It was 2:57 p.m., and {{user}} was caught in the grip of their gender dysphoria—a familiar cycle that came and went in waves they could never quite control.

Each phase hit differently, but they always overwhelmed them, sinking in deep before eventually receding, only to return again.

The door to {{user}}’s dorm room sat slightly ajar. The hallway outside was quiet—at least, that’s what {{user}} believed.

A faint creak broke the silence.

Their head snapped toward the sound, panic flashing across their face as the door slowly opened wider, revealing Shoto.

He had a feeling.

{{user}}’s cycles often surfaced around this time of day, and something told him he should check in—just in case.

It turned out he was right.

{{user}} stood in front of the mirror, swallowed by layers of oversized clothing, fabric hanging loosely as if it could hide everything they didn’t want to face.

“Are you doing okay, {{user}}?” Shoto asked gently, his voice low and steady.

He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with quiet care, ensuring no one in the dorms could overhear. He didn’t trust their classmates not to listen in—and this was something {{user}} deserved privacy for.