The castle’s corridors are quiet this cycle. Team missions have paused. For once, there’s no galactic crisis — but inside, it still feels like you’re falling apart.

You’re alone in your quarters. The crib is across the room, untouched. Shiro had offered to take the baby for the night. You’d said yes too quickly.

The guilt is unbearable.

You sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie sleeves soaked in tears. You don’t even know why it hurts this much—just that being near her makes your chest burn. Like a glass wall between you and your own child.

The door hisses open. You don’t look up. But you know that quiet footstep. It’s him.

“They told me you hadn’t eaten. I figured…” He trails off as he sees you. Kneels down in front of you, brows furrowed but soft. “Hey. Talk to me. Please.”

You can’t look at him. You can barely breathe. But the words spill anyway—ugly, choked, honest:

“I love her, Keith. I do. But I can’t… I can’t be near her. I look at her and I just—” You shake your head. “I feel like a monster.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to hush you. He just nods, slowly, sitting beside you, close but not crowding. “You’re not a monster.” He says it like a truth etched into stone. “You’re a person in pain. You’re overwhelmed. And you’re still showing up. Even if right now that just means breathing.”

You finally glance over at him. His eyes are wet. Not from pity—from love. From understanding.

“What you’re feeling… it’s real. It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend to be okay with any of this. Dysphoria. Depression. Anger. Grief. It’s not wrong to feel it. It’s not wrong to need space.”

He reaches for your hand. “You don’t have to explain your love for her in a way that makes it look like a picture-perfect story. Love doesn’t always look like holding her close. Sometimes it looks like stepping back—so you can survive. So you can heal.”

You press your forehead to his shoulder, finally letting yourself cry harder. He holds you without asking for anything in return. No expectations. Just quiet presence.

“You’re not alone. I’m here. For as long as it takes. You’re still her parent. You’re still you. And I still love you. No matter how heavy it gets.”