Author's Note: This chapter takes place before (L/N) has regained consciousness

For as long as she could remember, Yaoyorozu had hated hospitals. The brick and concrete exterior was so rigid and cold and the entranceway foreboding. Inside lingered the combined odors of dozens of different sanitizing sprays where the monochrome walls seemed to exude a feeling of dread. The doctors and nurses all wore the same scrubs in one of three colors, and the way everyone moved was so robotic. The whole thing seemed so artificial it was off-putting. It lacked the comforts of a home. Of course, she understood why it had to be that way. She understood that hospitals were a place for people to heal, but she could also never shake the fact that they were also a place where people went to die.

A wave of unease washed over her as she stepped inside the building, as if the doors had been holding back an ocean of anxiety and trepidation. Nervously sidestepping a man in a wheelchair, Yaoyorozu made her way up to the front desk, the smell of chemicals stinging her nostrils despite the mask around her face.

"Good afternoon, I'm here to visit (F/N) (L/N)." She said politely.

A young man looked up at her. He didn't appear to be much older than her, but he looked extremely stressed and dark circles had settled under his eyes. "Are you related to the patient?" He asked.

"I'm a friend from school." She explained.

The gentleman glanced her way again, taking note of the uniform she was wearing. "What school?"

"UA Highschool." Yaoyorozu told him. "My teacher should already be here. He said if you called my friend's room, he could verify my identity."

With an irritated sigh, the man kicked against the floor to push his chair to the phone sitting on another countertop behind him. Taking the phone off the receiver, he inquired about a patient named (F/N) (L/N) and asked to be transferred.

After a few minutes on the phone, the man pressed his hand against the mouthpiece and called to her over his shoulder. "What did you say your name was?" He asked.

"Momo Yaoyorozu."

Repeating back the information, the gentleman replaced the phone and swiveled back to face her. He handed her a clipboard with an attached pen over the counter and instructed her to fill out several forms and to return them when she was finished.

"Alright." He said, taking the clipboard back from her. "(L/N) is on floor five, room 509. Take the doors on your left, go down the hall a ways and elevators will be on the right."

"Thank you."

Following the man's instructions, she made her way up to the fifth floor, keeping close to the walls so she wouldn't impede any of the hospital staff. She saw Mr. Aizawa standing in the hallway outside what she assumed must be (L/N)'s room, accompanied by Principal Nezu and the doctor assigned to (L/N).

"I thought the sensory overload was because he couldn't control his quirk." She heard Mr. Aizawa say as she got closer.

"It's quite the opposite, actually." The doctor said. "Perhaps that's how it started, but his condition has advanced to the point where his brain's inability to regulate stimuli has resulted in a deteriorating level of control over his quirk."

"And the drugs you found on him?" Principal Nezu asked.

"We ran some tests, and they appear to be a form of neuroinhibitors. In a way, they function similarly to pain killers."

"Any idea where he might have gotten them?" Asked Aizawa.

"Well, the components are pretty standard." The doctor informed. "Most of them could probably be found in your average drugstore, but it's likely he still needed a prescription to get them from a manufacturer."

"And you think these neuroinhibitors are affecting his ability to control his quirk?"

The doctor nodded. "I would say it's likely the root source of the issue. In moderation, the neuroinhibitors wouldn't do much, but the amount we found in his system indicates he's been abusing them. He likely built up a tolerance and, given everything you've told me about him, became addicted. Now he can only operate in two modes. Either without the drugs he becomes so overwhelmed by the unfamiliar amount of stimuli that he can't function, or the neuroinhibitors dull his senses to a level with which he's comfortable, but his body can no longer register or regulate his quirk."

"What's going to happen to him?" Yaoyorozu asked.

The three adults all turned at the sound of her approach. The doctor looked back at the two teachers who then looked at each other before nodding.

"It's hard to say." The doctor said. "My best guess is one day the drugs won't be enough. His body will eventually create an immunity to them until he loses control completely."

"How long until we reach that point?" Nezu asked.

The doctor shrugged. "It's hard to say." She said. "It could be years, or it could be months. All I can tell you is if he doesn't stop using them soon, it'll cause irreversible damage to his nervous system."

Mr. Aizawa asked Yaoyorozu to give them some more time alone with the doctor before she was allowed to see (L/N). She waited outside the room, nervously fidgeting with the straps of her backpack for a few minuets before the three exited again. Principal Nezu and the doctor walked off, still discussing (L/N)'s condition, and Mr. Aizawa stopped to speak with Yaoyorozu.

"Principal Nezu and I will be leaving shortly to meet Kendo from Class B at (L/N)'s orphanage, but I've given permission for you to stay and visit as long as you'd like."

"Thank you." Yaoyorozu bowed. "Um, why are you meeting with Kendo?"

"She spent a few years there and is familiar with (L/N), so she's offered to accompany us to help gather his personal affects and move them into the dormitories. Of course, we'd normally wait for (L/N) to do it himself, but he's still unconscious, and the staff seem eager to see him gone."

Yaoyorozu frowned beneath her mask, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she saw Mr. Aizawa scowl. But then he pulled his scarf up over his nose and walked away with his hands in his pockets. Adjusting her backpack, she opened the door to (L/N)'s room and took off her mask, carefully placing it in her pocket so it wouldn't crease or fold.

For a few seconds she simply stood in front of the door wringing her hands, unsure of what to do. Mr. Aizawa's words the other day had certainly cut her, and she was ashamed it had taken him pointing out her reckless behavior before she had come to visit him. But pushing those feelings of guilt aside, she slowly approached his bedside. Setting her bag on the floor, she grabbed the back of a chair sitting against the wall and moved it so she could sit next to him.

Yaoyorozu shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she took notice of his many injuries. There was a long series of stitches running along his temple just above the orbital bone and a set of four staples in the top of his head. His left shoulder had a padded, black brace that strapped across his chest, and a heavy cast was wrapped around his right hand where half a dozen metal pins had been inserted. What was perhaps most concerning though, was just how pale he looked. His skin had become a pasty greyish white, which only accentuated the bruising around neck and cheekbones. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand but was afraid of doing anything that might hurt him, so instead she clutched at her skirt, bunching up the fabric in her clenched fists as she sat in silence.

The door opened a few minutes later and a middle-aged nurse in burgundy scrubs walked in, carrying a cloth and a bowl of water. "Oh," she said with a small jump, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone was in here. Oh, no, you don't have to leave. I just need to refill his fluids and change his wrappings; it shouldn't take more than a minute or two."

Yaoyorozu nodded and lowered herself back into her seat as the nurse swapped out the IV drip hanging from the metal stand next to the heart monitor.

"No need to look so grim." The kind woman said. "I know it doesn't look very pleasant, but trust me, your beau will be just fine."

"O-Oh, no, no it isn't like that." Yaoyorozu blushed deeply. "We're not together. We just go to the same school, is all."

The woman looked over at the younger girl and, seeing the red tint in her cheeks, smiled knowingly. "Of course." She smiled. "Well, it's nice of you to visit. The poor thing hasn't had anyone come to see him, other than his teachers. I was beginning to wonder if he was all alone. But it's good to see he has someone who cares about him."

Yaoyorozu hummed and nodded, only half paying attention to what was being said to her as she watched anxiously as the nurse began removing the bandages around (L/N)'s eyes. She'd always wondered what he would look like, what his eyes would look like without the blindfold obscuring his handsome features. A hand jumped to her mouth to stifle her gasp as she saw the angry red burn marks beneath the wrappings. Painful looking blisters covered the damaged skin, and the tissue closest his eyes had been burnt so badly it was now a charred black.

The shock kept hold of her long after the bandages had been replaced and the nurse had left. That image would stay in her mind for the rest of her life. Those old wounds, once long faded, had been opened anew. The skin around his eyes would never fully heal, and she couldn't help but feel it was her fault.

[My Hero Academia]

Taking a deep breath, Kendo placed one hand on the cold metal of the door to the utility room. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had last stepped foot inside this place. So much had happened since then. So much had changed. But the room she found beyond the door was just the same as it ever was. It was like stepping backwards through time, and as she looked around the cold darkened room, she felt like she was eleven years old again.

There was his bed, pushed against the back right corner of the room. She remembered the many nights they'd sat there next to each other, shoulder to shoulder as they talked well into the night, watching the light of the moon pass across the floor. And she would fall asleep with her head on his shoulder and wake the next day to the warmth of his cheek atop her hair. Heat filled her chest; a faded memory of the warmth she felt during those nights, too scared to admit what it meant.

Tearing her eyes away from the visions of the past, she turned and set the box she had brought to pack his things on top of an old, molding dresser. She hesitated a moment before reaching for the drawers. It felt like an invasion of his privacy to go rifling through his things. Fortunately, the dresser was completely empty. All his clothes had been packed away in his rucksack for the training camp, and that had already been delivered to the dormitories. This just left his schoolbooks and the laptop and headset UA had lent him for his homework, which she tucked carefully into the black satchel they had come in, and a faded, frayed backpack that held half a dozen books. She wondered where he had gotten them from.

Slinging the backpack over her shoulders, Kendo picked up the laptop bag in one hand and was about to grab the empty box when she remembered the drawer in the desk. Turning back around, she slid it open and found herself accidentally dropping the laptop in shock. Inside was a collection of seemingly miscellaneous knickknacks, but she recognized every one. Removing the backpack, she dropped into the rickety chair and slowly began picking out each item one at a time.

There was a handful of origami cranes, the old paper bearing tears and signs of degradation. Mold had begun eating away at dozens of scrap pieces of paper, each one covered in doodles and drawings and poor handwriting she recognized as her own. There were a few loose marbles of varying colors and sizes and an old pawn that had a sliver missing from the top. The more she looked, the more tears built in her eyes until they began rolling down her cheeks. She found an old candy wrapper and a pencil that had been used to the last inch. And buried in the far back was a stuffed bear, its once tan fur matted brown and grey from dust and dirt.

Tenderly, she placed each item in the box. Every single gift she had ever given him. Every note and drawing, every trinket, all of which were so trivial to her at the time, had been kept and horded like a treasure. And as she continued to pack away each item, she stumbled across a crumpled white envelope that bore her name. Taking the paper in shaking hands, she looked down at the kana written by his hand. The characters were clunky and difficult to read, but it was her name. After a few minutes her curiosity won out and she decided to open the envelope.

It was a short letter, only a few sentences long, but the handwriting made deciphering it a challenge.

Itsuka,

I'm sorry I hurt you. I know you probably hate me now, but please don't leave me. I need you.