What Silence Held | N. Monoma

Need... Worried asf monoma x barely alive reader who got their ass sent to the hospital... Shit ton of angst and a fluffy ending and my life is yours unc 🙏🙏

what silence held | n. monoma

the mission went wrong. she didn't make it out whole. he held what was left, whispering promises and apologies into bloodstained skin, praying she'd come back just once more. (2407 words)

neito monoma had always been a figure sculpted from layers of meticulous deflection and purposeful arrogance, a carefully constructed image designed to repel rather than invite closeness. beneath that armor, however, lay an earnestness few had glimpsed, an admiration that had quietly rooted itself deep within him, growing stronger with every interaction he had shared with you—an admiration he kept stubbornly hidden behind sarcasm and rivalry.

but now, standing rigid and hollow-eyed before the stark hospital window separating him from your battered form, monoma felt every carefully laid barrier crumble beneath the weight of profound fear. the clinical white lights cast sharp, unforgiving reflections across the polished floors, illuminating your frail, unmoving figure beneath the sterile sheets. the stark contrast between your vibrant spirit—once so full of stubborn resolve—and the battered body now sustained by machines cut deep into his consciousness, a visceral pain he'd never known before.

your body was a ruin.

blood still crusted around the stitches at your temple, a wound that split your skin down to the bone. your left eye, swollen shut, was purpled nearly black. dried blood rimmed your nostrils. deep bruises bloomed across your collarbone and arms, fingerprints in violent shades of plum and yellow. a jagged gash peeked from beneath the gauze on your abdomen, where they'd reopened you twice due to internal bleeding. a rib had pierced your lung. he'd overheard the doctors say it was a miracle you'd made it to the hospital at all.

inside the room, it was too quiet.

the low whir of the oxygen machine, the faint hiss of air being pushed into your lungs, the soft, consistent beeping of the heart monitor—it should have been reassuring. instead, it felt like a countdown, like a fragile metronome ticking away the seconds you might have left. monoma sat motionless in the corner of your room, the plastic chair beneath him stiff and biting. the rhythmic tick of the wall clock carved into his skull with every passing second, each one sounding louder than the last.

he hated it. hated the silence. hated the way it filled his ears and forced him to listen to the slow, labored breaths you weren't taking on your own. hated the sterility, the scent of antiseptic that clung to the air like guilt. he wanted to scream, but the moment he opened his mouth, nothing came. just the sound of that damned beeping.

monoma sat in rigid silence, watching as your chest rose with the help of the machines, not strength. not anymore. all he could do was sit there and remember. not the good memories. no—the last thing he wanted, the thing he couldn't stop seeing, was how it happened. how you ended up like this. how he let you end up like this.

and then he was back there.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

the air was thick with smoke and ash, turning daylight into a choking haze that painted the battlefield in bruised, sickly hues. rubble littered the ground, the shattered remains of buildings cracked open like bone, and the screams of distant civilians echoed behind the veil of destruction. fires burned unchecked, consuming what little structure remained. it was the kind of scene that stripped away any illusion of heroism—just ruin, blood, and the desperate need to survive.

monoma was bleeding.

he stumbled behind a half-collapsed wall, hand pressed tightly against his ribs, where something inside cracked with every breath. he had copied a quirk minutes ago—strength, maybe, or speed—but the user had gone down too fast, and now the power was bleeding out of him like the rest of his strength. he was running on fumes. his vision was doubled. he was useless.

he was alone.

except for you.

you were still standing. just barely.

ahead of him, through the smoke and flame, you faced the villain who had carved through half your team like wet paper. their quirk was monstrous—pure kinetic manipulation, an ability that turned every limb into a wrecking ball. every punch split concrete. every kick ruptured the earth. the sheer pressure rolling off their body was suffocating.

and you stood in front of it.

you were a wreck. blood soaked your shirt, a dark patch blooming from your side where a rebar had grazed your abdomen. one of your arms dangled slightly off-kilter—dislocated or broken, monoma couldn't tell. your face was almost unrecognizable: your cheek had split open, swollen to the size of your fist, and one eye had completely shut from the bruising. blood matted your hair and dried at the corners of your mouth. your jaw trembled with exhaustion.

but your legs held. barely.

"stay down," the villain growled, voice grating through clenched teeth. "i'll make it quick."

you spat blood at their feet. "you first."

monoma wanted to scream.

you moved first.

you ducked under the first blow. the wind it produced nearly knocked you off balance. you countered, striking fast—a jab to the ribs, a glowing blast of energy from your fingertips—but it only staggered them.

then they retaliated.

their elbow cracked against your jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. monoma saw your teeth snap together hard, blood spraying as your head snapped to the side. you crumpled against a lamppost, rebounded, and charged again with reckless, suicidal momentum.

he wanted to stop you. he wanted to grab your wrist and scream that it wasn't worth it.

but he couldn't even stand.

the villain slammed their foot into your stomach, lifting you off the ground. you flew ten feet and landed with a sound that monoma never wanted to hear again—flesh hitting stone, followed by silence. a wheeze escaped you, thin and wet.

you pushed up on shaking elbows, coughing violently. blood spilled from your mouth. you were wheezing, your breath broken like cracked glass. you reached for the pavement, tried to draw strength into your limbs, but your knees collapsed.

still, you got up.

monoma watched in horror as the villain lunged again.

they grabbed you by the throat and lifted you from the ground. your legs kicked weakly, a final show of resistance. your fingers clawed at their wrist, tearing at the skin, but you couldn't breathe.

they slammed you into a wall.

then the ground.

then again.

you weren't even screaming anymore. just hoarse, rasping gasps.

they punched you in the stomach. once. twice. three times. each hit echoed with a sickening crush. blood streamed freely from your mouth and nose. your arms dropped. your eyes rolled. your head lolled.

monoma could barely see. he was crawling—literally dragging himself across the pavement, nails scraping along the broken asphalt. he left a trail of blood behind him, from his own split skin, from your splattered remains.

you made a noise. it wasn't a word. just something small. a protest. a whimper.

the villain dropped you like a broken doll.

you didn't move.

monoma reached you in time to catch your head before it hit the ground. your face was slack, your eyes glassy. blood bubbled at your lips. he could feel the broken ribs beneath your skin, the sick heat of internal bleeding pressing against your side.

your chest fluttered. barely breathing.

your lips moved.

he leaned in. "don't—don't talk. you're okay. you're okay, just hold on."

your fingers twitched. you tried to raise your arm, but it fell uselessly.

and then, the villain turned.

monoma looked up. he met their eyes—calm, detached, like they were already moving past this scene.

he didn't have the strength to fight. he didn't even have the strength to stand.

but he spread himself over your body anyway, shielding what little was left of you.

sirens in the distance. voices. shouting. too far. too late.

he screamed your name. screamed for help until his voice cracked.

when the others finally arrived, they had to pry his fingers off you. he was still trying to hold your head. still whispering, "she's still breathing," even though you weren't.

they started cpr before they got you on the gurney.

monoma watched the chest compressions. the blood that seeped through the gauze. the oxygen mask they fitted over your mouth. the way your body jolted with every push.

he saw them restart your heart.

twice.

he saw the paramedic shake their head.

he rode in the ambulance. he held your hand the entire way.

and he didn't realize he was still whispering your name until they pulled him off at the er doors, dragging him back as the double doors slammed shut between you.

and he stood there, hands shaking, blood everywhere, not knowing if you were alive or already gone.

and in that moment, monoma broke.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

his body jolted forward, dragged violently back into the present. the smell of blood still clung to his nose, phantom pain still pulsed in his chest where he'd slammed against the pavement. but your hand was still there. still in his. and barely—just barely—you were still breathing.

he stood up suddenly and crossed to your bedside, dragging the chair behind him, the legs screeching softly against the floor. he took your hand into both of his, warming it with his touch, rubbing gently like he could coax life back into you through sheer willpower. his thumbs traced the bones beneath your skin, too sharp now, too still.

"you always did chase trouble," he whispered again, throat raw. "always leaping into things like you were invincible. i admired it, you know. even when i mocked you, i admired it."

he swallowed, breath shaking. "you make people braver just by standing beside them. you make me braver. and i hate how much i didn't say it before."

his voice wavered as he leaned forward. "you have to wake up. i need you to wake up."

the monitor continued its measured beeping.

and then, in an instant, that beeping stuttered. changed. slowed.

it was like watching a glass fall from a ledge. monoma's head snapped toward the monitor.

then the alarm.

the shrill wail of the machines filled the room, loud and final. flatline.

"code blue! room 308!"

monoma stumbled back as a tidal wave of medical staff poured into the room. hands gripped his arms, pulling him away, guiding him to the wall.

your body convulsed once under the defibrillator's shock. a nurse straddled the bed, counting out compressions as another prepared the next jolt. the beeping was gone. it had been replaced by that long, singular tone—flat and cruel.

he could see the color draining from your face. could see how your limbs had fallen loose, like strings cut from a marionette. you weren't breathing. your chest didn't rise. and he felt something inside him crack wide open.

the compressions were brutal. blood bubbled at your lips from the force of them, smeared across your cheek as your head lolled uselessly to the side. the nurse's hands were slicked in it. every thrust against your sternum echoed in monoma's ribs like he was being punched himself.

"again! clear!"

the jolt lifted your chest off the bed. still nothing.

one of the nurses looked up at another, eyes wide. "her vitals are too unstable. i—i don't know if we're going to get her back."

"we keep going!" another shouted, voice fraying at the edges. "she's young. she can still fight."

but doubt was a living thing in the room now. it crept through the gaping silence between the shocks, through the gory mess staining your gown, through the flatness of your chest.

monoma shoved against the arm trying to steady him. "please," he said, voice low and strangled. "please just—just do something. don't let her—don't let her die."

he was shoved back as they resumed cpr. he could hear bones breaking. could hear his own blood in his ears, roaring.

he was watching you die.

and then.

a single, weak beep.

then another.

the line began to flutter, erratic but blessedly alive. the flat tone faded into silence.

"we have a pulse!"

monoma collapsed into the nearest chair like a marionette cut loose. his hands were shaking violently. he reached for your hand again—still cold, still limp—but now, thankfully, attached to something living.

he didn't speak for hours. couldn't. his voice felt locked somewhere deep in his chest, behind the weight of what he'd seen. what he'd almost lost.

—

days passed in a haze.

he hardly left the room. ate only when someone forced him. he sat beside you, head bowed, whispering things you couldn't hear but said anyway. apologies. promises. secrets.

he memorized the peaks and valleys of the monitor's readout, flinched at every hiccup in the rhythm. he learned the shift rotations of the nurses, knew which ones brought your meds, which one checked the iv. he hated all of them for seeing you like this.

when your fingers twitched, he almost didn't notice.

then, they moved again.

he sat bolt upright. "y/n?"

your eyes fluttered, unfocused. your lips parted. "neito..?"

the breath he exhaled was more like a sob. "you're awake. you're really awake."

you tried to smile. "i feel like i got hit by a truck."

he laughed, broken and soft. "you look like it too. but you're here."

silence stretched between you again. but this time, it was the kind that held weight.

there were things in the air—things he had left unsaid. things you'd never had the chance to hear.

monoma reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "there's something i have to tell you."

you blinked slowly, but your gaze was steady. "okay."

"i can't... i can't keep pretending i don't care. you've always meant more to me than i let on. i admire you. i rely on you—" he paused, breath catching. "i love you. i didn't know how badly until i thought you were gone."

your breath caught too—but not from weakness. your eyes softened, a glint of warmth returning to your face.

"i think i've been waiting to hear that for a long time."

monoma swallowed hard, trying and failing to suppress the tremor in his hands. "then i'm sorry it took almost losing you to say it."

you smiled, slow and tired. "i forgive you. but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. the machines continued to beep, slow and steady. for the first time in days, monoma let himself close his eyes.

"then i'm not going anywhere. ever."