The last time, Paul clutched him tight with a knot in his chest. The last time, Midoriya offered him his hand in a promise.
The favor is mostly for Paul. The only selfishness Midoriya allows himself is the desire not to lose a friend or see sadness shroud his face--hypothetical or presently existing. He once spoke to a little girl with the same downcast expression and misgivings about her own power. Midoriya realizes with a horrible not-entirely-internal jolt that only a grain of Paul's regret can be seen in his carefully controlled stillness. It takes everything in him to swallow against the tightness in his throat and not smother his friend in a tearful hug.
Paul mustn't think of his power as a curse, or worse, as an inevitability that carves future events in stone. Midoriya knows, far too well, that a--complicated--power can still be a blessing.
"It wouldn't be better. Whether or not you told me... Whether or not we even met, whether or not you came to Trench, I would still have been there fighting, until I couldn't anymore."
An assurance of his continued perseverance should be spoken with the gusto of the battle-ready. Here, it is instead a quiet truth that very gently brushes aside prophecy and visions like the veil of a weeping willow. His voice only barely trembles, because he wants to give Paul something stronger to hold onto.
"I don't want you to feel bad about your power. You saved me with it. Twice, I think. If you can't control it..." he extends his hand, opens it and the scars there, "then you shouldn't carry the knowledge alone."
no subject
The favor is mostly for Paul. The only selfishness Midoriya allows himself is the desire not to lose a friend or see sadness shroud his face--hypothetical or presently existing. He once spoke to a little girl with the same downcast expression and misgivings about her own power. Midoriya realizes with a horrible not-entirely-internal jolt that only a grain of Paul's regret can be seen in his carefully controlled stillness. It takes everything in him to swallow against the tightness in his throat and not smother his friend in a tearful hug.
Paul mustn't think of his power as a curse, or worse, as an inevitability that carves future events in stone. Midoriya knows, far too well, that a--complicated--power can still be a blessing.
"It wouldn't be better. Whether or not you told me... Whether or not we even met, whether or not you came to Trench, I would still have been there fighting, until I couldn't anymore."
An assurance of his continued perseverance should be spoken with the gusto of the battle-ready. Here, it is instead a quiet truth that very gently brushes aside prophecy and visions like the veil of a weeping willow. His voice only barely trembles, because he wants to give Paul something stronger to hold onto.
"I don't want you to feel bad about your power. You saved me with it. Twice, I think. If you can't control it..." he extends his hand, opens it and the scars there, "then you shouldn't carry the knowledge alone."