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AS THE DAYS STRETCHED ON, Y/n's frustration thickened into a palpable weight that pressed down on her chest. More fragments of her memory started trickling back—each one sharp, painful, and disjointed. The flashes came without warning: images of herself in a darkened room, cold steel chains binding her wrists, shadowy figures with cruel voices. These memories crashed into her with visceral intensity, leaving her feeling as though she was drowning, gasping for a reality she no longer recognized.
Yet, amidst the memories of captivity and torture, other moments began to resurface—flickers of the life she had once shared with Todoroki. She recalled stolen glances across bustling office spaces, late nights spent strategizing for missions, and quiet moments where she had felt his reassuring presence. These memories hinted at something beyond mere professionalism, but they were clouded, tinged with ambiguity and confusion.
Her instincts told her there had been something deeper. Why else would Todoroki have been by her side every day since her return? And yet, the thought gnawed at her. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding something back, that despite his constant presence, he was slipping further and further away from her.
One evening, after Midoriya had left and the hospital had quieted, Todoroki entered her room. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows across his face, his expression unreadable, distant. He took his usual seat beside her bed, a comfortable silence settling between them. For a moment, Y/n allowed herself to feel the familiar warmth his presence brought, letting it soothe the ache within her chest.
But the silence soon grew heavy, suffocating.
"Shoto," she finally murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. She was careful with his name, as though it might shatter if spoken too loudly. "I... I keep getting these memories. Some are... terrifying. But others... they feel important, like they mean something."
He didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the floor. The hesitation in his eyes twisted something inside her, an ache she couldn't ignore.
"I remember us... working together, spending hours in the office... you was always there, looking out for me. Wasn't there... more between us?" Her voice trembled, the vulnerability raw and exposed. "I feel like... like you're hiding something from me."
