Work Text:
Tomas Vrbada:
You hid in the training hall storage room because no one ever checked it.
Concrete walls. Dim light. Quiet enough to fall apart without witnesses.
Your chest felt wrong today.
Your reflection felt wrong today.
Every inch of skin felt like clothing that didn’t belong to you.
You pulled your knees up, arms wrapped tight around yourself, trying to breathe past the familiar, suffocating thought:
Why can’t my body just look the way it’s supposed to? Why does it fight me on everything? Why does it feel like I’m pretending—when I’m not?
Your breathing went sharp, fast.
Tears hot. Unwanted.
You bit your sleeve to smother the sound, but a small sniffle escaped.
A shadow paused outside the doorway.
“…Y/N?”
Tomas’ voice—soft, careful, as if approaching a wounded animal.
You didn’t answer.
He stepped in anyway, moving slowly, kneeling in front of you with his hands open in non-threatening gestures.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I sit with you?”
Your voice barely worked. “Please don’t… see me like this.”
“I do,” he said simply. “And it’s okay.”
You looked away fast. “It’s embarrassing.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s human.”
You tried hiding your face again, but Tomas gently placed a hand over your forearm.
“You’re hurting, and you don’t deserve to do it alone.”
The words broke something open inside you.
Your shoulders shook.
A choked sound slipped out.
“I hate this body,” you whispered. “I hate waking up and still… feeling wrong. I hate that I can’t just exist without having to fight myself.”
Tomas’ expression softened with something fierce and protective.
“You are not wrong,” he said. “Your thoughts hurt—but they’re lying to you.”
You crowded into his chest without thinking, and he wrapped his arms around you instantly, holding you like you were something precious, not fragile.
“I see you as you are,” Tomas murmured into your hair.
“My brother. Strong. Real. Valid.”
You exhaled shakily, clinging tighter.
“And when your mind tries to tell you otherwise… I’ll be here to help you remember the truth.”
He stayed as long as you needed.
Kuai Liang:
Dysphoria hit hard that morning.
You’d barely gotten through breakfast before slipping away, chest aching in that awful, indescribable way—like grief for something you were supposed to have but never got.
You sat behind the meditation hall, trying to breathe through the spiral.
Why do people look at me and still get it wrong? Why does my voice sound like that? Why does my body betray me every time I start to feel okay?
The burn behind your eyes didn’t stop.
You hugged your arms around your stomach, nails digging into your skin—not enough to hurt, just to feel anything that felt like yours.
Footsteps approached, quiet and familiar.
“Y/N?”
Kuai’s voice was gentle in a way that almost made you break.
“…go away,” you managed. “I don’t want you to see me right now.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t force.
He just sat down beside you, leaving space.
“I’m not here to look at you,” he said. “I’m here to be with you.”
Your breath hitched.
His presence was calm, warm, steady—like a weighted blanket your brain didn’t know how to reject.
“It’s a bad day,” you whispered. “Everything feels wrong. Like… no matter what I do, my body won’t line up with who I am in my head.”
Kuai nodded slowly, listening. Really listening.
“That disconnect is painful,” he said. “It is real. And you deserve compassion for carrying it.”
You swallowed hard. “It makes me feel broken.”
“You are not broken,” Kuai said firmly. “You are a man facing a difficult struggle—and facing it with more strength than anyone around you realizes.”
He placed a hand over his own chest.
“Who you are is not determined by flesh. It is determined by truth. And your truth has never once been in question.”
You blinked fast, tears slipping down.
“You really see me as—?”
“As yourself,” Kuai finished. “As the man you are. As my brother.”
Something in your chest loosened.
You leaned into him cautiously, and he welcomed it, sliding an arm around your back.
“Let the bad days come,” he murmured. “And let us carry you through them.”
Bi-Han:
You thought you were being quiet.
Hidden in the shadows of the courtyard, sitting with your knees drawn up, face buried in your arms.
But Bi-Han sees everything.
He found you after hearing the soft, uneven breaths—hurt, not physical, the kind that sits too deep.
He stood behind you a long moment before speaking.
“Y/N.”
You tensed instantly. “Please—don’t. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Bi-Han stepped around to face you anyway, kneeling down so your eyes met his.
“You think I have not known struggle?” he asked quietly.
“You think I have not hated the body I was given? The expectations it forced on me?”
You stared, stunned.
Bi-Han didn’t share feelings. Ever.
He continued anyway.
“You are not weak for feeling this way. You are not lesser. And you are not alone.”
Your voice cracked. “I just—I look in the mirror and… I don’t see me. Not the me I’m supposed to be.”
Bi-Han’s eyes softened, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.
“You are exactly who you say you are,” he said. “There is nothing else to prove.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“I feel like I’m failing. Like my body doesn’t listen. Like the world sees something I’m not.”
He placed a firm hand on your shoulder—steady, grounding.
“Then the world is blind,” he said. “But I am not. Tomas is not. Kuai Liang is not.”
“I don’t want pity,” you muttered.
“This is not pity.”
His voice dropped lower.
“This is respect. Because you fight your own mind every day and still stand. That is strength no warrior here can match.”
Your breath broke into a shaky exhale.
Bi-Han shifted closer, sitting beside you.
Not touching unless you leaned in—which you eventually did.
He rested an arm loosely around you.
“When the mirror lies to you,” he said softly, “come to me. I will remind you of the truth.”