cw; religious trauma and mentions of emotional abuse
You used to think love was supposed to be pure. Neat. Approved by a higher power before it could bloom. That’s what you were taught, at least—Sunday after Sunday, sermon after sermon, whispers about “sin” like it was something that could cling to you just for looking at the wrong person for too long.
And then Mina Ashido grinned at you like the sun had decided it preferred your orbit.
It had been messy from the start—your feelings tangling themselves into something warm and dangerous, your guilt latching onto them like thorns. You’d told yourself over and over: It’s wrong. You’re wrong. And still, Mina kept showing up, with her laugh that curled in your chest and her endless ways of making you feel like maybe you were worth knowing.
You’d been dating for over a year now, tucked safely into the UA dorms where the weight of your parents’ beliefs couldn’t reach you. You were healing, or at least trying to. Mina was patient with you—holding your hand in the hallways only when you were ready, leaning in for a kiss only if she saw you lean first. She knew how much you’d been taught to hate yourself. She knew you were learning to stop.
And for the most part, things were good.
The picture had felt harmless at the time. You’d been sitting on Mina’s lap in the common room, both of you mid-laugh, when she pulled you in for a quick kiss. Someone had snapped it—probably Kaminari, judging by the blur of the shot—and Mina had posted it later with a caption like “my favorite human 💖”.
It was just a picture. And in the dorms, it felt safe.
You forgot.
You forgot they followed you.
You forgot how quick they could turn your joy into something ugly.
The message came late that night.
One from your mom. Then another. Then three more.
What is this?
Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.
We raised you better than this.
God is watching you.
You’re throwing your life away.
Your breath hitched with every new notification until you had to put your phone down because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Your chest felt tight—too tight—like you were seventeen again, sitting in the pew, hearing the pastor spit words about “unnatural” people and knowing they were talking about someone like you.
You didn’t realize Mina had walked in until her hand brushed yours. “Hey,” she said softly, smile dimming when she saw your face. “What happened?”
You tried to answer, but the words tangled in your throat. “My parents… they saw the picture.”
Mina’s expression shifted—anger, worry, then something gentler. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” you cut in too fast, too sharp. You didn’t want her to see. You didn’t want her to hear their words and think they were true.
But she stayed anyway, sliding down onto the floor beside your bed and taking your trembling hands into her own. “It’s okay,” she murmured, even though you could see her jaw clench. “You’re okay. They don’t get to take this from you.”
Her voice cracked just slightly on the last word, and that was enough to undo you. Tears blurred your vision until you could barely see her pink hair, her dark, steady eyes.
“I feel dirty,” you whispered. “Like maybe they’re right. Maybe—”
“Stop,” Mina said firmly, and she reached up to cup your face, grounding you. “You are not wrong for loving me or anyone else. You are not wrong for being you. You’ve been told lies your whole life, and it’s not your fault they still hurt.”
Her thumb swiped at your cheek, catching your tears before it could fall. “You’ve been healing,” she reminded you, voice softening. “This doesn’t erase that. It doesn’t undo who you’ve become. And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
You nodded, though your chest still ached. She climbed onto the bed, pulling you into her arms, letting you cry into her shoulder until the panic began to ebb.
Outside the dorm room, the world still held their judgment. But here—in Mina’s arms—you could breathe again.
And maybe tomorrow, you’d block their numbers. Maybe tomorrow, you’d stop apologizing for the way your heart had chosen her.
But tonight, you just let yourself be held.
