The dorms felt suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, shadows creeping from every corner as your breath came in sharp gasps. Your mind was trapped, spiraling back to that time— when you were powerless, when they held control over you. Seeing your abuser again had ripped open old wounds, and now, in the aftermath, everything felt like it was unraveling.

You were trembling violently, tears pouring from your eyes as you clung to Shoto’s legs, your words frantic and broken. Your voice cracked, choking on sobs as you scratched desperately at your skin, as if trying to tear the memories from your body.

The cold hallway was filled with the sound of your panicked blabbering, and Shoto stood frozen, overwhelmed by the sight of you—helpless, on your knees, pleading for an end to something he couldn’t see, couldn’t stop. His hands hovered, unsure whether to touch you, unsure of what to do. All he could think of was his mother—how she used to fall apart, muttering to herself, trembling and broken under the weight of her own suffering. It was the same now, and it gripped his heart with ice-cold terror.

The other students of Class 1-A watched from the sidelines, their faces pale and confused, unable to process what was happening. Some whispered to each other, concern lacing their words, but no one moved. They didn’t know how to. This wasn’t a villain they could punch, or a problem they could solve.

And Shoto—he stood there, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life. You were crumbling in front of him, and he was paralyzed, his mind flooded with flashbacks he couldn’t stop, just as you were trapped in yours. The weight of it all—the pain, the helplessness, the memories—felt like it would crush you both.