Ren Amamiya had always been quiet in the way he cared—never pushing, never making a big deal out of anything, but always there.

So when you finally came out to him, nervous and unsure, his response was simple. A small nod, a knowing smile. “I get it.”

And he did.

You weren’t sure when it started, but suddenly, little things changed. He’d subtly compliment you on bad dysphoria days, as if trying to drown out your own thoughts with confidence. When you hesitated at the pharmacy counter, he’d step up beside you, calm and unwavering. “We’re here to pick up a prescription.” Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

But the moment that hit you the hardest was when he sat across from you in his room, placing a small vial and a pack of needles on the desk between you. His own testosterone pills. You'd been running low and he noticed the last time you hung out.

"You don’t have to wait," he murmured, carefully drawing up a dose. "Not if you don’t want to."

There was no rush, no pressure—just Ren, quietly offering you the support he wished he had in the beginning.

"You're not alone in this," he said softly, watching as you exhaled. "You've got me."