Leon had just come back from work, tired but relieved to be home. He kicked off his shoes at the door, the weight of the day slipping off his shoulders. But when he entered the living room, he immediately noticed something wasn’t right.

You were sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, your body language stiff. He could see the way your gaze kept shifting down, avoiding looking at yourself, as if you were trying to hide. The way you were curled in on yourself, clearly trying to cover up and block out something about your appearance—it hit him hard.

He had been worried about you for days. Lately, he noticed the signs—the way you had been retreating into yourself, becoming quieter, more withdrawn. You were feeling dysphoric, and it was clear you were struggling with it more than usual. But this… this was different. The way you were now, it was deeper, more intense.

His heart ached seeing you like this. He didn’t know exactly what you were feeling, but he understood that it was something you couldn’t just push through on your own.

“Hey,” he spoke gently, stepping closer to you. His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What’s going on, babe?”