Work Text:
Christmas time, for Yagi Toshinori, means a few different things.
First and foremost: ‘tis the season of being just plain busy. Twenty five days of nonstop hustle-and-bustle. Even more so after spending his college days in the states. Christmas is an even bigger deal in America than it is in Japan, and so when he’d moved back, he’d brought the extra enthusiasm for the holiday with him.
Since then, he’s tended to fill his schedule this time of year with as many charity events as possible. He always gets a kick out of childrens’ surprise at All Might being the one to hand them their colorfully bundled gifts. It never gets old seeing the grateful smiles that light up families’ faces when he gives the less fortunate ones basic necessities, as well. He’d even dressed up as Santa Claus a couple times during his stay in America, when and where his ‘All Might’ persona was lesser known. His broad frame and booming voice had helped sell the part pretty well.
Between all of his charity stints, he’d deal with the spiking crime rates, of course. Petty thefts and robberies always ramped up in frequency this time of year. The public’s emotions tended to run high on either end of the spectrum during the holidays. All Might was provided a multitude of opportunities to rekindle people’s hope, and so in every way he knew how, he earnestly tried to do so.
Then, at the tail end of the season, after serving his city in every way he could think to offer, he’d tiredly step into his dim apartment. It was spacious, minimally filled and quiet as a mouse— but it was home. Unlike much of the world, his own Christmas morning didn’t bring much fuss. Assuming he wasn’t called into work, he’d opt to spend the day itself in restful solitary. His employees would send nice holiday cards, and this time of year garnered an especially large amount of ‘thank you’ letters from fans and civilians he’d rescued, so he’d usually save some of those to read over in the morning.
The day would uneventfully stretch to its end and, afterwards, life continued on as usual.
‘Just a day', he can still hear his parents say. They’d hardly been celebratory people. For the first part of Toshinori’s life, holidays were something that just sort of… slipped by unnoticed, like background noise. As Toshinori had grown and branched out into a life of his own, though, people came and went who attached themselves and happier memories to his Christmases. He and Dave had crashed a few holiday parties during college (which, yeah, those were usually fun, ending just as most parties had for Toshinori back then: with him accidentally breaking something like the bull in a China shop he’d become while drinking. One year, as a party trick, much to the hosts’ irritation, he’d hoisted an entire well-decorated Christmas tree over his head and happily tossed it off a balcony at the encouragement of other equally drunk party members. Then he’d leapt down onto the lawn to attack a set of life-sized reindeer replicas, mercilessly smashing them to bits, all because one wasted party member had screamed “Help! Killer reindeer on the loose!” when a set timer had caused the reindeer to light up and sing a distorted Christmas jingle.
That was pretty much the end of those parties. The resulting day-long hangover and lucid dreams of facing down a villainous Rudolph cued the end of Toshinori’s short-lived drinking days, as well. He’d shown up at the hosts’ door later, shamefaced and holding a plate of his first attempt at sugar cookies, along with monetary compensation for their demolished Christmas decor.)
Mirai had always become downright giddy this time of year. He’d show up to headquarters in an elf hat and suspenders, making sure to implement the ‘Elf on a Shelf’ tradition in their office, disturbingly dedicated to his duty of moving the toy elf to a creative new spot every day.
And before Mirai, even before Dave, there had been Nana.
To Toshinori’s dismay, many memories of his mentor have faded in clarity, much like a well-loved photograph. One that’s been kept too close— crumpled from being stuffed into a back pocket, smudged from fingers grazing the surface, bent from being clutched too often. Their first and last Christmas together is a memory he only allows himself to revisit once a year, in the fear that his nostalgia will unwittingly distort it.
It was the first time Nana had invited Toshinori to her quaint home. The whole thing was surprising; Nana was a very private person and, until then, had never struck Toshinori as being particularly festive. (It didn’t occur to him, back then, how shortly her invite had come after she’d taken note of Toshinori’s lack of a relationship with his family.) She’d even managed to twist Gran’s arm to come and spend the evening with them.
“Heh. Simple. I like it,” Gran had gruffed, nodding his approval upon entering Nana’s minimalist house. Her only holiday decor had been three stockings— one for each of them— pinned above her fireplace. A bit unevenly, too, as if she’d only thought to throw something festive up last minute. “No sense in going all out the way some folks do. Just leaves more mess to clean up as soon as the day’s over.”
They’d played some cards, Nana managing to get Gran red in the face during a heated argument over the right way to teach Toshinori poker. They’d eaten ‘Christmas dinner’— takeout, because Nana had lacked in the cooking department, and everyone knew Gran’s food prep abilities started and ended with microwaving frozen taiyaki. The food had been mediocre, and the hot cocoa Nana had sheepishly served wasn’t much better— a bit watered down and burnt tasting. Their laughter was loud as they’d chatted over mismatched mugs of it, though, faces bright and warmed by the steam. The three of them were poorly versed in the art of ‘traditional festivities’, or even in knowing what it meant to be a family, but they’d done the best any of them knew how.
It was enough. Toshinori hadn’t told her so but, oh, how he wishes he had. Perfect in all its imperfections; the first Christmas he’d ever experienced that felt worth remembering.
This year’s Christmas differs from the rest in one important regard. Toshinori has spent the larger part of this year training a certain green bundle of nervous energy into becoming the nation’s next Symbol. And seeing as this bundle in question is a fifteen year old boy, Toshinori is certain he’ll appreciate not having to train over the holidays. UA’s entrance exam is quickly approaching, but Midoriya has made leaps and bounds in his progress recently. The kid is more than deserving of a break— even if it’s only for two days.
And that’s why, the day before Christmas Eve, Toshinori sends out his text. “There won’t be any training tomorrow morning, Young Midoriya. You’ve earned some relaxation time. Enjoy the holidays with your mother!”
Toshinori doesn’t quite know what to make of Midoriya’s less-than enthusiastic response of “oh! okay :O happy holidays All Might!”
Hm. Shouldn’t the kid be more excited about getting a day off? He hasn’t had a single break in— well, eight months! Most other children would be ecstatic, as they tend to be when school gets called off for a snow day. Midoriya is an incredibly dedicated child, he knows. Maybe he’s worried that a break will set him back? Toshinori hums at his successor’s response on the screen, scratching at his chin in thought.
A little time off won’t hurt you, kid. Don’t want you following entirely in my footsteps. He suppresses a small shudder at the thought of Midoriya one day having a body as broken down as Toshinori’s. Unwelcome images spring to mind of Midoriya having to wake up throughout the night to hack up blood, of having to tailor his entire way of living to cater to his nonexistent stomach... suddenly Toshinori is typing out his next text with more urgency: “I mean it, Young Midoriya. Hard work is important but so is REST! Never miss these opportunities to take care of yourself!”
“Yes sir!!! Got it, All Might, sir!” is Midoriya’s next text, followed by a generous row of ‘thumbs up’ emojis to signal he’s received the message loud and clear. Toshinori sighs out in— what, relief? It’s not like the boy has gone and done any permanent damage to himself (yet). Midoriya doesn’t even technically hold One for All, not yet. Toshinori doesn’t quite understand what it is about this kid that tends to send his imagination spiraling into such irrational scenarios from time to time. Normally, Toshinori likes to consider himself a fairly practical man, not one prone to hysterics.
This kid’s gone and made you soft, boy, Gran’s voice unexpectedly gravels inside his head. Also— you’re not being completely irrational this time. You see yourself in him, and it scares you. Toshinori blinks— one, because Gran is right, and two… well, because it’s Gran. He hasn’t thought about Gran in… hm.
That’s another thing about Christmas. Though it brings a handful of pleasant memories, it also tends to dredge up all the ghosts of Toshinori’s past, ushering them to crowd his lonely apartment where he has no other choice but to face them. It’s been years since Toshinori has spoken to Gran. Even longer since he’s gotten along with Mirai, or considered himself close to Dave. Decades more since… since Nana.
‘Just a day’, his parents had said. Toshinori knows that’s not true— not for him.
It weighs a little too heavily on him to be of no significance.
Christmas Eve arrives and Toshinori is awake, blinking up at the ceiling before dawn has the chance to break. He hadn’t even set an alarm for the day. His body is attuned to waking up at the same time for the past eight months, now, and it does so this morning without extra prompting. His body twitches to get moving, to roll out of bed and start packing a lunch for both him and his successor, but he fights against the muscle memory. He is not meeting Midoriya today. It feels strange not to be, after over half a year of doing so daily.
He cracks open a frosted window as he readies his tea. Cool air pushes through like a whisper, and he shivers. Fresh snow has coated the ground overnight.
He decides he’ll still head over to Dagobah Beach after his breakfast. The beach is close to being clean, now— today will be a good chance for him to sit back and admire all the work his hard-working protege has put in. The snowfall is light enough to where going out in it won’t be too much of a hassle.
And that’s how he finds himself at said beach less than an hour later. He sticks bare hands into his coat pockets as he looks out at the sky. Grey-blue, painted a light pink where it’s been touched by the beginnings of daylight. The chilly air is harsh as it’s breathed into his remaining lung, but it’s a welcome wake-up. Toshinori closes his eyes, enjoying the quiet, before he hears a voice:
“All Might?”
His eyes snap back open and he whips his head around. “Midoriya? What—” he coughs, having too quickly sucked in a breath of cold air, “what are you doing here, my boy? Training was canceled for the day!”
Midoriya’s face goes pink— whether from the cold or from embarrassment, Toshinori couldn’t say. Kid never remembers to cover his ears, either. Ever since winter’s arrival, they’ve turned bright red during every training session. Each one ends with Midoriya squashing mitted hands up against his ears to warm them. Toshinori isn’t sure whether or not Midoriya owns any headgear or is simply stubborn about wearing it, but as the kid’s Christmas gift (well, one of them. Toshinori hasn’t had the chance to personally spoil anyone over the holidays before, so he may have went a little wild, this year; sue him), he’s bought the boy a set of earmuffs.
Midoriya’s currently mumbling something too quickly for Toshinori to catch. “What was that? Speak up, Midoriya, you’re mumbling again,” he instructs, half-exasperated, half-fond. Really, he wonders, what is Midoriya doing here? Looks like Toshinori had had every right to be worried— the kid really doesn’t know how to take a break.
Midoriya sucks in a breath. “Ah, I was saying— I know training was canceled. But my mom works until late tonight, so I, uh… I decided to come and work on the trash pile by myself. I don’t have anything else to do today, anyway.”
Toshinori stares. Midoriya shifts on his feet under the man’s gaze, as if expecting to be reprimanded. Snow crunches under the kid’s stark red sneakers. “You’re alone today?” Toshinori clarifies.
If Midoriya looked embarrassed before, he looks absolutely mortified now. He flails his arms around in slight panic. “It’s- it’s not a big deal. I didn’t want you to feel bad for me! That’s why I didn’t bring it up. But I didn’t want to ask you to keep training on the schedule, because I was sure you had other plans today. So I just figured I’d come clean the beach by myself—”
“I don’t want you out here by yourself, Young Midoriya. Trying to navigate this heap of junk alone could be dangerous. I’d rather be here to keep an eye on you.”
Midoriya’s head snaps up to look at him. Confusion twists his features. “Wait… you canceled training. So why,” his breath is a visible puff in the cold, “why did you come here alone this morning?”
Toshinori blinks. Midoriya’s head is tilted in silent question. Their breaths cloud the air between them. Loudly, too; the soft snow sitting upon the ground brings such a hush that every noise above it seems amplified.
Other than when I’m with you, I’m always alone, my boy, is what Toshinori doesn’t say.
He doesn’t mention how, before meeting Midoriya, Toshinori had been wasting away a bit, wearing the shell of his former glory and furiously denying that it no longer fit. A dying man with little more to fill his schedule than ‘duty’. Midoriya and his unyielding exuberance had forcibly shaken Toshinori awake from the ‘autopilot’ mode he’d intended to ride to his end destination, and though he’s inevitably still headed towards the same fate, the kid’s presence has had him deciding to pump on the brakes.
When Toshinori had woken to no alarm this morning, he’d found himself strangely unable to remember what life was like eight months ago. It was like he’d been in hibernation, back then, and at times he’s still trying to shake off the numbness of sleep. What exactly did I used to do with my time?
No, he doesn’t say any of this. Boasting words of confidence is his trademark, his speciality; admitting vulnerability, well, he’s never been quite brave enough. So he clears his throat instead. “Ahem— well, training is still canceled. But, ah, seeing as clearly neither of us has plans… would you like to spend Christmas Eve together, Young Midoriya?”
“Wait— really?” Midoriya’s face breaks into a wide, wobbly smile. “Really?”
Toshinori cracks a genuine smile in return. Much as he may play-gripe about Midoriya’s rollercoaster range of emotions, his successor’s excitement over the little things is… refreshing, honestly. Toshinori doesn’t know if he’s ever met anyone easier to please.
It’s up there on the list of things that have endeared this boy to him so.
“Yeah, kid. Really.”
“So! Anything in particular you’d like to do today, my boy?”
They’ve spent the morning moseying through the streets of downtown Musutafu, peeking into storefronts displaying gifts of all kinds. Festive lights twinkle, strung in swoops above their heads. People of all ages scurry around them in their last-minute shopping haste. Classic holiday jingles crackle out of the speakers above.
To be honest, neither had seemed sure where to start. Toshinori having barely ever done anything ‘traditionally’ Christmas that wasn’t work related, and Midoriya, who’s mother’s demanding work schedule pulled her away from home most holidays. Midoriya has spent most of his holidays alone thus far— a hesitant admission that had twitched Toshinori's mouth into a frown. (He’s also yet again left out any mention of a father, which pretty much cements Toshinori’s long-held suspicions that the man is absent.) On impulse he’d pulled Midoriya into the first coffee shop they’d come across. He’d dug out a wad of yen and insisted on treating the boy to hot chocolate, as if this could somehow help make up for the boy’s past. (“Do you want whipped cream? How about extra sprinkles? Nonsense, my boy, it’s no trouble at all!” Toshinori’s large hand had patted Midoriya’s head when the boy became overly-flustered at being treated. “He’ll take your largest hot cocoa, please, with all the works.”)
“Oh, I’m- I’m really just happy doing whatever, All Might,” Midoriya insists, clutching with both hands his portable mug of what has to be the world’s most ridiculously large hot cocoa. It’s topped with a layer of sprinkles so dense that the underlying whipped cream isn’t even visible. “What do you usually do?”
“Me?” Toshinori absentmindedly reaches to draw Midoriya into his side as a group of frenzied shoppers rush past them. “Erm— honestly, nothing much.”
“Oh… Really?”
Toshinori coughs as a cold gust brushes over them. He grabs his scarf to hack into. “You sound surprised.”
“Oh, well, I mean— it’s Christmas. Most people see family, or friends… or…” Midoriya trails off, as if fearful he’s crossing a line, eyes flicking up to check Toshinori’s face with uncertainty.
Toshinori merely shrugs, patting his scarf back into his chest with stiff hands. “It’s just a day.”
He startles. His father’s voice rarely— if ever— comes out of him like that. He coughs again, more violently this time, as if to try and rid himself of it.
Midoriya nods his agreement, his shrug a mimic of Toshinori’s indifference. “Yeah. Just a day.”
And that causes Toshinori to freeze.
For some reason, hearing any kind of passivity out of Midoriya— curious, animated kid he is, who can get passionate about every last detail of anything— leaves Toshinori feeling perturbed. Toshinori has long accepted the life he leads— but Midoriya? His successor is still a child. He should be enjoying things like holidays with the bit of innocence kids his age still possess. His chest knots uncomfortably at the thought of Midoriya lacking enough good experiences to make this a happy time for him. “What do you mean, Young Midoriya?”
Midoriya’s ears seem to prick at the concern in Toshinori’s voice. He looks a little flighty all the sudden. “What? I— I only said the same thing you did.”
“Yeah, but…” But what? ‘I’m different’? Is he, though? Toshinori is looking at Midoriya, and he’s shaken by how clearly his own loneliness reflects right back at him.
(He doesn’t want Midoriya to be like him. He wants him happier, healthier. Wants him to end up with more to come home to than an empty apartment filled only with ghosts.)
No, he decides, then. That just won’t do.
Midoriya is watching him curiously. Toshinori slows both of their steps as they approach the downtown ice-skating rink. The sounds of high-pitched laughter and clinking skates reach their ears.
Toshinori remembers Dave offhandedly suggesting they pick up skating— that forming their own rinky-dink ‘hockey’ team made up of their rowdy, goofy college friends would help pass the time during winter breaks. Time did indeed pass, but they’d never ended up skating, too busy with whatever was next on their schedules. Then they’d blinked, and college was over with. If Toshinori has learned anything in recent years, it’s that life is short, and right now, he thinks it’d be fun to skate.
(And if part of this decision is fueled by his sudden desperation to give Midoriya everything he didn’t have— well, who would blame him?)
He looks down at the boy beside him, whose head is still tilted in question. Toshinori waggles his eyebrows mischievously. Midoriya's green eyes widen in response. “You, ah… want to go in there? You want to ice skate?”
“Yes! I do! It’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I- I wouldn’t know,” Midoriya stammers. “I’ve never done it before.”
Well, that settles it, then. Toshinori's grin is wide as he beckons for Midoriya to follow him through the creaky wooden gate. “Good. I haven’t either. Let’s go find our size in skates.”
“You haven’t— you mean you want today to be your first time?” Midoriya asks skeptically, but he doesn’t hesitate to trail behind Toshinori like a devoted duckling, careful not to let the swinging gate knock into his oversized cocoa.
“Today, yes! Today’s a good a day as any. Come now, Young Midoriya, don’t give me that look– have a little sense of adventure!”
He can’t contain his sudden playfulness. It’s going to be a good day. For Midoriya and for him. This bubbling excitement at trying something new— generally, this enjoyment of anything— it’s nice. He sincerely hopes that this ‘spark’ he’s been experiencing lately is here to stay.
Because it’s been nice— feeling alive, again.
They’re both terrible on the ice. This is a disaster of an idea, Toshinori realizes too late.
Yes, he’s fully aware that he flies across the tops of buildings, thank you. He doesn’t know why his tremendous height is suddenly so terrifying when paired with operating a pair of ice-skates, but it is. He has that much further to fall. He’s a seven-foot pole of a man trying to ambulate on two extremely thin blades, for Pete’s sake. None of it seems right. Who in the hell came up with this death wish of a sport?
Midoriya doesn’t share his height issue, but his coordination is definitely in question (they’re still working on that, Toshinori thinks with a sympathetic wince). Legs wobbling, the boy has mainly stuck to clutching at the sides of the rink. Every time he looks as though he’s going to be brave and venture away from the rail, his arms spiral like paddles on a boat to keep himself from falling flat. He looks over his shoulder at Toshinori.
“I don’t think I’m doing it right,” Midoriya says miserably. Toshinori, nearly blown over sideways in the wake of a speedy passerby skater, grits his teeth. Before he has the chance to take his boy by the arm and wobble the both of them the hell off of this chilled death trap, a duo— who he assumes to be mother and daughter, based off of their matching ‘Mommy and Me’ outfits and identical tight hair buns— skates between the two gracefully. The little girl points at a fumbling Midoriya with her mitted hand, laughing loudly.
“Now, now, dear,” her mother chides. “Not everyone can be a star on the ice like you.”
Midoriya actually pouts. It’s kind of funny; Toshinori snorts in amusement. The little girl looks up at him and points again.
“Are you his daddy? You don’t look like his daddy. How did he turn out so green?”
Toshinori chokes and thinks he might finally lose his balance, Midoriya sputters something incomprehensible off to the side, and the mother simply sighs. “Haruka, darling, he must be adopted.” Ignoring Toshinori’s look of rising panic, she asks: “Are you and your son planning on competing this weekend?”
“Um,” is all Toshinori's brain conjures up in response. Brilliant. Midoriya looks like he’s slowly succumbing to death by sheer embarrassment. The poor kid is sliding down the wall at this point, red-faced and sticking a leg out to keep him from completely sitting on the ice.
“If you’re not going to be competing in the parent-child tournament, I suggest you leave the ice to those more skilled. Your incompetence is a bit distracting for those of us practicing to win,” the mother says. She leaves with a dramatic twirl, and her daughter follows suit, sticking her tongue out at the pair before skating off. Toshinori and Midoriya are left to stare at one another in disbelief.
“Come on,” Toshinori declares suddenly, shuffling over awkwardly to where he can reach out for Midoriya’s hand. Midoriya eyes him with hesitation, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself in place.
“W-what?”
“I said come on. We’re going to get one good lap in. Show those two what we’re made of.”
“Um, but… All Might? They were right, we’re terrible.”
“That’s besides the point, Young Midoriya! They don’t get to decide who uses the rink. How do they expect anyone to get better without practice? … Not that I want more practice, my boy, I believe I’ve had my fill of ice skating. Forever. But it’s the principal of the thing!” He beckons again for Midoriya to take his hand. “It might be easier if we’re holding onto each other for extra support. Otherwise— well, no offense, but look at you, kid. You’re one second away from crawling all over the ice.”
“Me?” Midoriya squeaks. “I don’t exactly see you doing any figure-eights.” Is his successor… grumpy? Toshinori has never actually seen him be so before. It’s mild, so mild, but the fact that Midoriya just got even remotely sassy with Toshinori quirks his mouth into a grin. Perhaps it’s a strange thing to feel happy about, but the fact that the kid has grown comfortable to dish back Toshinori’s teasing banter makes him feel unexpected pride.
“Hey, now, at least I’ve traveled more than a foot in the last half-hour. C’mon, kid, victory lap! Help an old man save his dignity.”
“I think we’re both beyond saving that,” Midoriya bemoans, along with an automatic trailing reply of “and you’re not old!” but, reluctantly, he does take Toshinori’s hand. Toshinori gently pulls the boy away from the wall and, albeit shakily, they make their way to the center of the rink. “There we go.”
All seems well until Midoriya starts backpedaling like a fish out of water. Toshinori’s eyes go wide as the boy nearly takes him down with him. “Kid! You’ve gotta stay calm. I’ve got you, I promise.”
And, just like that, Midoriya does relax. Instantly. Wow. That was… easy. Suddenly he’s struck with just how unwavering Midoriya’s trust in him is. If the boy notices the way Toshinori’s grip tightens around his own smaller, mitted hand, he doesn’t say so.
“Just one lap,” Midoriya clarifies. “Right?” Toshinori nods. “Just one. Then we can get the hell out of here.”
They’re about halfway through said ‘victory lap’ (doing relatively alright, save for having to stop for Midoriya’s occasionally backpedaling until Toshinori is able to steady them both) when Haruka— the little dear— darts right between them, breaking their hands apart when she kicks off into the air with a fancy pirouette.
Chaos ensues. It’s Toshinori’s turn to backpedal and Midoriya spins out, toppling to the ice with a heavy thud. His clumsy collapse interrupts Haruka’s routine, who yelps as she trips over him; they slide together a few feet across the ice in a tangled heap. Toshinori himself backs straight into the child’s mother before he can catch his balance, apologizing hastily until she starts chewing him out for “letting your uncoordinated adoptee interrupt Haruka’s routine, what if she were to get injured before her competition, don’t you know she’s a star in the making–!”
An increasingly irate Toshinori wobbles over to his successor and practically drags the boy off the ice by his arms, biting back the decidedly immature reply of “your kid’s the one who ran into my kid", final victory lap be damned.
“At least we tried something new?” Midoriya pipes up over his second hot cocoa of the day. It was bought at the insistence of a very guilty Toshinori, topped with even more whipped cream than the first, to the point where it looks two seconds away from collapsing over the side of the mug.
“That’s the spirit, Young Midoriya! I— no, no, don’t take the ice off,” Toshinori chides, reaching out to gently push the ice pack to rest against his successor's eye. He winces in sympathy. That’s definitely going to be a shiner. “I didn’t see you hit your face…”
Midoriya blushes something fierce, mumbling something under his breath.
“Sorry, my boy, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
“That ‘Haruka’ girl kneed me in the face when she fell,” Midoriya murmurs, ears going red with embarrassment.
A shopper carrying a mountain’s worth of bags brushes by the table they’ve chosen to sit at. One of the bags knocks into their table, shaking it slightly, and the precarious pile of whipped cream on Midoriya’s drink loses its battle to stay upright. They both stare as the puffy substance flies and lands on the ground with a plop, seeping into the snow until it blends in completely.
Toshinori drags a hand down his face in defeat. “I’m messing this all up, aren’t I?”
“W-what? No! What do you mean?”
“Well, kid, let’s recap. So far you've gotten the world's worst ice skating lesson, and a black eye from a girl no older than eight.” Toshinori waves wildly down at the whipped cream graveyard beside them. “And the drinks I got you— they were overkill, weren’t they? Do you even like whipped cream?”
“I— Y-yeah! I do!” Midoriya assures frantically. He looks down at the gooey plot of snow. “I mean, not that much of it, normally, but— but that’s not a big deal!”
“I’m sorry, Young Midoriya,” Toshinori sighs his frustration. “I want to give you a good Christmas— but I’m not so sure I know how to have one, myself.”
“All Might! I'm having a great Christmas,” Midoriya insists; he takes the ice pack from Toshinori, who’s been opting to hold it to the boy's face himself. “Firstly, I get to spend it with All Might, which has been my number one Christmas wish since, well,” he falters shyly, “... since forever, probably. And even the bad things aren’t all that bad. We, uh… we learned things! We learned we don’t like ice-skating." Midoriya's stubborn optimism earns an amused huff out of Toshinori. “You learned I don’t need a whole mountain of whipped cream on my hot chocolate.” Midoriya smiles, one eye hidden behind a dripping bag of ice. His nose and cheeks are rosy from the cold, and his freckles stick out in contrast. “You don't need to worry about me.”
But I do, kid. Toshinori’s chest squeezes like a vice at the innocence on Midoriya's face. I really do.
“You pick,” he says. Midoriya looks at him questioningly. “You pick the rest of the things we do today.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you! I picked ice skating. That was a bust. Now it's your turn. How would you like to spend the rest of Christmas Eve?”
“Oh,” Midoriya says, surprised. He contemplates it for a moment. “Let’s go back to the beach.”
Toshinori studies his successor with some concern, lips pursing. He’s got to get it through this kid’s head that it’s alright to take breaks. “No, Midoriya, today’s a ‘vacation’ day, remember? I’m not about to put you to work on Christmas Eve—”
“No, not to work, just… just to be there, I guess. On the part that’s cleaned so far.”
Toshinori hesitates. “Are you sure? You don’t want to do something… I don’t know, more special?” By this, of course, he means maybe seeing a holiday show, or a store that Midoriya’s been wanting to visit, something fun that Midoriya doesn’t usually get to do–
“It’s special, there,” is the boy's simple answer. Toshinori’s other suggestions die on the tip of his tongue. He nods, his throat suddenly a little thick.
“Whatever you want, kid. To Dagobah Beach, then.”
“Sugar rush,” Midoriya had warned him about halfway through his second hot cocoa, and it has definitely been so. He’s been running wild all along the snow dusted shore, plopping down here and there to make messy, sandy snow angels. Toshinori is content to hang back, chuckling at the boy’s impressive burst of energy. (He's also taken note of how much he’s been laughing, lately, genuinely laughing. Each one cracks something open in his chest, something he hadn’t even realized had closed off over the years.) On the tail end of his successor’s sugar buzz, he ventures back to fall into the fluffier snow beside Toshinori, winded and chattering about this and that as Toshinori hums along lightheartedly.
This goes on for hours— hours, Toshinori can hardly believe it, where does the time go?— until the setting sun reflects itself off of the snow, dyeing it with deep pinks and oranges.
“Was there anything in particular you wanted this year?”
Toshinori means it as a casual question. One appropriate for Christmas, he'd assumed, but it causes Midoriya to duck his head, the boy's rush of words colliding to become a traffic jam of gibberish. Toshinori lifts his hands in surrender.
“My boy! You know I have no idea what any of that was. Could you repeat it all— slowly?” he laughs.
Midoriya— still lying on his back in the snow— looks up at his mitted hands, which are busy playing with his scarf. “I said– well, I said– you’re just going to call me ‘fanboy’ if I say it, All Might.”
“Aw. Is it a piece of merchandise you’ve been wanting?” Toshinori teases, reaching to ruffle Midoriya’s curls.
Midoriya shakes his head before stopping himself. “Well, yeah, I’m always happy to get that,” he admits, and Toshinori’s chuckle rumbles deep within his chest, cracking the shell ever further. “No, I was saying, um… well, I already told you that meeting you was my wish, for a long time,” the boy says shyly. “And so was having a quirk. And this year I met you and I’m getting a quirk and I’m spending Christmas Eve with you and—” he sits up, chunks of snow and sand falling from his shoulders. “And— yeah, you get what I mean. Gifts couldn't really compare to all that. I've already gotten everything I've ever wished for."
He scrubs furiously at his eyes, trying his best to keep his trademark waterworks at bay for today (he's done a pretty good job of it, too). Toshinori can't even tease him for it, this time. Not when he has to fight his own eyes from burning a bit.
(It's been wonderful, feeling things again, don't get him wrong— but everything seems to hit Toshinori with more force than it used to. It's like taking the first gasp of air after one's been holding their breath underwater. It's much needed, much appreciated, just a bit dizzying.
This kid, with his open-book expressiveness and near-constant waterworks, seems to have unlatched the floodgate to Toshinori's pent up emotions, too.)
Seemingly eager to take the spotlight off of himself, Midoriya returns to fiddling with his scarf. “So— so yeah, I’m set, I think. Did you want anything this year?”
Want? No— Toshinori hadn’t wanted for himself, not for a long time, now. Need? Yes. A successor— that had been the most prevalent need on his mind, earlier on in the year. He hadn't bothered to ask for happiness— for others, yes, of course, never necessarily for himself— but he’d gotten that, too. And the remarkable child before him has single-handedly given him both.
What a gift, Midoriya has been. A truly serendipitous find.
Perhaps one day he'll be brave enough to say it. “I think I’m set, too," he says for now, softly.
As soon as the sun has disappeared over the ocean, darkness is pulled down with it like a closing curtain. An unforgiving chill is cast over the snow. Toshinori motions for Midoriya to stand when they both start to shiver. They trudge uphill through light snow to where the beach meets the boardwalk. “I’ll start walking you home— the temperature is only going to keep dropping. Your mother will be back soon, too, won’t she?”
Midoriya’s nod is interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. ‘Sugar rush’ indeed– and the follow-up crash is incoming. For awhile they walk in stride, past homes adorned with blinking lights of red and green, until Midoriya starts to lose momentum. Toshinori finds himself having to stop every several feet, patiently waiting for his successor’s shorter steps to catch up. The crunch, crunch, crunch of the boy’s boots slows and slows. Toshinori huffs fondly after having to stop for him a fourth time.
“Gonna make it, kid?”
“Yeah ‘m gonna make it,” is the mumbled response. Toshinori rolls his eyes, mock-tapping his foot as he waits for the boy to catch up to him. Midoriya misses his mentor’s teasing due to his eyes drooping half-closed.
Toshinori places a large hand on the boy’s back to help guide his sleepy steps as they turn a corner, where they meet an icy push of wind. Toshinori's teeth begin to chatter. The temperature is dipping rapidly. At this pace, they’re going to freeze over on the sidewalk.
“Do you need me to carry you the rest of the way?” he asks. Half-teasing, half-not.
Midoriya jerks more awake at that, shaking his head wildly. “No, All Might, that’s fine! I don’t need to be carried… it was just… lots of sugar…”
“Mmhmm,” Toshinori hums skeptically, one brow quirked as Midoriya passes him with the speed of a snail. They carry on like this for about five more minutes, but when Toshinori has to stop for nearly a full minute for Midoriya to drag his feet through the snow to get to him, he sighs. “Midoriya, my boy, you’re killing me, here. Let me carry you— I insist on it.”
Midoriya’s retort is nothing but a mumble, now, and before he nods off completely, Toshinori has squatted down in front of him. He pulls Midoriya's arms over his own shoulders so that the boy hangs off of his back in ‘piggyback ride’ style. Midoriya has put on weight since the beginning of training; Toshinori notes it proudly when the effort of lifting him has him letting out an oomph. He’s still on the smaller side for his age, though, so Toshinori has little trouble with the weight.
It’s the quietest part of their day. With Midoriya’s excited chatter having faded into soft, whistling snores, Toshinori is left as he normally is on Christmas; alone with his thoughts. Old habits die hard, it seems; the memories always wait to bombard him until his world has gone quiet. He watches his own breath fog the air in front of him, and he allows his ghosts their visit.
Unwittingly he thinks of his parents, as he always does first, their presence so vague he can barely remember the details of their faces. From their passivity for life bore Toshinori’s search for more, for a greater purpose, for love and acceptance they were never willing to give, which had driven him to seek out—
— Nana, whose face flashes through his mind, like a soothing balm for the sting of his parents' memory. His true mother's hand had ruffed his hair after teaching him the game of poker. She'd smiled at him crookedly from over her cup of hot cocoa. “You’ve got it from here, kid.” Her voice had been tinged with pride— too much pride for Toshinori learning a basic poker move. Had she known, then, that she wouldn’t be around for the next Christmas to come?
He thinks of Gran (Gran's memory never strays too far from that of Nana's), victoriously throwing down his hand of cards after beating Toshinori at yet another game. He'd mock-insulted him around the cigar hanging out his mouth, wisps of smoke curling around his face like a hazy embrace, eyes twinkling with affection he'd never voice. Dave's smile fills his mind, too, cheeks flushed with alcohol as he’d handed Toshinori another beer, wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater Toshinori had ever seen— one with a stupid looking 3D reindeer popping off of it, cheap battery lights stitched throughout. Mirai’s glee whenever Toshinori stumbled across the new ‘spot of the day’ where Mirai had meticulously placed the Elf on the Shelf, and his cryptic clues whenever Toshinori was close to giving up his search.
The images flick through his mind quickly, like clips on a projector screen, but he's pulled away before he can wallow in front of them for too long; Midoriya's weight has begun to slide down his back a bit. Toshinori pauses to gently hoist the boy up further. The clouded puffs of Midoriya's breath fill the side of his vision. The boy's hands are loosely clasped at the front of Toshinori's neck. His boy still mumbles, even in sleep: "can you help me move this fridge, there's too many crabs in my way... I don't wanna interrupt their picnic..."
What can I do? Toshinori thinks with sudden desperation. Subconsciously he tightens his grip on the boy's legs around his waist. What can I do make sure I don't lose him, too?
Because the others-- they're all gone to him. If he ends up losing Midoriya like he lost them—
(He already knows. He's a dying man, tethered to life by this boy. He wouldn't survive it.)
An older couple passes by, then, pulling Toshinori from his panicked thoughts. He dips his head in a silent 'hello', forcing himself back into calm. Hand in hand, the couple smiles at the sight of a sleeping Midoriya on Toshinori's back. "Even as teenagers, they never really stop being our babies, do they?" the woman teases.
Toshinori huffs out an awkward chuckle. "He's—" Is it even worth correcting? "... yeah," he says softly instead.
His own blaring theme song shatters the following silence and he jumps a bit, jarring Midoriya out of mid sleep-talk. The boy blindly digs around for something in one of his own coat pockets. "Oh, it's— my mom's calling," he says, voice heavy with sleep. He slides off of Toshinori's back completely, and his mentor turns to help steady him. "Hi, Mom."
The conversation lasts less than a minute but Midoriya is fully awake by the time it ends, face alight with joy when he lifts it up towards Toshinori. "My mom gets to be home tomorrow for Christmas! Her work— they actually let her have the day off."
"Oh, that's wonderful, my boy!" Toshinori's heart soars for the kid. "I'm so happy you'll get to spend the day with her."
"Yeah!" Midoriya breathes, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Yeah. She hasn't gotten Christmas off in forever."
Toshinori smiles warmly, opening his mouth to say more but he's interrupted by a huddle of Christmas carolers, who round the corner quickly. He pulls the both of them to the edge of the sidewalk to make way for the jolly hoard. Under the glare of the street light, Midoriya's ears— bright red from the cold, again-- stick out like a sore thumb. Toshinori sighs, cupping large hands to his successor's head, just as the carolers begin belting out their high-pitched rendition of 'Christmas Time is Here'.
Midoriya blinks up at him. "It's okay— they're not that bad," Midoriya tells him. Toshinori smirks. "I'm not trying to block out their singing. I'm just trying to warm up your ears. I wish you'd cover the poor things!"
"Well, your hands aren't helping, they're freezing, too!" Midoriya yelps, squishing Toshinori's bare hands with his own mitted ones in order to warm them. "Why don't you ever cover them?"
At first Toshinori chuckles at that, because point taken, but the chuckles die off when he notices Midoriya's frown. "All Might," the boy asks seriously, "who helps you?"
Toshinori startles, blinking down at the boy's face between his hands. "Who... what? Helps me?"
"You tried so hard to make sure I was happy today," Midoriya says, his frown deepening. "And you're always doing all these charity events and things around Christmas. You always try to make sure everyone else is happy— even though it doesn't seem like it's usually a happy day for you."
Truly, Toshinori doesn't know where the boy is going with this, so he just stares dumbly.
"You always worry about me covering my ears," Midoriya continues on, "so you cover them up with your hands— like now— but you don't even bother to wear gloves, or anything. Even though you've told me how the cold triggers your arthritis." He tightens the push of his hands into Toshinori's as if to reiterate. "Who helps you?"
The skin around Midoriya's left eye is starting to purple— surely, his eye will be swollen shut by morning. The Christmas lights from surrounding homes reflect themselves off of the boy's face; pinks, blues and greens, blinking to disappear and then reappear, but his determinedly furrowed brow remains unchanged.
The kid has a way of doing this, sometimes; showing a peculiar wisdom beyond his years. It never fails to throw Toshinori off guard. One moment, Midoriya will have all the awkwardness and clumsy uncertainty of a teenager, and in the next he'll display this level of understanding that always leaves Toshinori baffled.
Right now, with the way the boy is looking at Toshinori, Toshinori knows he's really being seen. And there's little more that frightens him than that.
"My boy," he clears his throat. "I don't..." He flounders for a few beats.
"I'll do it, then," Midoriya declares boldly when Toshinori spends too long gaping like a fish to answer.
"Do what," Toshinori repeats faintly. It's unnerving, being seen like this, and he doesn't—
"Help you!"
On reflex, of course, Toshinori wants to say 'no'. To say 'I don't need help', 'you're a child and I'm an adult', 'I'm All Might; I'm here to help you'— refusals of all shapes and sizes could pass his lips, but something halts them all.
If you really don't want to lose him, you must be different, this time.
Because this was exactly how he'd lost the others. The ones still living, anyway. One by one, he'd inadvertently shut each of them out, his pride not allowing him to accept the help they'd all but begged him to take.
Yes, he knows. This time, things must be different. For this kid, he has no choice but to be better. And so he starts by saying: "Okay."
Does he mean it? He's not entirely sure. But the look on Midoriya's face indicates that the boy's been placated enough for now.
"Okay. Good. Want to come spend Christmas with me and my mom tomorrow?" Midoriya smiles, his bruising eye already swollen half closed.
"Ah— y-yeah, sure," Toshinori stammers at the abrupt change in subject, "wait— are you sure? If she rarely gets the holidays off, I don't want to intrude—"
"You're not!" Midoriya exclaims, and with that, his childlike demeanor is back, all excitable energy and impulsive chatter. "You're not, All Might, I promise. We'll make extra food and hot cocoa and—"
"Okay, okay," Toshinori coughs weakly, fondness for the child bubbling within him like a fountain. He ruffles his hair a little more vigorously than usual before letting him go. "If your mother will have me— and you'll check with her tonight, for me, you promise?— I'd be delighted to join you both for Christmas."
Midoriya is re-energized as if he's just won the lottery, and the final moments of their walk to his apartment are filled with more of his chatter ("We have board games, I think, do you like board games, All Might?... 'Mastermind'? I think I have it somewhere, yeah! I'll go dig through my closet tonight, I also have 'Scrabble' and 'Battleship' and—"). When they reach his apartment, the boy has already tired himself out again. He earnestly thanks Toshinori for 'the best Christmas Eve ever, thank you thank you thank you All Might—' before heading for the door.
"Oh, and Midoriya?" Toshinori calls out after a thoughtful pause. Midoriya turns around sleepily.
"Yeah, All Might?"
"To better answer you earlier— you already have."
Midoriya scrunches his nose in confusion, stepping aside as a small heap of snow slides down from the roof siding above. "Have what?"
"Helped me." Saved me, is what he really means. But he's still working on this vulnerability thing, remember?
Midoriya Inko ushers Toshinori into her home bright and early Christmas morning, a cold gust of wind trailing in after him and slamming the door shut with a whoosh. Warmth and the smells of a still-cooking breakfast embrace him like a blanket. His fears about intruding on the Midoriya’s holiday begin to melt away, too, in the face of Inko’s clear delight to have him. She is as purely expressive as her son is; she grasps his hands with hers after he bows low and thanks her for sharing this day with him.
“I’ve seen the change in him over the last half a year,” she says, voice wobbling. “And I think you’re to thank in large part. He… he has so much more confidence, now. I don’t know what motivated you to take him under your wing, Mr. Yagi, but I’ve been wishing for someone like you for a long time.” It’s her turn to give a small bow. “Thank you— for believing in my son."
Toshinori can’t give much of a reply to that other than an earnest nod. His damn throat has betrayed him by clogging itself up, again.
The tree the Midorya’s have set up is small and a little lopsided. “I didn’t have much time off of work to go find a tree with Izuku… we ended up going kind of late in the season. There weren’t many options left,” Inko explains, rubbing the back of her head in slight embarrassment. The tree is adorned in mismatched ornaments, many of which look as though they’ve been crafted by young hands. Toshinori catches Izuku’s school pictures glued onto a couple of them. He thinks the whole thing is rather adorable. “It’s perfect,” he says sincerely.
“He’s here? Hi, All Mi– eee I mean, Mr. Yagi, good morning! Merry Christmas!” Midoriya makes his grand entrance by rushing down the stairs excitedly— two at a time, from the sounds of— turning the corner and screeching to a halt before he can run straight into his mentor, socked feet nearly slipping in the process. He looks up at Toshinori sheepishly. “Oops,” he breathes out, “Sorry. Hi.”
“Hi.” Toshinori ruffles the boy’s hair warmly. “Merry Christmas, Young Midoriya.”
“Izuku, why don’t you show Mr. Yagi around? Breakfast will be ready soon.” Inko eyes her son’s excitement with amusement, fixing the neck of her apron as she heads back into the kitchen.
Before he knows it Toshinori is whisked away on a tour, Midoriya pointing out the obvious (“This is our living room, um, where we watch TV and stuff”) along with denying the obvious (“Ummm, I know my room has a lot of posters of you, but… I’m not a crazy fanboy, I swear!”). The Midoriya’s home is warmly colored, filled with homey clutter where Toshinori’s feels stark. It's holds the sounds of Inko, who pokes her head out of the kitchen, spatula in hand as she gently interrupts her son's chatter with a request to come and help serve breakfast. It holds Midoriya, who's sheer joy at having both his mother and his hero with him on Christmas Day practically radiates off him in contagious waves.
(If his remaining Christmases are going to look anything like this— if the Midoriyas will have him, of course— then he'll dare to say it. He'd loved those previous chapters in his life, it's true. But this one may already be his favorite yet.)
They exchange their gifts (Midoriya, much to Toshinori's amusement, gifts Toshinori with a pair of gloves. Midoriya accepts his own gift of earmuffs with a bashful grin. "Well, ah— at least now our sets are complete, right?"). Midoriya pulls out his board games, untouched for so long that he has to shake the dust off of them.
Toshinori and Inko exchange polite, shy smiles as they both try to keep up with Midoriya's attempts to teach them the rules of various games. They eat homemade cookies, and Toshinori gets to know Inko over cups of eggnog. He insists on helping them both clean up the kitchen, afterwards, where they're all sent giggling too hard when Midoriya accidentally sneezes over the full sink, sending sudsy bubbles to soak the fronts of their clothes.
There's a peculiar familiarity in it all. The three of them may be poorly versed in the art of 'traditional festivities', or even in knowing what it means to be a completed family, but they do the best each of them knows how.
And it's more than enough.