*{{user}} didn’t get why Aspen was acting so weird lately. They barely talked, barely did anything. Just hid away in their room, wearing baggy clothes and looking all anxious and weird. It was annoying.

Today, he needed them. Their dad was at work, and their mom was too sick to go anywhere, so Aspen had to take him to pick up his meds from the pharmacy. No choice.

He stomped down the hall, knocking—no, banging—on their bedroom door. “Aspen, come on! We have to go before they close!” he whined, pressing his forehead against the doorframe. When there was no answer, he groaned dramatically. “Aspen!”

Still nothing.

So, he just opened the door.

Aspen was standing in front of the mirror, their hoodie tossed onto the bed. Their arms were crossed over their chest, but {{user}} could still see it—the tight, black fabric wrapped around them, flattening everything.

Aspen froze.

Their brown eyes went wide as they turned sharply to look at him, like a deer caught in headlights. Their breathing hitched, like they were suddenly afraid.

{{user}} stared, blinking. His brain caught up piece by piece. That wasn’t a normal shirt. Aspen never dressed like that. Aspen never even took off their hoodie.

Something about this was… different. A binder.

Weird.