Izuku wasn't a sickly child when he was younger, he's pretty sure. He didn't seem to get sick any more frequently than his schoolmates did, and he recovered in about the same amount of time, too.
He's had issues with his lungs, though. Allergies that went haywire in the spring months, asthma that would rear its ugly head around the same time and lie dormant in the winter, and pneumonia and other infections that would sometimes chase the end of a cold. Even though he's just about outgrown the worst of it, he can still recall pretty clearly how bad it could get.
His mom was always very calm about it all. When Izuku was younger and thought he was dying after spitting up phlegm and blood in painful coughing fits, his mom would speak in calm tones, have some kind of remedy—sometimes it was a hot drink that tasted of lemons and oranges, sometimes it was soup, or warm saline water to gargle—and by the end of it Izuku would be marveling at how much better he'd feel as she smiled at him and rubbed soothing circles into his back. Even for the back pains that would make it hard for him to sit up, she had a heating pad that worked wonders against the feverish chills and aches.
A stalwart and unwavering support to see him through the worries of sickness when he was at his worst. She was his hero in his earliest years, in a way.
"Thinking deeply there, boy?"
Izuku looks up at the man, eyes lingering on the blood splattered on long fingers and the red smudge on his chin. Even then, his smile is teasing and warm, the moment of weakness forgotten easily in years of adjustment and practice.
"Not really," Izuku says, smiling weakly. "It's not something I have to think too deeply on, I think."
Later sees Izuku calling his mom, and heading to the local pharmacy.
Toshinori bids an amicable farewell to the other teachers and slides the office door close.
He has papers to grade, tucked neatly into the folders he carries under his left arm. They're short responses to the exercise from the other day, the bulk of them already checked over and graded, so it won't take him long to get through the rest.
Toshinori can't help the small smile that forms as he thinks over the ones he has graded. Measurement of analytical skills and forward thought aside, it's a nice look into their individual selves, beyond the obvious that he sees in day-to-day interactions. The sheer personality and regard for their fellow classmates that each of his students has. Some are a little more aggressive, certainly, and some read like the most tedious of dissertations, but there's a certain degree of understanding that he can see. Growth, from when they first started out at the beginning of the year.
They're a good group of kids, he thinks fondly, rolling his shoulders. They've all got spirit.
Things in this hero's society are… worrying, lately—his retirement being both his own decision and of necessity does not mean that he doesn't sometimes wonder if there was anything different he could have done—and thinking about how it could affect his students is a way he sometimes finds himself spending his free time. There are natural consequences of his presence, of his retirement, of his secret getting out, that he is not in control of. Some of them affect his students in obvious ways, like the reporters that won't be placated and continue hovering around the campus gates; some of them less obvious and more of the general waves that he has created that affect the citizenry as a whole.
But, Toshinori straightens with a grunt, rubbing a knot in his lower back with his free hand. It's not really anything that can be helped with idle worrying. He can't be a pro hero anymore, but what he can do is try to help these kids as much as he is still capable. And stewing over what has already occurred won't aid him in that goal.
Toshinori rounds a corner into the main hall, and after of moment of surprise, smiles. "Midoriya-boy! Good afternoon," he reaches out to clap the boy's shoulder when Midoriya rushes over, all wide-eyes and nervous energy. "What are you doing on school grounds on a Sunday?"
There's suddenly a lot of neon-bright colors in his vision.
Toshinori blinks, thoughts stalling.
"What's the occasion? But thank you," he quickly amends, carefully taking the colorful bag with the familiarly patterned red-white-and-blue tissue paper. The colors clash with the sky-blue of the bag, the bright arrangement making him smile.
"No occasion, really," Midoriya says, eyes briefly darting away. "I just thought that you could use it. Because you're coughing so often…"
Toshinori pauses. Coughing? Is it medicine? It seems a little heavy for that… He coughs into a fist, warmed by the consideration. "Thank you for thinking of me, but it's really not much of an issue. While I appreciate the thought I really shouldn't be taking any over-the-counter medi—"
"It's not medicine," Midoriya says quickly. "Just—even if it doesn't cause a lot of problems now, I kinda figured that you—your posture and—stuff… You can give it to Gran Torino if you really don't need it."
… What? Toshinori lifts up the bag, staring closer at it. Midoriya jolts.
"Anyway, I should get going?" The question ends with an upwards lilt, and Midoriya laughs, a sound tinged with nervous energy and relief in equal parts. "I hope it helps, even if it's just a little. I'll see you later, uh, tomorrow. My mom says hi!"
The boy disappears in a rush around the corner, and Toshinori watches him go with a fond if bemused smile. Midoriya gets nervous about the oddest things, sometimes, but underneath it all is a steely determination that makes the core of his character.
Thoughtful, and with a heart that some of the less agreeable heroes would thoughtlessly call weak, but able to pick himself up after every fall. A near-dangerous selflessness tempered through his experiences and sharp mind.
Toshinori heads home to eat and finish his grading, and it's after the sun has set that his gaze travels to the colorful bag mid-stretch.
That's right, he remembers, reaching out to grab the handles. He'd meant to open it sooner, but Mic had tracked him down not long after Midoriya left to pass him his jacket that he'd left in the office, and then Gran Torino called, taking up his time on the commute home. Before he knew it so much time had passed already…
Toshinori winces at a twinge in his back and places the bag on his lap with one hand, rubbing at his lower back with the other.Torino-sensei talks a lot, he thinks absently, equal parts exasperated and sheepish. His gaze falls back to the colorful arrangement and he leans back into his chair.
He pushes the tissue paper with the back of his hand and reaches into the bag. He holds the box he pulls out with both hands as he inspects the sides, turns it over and reads the bold lettering on the front.
Toshinori thinks back to their conversation, realizes the boy's worry, and laughs—a full, grateful sound.
Practical, is the first thing he thinks, but it's also an item for comfort in the most obvious sense. Something he never really thought necessary enough to get for himself, but that he can imagine using frequently as it is available. Following that particular battle his back had been prone to then-unfamiliar pains, something aggravated further by his coughing. It's a gift he appreciates.
It's a gift that not many people would think to gift to the hero All Might, secret revealed or no. Not even for a special occasion, but for a simple worry of comfort. Of care.
Toshinori smiles down at the box. Later sees him dozing peacefully on the couch with the heating pad fit snuggly around his back.
He makes a mental note to thank Midoriya and his mother for the gift.
(Torino-sensei does use it for his own aching back, sometimes, but this is one of the few things Toshinori refuses to relinquish to that terrifying mentor of his. It was gifted to him, after all.)