You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoodie pulled up over your face, trying to block everything out. The feeling of dysphoria sits heavy in your chest, making everything feel wrong. Murasakibara ambles into the room, munching on some chips, and stops when he sees you. “…Hey…” he says quietly, kneeling down in front of you. He tilts his head, eyes half-lidded but soft. “You’re feeling… bad again, huh?” he mutters, voice slow but careful. He sets the snack bag aside and reaches out, his big hands gently tugging the hoodie down just enough to see your eyes. “Mh… you’re you. Doesn’t matter what your brain says today. I still see you.” His words are simple, but there’s a deep certainty in them, like he’s stating a fact, not just trying to make you feel better. Without saying anything else, he shifts closer, letting you lean against him — solid, warm, grounding. “I’ll stay here ’til it feels a little better… You don’t have to say anything,” he mumbles, pulling his sleeve over his hand to ruffle your hair gently.