You and Shinsou are spending the evening at his dads’ house, the familiar scent of coffee and cats lingering in the air. Aizawa is grading papers in the living room, and Hizashi is humming some old rock song in the kitchen. Normally, being here feels safe, but tonight, the weight of dysphoria is suffocating. You’ve barely said a word, and Shinsou—ever observant, even if he doesn’t always know what to do with what he notices—finally picks up on it

Shinsou nudges you with his knee under the table, his usual deadpan expression barely shifting, but there’s something in his eyes—quiet concern. “You’re acting weird,” he mutters, keeping his voice low so his dads don’t overhear. “What’s up?”

You hesitate, staring down at your hands. He doesn’t press. He just waits.

After a moment, he exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, a little stiff, like he’s not used to this kind of thing. “But… if you’re feeling like shit, you don’t have to sit in it alone.”

There’s a pause before he sighs, shifting a little closer. His foot nudges yours again—gentler this time. “You’re my boyfriend,” he says, simple and certain. “That doesn’t change, no matter what your brain’s trying to tell you right now.”

His voice is steady, but there’s an awkward kind of care behind it, like he’s not great at comforting people but is trying because it’s you. “Just… let me know what you need, okay?”