is that you were right— or we were right. This hero stuff kinda suits me. But it definitely didn’t come naturally to me. All the people who support me now are lovely and kind and such, but… I mean anybody will cheer for you when you’re doing well, right? It’s not the same. You believed in me when I wasn’t doing well. I mean it when I tell you that I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
Tamaki doesn’t even so much as breathe— his pulse thunderous under his skin.
“The things you say, they stick with me. I remember them all. You compare me to the sun. And like you told me just a few minutes ago, you always mean what you say. You tell me these things because you want me to hear them. You say that I inspire you to do better.”
Mirio shakes his head, continuing. “I guess it’s a very chicken-or-the-egg situation, which is kinda funny considering your quirk, but in the end, it doesn’t matter because we both make each other better. You say that I help you want to be stronger, but I know that it’s your grit and resilience that keeps me going. I work hard so that I can be worthy of the praise you’ve given me, so that I can be those things that you so confidently say I am.”
Tamaki feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. He’s surprised that Mirio hasn’t commented on it— it’s almost certainly audible. “Why?” he asks.
Why does Mirio feel like he needs to be worthy of Tamaki’s faith?
Mirio reaches over, poking the frown lines on his cheek. “I just told you, silly, because what you think matters to me.”
Tamaki watches his retreating hand, then his gaze flicks back to Mirio’s face. “I heard you,” he says. “But… that doesn’t explain why my thoughts matter to you.”
Mirio doesn’t reply to that.
How could Tamaki ever be worthy of being held in such high esteem? Tamaki is just… Tamaki. Why would his opinion be of any value, let alone to someone as amazing as Mirio?
“I originally came here to tell you that I heard what you and Nejire were talking about today.”
He…
What.
Tamaki freezes, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh…” he says, at a loss for words.
Mirio’s face has gone unreadable. Meanwhile Tamaki is wearing his shock as if it, much like crab or octopus, were simply something he ate today.
“She said you have a crush on me,” Mirio says. “You… well, I guess you didn’t deny it, but you also didn’t admit to it either. So… is it true?”
Tamaki looks away from the intensity of his stare because he’s a coward. His hands clench in his lap, heat rising up his neck on its way to his stupid face.
Damn his luck. Damn that he hadn’t noticed Mirio— hadn’t even thought to give a brief look around the hall to see if he was there. If anyone was there.
Damn that Mirio is looking at him with such an expectant yet otherwise unreadable expression. Damn that he never has been able to lie to Mirio, and that this is the beginning of the end of their friendship as he knows it.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“It’s okay, Tamaki,” Mirio says, no doubt seeing Tamaki drowning in his turmoil. “Just be honest with me, okay?”
Damn it.
Damn it.
Damn it all.
“If you want the truth…” Tamaki says slowly. He chances a glance at Mirio only to immediately stare at the floor again.
Even now, in this moment when Tamaki would love nothing more than to resent him for making him talk about this, Mirio is gorgeous.
And this is the inherent problem with them: Mirio is the sun, and Tamaki will always be drawn to him. He’s been caught in his orbit since the day they met.
Tamaki was always doomed to burn up before he could get close enough.
Now, more than ever before, he feels that dangerous yet beautiful warmth threatening to consume him completely.
Ironic given the hero name that Mirio himself bestowed upon him.
Tamaki can’t read him now, but he doesn’t think Mirio will be able to hide his reaction to what he’s about to say.
And Tamaki knows himself. Knows he isn’t strong enough to watch how this news will land. He doesn’t want the image to be seared into his memory forever— the image of Mirio’s face when Tamaki effectively ruins their friendship, in just a few short words.
He can’t. He won’t.
Okay. Okay. At the very least, Tamaki doesn’t have to look at him when he says it.
But he does have to say it.
Say it, he thinks.
You always knew it was going to end this way. So you might as well just say it.
Say it.
“A crush… would be an understatement,” Tamaki says finally, shoulders slumping as he resigns himself to his fate. “A big understatement.”
Mirio lets out a slow breath.
Tamaki, quietly, resists the impending panic attack.
“Hey, Tamaki, look at me…”
Tamaki shakes his head, because he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut because he wants to cry. His whole body is tense with the desire to bolt, only he can’t because it’s his room.
Mirio’s hand settles on his cheek, and the contact alone is enough to make Tamaki’s mind stall. When the gentle touch encourages Tamaki to turn his head, he’s surprised to see Mirio smiling at him.
No pity in his eyes.
No concern etched into his features.
Just… that smile. It’s soft and warm and radiant, and it almost makes him forget why he’s so upset.
“Tamaki, I told you. Everything you’ve ever said to me… they’re not just words. They mean something. They mean something to me.”
Mirio tilts his head to the side as he watches him. An errant tear escapes Tamaki’s eye, but Mirio’s thumb brushes it away instantly as if it were a reflex— like running toward danger or diving to catch someone who’s falling.
And maybe it feels similar because this, them, is in danger.
And also because Tamaki has already fallen.
But then Mirio repeats the motion, despite there not being another tear smooth away.
“Your opinion has always been so important to me,” Mirio says quietly. “Did you really think that knowing how you felt about me would make me anything other than happy?”
Tamaki blinks. Then blinks again, because his eyes are still cloudy with tears. Mirio is smiling at him with such abundant warmth and his words certainly match that, and yet… “You’re… happy?” he asks.
His heart continues to thump hard in his chest, but something like hope swirls around it despite how his mind tries to quiet it with reason and doubt.
“Yeah, of course,” Mirio says, his smile growing even brighter. “Very.”
The hope spins faster, dancing and twirling.
His mind responds with a deathroll.
“…Why?” he asks, the single syllable wounded and helpless.
But Mirio doesn’t answer, at least, not with his words. He hums an amused sort of sound, but his face creases with fondness, so Tamaki knows he’s not being made fun of, at least.
A second later, Mirio leans closer to him.
Understanding truly doesn’t dawn on him until the exact moment Tamaki feels Mirio’s lips brush against his. He gasps in surprise, then melts into the kiss, his hand coming up to cover Mirio’s where it rests on his cheek.
Never. Never did Tamaki really let himself believe that this could be possible.
The kiss itself is brief, but light and precious and so perfect. When they part, Tamaki stares at him with wide eyes. “Really?” He asks, still worried that it’s too good to be true.
Mirio’s laugh is warm and fond. “Yeah, really. Come on, Tamaki, it’s not like I go around kissing people for no reas—”
At once, Tamaki pulls Mirio close and presses their lips together again. This time it’s Mirio who stills, perhaps in surprise, but only for half a second before he smiles against his mouth and returns the kiss.
There’s no reason to hold back any more. No reason to deny himself this. Tamaki scooches over to close the distance between the two of them. Their legs are now flush against each other from hip to knee. Tamaki holds himself close, as if not holding on would cause him to fall away— one hand on Mirio’s opposite thigh, the other at the back of his head. Mirio threads his fingers through Tamaki’s hair, the other hand at his back as if he shares Tamaki’s secret fear of separating.
Tamaki’s touching him— holding Mirio like he’s wanted to for years. And better yet… Mirio is holding him, too. Kissing him. Returning the affections that Tamaki thought he’d have to eventually take to his grave or bury at the bottom of a bottle.
Or several bottles.
Mirio was right. They do make each other better. They make the other person feel better. Feel good. Feel valued and cared for. Tamaki never before considered how important it was to Mirio that he cared about him, because to Tamaki it was simple— as automatic as breathing or blinking.
When they finally part for air, Tamaki still can’t make himself pull away. He puts both of his hands on Mirio’s cheeks, smiling in response to Mirio’s own smile. “Your face,” Tamaki says dumbly, brushing both his thumbs across his cheeks in a mirrored path. “You like me. You’re looking at me like… like…”
Tamaki drops his gaze, shaking his head, then looks at him again. Mirio is still wearing that… that almost love-struck expression that makes Tamaki’s mind go blank.
“I never knew,” Tamaki says, gaze flicking between both of Mirio’s shining blue eyes.
Mirio keeps looking at him, running his fingers through his hair in a way that Tamaki is sure he could get used to enjoying. “I never knew about you,” Mirio admits. “I sort of… I don’t know, I guess I’m just so used to you saying how you feel about me. It didn’t even occur to me that there was something you weren’t communicating.”
Tamaki sighs, finally almost breathing normally. “No more secrets between us then,” he says, resolutely. Then, without taking the time to think about his words, he lets it all out. “I like you, Mirio. A lot. Have for a long time. You make me feel alive in a way that made me so terrified of telling you the truth. Except now that I’ve kissed you, I think maybe I haven’t actually lived ‘til now.”
Mirio beams at him. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Tamaki’s forehead in a way that’s somehow more intimate than the embrace and their previous liplocks combined. He’s half expecting Mirio to tease him for being so cheesy, much like how Tamaki is silently berating himself now, but the well-deserved taunt never comes.
“See?” Mirio says warmly. “I keep telling you that you’re brave, Tamaki. Do you believe me now?”
Tamaki shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Still terrified.”
“And yet you told me anyway. That’s the brave part,” Mirio says pointedly. Then, he adds. “Still, I’m right there with you buddy, it is terrifying. But we’re used to being scared, right?”
Tamaki nods. That much is true at least.
Mirio continues. “I can’t pinpoint when I started developing feelings for you,” he says. “Over time, I just found myself missing you when you weren’t around. More and more I wanted to go out of my way to make you smile, and I always felt so happy when I succeeded. Like I was proud that I could do that for you. And then I would look at you and wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”
Tamaki’s mouth drops open at that. “Really?” he asks.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t disappoint,” Mirio winks, making Tamaki’s cheeks burn. “I wondered about a lot of things, actually. Like what it would be like to hold your hand, or take you on a date.”
“I can help with those,” Tamaki says. He rests his hands on Mirio’s chest.
“I’d like that,” Mirio replies, then, grinning a little, adds: “But first… more kissing?”
Tamaki closes the distance once more.
They kiss sitting up, and they kiss lying down. Then they laugh and talk and Mirio peppers his face and neck with fleeting kisses that make Tamaki ticklish.
Tamaki lets himself touch Mirio, fingers reverently tracing paths that his eyes have traveled a million times over. And just when Tamaki starts to pull his hand back, thinking he’s acted embarrassingly enough, Mirio takes that hand and presses kisses to his fingers.
At least Tamaki was right about one thing— being this close to Mirio burns. How could it not? But it’s a good kind of burn, and one that they seem to share.
Seeing Mirio happy has always brought him such joy.
But being the reason that Mirio is happy? Nothing tops that feeling.
Who knew that an uncomfortable conversation with Nejire would lead to him having this— this beautiful moment here, lying in his bed and in Mirio’s arms.