i'll burn your name into my throat//todobaku

you're the flowers pressed between the pages of my journal

With great reluctance, Katsuki went and got help. Or rather, he was brought to a clinic by his mother and boyfriend, and forced to sit through a painstakingly long intake. It was painful--but the worst part was explaining two things: 1) why he shouldn't be hospitalized and 2) why she shouldn't call him Kaida. He wasn't the most open to the very anxiety inducing question "have you ever hurt yourself?" but he had no choice but to answer truthfully, which--unsurprisingly--forced him to reiterate that he shouldn't be hospitalized. As far as he was concerned, this whole intake was fucking dumb and ineffective-why would some random lady need to know what Katsuki refused to acknowledge?

Why should a stranger know him better than he knew himself?

__

Walking out of the clinic was difficult, as the receptionists seemingly forgot that Katsuki was not Kaida, and that that was kind of the whole fucking reason he was there. He prayed that whoever he was to speak with would know why his name was so important.

On the way home, in the back of his mother's car, Katsuki laid his head against Shouto's shoulder. He didn't speak; sometimes he didn't have to. He knew Shouto would understand his needs and wants by the way he moved his body. His boyfriend turned to kiss his blond hair, then rested his hand atop Katsuki's.

Mitsuki invited Shouto to stay the night, partly because she didn't trust her son to be home alone for forty-eight hours; she had convinced her husband to leave town for a night, as they hadn't had a proper date in who knows how long. He didn't like the idea of his kid being alone with a boy, but who was he to resist Mitsuki's invitation. When the three of them made it back home, Katsuki thanked his mother for the ride and headed into the house. He and Shouto had missed school that day for his intake, and so they had a bunch of schoolwork to catch up on.

Katsuki especially.

It took his parents two hours to leave, and even before they did, they fussed over Katsuki. Mitsuki made sure he wouldn't do anything irrational and stupid; Masaru made it very clear that he didn't want to come home to find that Shouto fucked Katsuki. It was an oddly sweet gesture, even if it came out as sounding really fucking weird. By eight, they had finally left the boys alone.

The house was quiet for a while. Katsuki had gotten comfortable in black sweatpants and a black UA hoodie; Shouto hadn't changed, sporting a turtleneck and jeans. It wasn't winter, though the winds that came with it had started to batter against the house. It whistled and whined and it was almost enough to hide the panic in Katsuki's eyes. (Curse Shouto to be as observant as he was.)

"You'll be fine, you know," he said, resting a hand on Katsuki's shoulder.

Katsuki hummed in reply, moving to lay his back against his boyfriend, his knees up to his chest. He pulled the hood over his hair and stared at where his black rug ended and the hardwood floor started.

Shouto was used to this kinda thing, where Katsuki wouldn't say a word for who knows how long. It happened at school more often than he'd like; though it was rare for Katsuki to go mute with his boyfriend. It couldn't be avoided. The only reason Shouto didn't push him was that he simply couldn't fathom what Katsuki was feeling; he couldn't imagine feeling so wrong in a body that was his yet not. He never knew when it was too much for Katsuki to deal with.

Because frankly Katsuki was being worn thin by it.

His dysphoria was never spoken about when it wasn't needed. Speaking it in conversation was both relieving and annoying, as he became hyper-aware of what was wrong with him. So, whenever he could, Shouto tried not to speak of it--for Katsuki's sake.

It was about two hours later when he finally spoke. He sat up properly next to Shouto and grabbed his hand, nervously fiddling with his fingers. "She said she'll try her best to find me a gender therapist."