It had been a long time since you’d felt this. Years. Dysphoria was like a ghostly visitor: it didn’t knock, it didn’t make a sound, it just appeared and stayed, settling on your chest as if it belonged there. And today, for no clear reason, it had decided to wrap itself around you again.

You were there, looking without really looking, your hands busy with anything that might distract you. The noise around you felt distant, as if it were coming from another room.

2-D was a couple of steps away, his back to you at first, humming something you didn’t recognize. But when he turned and saw you, it was as if that humming was cut in half. His gaze lingered on yours just one second longer than usual long enough for you to know he’d noticed.

“…You alright?” he asked, in that soft, almost shy tone that didn’t push but didn’t leave room for lying either.

You didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not out loud. So you nodded, trying to make your expression look like it always did. He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press you.