Found You Again || A Shoto Todoroki Fanfiction ||
warnimgs + a/n : mature themes proceed with caution you have been warned & mdni
genre : really really hardcore angst ( i lowkey cried writing this so please brace yourselves )
words : 3.6k+
The white walls of Musutafu General Hospital felt like a cage to Shoto Todoroki. He stood outside Room 402, his hand hovering over the handle, paralyzed by a paradox: he was the person she loved most in the world, and yet, to the girl behind that door, he was a total stranger.
The "accident" had been a quirk-related collapse during a villain pursuit. Debris had fallen; Y/n had pushed a civilian out of the way, taking a concussive blow to the temporal lobe. The doctors called it focal retrograde amnesia. It was surgical in its precision. She remembered her parents, her childhood home, her favorite flavor of tea, and her training at U.A. High.
But the last three years—the years defined by Shoto—were a static-filled void.
When Shoto finally entered, Y/n was propped up against the pillows, sunlight catching the [e/c] of her eyes. She looked radiant, which made the twist in his chest hurt even more.
"Oh, hello!" she chirped, her voice light and devoid of the intimate cadence he was used to. "Are you another one of Midoriya’s classmates? He said a few more people might stop by."
Shoto felt the air leave his lungs. He didn't reach for her hand. He didn't lean down to kiss her forehead as he had done every morning for two years. He simply sat in the plastic chair by the bed.
"I’m Shoto Todoroki," he said, his voice level despite the tremor in his soul. "We... we go back a long way."
"Todoroki? The Endeavor’s son?" She tilted her head, a small, polite smile on her face. "I've seen you on the news. It’s nice to meet you, Todoroki-kun."
The honorific -kun felt like a physical blow.
Weeks passed. Shoto visited every day after patrol. He brought her the lilies she loved (though she thanked him as if discovering a new preference) and told her stories of their "mutual friends."
He became a fixture in her recovery—the quiet, handsome hero who told the best stories about Class 1-A. But he was careful. He never spoke of the night they watched the fireworks from his balcony, or the way she used to hum against his chest when she was sleepy.
He was watching her reconstruct a life that had no room for him.
"I think I want to move back to my parents' province once I'm discharged," Y/n said one afternoon, peeling an orange.
"I was looking at my old journals. I talked a lot about wanting to open a small agency in the countryside. It sounds so peaceful, doesn't it?"
Shoto watched her fingers work. They were supposed to move into an apartment in the city next month. The lease was signed. The boxes were half-packed in his current dorm.
"It sounds lovely, Y/n," Shoto lied. "You always did value peace."
"Did I?" She laughed, a sound that used to belong to him. "I feel like I'm meeting myself for the first time. It’s scary, but exciting. I feel like I have this blank map, and I can go anywhere."
Shoto looked at the floor. I was the landmark on your map, he thought. I was the North Star.
One evening, Bakugo cornered Shoto in the hospital hallway.
"How long are you going to do this, Half-and-Half?" Bakugo growled, unusually subdued.
"You're hovering like a ghost. Tell her. Tell her you're her damn boyfriend. THE MAN THAT HELD HER EVERY NIGHT OR ARE YOU REALLY THAT MUCH OF A COWSRD HUH ?"
"The doctors said emotional shocks could trigger a relapse or severe distress," Shoto replied, his expression stoic.
"If I tell her I love her, and she feels nothing but obligation or guilt... I’d be haunting her. I won't do that."
"So you're just going to watch her walk away? Wow that's rich. Even for you. " Bakugo retorted
"I'm going to let her choose," Shoto said, though his hand tightened into a fist until his knuckles turned white. "Even if she doesn't choose me."
The day before her discharge, Shoto found Y/n looking through a box of personal effects the police had recovered from her apartment. She held up a small, silver ring—a simple band he had given her for their second anniversary.
"Todoroki-kun, look," she said, holding it up to the light. "I found this in my jewelry box. There’s an inscription: 'To the light in the frost.' It’s beautiful, isn't it?"
Shoto felt his heart stutter. "Yes. It is."
"I wonder who gave it to me," she mused, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I must have loved them very much. It’s funny... I look at this ring and I feel a tug right here," she gestured to her heart, "but no face comes to mind. It’s like a ghost is hugging me."
Shoto stood up abruptly, the legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. He couldn't do it. He couldn't be the ghost anymore.
"I have to go," he choked out. "Duty calls."
"Oh! Okay. Will I see you tomorrow? I'm heading home to the countryside."
Shoto paused at the door. He didn't look back. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Y/n."
Shoto returned to their—his—apartment. It was filled with the scent of her vanilla perfume and the half-finished books she’d never finish.
He sat on the edge of the bed and realized that he was mourning someone who was still alive. He was a keeper of memories that no longer existed in the physical world.
He picked up a framed photo of them at the beach. In the photo, Y/n was laughing, her arms wrapped around Shoto’s neck, and he was looking at her with a Softness he never showed the world. He realized then that he loved her enough to let her forget him. He loved her enough to let her start over, even if it meant he had to spend the rest of his life remembering for the both of them.
He tucked the photo into a drawer, turned off the light, and sat in the silence of a future that had changed in the blink of an eye.
The countryside was quieter than the city, but it was a heavy kind of quiet.
Six months had passed since Y/n had moved back to her parents' home in the Saitama Prefecture.
She had taken a desk job at a local hero agency, her combat days sidelined by the lingering physical trauma of the accident.
Her life was peaceful.
It was exactly what she had told Shoto she wanted. Yet, there was a persistent, nagging itch under her skin—a feeling that she was a puzzle with one vital piece missing.
It started with the cold.
Winter was settling over the mountains, and one evening, while walking home from the grocery store, the temperature plummeted. As a gust of icy wind hit her face, her breath hitched.
For a split second, she wasn't on a dirt road; she was in a training gym. She felt a wall of ice at her back—cool, solid, and strangely comforting—and a voice, low and melodic, saying, "Focus on the heat, Y/n. Balance it."
She stopped in her tracks, groceries slipping from her grip. The name Shoto echoed in her mind, not as a hero she saw on the news, but as a feeling of safety.
"Todoroki-kun?" she whispered to the empty air.
The memory vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her shivering in the dark.
A week later, while cleaning out an old trunk she’d brought from the city, Y/n found a stack of envelopes tucked into the lining of a winter coat.
They weren't letters, exactly—they were notes.
* “Don’t forget your lunch. I added the extra spice you like. —S.”
* “I’ll be home late from patrol. Sleep well. —S.”
* “The cat we saw yesterday has a home. You can stop worrying now. —S.”
The handwriting was precise, almost stiff, but the messages were filled with an intimacy that made her chest ache. She traced the letter 'S' with her thumb.
"S is for Shoto," she realized.
She remembered him visiting her in the hospital. She remembered his bi-colored hair and the way he always sat so still.
She had thought him a kind, distant friend. But as she looked at the notes, a flash of red and white flickered in her mind—not the hero, but a man leaning over a kitchen counter, steam rising from a teapot, his mismatched eyes looking at her with a tenderness that felt like a physical weight.
The "ghost hugging her" wasn't a ghost at all.
The breaking point came when Shoto was assigned to a joint operation in her district. It was a minor villain suppression, but the news was all over the local radio.
Y/n didn't think; she just ran. She drove to the site of the operation, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. By the time she arrived, the area was cordoned off. The villains were in custody.
And there he was.
Shoto stood by a police cruiser, his hero costume dusted with debris. He looked tired—older than he had six months ago. He was turning to leave when he saw her standing behind the yellow tape.
He froze. "Y/n? What are you doing here?"
She didn't answer. She just stared at him, the floodgates finally creaking open. She remembered the smell of his winter coat—pine and cold air. She remembered the way his thumb would stroke her knuckles when he was nervous. She remembered the night he told her he didn't want to be his father, and she had told him he was already better.
"The ring," she gasped, her voice trembling. "The silver ring in the box. You gave it to me."
Shoto’s breath hitched. He took a step toward her, his expression a mixture of hope and terror. "Y/n..."
"You let me leave, you reslly let me walk away?" she said, tears blurring her vision. "You sat in that hospital room and you let me call you 'Todoroki-kun' and you didn't say a word. Why?"
Shoto reached the tape, his hand hovering over it, not daring to cross. "Because you looked happy," he said, his voice cracking.
"You were building a life where you weren't a victim of a war. I didn't want to burden you with a love you couldn't remember."
"You're an idiot," she sobbed, ducking under the tape and crashing into his chest.
The impact sent a jolt through her—the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. The way his body perfectly fit hers wasn't something she needed a memory for; her soul recognized him even when her brain didn't.
Shoto wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. His left side began to glow with a gentle heat, warming her against the winter chill.
"I remember the ice," she whispered against his chest. "And I remember the fire. I'm so sorry I made you wait. I'm so sorry Shoto"
Shoto pulled back just enough to look at her, his mismatched eyes wet with tears. "I would have waited a hundred years, to have you in my arms like this" he whispered. "I'm just glad you're back."
They didn't go back to the way things were immediately. The amnesia had left scars, and there were still gaps in her timeline. But this time, they weren't building on a "blank map." They were redrawing the lines together.
That night, as they sat on the porch of her parents' house watching the snow fall, Shoto took her hand. He didn't say anything; he just held it, his thumb tracing the familiar curve of her knuckles.
"Shoto?" she asked softly.
"Yes?"
"Tell me about the day we met. The real version. Not the 'friend' version you told me in the hospital."
Shoto smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
"Well," he started, his voice warm. "It was a Tuesday at U.A., and you were the only person brave enough to tell me my hair looked like a peppermint candy..."
And as he spoke, the silence of the countryside didn't feel heavy anymore. It felt like home.
The air in Musutafu was crisp, smelling of roasted chestnuts and the ozone of the nearby train station. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, earthy scent of the countryside Y/n had grown used to.
Shoto stood by the fountain in the center of the district, checking his watch for the third time in five minutes. He wasn't wearing his hero costume; instead, he wore a simple dark navy turtleneck and a long coat. He looked like any other handsome young man out on a Friday night, though the way people stole glances at him suggested he was anything but ordinary.
Then, he saw her.
Y/n walked toward him, wearing the [f/c] dress she’d bought specifically for tonight. She looked nervous, her fingers twisting the silver ring that now lived permanently on her right hand—a compromise until they felt "ready" for it to return to the left.
"Hi," she said, coming to a halt in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed from the walk.
"Hi," Shoto replied. A small, tentative smile played on his lips.
"You look beautiful, Y/n."
"I feel like I should say 'you too,' but I’m still getting used to the fact that my boyfriend is a literal top-tier hero," she teased, though her eyes were soft. "So, where are we going for this 'second first date'?"
Shoto offered his arm, and she took it. The familiar spark of his warmth seeped through his coat, grounding her.
"I thought about taking you to the places we used to go," Shoto admitted as they walked. "The soba shop near the agency, or the park where we had our first kiss. But then I realized... those are memories I own. I want us to have something that belongs to both of us, right now."
He led her away from the bustling main street and toward a small, hidden botanical garden that featured a "Winter Lights" display. It was a glass-domed sanctuary filled with tropical plants and thousands of tiny, warm-white fairy lights draped like willow branches from the ceiling.
"Oh, Shoto," she breathed, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights. "It’s like a forest of stars."
"I haven't been here before either," he confessed, stepping closer so their shoulders brushed.
"I wanted us to start on equal footing."
They spent the next hour wandering through the greenery. It was different than before. The pressure to "remember" had faded, replaced by the excitement of discovery.
"Tell me something I don't know," she said, stopping by a pond where koi fish moved like orange ghosts beneath the surface.
"Not a memory. Just a fact. Something about Shoto Todoroki today."
Shoto leaned against the railing, looking at her. "I’ve started liking ginger tea more than peppermint. And I’ve realized that I’m not very good at being alone anymore. I used to prize my solitude, but now... the silence in the apartment just feels like I'm waiting for a sound that isn't coming."
Y/n reached out, taking his hand. Her grip was firm. "The sound is coming back. I’m moving the rest of my boxes in next weekend."
Shoto’s hand tightened around hers. "I know. I've already cleared a shelf in the kitchen for your favorite mugs."
They ended the night at a small creperie at the edge of the gardens. As they sat at a bistro table outside under a heater, Y/n watched him struggle with a stray piece of strawberry on his crepe. She laughed, reaching over with a napkin to smudge a bit of cream off his cheek.
Shoto froze, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the world around them blurred. The amnesia, the accident, the months of painful "friendship" in the hospital—it all felt small compared to the weight of his gaze.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"I just realized," Shoto said, his voice dropping to that intimate register she was finally beginning to claim as her own again. "I fell in love with you because of who you were. But I’m falling in love with you all over again because of who you are now. You’re different. Stronger, somehow. More certain."
Y/n felt a tear prick her eye, but she brushed it away with a smile. "Maybe the accident was just a very dramatic way of making sure we didn't take each other for granted."
Shoto stood up and walked around the table. He didn't wait for her to rise; he simply leaned down, cupping her face in his hands. His left hand was warm, his right hand cool—the perfect balance she had once taught him to maintain.
When he kissed her, it wasn't a desperate attempt to trigger a memory. It wasn't a ghost of the past. It was a promise for the future. It tasted like strawberries and winter air, and it felt like coming home after a very long journey.
"Happy first date, Y/n," he murmured against her lips.
She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. "Best one yet, Shoto."
The common room of the Heights Alliance dorms was usually loud, but the moment Shoto and Y/n walked through the front doors, the silence was instantaneous.
It had been months since the class had seen Y/n.
To them, she was a comrade who had vanished into a cloud of medical mystery. To her, they were a collection of faces she’d seen in yearbooks and news clips, but whose personalities she was only just beginning to map out.
"We’re back," Shoto said simply, his hand firmly entwined with hers.
The silence didn't last long.
"Y/N-CHAN!" Ashido was the first to break ranks, skidding across the hardwood floor to pull her into a bone-crushing hug. "You’re really here! And you’re holding hands! Shoto, you actually did it, you icy-hot romantic!"
In an instant, they were surrounded. Midoriya was hovering nearby, eyes shimmering with tears of relief, muttering something about the "resilience of the human spirit," while Iida chopped his arms through the air, welcoming her back with loud, formal declarations about the importance of health.
Y/n laughed, a bit overwhelmed but feeling a strange, phantom warmth. She looked at Uraraka and Asui, and though she couldn't remember their late-night girl talks yet, her heart felt a familiar lightness.
"I’m sorry I don't remember everything yet," Y/n told them, her voice steady. "But Shoto told me you were family. I think my heart knows that, even if my head is still catching up."
Bakugo was slumped in a chair in the corner, his feet on the coffee table. He didn't join the huddle, but he was watching.
"Oi, amnesia-girl," he barked.
The room went quiet. Shoto stepped slightly in front of Y/n, a protective instinct he hadn't quite unlearned.
"Do you remember who's the Number One hero around here?" Bakugo challenged, sparks popping in his palms.
Y/n peeked around Shoto’s shoulder. She looked at Bakugo’s spiky hair and his permanent scowl. A memory flickered—a flash of orange explosions and the sound of someone yelling 'Die!' over a pile of laundry.
"I remember you're very loud," Y/n said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "And I think... you once lost a cooking competition to Sato and pouted for three days?"
The common room erupted.
Kaminari and Kirishima doubled over laughing, while Bakugo’s face turned a spectacular shade of red.
"I DIDN'T POUT, YOU EXTRA! IT WAS RIGGED!"
Shoto let out a soft, huffed breath—a laugh. He looked down at Y/n, his eyes full of wonder. "You remembered the cooking contest? I didn't even tell you about that one."
"I didn't remember it until I saw his face," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I think his anger is just very... evocative."
Later that evening, the class gathered around the large dining tables for a massive hot-pot dinner. Shoto sat beside Y/n, expertly preparing her bowl just the way she liked it without even asking.
He watched her talk to Yaoyorozu and Jiro, seeing the way she leaned in when she laughed. She was rediscovering her place among them, building new bridges over the gaps in her mind.
"You're staring again," Y/n teased, nudging Shoto’s shoulder with her own.
"I'm just happy," Shoto admitted, loud enough for the table to hear. He didn't care about his usual stoicism. "For a long time, I thought this room would always have an empty seat."
Midoriya raised his glass of juice. "To Y/n’s return! And to the fact that Shoto finally stopped moping!"
"To Y/n!" the class roared in unison.
As the night went on, the stories flowed—stories of their school festivals, their battles, and their silly dorm antics. Y/n listened to every word, absorbing them like a thirsty garden. She wasn't just recovering a past; she was being invited into a future.
When they eventually left to walk back to their own apartment, the moon was high. Y/n looked back at the dorms, then up at Shoto.
"I liked them," she said.
"They liked you too," Shoto replied. "They always did."
"I think," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked, "that even if I forgot everything all over again tomorrow, I’d still end up right here. With you. It feels like a law of nature."
Shoto stopped, pulled her into the shadow of a cherry blossom tree, and kissed her—a long, slow kiss that tasted like a new beginning.
"Then I'll just keep being here to find you," he promised.
This completes the journey from the accident to their reunion.
xoxo veera
