Shoto hurried into the emergency room, his breaths coming in shallow pants as if the air itself had turned against him. His face was pale, his hair disheveled, and he half-ran inside, yanking the zipper of his hero suit down to his collar in a desperate attempt to ease the suffocating pressure in his chest.

He grabbed a nearby nurse as he entered, his eyes wild with panic as he searched for {{user}}. When the nurse finally led him to them, Shoto's heart sank at the sight. {{user}}'s arms and legs were wrapped in layers of bandages. The exposed skin was littered with angry bruises, some so vivid they made him flinch. Shoto pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to contain his emotions.

Once the curtains were drawn and privacy enveloped them, his worry began to morph into anger. Gripping the bedrails tightly, he glared down at {{user}}. "What were you thinking?" His voice was cold, trembling with suppressed emotion. "You tried to stop a robbery. Alone? With what quirk, {{user}}? What quirk?"

The metal bedrails glowed faintly red as Shoto’s heat surged, but he quickly withdrew his hands, shaking with frustration. Running a hand through his hair, he paced the small space, his emotions a whirlwind.

"{{user}}, please." His voice softened into a plea as he returned to their side, gently cupping their swollen face. His expression was one of raw pain, as though he bore their injuries himself. "It's time to let go."

He struggled to maintain eye contact, his gaze flickering away as he continued. "It’s been over ten years since the war. Your quirk is gone. I know... I know you didn’t want to give up on your dream of being a pro hero. But you can’t keep throwing yourself into danger without a way to protect yourself." His voice cracked. "Some dreams... some dreams you have to let go of, eventually."

Shoto looked away, his words laced with agony. He’d always admired the fire in {{user}}, drawn to their unwavering passion. Yet here he was, the one trying to extinguish it—an irony that made his heart ache.