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As Japan's number one hero, All Might had been practically drowning in attention, surrounded by beautiful women, fawned over and adored. It wasn’t as if he’d been short on opportunities for romance
But as All Might, not as Toshinori.
Not a man, but the Symbol of Peace.
So, when you helped him chase his oranges down a steep street after his grocery bag ripped on his way home from the store, he was completely caught off guard by your flirtatious smile and the extremely obvious way you were checking him out.
Him. Toshinori. Not All Might.
Not the muscles or the status; just his scrawny and discombobulated self in his most natural state. He was slow, ungainly, the wound on his left side throbbing painfully as his groceries widened the gap, making a valiant bid for freedom. If not for you stepping in and saving them, they might have been lost for good.
"Thank you," he panted as you handed him the three fruits you were holding in your hands. “What a mess.”
"It's no problem, I think we got everything. You know what they say… when life gives you oranges."
Oh god, you were pretty and a dork too? Heat prickled on his cheeks as he struggled to hold the unbagged groceries; a glass jar of gari precariously close to slipping from his sweating palm.
"Ah, that's not gonna work, is it?" You took a few of the things out of his arms to ease his burden and gave him another smile which made his heart thump faster. “Um… I can run into a store and grab you another bag. Hold on.”
You took off before he could protest, leaving him standing there in the street with hands full of ingredients and the torn plastic grocery bag fluttering in his grasp. It gave him a chance to collect his thoughts.
Boy, you were pretty. Sweet. Helpful. And you told bad jokes. Every time your eyes met his, your gaze gave him butterflies.
Part of him wanted to ask for your number. A tiny part. A very quiet and meek part.
The rest of him wanted to run away before you got back and he embarrassed himself further.
But then… you had his gari, the good stuff. Maybe that’s what this was– an elaborate robbery. Maybe the only interest you had in him was for his pickled ginger, nori sheets, and oranges.
Yeah… that made sense.
More sense than you being interested in him anyway.
Gosh, he was no good at this. He’d lost his impressive physique, his hero ranking– all the things that used to attract attention. And even back then, even at the top of his game he'd never had to ask. Phone numbers and addresses were thrown at him like confetti. Not that he'd ever done anything with them. He was always too busy, too concerned about the safety of civilians, too dedicated to his hero work. There was always that underlying fear that loving someone meant putting them in danger. Besides, they wanted All Might, not Toshinori.
And now he was retired, staring fifty dead in the eyes, and he'd never even so much as kissed anyone. Not really. It was too late for him now.
“Here!” you panted, running toward him with two grocery bags.
“My hero,” he said with a genuine smile, carefully placing his groceries in the bag. Somehow your presence made him calmer, quieted his overthinking brain. “Thank you for your help.”
“It’s no problem at all.” You put the groceries you’d been holding into the bag. “They don’t make them like they used to, ey?”
“Huh? Oh, the bags? Yeah,” he chuckled, shrugging his narrow shoulders.
You gazed up at him and gave him a little slanted smile. "Well, I'll be seeing you–"
"Wait!" What was he doing?? "Uh. I didn't thank you."
"You did. Twice actually."
"Uh…" The warmth across his face turned to shameful heat. He was acting like a weirdo, and certain that at any moment you would start backing away slowly. "Ah."
But you didn't back away. You simply stood there watching him. Maybe it was the glow of the setting sun or maybe the world had granted him mercy, but your cheeks looked pink too.
He cleared his throat and so did you.
"Could I–?"
"–get your number?"
Toshinori's jaw dropped before a burst of laughter bubbled up through him. God he was practically giddy. He could've backflipped. "For real? Um… yeah…"
"You're cute," you said, laughing quietly too.
Cute? At forty-nine? Heck, he'd take it. You made him feel like a puppy anyway; he'd even bark if you asked. "Can I take you out for dinner sometime? To thank you properly."
"I'd love that," you said with a smile so radiant it may as well have been midday. “Not to thank me though. Just because.”
“Just because? Oh…wow.” Gee wilikers.
You exchanged numbers– and names– and as he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he couldn't help but grin. Oh he was sure he looked like a madman but he was too happy to care.
"Well, I'll see you around, Toshinori."
Toshinori! Not All Might! Toshinori! "Yeah, I'll call you. Or you can call me…"
"We'll see who breaks first."
He laughed. "Yeah."
And as you parted ways, that grin of his couldn't be removed with a crowbar. That something so wonderful could come from a flimsy grocery bag; he was almost proud of himself for seizing the opportunity.
"When life gives you oranges…" he chuckled, and made his way back home.
***
“MIDORIYA, WHAT DO I DO???” Toshinori barely made it through the front door of his home before the panic set in. “Do I call her or wait for her to call me? And do I call her right away like I want to or do I wait and play it cool? But then maybe she’ll think I’m not serious about it and I am, Midoriya, I’m very very serious.”
“Uhh…” the boy’s shaky voice came hesitantly through the phone as Toshinori gripped it so tight it was a wonder it didn’t implode. “I– I’m not sure. I’m not exactly great at talking to girls either.”
What was he doing? Why on earth was he calling the sweetest but most hopeless teenage nerd he’d ever met in his life and asking him for dating advice? He set his groceries on the counter and mentally flipped through his contacts. Midoriya’s rambling was little more than white noise as Toshinori pondered.
And came up with nothing. Nothing.
Decades of helping others and not one of his friends would be any use at all when it came to romance.
“Ah jeez,” he sighed, smacking his forehead against the kitchen cupboard in despair.
“I’m sorry, sir!” Midoriya yelped, hearing the thud. “M-maybe Miss Midnight would be able to help better than–”
“Midnight! Midoriya, you’re a genius!”
“Aw… haha, thanks All Might.”
Toshinori felt a little better as he ended the call, turning to get a glass of water and collect his thoughts. But as he drank, the pain in his side throbbed harshly, the coppery taste at the back of his throat giving him only a second on two to get to the kitchen sink and spit blood down the drain. A shudder ran through him, as he gripped the edge of the counter with white-peaked fists, breathing through the agony, cold sweat beading on his furrowed brow.
The damage to his body was getting worse. Even a short downhill sprint was too much for him now. The wound was old, one he had been living with for years… and it seemed that more and more frequently, it liked to remind him he wouldn’t be living with it for very much longer.
There was nothing to be done but grit his teeth and endure.
“I AM HERE! I AM HERE!” his phone yelled and buzzed at him from the counter. Your name flashed up on the screen and turned his blood cold. You were calling him— YOU WERE CALLING HIM?! YOU BROKE FIRST?!?
Grabbing his phone from the counter, he fumbled with the device, his hands suddenly too big and clumsy, as though they were somebody else’s entirely and it was his first day using them. But finally, he got it under control and answered the call, leaning against the kitchen counter for support as he brought the phone to his ear and exhaled slowly. “Oh hey you, how’s it goin’?”
God he hoped he sounded at least a little bit cool and not at all like he felt; weird, awkward, and burning up just from the promise of hearing your voice again. He wiped the sweat from his brow onto his sleeve and turned his back on the blood-spattered sink.
“Just making sure you made it home with all your groceries,” you said.
He chuckled, feeling a little lighter just from speaking to you. “Ah, yeah, I’m home. Thanks again for your help.”
“It’s no problem at all.”
“Maybe not to you but I’d formed a deep emotional attachment to those oranges. You saved me from a long night of devastation. You know what they say, a true hero can’t simply cit-rus by and watch others struggle.”
Your sweet laugh on the other end of the line made his cheeks grow warm. He placed his hand on his chest and smiled, simply listening to the lovely sound of it. Talking to you was easy. You possessed a rare ability to make him feel wonderful; a feeling he hadn’t come close to in years.
“I’m happy juice-tice prevailed in the end,” you replied, your terrible pun making his heart flutter against his palm, his laughter coming easier than it had in months.
He’d plummeted from the sky before now but never fallen as fast or as hard as he was for you. You made him feel normal in the best possible way. Heck, you made him feel handsome. The easy flow of conversation emboldened him, and before he could fill his own head with doubt, he took the plunge. “So, I did promise you dinner.” He steeled his nerve, curling his fist at his hip. “I know a really nice place… if you'd still like to join me. Maybe… tomorrow evening?”
The few seconds of silence which followed seemed to last decades. For a man who had spent most of his life followed by the press, having every detail of his life meticulously recorded for posterity, he had never felt so exposed.
“That sounds absolutely perfect, Toshinori,” you replied, your voice warm, welcoming and— dare he hope— excited? “So… what do I wear?”
He didn’t need to use his quirk to feel like he was on top of the world at that moment. By the time you hung up he was beaming, heart racing like a rabbit in his chest.
Thank god he had one suit which fit him decently well.
All Might had tons of suits; nice ones tailored to his 560 lb, muscular frame. But Toshinori was 400 lbs lighter, still coming in at seven feet and three inches tall– albeit somewhat slouched. He couldn't exactly buy off the rack.
Still, as he got dressed the next evening, donning the navy blue suit he wore to important meetings, he actually liked what he saw in the mirror. He liked this version of himself; not a symbol but a man. A man who was honestly very nervous, but excited too. A man who spent a few– alright, fifteen– minutes too long choosing the right bouquet on his way to pick you up, and had to speed walk the rest of the way to your home, because there was no way he was going to let this date be anything less than perfect.