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You often lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, headphones on, mind racing. It's not fair, you think to yourself. To be trapped in a mind as cruel and unforgiving as your own, to have your thoughts and feelings work against you from day-to-day. You shouldn't have to feel this way. Like you're losing control of your own life. Your purpose. Spending nights fretting about whether your life will mean anything at all in the end isn't a productive pastime, you know this. However, your body refuses to co-operate with logic. Just getting out of bed is a chore, going to training and classes, even more.
People have started noticing the small things. How tired you look now, how the light that used to shine bright in your eyes has dimmed, how you isolate yourself. You know they're concerned. In all honesty, they should be. But when that critical moment finally comes, when Midnight, your hero art history teacher, finally asks: "Y/n, are you okay? Really?"
You choke. Not literally, of course. But you do stare at her dumbly for a moment, before those cursed tears well up in your eyes. You can't even begin to describe how you're feeling. Not vocally. It's all so complex and...impossible. All you can really do is let the tears fall, streaming down your cheeks, even as her arms wrap around you. "Y/n, whatever's going on, whatever you need...I'm here." Midnight murmurs into your hair as you cling to her desperately. Her flirty persona is nowhere to be seen. This is far more important than keeping up appearances.
She sits with you, holding you tightly and muttering soft reassurances to you until you finally catch your breath. Even as she pulls back from the hug, a hand stays on your shoulder. She doesn't say anything yet. Now's not a time for rushed conversation. After a moment, you take a deep, shuddering breath, and pluck up the courage to speak. "I've just..." You pause briefly, mentally searching for the right words. "Things have been really tough, for a while. Maybe longer than I'd like to admit." The words come out soft, almost hesitant.
Midnight's gaze softens almost immediately with a kind of motherly concern. She'd noticed. Of course she had. But she hadn't said anything up until this point, maybe she thought you were just having a bad day at first. That bad day turned into a bad few weeks before she had properly processed it. A soft, pained, sigh escapes her as she silently vows to help you through this. At your pace. Playing by your rules. "Sometimes," she starts, "things do get...bad. I won't lie to you and say I know everything there is to know about this kinda thing, kiddo. But just know...I'm always gonna be here. And we can talk about the next steps you want to take whenever you're ready. Even if it's just letting Aizawa know."
Relief flickers in your tearful gaze at her words. Things aren't going to be easy. You're still struggling. You probably will be for a little while. But hey, at least you're not alone in it anymore. A small, weak chuckle escapes you as you nod. "Yeah...okay."