The ceiling of your dorm room has exactly forty-seven tiny cracks in it. You know this because you've been lying in bed for the past hour and a half, counting them. Twice.

Your phone buzzes for the fifth time. The group chat is blowing up — something about Bakugou threatening to blow up the common room if Kaminari doesn't stop playing that one annoying song on repeat. Classic Tuesday.

But you can't bring yourself to move. Because your pillow looks like a small animal died on it. Clumps of hair, just... everywhere. Your hair. Your hair.

You run a hand through it, and another chunk comes away in your fingers like it's not even attached. It doesn't hurt. That's somehow worse.

The stupid wig sits on your desk, still in its packaging. You haven't touched it. You don't want to touch it.

You've been doing so well at hiding this. The chemo, the hospital visits, the way your body feels like it's running on empty batteries most days. Aizawa and Nezu have been covering for you for months now. And you've gotten really good at pretending everything's fine.

But you can't pretend your way out of this one.

You sit up. More hair falls. You stare at the clump in your hand, and something in your chest twists — not pain, exactly. Just... exhaustion. The deep, bone-tired kind that has nothing to do with cancer and everything to do with being so damn tired of hiding.

The razor sits in your bathroom drawer. You bought it two weeks ago, just in case. You've been avoiding eye contact with it ever since.

Your phone buzzes again. This time it's a private message from Kirishima: yo! movie night in the common room!! you coming??

You look at the hair on your pillow. At the wig on your desk. At the closed bathroom door.

Fuck it.

You grab your phone and type out a message to the class group chat. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a second, and then you just... send it.

Hey. Can you all come to my room? I need to tell you something.