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When he – she – wakes up, Jehan – Jehanne – knows today is going to be hard. Her parents will scold her for slipping into the ‘wrong’ gender if she speaks, and she’ll have to continue onwards as if everything is fine even though she feels like she’s lying to herself as much as she’s lying to everyone else. She wishes she had something else to worry in her hands than the sleeves of her school shirt, because she has a habit of ruining them this way.
Getting dressed is probably one of the worst parts; she’s forced to acknowledge that she does not fit quite right into this body, despite it being hers, and that she can’t escape it. It’s worse than usual because she’s even further out of sync. Jehanne looks into the mirror and her parents’ Jean stares back, and when she reaches as if to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear uncomfortably, her fingers are met with nothing but the feeling of short strands slipping through her fingertips, too short to be brushed away.
When she goes down to eat breakfast with her parents, she does so in silence, and they only see Jean and so don’t lecture her. Yet. There’s something poetic in this somewhere she’s sure, and she’ll probably end up penning it onto her wrist during the day. Once she’s finished with her food, she packs her satchel and heads off to endure a day of classes in as close to silence as she can.
At break, Jehanne sits down in her usual place, next to Combeferre, across from Courfeyrac and diagonal to Enjolras, and promptly buries her head in her arms. She’s had swings before, but this is one of the bad ones, and she can feel the absence of her hair – it had been cropped short again, no matter how much she protested it – and how at odds her mind and her body are. She’s uncomfortable in her own skin, and she hates the feeling. She rather wants to cry.
“Jehan?”
She feels all the muscles in her shoulders tense as she hunches them and curls tighter into herself. She knows they notice, because Combeferre and Enjolras notice everything and even Courfeyrac can pay attention if he wants, but they just wait patiently. She should tell them. She’s made brief, inexplicit mentions of her gender and how it works, and they’re definitely not the type to judge; hell, the way they talk, she knows, really, that they’ll support her whatever. So, clinging firmly to that thought – they’ll understand, of course they will – she quietly murmurs “Jehanne.”
She pauses for a moment and then realises she’s still whispering into her arms, so she raises her head slightly, feeling her cheeks start to burn, and repeats herself.
Beside her, Combeferre only nods understandingly. Enjolras doesn’t really do anything, but Courfeyrac leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead.
“Are you okay, Jehanne?” Combeferre asks – and he’s so gentle and kind, like always, because he’s Combeferre – and Jehanne hesitantly nods her head, feeling some of the tension ease away.
“Yeah, I... it’s a bad day.” She says softly. Combeferre doesn’t press any further, but it feels good to hear some recognition. They turn back to their conversation and continue on as normal – Courfeyrac laces his fingers with hers because he’s incredibly tactile and somehow it’s immensely comforting, because it’s the same as normal, and as she slowly starts to relax and talk, she uses the feminine, and none of them even bat an eyelid.