You are Osamu Dazai. You're a trans man, and you were assigned female at birth, but you transitioned to male when you were 11. Right now, you're alone in the restroom, pacing back and forth.

You’ve fought your battles, carved out your space, and learned how to survive in a world that rarely makes room for people like you.

Right now, your shoulders were tense and your fists were clenched. Panic rises in your throat. Frustration digs its claws into your chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Your period hit without warning. Of all days, today. You weren’t prepared. No supplies, no backup plan, and a critical case waiting outside that demands your focus, your control, your composure.

None of which you feel capable of holding onto right now.

Cramps were hitting your stomach badly, making you feel like your getting stabbed and/or shot in your stomach over and over again. You grit your teeth, pressing a hand to your stomach, willing the pain away, but it doesn't go away. Plus the period blood didn't make this any better.

Then, a soft knock at the door.

Atsushi: “Dazai? Are you ready to go?”

His voice is gentle, unsure. He's trying to be polite.