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Bug was fine. Truly, he was. There was only a rapidly sinking fear in his chest as he listened to the instructor. He was indifferent about them in the first place. It didn't help that every single time they referred to him, they used words that never fit him. It was the same reason he refused to do anything new. All because he was stuck in a body that he wished he could tear apart, rebuild himself into the man he was meant to be. Not this false sense of manhood he had built himself. His nails gently glided against his arms as he tensed up, threatening to make holes in his arms as his hands tightened against his skin; the skin that was far too soft for a man. His mind nearly blanked out every word the instructor spoke. Only a mild buzz in his head. All while his eyes struggled.
He was a man. Why did he have to worry over something as stupid as who he rooms with? It wasn't as if he hated any of the people, really. No, he actually adored them more than anything in the world. Especially February, she was his everything. It was just the fact that he was lumped into the same category. The way that he heard all the boys’ names being called out for rooms. He never heard his name once: a harsh mocking of him not passing or even being cared about. He didn't even have the privilege of being a senior with their own rooms. No, that would've been far too easy. The world felt like it slowed as he finally heard the girls' names called for their room.
Then it came. It was over just as quickly as he had expected it to go, yet it didn't mean it hadn't hurt any less. He's done this for three years now. Each year, his nails sink deeper into his skin. His eyes prickled with tears. He wasn’t supposed to cry. Guys don’t cry, no, he doesn’t cry. But it was painful holding back something that made his vision blurry. He just needed to push through a few more minutes. He’d go to lunch and act like nothing bothered him. Yet, it didn’t help how much his mind spiraled at the fact that all these underclassmen knew now. He knew he didn’t pass the greatest; his body is far too wide and round in all the wrong places, giving himself away as a fraud—a poser within’ the ranks.
The minutes ticked by more slowly than an hour hand on a clock. His arms hurt as he stared up at the instructor who didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not a single time. His saving freedom was the moment he watched people disperse before he even had a minute to think of anything other than being stuck with a bunch of girls. He truly wasn’t seen as anything else. It didn’t matter how open or how much he fought for his identity; it was just a back burner. Something to be chalked up to as, “Oh, she’s just a silly girl who doesn’t know any better.” He hated that he wasn't seen as anything more by adults.
Why couldn’t he be seen as anything more?
He held an almost robotic movement to everything. From the way he stood down to the way he was breathing. He needed to be perfect in their eyes. To become the ideal of what a man was. A way to correct everything he’s messed up. If only his body were just as easy to fix. Let alone how his emotions held more control than he wanted to admit. As he made his way into a spare room. His typical lunch spot he used to get away from the loud people. For such a small group, it was far too noisy. He had never been more thankful for the room being the way it was until now. As he slammed the broken door behind him. The door that was meant to be soundproof. It did sort of do its job. Yet there were always a leak of noise every once in a while.
The best thing, though, about a soundproof room was the fact it worked both ways. As he felt his legs buckle, he almost locked them up. It was enough to make him light-headed at the least. Falling down to the floor with a solid sound. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he could feel the waterworks flooding his senses. He was disgusted by himself. Disgusted how he couldn’t be the perfect mold of a man he wished he was. His nails tried to correct, no, to fix himself. The way they peeled his skin. Leaving it raw and inflamed. A gross red that brought him comfort. A reminder that he was human. That he had a place in this world. Even if it was a cruel and mocking one.
He was a man trapped within’ a body that wasn’t his own.
A body he fought tooth and nail with until he grew tired.
He was finally tired.
It felt futile to continue his cries over this. Yet no matter how many times he may have mutilated his body with his nails; as if it would’ve changed how he was formed. The only thing that had ever changed was the color of the skin as it healed, scabbing all the way to leaving a far too white mark on said skin. Many times of which he played off as minor accidents. Between his cat clawing him to him getting scratched from doing stupid things, such as taking a piece of rusty rebar home.
Oh, how he wished he could’ve played it off yet again. But there was no reasonable way to explain why his arms were covered in what looked like red wine. His eyes were wider than the saucers he dreamed of seeing one day. Looking up at his partner, who had just joined him here for lunch. Instead, she had to deal with the unfortunate mess that he was. She was so gentle, graceful, and fluid with her movements. Everything he wasn’t. He never was. Instead, he was gifted with two left feet, even if he was just walking.
All of that didn’t matter to him the moment he felt the gentle contact on his face. Leaning into the soft hand. A familiar smell of February’s lotion was wafting up to his nose. He felt messed up as he noted down every difference they had. To spare himself from spiraling. The differences grounded him a little. A way to reason with himself that he wasn’t a woman. No matter what he had spewed at him or how many times he was deadnamed. He was still himself.
A man.
His eyes were a bit bleary as he stared at the overly shadowed figure of February. As they found their way to follow her free hand. She reached for one of the napkins she had packed in her lunch. Setting it onto the open scratch mark on his arms, not doing much else with it other than letting it absorb the blood that wasn’t already becoming flakey against his skin. It felt gross, as it got sucked up into the napkin. But he couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it at all. Not when February looked at him like that. Definitely also not when he was in tears with hiccups that caused his body to jerk in an attempt to find air.
“Bug, love? You with me?” February’s voices felt like a gentle bird’s song to him. However, he still struggled to give an answer. His vocal chords only manage to give out a weak, “Yes.”
“Shh, alright. That’s good. What happened? Do you need a moment? It’s okay if you do,” She didn’t pressure him into anything. No, she just patiently waited all while she wiped his tears with her hand. Even if it way she did it was so awkward. If anything, it brought a small, shaky laugh to his lips. Dead God, he loved her so much.
“I’m sorry, Febs, I-just. I don’t know. Everything's just… too much, I don’t even know if I can even bring myself to go to the camp. Not-not that I don’t love that I'm with you,” He paused. His words were all too slow with far too long of pauses as he gathered himself.
“ I’m a man, right? ” He put it bluntly, yet there was hesitation in his voice, as if he doubted his own statement.
“Bug. That’s-What? Oh my…” He hated the fact that she didn’t give a response. Even if he didn’t know how to respond to that himself, yet, it felt like the bit of silence was going to swallow him. Did his own partner not even believe him?
He froze as he felt a gentle kiss placed just slightly above his nose.
“I’m sorry, Bug, but I need you to get that silly idea out of your head. You’re a man, no if, buts, or whats. I’m not the smartest, or even the best at this, but even I know better than anyone else that you are. Please don’t let it get in your head any differently.” Her words weren’t much. Yet every one of them brought him the comfort he sought out for.
It was a reassurance that he wasn’t just playing pretend like he did all those years ago. No, this was the truth. As a meek smile found it way onto his face. He found himself reaching out for February. Wrapping her into his arms, he cringed a bit at the contact against the open wounds. But that was secondary to the comfort he felt in her presence. Though definitely a reminder, he needed to get her a new shirt or try and get the blood out of this one. He laughed a little at even having to retake her shopping again. All the previous times were already memories he was fond of.
“C’mon, you goof, we should get you to the nurse to clean you up,” She suggested without moving away from the embrace. Rather, she was returning it without breaking it until he was ready.
“Righto, Captain Febs. Lead the way,” He giggled as he gave a small salute to her.
He actually was fine this time.
He is a man.