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“How are you feeling today, young Midoriya?” Toshinori found himself asking—again.
It was the same routine, every day. Wake up. Visit the hospital. Ask Midoriya how he was feeling. Answer the boy’s question—who are you?—and repeat.
The war might have ended, but some people’s fights hadn’t.
“I think… okay, today, All Might, sir.”
All Might, sir. Not a hint of familiarity. No warmth. It was all gone—knocked clean out of Izuku Midoriya the moment he’d taken a blow to the head, only moments after helping win Japan’s war.
Toshinori dipped his head with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
Silence settled between them, as it so often did now. Toshinori would sit at Midoriya’s bedside for the rest of the day anyway, filling the hours with small, careful kindnesses: a greeting to Inko when she slipped in between shifts, a nod to Shinsou when he came to visit his friend.
Because Toshinori wasn’t the only one Midoriya had forgotten.
“Temporally graded retrograde amnesia.”
“I’m sorry—what does that mean?”
“It means he can’t hold on to recent memories,” the doctor said gently. “The older ones are likely intact. But the closer you get to the present, the more easily they slip away.”*
The clinical explanation for why Midoriya couldn’t remember anything past the day he’d been attacked by the sludge villain. Toshinori’s chest still ached every time he thought about it. He’d been there for that conversation—close enough to catch the careful tone of the doctor’s voice, close enough to catch Inko before she fell, when her legs gave out and she folded into sobs.
“So he doesn’t remember having a quirk? At all?”
“No,” the doctor had said, quiet and solemn. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s a lot on your mind today, All Might.”
Midoriya’s voice was quiet, more observation than question, but his gaze lingered all the same. Toshinori forced himself to meet those green eyes—eyes that had once been full of restless brightness and hope. Now they held a softer, dulled sheen, and the difference was painfully striking.
“There’s always a lot on my mind, young man,” Toshinori replied.
Midoriya hummed softly, shifting against the sheets like he couldn’t get comfortable. His eyes flicked up again, cautious but curious. “About me?”
“I—” Toshinori hesitated, then deflated. “Yes.”
“Y’know… I didn’t ever think that All Might would be sitting in a hospital room with me. Let alone, uh, looking like—” He waved his hand around, laughing sheepishly. “But… from what you’ve told me, we were close, right? That’s really cool.”
Toshinori swallowed hard, willing the sting in his eyes to fade. It wasn’t his place to cry. Midoriya was the one hurt—the one who couldn’t remember any of the wonders and joys he’d lived through at UA. Of having a quirk.
“Oh—I’m sorry, All Might! Please don’t be upset!”
He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it.
“No, it’s okay—it’s not your fault, Midoriya. I promise.”
“Isn’t it…?”
Toshinori reached out before he could stop himself, folding the boy’s hands into his own. “No. Never. You did amazing, my boy. You saved us all. I’m just…” His throat tightened. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you.”
Midoriya cocked his head, then let out a small, breathy laugh. “Even if I can’t remember everything, I still remember you saving me that day. From the sludge villain.” His fingers shifted in Toshinori’s grasp, a careful squeeze. “So you… you did still save me, All Might. And you keep doing it. Just by being here.” He glanced down, then back up, shy and sincere. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
A sharp knock at the door made them both startle. Toshinori began to draw his hands back on instinct, but Midoriya’s fingers tightened around his, anchoring him in place. Their eyes met. Midoriya’s smile was small, steady, and he gave a tiny nod—okay. Stay.
“Hey, Midoriya. All Might.” Familiar purple hair and tired eyes appeared in the doorway, the sliding door clicking softly shut behind him. Shinsou looked worn down to the edges, like he hadn’t quite slept right in days. Not an unusual sight.
“Hi, Shinsou.” Midoriya brightened instantly, cheeks flushing a gentle red.
Toshinori felt his mouth tug into something like a smile. Even without the memories, Midoriya still reached for people like it was breathing—quick to trust, quick to bond. It had always been one of the things Toshinori admired most.
“I think you’re going to be fine, young man.”
“Huh?” Midoriya turned back to him, blinking once, then smiled all over again. “Thank you, All Might.”
Toshinori dipped his head. “Would it be alright if I left you in Shinsou-kun’s care for a little while?”
Midoriya hesitated before his hands loosened and fell back to the blanket. “Yeah. I’ll see you later?” The words came out careful, fragile. Like he was afraid Toshinori might not come back.
“Of course,” Toshinori promised.
The moment he stepped out, the door sliding shut behind him, the hallway swallowing the warmth of the room… his composure finally broke. A few steps down the corridor, he pressed a hand to his mouth and cried.