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Todoroki Enji was born in the summer; a perfect season to match his temper. The cicadas sing amidst the hot weather, and despite that, you could hear children playing in the neighbourhood. It was the school holidays, after all, and everyone was looking forward to their plans.
You looked at the clock upon hearing footsteps descending the stairs. 10:45 am. He woke up a little late and perhaps more refreshed. The cold noodles were ready to be eaten and you had just finished cutting up half a watermelon to battle the summer’s heat.
“Who are you?”, you could feel a twinge in your heart—once, a profound pain that had long diminished through time, yet it was never to heal. You straightened yourself and patted your wet hands on the apron before you turned to face him with a smile. There was caution in his eyes, but you could see that he was not entirely on guard either.
“I’m (y/n)”, you answered.
There was a kind of familiarity in your presence that Enji couldn’t quite place. He would undoubtedly immobilize any intruder that dared enter his home, but he was strangely comforted despite having failed to recognize you. Perhaps there was some kind of truth in the post-it note he found by his bedside table.
Trust (y/n).
Enji would’ve refuted it, but how could he, when the strokes of the letters were a result of his very own penmanship? His writing is hard to replicate, and Enji could easily spot the errors if the note were to be forged by another’s hand. Thus, he concluded that you were someone he could indeed trust.
He sat a distance away as you ate the cold noodles together. You could sense that he was still exercising a bit of caution, but it didn’t bother you. You maintained the space between the two of you until it was time to wash the dishes. Enji was adamant, offering to clear the kitchen since you were the one who had done the cooking. You ceased to argue and handed your bowl to him. He noticed the glint of a golden band around your finger. This woman is married. Which begs the question: what is a married woman doing in his home? Still, he said nothing as he decided to trust the note he had left for himself.
You seemed to know his home like the back of your hand. You knew where the dishes went and could locate the laundry room when you went off with a heap of clothes in your arms. You knew he liked kuzumochi, and could tell him which shelf the coffee was in (he was testing you). He noticed the unevenly spaced picture frames on the walls of the living room. It was as if there should be a few more in between, so he inspected it and found out that there were indeed holes where the frame hooks should be. The discolouring of the wall almost made the lines of long-gone photos nearly unnoticeable.
It looks like the photos were up long enough to make up the lines, and had been taken down quite some time ago for the wear to obscure the evidence. It feels as if his memory had betrayed him; as if he was gone for too long that he failed to recall what were the images that hung on the wall. When it was starting to hurt, Enji left for his office.
He saw you tending the herb garden under the hot sun and frowned. You didn’t have anything to shield you from the sun, so he took the sunhat from the gardening shed nearby and placed it over your head. And of course, he had to scold you when he did it.
“You’re always so reckless…”, he sighed. Always. Why did he say always?
“Thank you”, you smiled and returned your attention to the garden when Enji once again made his way to his supposed destination.
He needed answers, and surely, he must’ve left clues for himself to piece the puzzles together.
**
“I want a divorce”
The statement had startled you. Your husband had just returned from who knows where and he dropped that bomb on you with a tone of finality. The day had started so wonderfully and you tried to backtrack the events that could probably lead to his decision. Nothing. You tried to recall the previous week’s events. Did you do anything that is worthy to call for a divorce? None. Of course, there were disagreements, but it was nothing so severe that could bring up any idea of separation.
“Did Keigo put you up to this?”, you could only laugh in response, thinking that it might’ve been a prank that his mischievous friend had proposed. It was your way of denying the solemnity in your husband’s expression. You didn’t want to believe it. Enji was never good at lying; you know his tells very well. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you tried to look, there was none of it. Before Enji could open his mouth to say something, you had gotten up and shook your head.
“No. I don’t want to talk about this. Not yet”, not ever. He watched as you cleaned your mug quietly and left the dining room. You left him there and went to nap in your shared bedroom, hoping it was all a bad dream.
You woke a little past 5 pm, feeling groggy and heavy. You could feel the growing migraine, so you took some meds from the bathroom cabinet before heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner. A delicious smell wafts in the air as you walked closer to the kitchen, and you found Enji was already halfway done with his cooking.
“You’re up…”, he acknowledged with a soft, yet weary smile. “I made your favourite…”
Was this the act of a man who wishes for a divorce? Was he making it harder on purpose? Many thoughts went through your mind, yet you buried them six feet under, caring not to mourn them and walked into the space where Enji was.
Your husband could see the delight in your eyes as you looked at the meals he had prepared. You looked so lovely and all he ever wished for is for you to be happy. Enji didn’t bring up the subject of divorce until the following morning. He never wanted you to go to sleep unhappy, so he waited even though he was slowly running out of time.
The nightmare came to haunt you when Enji brought the subject up again. Your ire rose and you couldn’t help the suspicion. Could it be…
“Is it another woman?”, your voice was laced with venom. You were brewing his morning tea and had a few pork buns steaming in the multicooker.
Enji was taken aback by your accusation; he could’ve recoiled at the mere mention of it. He would never, ever cheat on you. That would be the stupidest mistake he could ever make.
“No…”
“Am I not enough for you?”, your response was almost immediate and Enji was barely able to keep up. Not enough? How could you ever be not enough? You are bigger than life itself; with a heart so generous that you could even love a man such as him. How much luckier can Todoroki Enji be?
“More than enough”, his voice was close to cracking as he spoke those words. To assure you that it was not your fault. You were sniffling quietly, with your eyes affixed to the floor. Your neck was strained, and you could feel the white-hot heat surging through your veins. You were glad that you were still standing because you were pretty convinced that your legs would’ve given up on you.
Enji held his breath when your hand slammed the table before you asked one last question.
“Do you not love me anymore?”, you could feel tiny needles pricking your skin, and it didn’t help that Enji was silent. Did he really not love you anymore? You fought the sinking feeling so you could glance at him. What will his expression be? Relief? Happiness?
But you were confused… because he looked just like how you felt. Dejected. Broken. Your senses kicked in, and it was funny how love could easily overpower your pain because the first thing you wanted to do was put a smile on your husband’s lips. You would burn the whole world just to see him happy.
Enji could feel the quake beneath your fingers as you cupped his face. He knew you well, so he could tell how hard you were holding it all together just for him.
“What is it, baby? Why won’t you tell me?”. Enji fell to his knees and you quickly followed, reflexively wrapping your arms around his bigger form in hopes it could provide him with some sort of comfort. His little sobs broke your heart, and you let him cover his face with his hand as he cried.
Todoroki Enji had never really cried; other than the time he was born. Apart from that, it was pretty much a blur. He swallowed his sorrows whole and kept them locked in his very own pandora’s box. How great must the pain be to the point that he could no longer encapsulate it?
“I don’t want to forget you…”, he cried, holding your hands tightly in his.
“What do you mean?”, you were in desperate need of answers. It took Enji a while to settle down and regain his composure. Even then, it broke your heart to see his beautiful blue eyes to be rimmed with red. Todoroki Enji felt so small, he could easily fit in the palm of your hand. And thus, he told you the reason why he wanted the divorce.
Dementia. It was fucking dementia. He had been slipping at work for months; unable to concentrate at work, losing his usual finesse in completing tasks that he was usually good at. But his colleagues didn’t mind because of how good he is at it. They blamed it on his age and told him to retire early. The commission offered him a hefty pension with extra benefits considering his status as one of the top scorers in the department. Of course, it was good and all, but that wasn’t his concern.
Todoroki Enji’s condition meant that he would have to divorce you, but gods forbid that it was ever his wish to leave you behind. He didn’t want to forget you. Not your beautiful face that he was so used to waking up to and going to bed with. Not your lovely voice and tender lips, and your musical laughter. He didn’t want to give it all up, but his memory didn’t allow him to remember you either. Just the other day he tried to recall your favourite colour and remembering had proven to become a great struggle. Enji quickly made a journal about you, to make sure he doesn’t forget the important things. Thankfully, he still remembered your favourite food.
“Baby… Enji…”, you sternly called for his attention, making sure he was looking at you before you started speaking. “I’ll stay with you”
“But I’ll forget you…”, his heart raced at the thought again. Memories of you slowly fade away to nothingness.
“And our bad times”, you tried to joke, and thankfully it earned you a little chuckle out of him.
“One of us needs to remember our love. Just so it wouldn’t disappear”, you sounded so hopeful and Enji was convinced that the two of you could endure anything. Anything at all…
So you kissed and held each other as much as you could. Spend the days with one another, uttering his name as he utters yours over and over again like an endless chant. Enji’s fading memories are akin to watching a last sunset at the beach. You could only stand by and cherish its beauty before it gradually fades into the horizon. You will enjoy it as much as you can, to embrace Enji until he could no longer remember your face and your name. Until the darkness finally blankets the orange sunset.
You remember the first day he no longer recognized you. It felt as if you were stabbed with a scorching knife, but you had to smile because you promised you would stay.
**
Every day, you would find post-it notes placed randomly around the house. All of them are about you. The day always begins with caution, with notes filled with curiosity and a need to find out. As the day shifts to night, you realize how the messages change to writings with a familiar tone.
Enji was long asleep when you entered his room to check on him. He was sleeping so soundly, allowing you to steal a quick peck on his cheek. As you made your way out of the room, you felt a piece of paper against your foot, so you squatted down to pick it up.
(y/n), I don’t remember anything about us, but I feel like I have loved you. Thank you.
You wiped off the escaped tear at the side of your eye and tuck the note carefully into a box filled with all of his notes. Enji’s memory may have failed him, but his feelings do not. And you will continue to love him, even in the darkness of the night.