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AS THE DAYS PASSED, Y/N'S FRUSTRATION GREW. The sterile hospital walls felt more confining with each sunrise, as if they pressed her to remember things that hovered just beyond reach. Each morning, she woke to an unsettling emptiness, a hollow space where her memories should be. And though she tried to be brave for her friends, the weight of her lost past gnawed at her.
Midoriya was her constant companion, filling her room with mementos of happier days, that he knew of, in the hope that something might spark a memory. Today, he arrived with a small stack of photos, shuffling them with a hopeful grin.
"Here's one from the last office event," he said, handing her a picture. In it, Y/n and her friends were laughing, and she stood beside Todoroki, both of them looking a little uncomfortable in their formal attire but smiling nonetheless.
Y/n forced a smile, staring at her own face, a stranger's eyes staring back at her. "I... I look happy here."
"You were," Midoriya said gently, though his voice wavered with concern. "We all were"
Despite Midoriya's patience and his efforts to revive these moments, each memory felt like sand slipping through her fingers. The repeated failures chipped away at her resolve, her laughter fading with each passing attempt.
From the doorway, Todoroki watched, silently wrestling with his own guilt. He was grateful for Midoriya's support, but he couldn't ignore the gnawing ache in his chest – a part of him wanted to step forward, to be the one helping Y/n piece together her memories. Yet, Bakugou's harsh words haunted him. "You're supposed to be a hero! You're supposed to protect people! And she's not just anyone; she's the damn love of your life!"
Was she? Todoroki couldn't tell anymore. He had always kept his emotions in check, choosing not to love so deeply that he couldn't keep his heart guarded. But now, as he saw her fragile state, he felt as if she was slipping further from him. Did he love her, or was he only racked with guilt?
Meanwhile, Bakugou's frustration had shifted into something more productive. He patrolled the hallway outside Y/n's room, determined to guard her. He would leave only after ensuring she was asleep each night, his own sense of guilt carving a silent but powerful resolve within him. In her presence, he softened in subtle ways that seemed foreign, careful not to show his usual roughness. His voice, though still gruff, carried a gentleness that Y/n noticed – one of the first things that made her curious.
