#fbmh

“Annabelle, I have something to tell you.”

They’re sitting at a table in her flat, a cosy place all covered in warm colours, but especially a glamorous burgundy for the carpet under said table. Florian has looked at this carpet for… thirty seconds or so, trying to gather up the courage he’s currently in dire need. He didn’t want to land there but there he is.

“Like… I know we have both been in love for a while, without any of us having to tell the other, it is just… natural for us, right?”

“Of course it is,” Annabelle replies with a curious tone in her voice, “you just want to make it formal, do you not?”

“Yes, but… I have something else to tell you about, something you need to know before I feel like we can properly date.”

“I am all ears, Florian.”

It’s way harder when he’s actually facing her, her smile, her patient eyes, her general sweetness. It’s been a while since he did so, and changing colleges made it ten times easier, since he didn’t have to reveal the nasty thing.

However, he can’t say the same thing about a relationship meant to be intimate and built on trusting the other like one would do for themselves, if not more. He’s about to reveal to the girl who has haunted his heart for the past year about the worst part of himself, his very own weak point, that one aspect of himself he can’t help but hate. The hole in his now perfect Parisian façade.

“Listen, I… I… I’m a boy.”

“I… know this, Florian. It is pretty obvious, if you ask me.”

Snap. This isn’t how it’s going to go today, isn’t it? It’s a whole other nature.

“No, no, that wasn’t what I meant… I… I don’t know how to say it…”

His accent’s rearing its ugly head again, and he doesn’t want that, not in front of her, the girl he’s supposed to be worth of, so he focuses on his façade again. It’ll be easier if he has his façade. He finally looks into her eyes.

“Annabelle, I am not like other men. I am…”

He scratches his head, hands shaking and he sighs. It’ll be easier if it takes it the scientific route. What if she doesn’t know the word? It’s always possible. He highly doubts it, if even himself knew about it before entering college,

“Do you know the difference between physical sex and brain sex?”

“Is it not called gender? I have a vague memory of studying this in high school biology class. Why so?”

“It is called gender. The thing is that… that…”

The word rolls on his tongue over and over again, and he feels it in his chest, in his veins, in his nerves, and it feels all wrong again. It’s now or never. It shouldn’t be that way, if she loves him, she’ll accept that, won’t she? But if… There’s no time for ifs, if he doesn’t spit it out right now, he’ll never do so.

“Annabelle, I’m transgender. I’m a transgender man.”

Florian instantly falls back into his chair, barely releasing his breath, his eyes focused on her even if he feels like crying right now. It shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t feel so afraid, but there he is, wanting to cry like he was sixteen all over again. It’s still way too painful to say every time, like he hasn’t won over that yet, and like he never will. Maybe he’s damned to always feel so pained about that part of him.

“I’m… I’m born a woman.”

That sentence just reminds him of his birthname, every time. It’s like he can’t escape it. He doesn’t want to hear it again and simply suppress it from his memories, but it always comes back, crawling back from its tomb, like an undead that has been shot a thousand times but still comes back because he can’t find where to target the thing.

But he isn’t her to the world now. He is Florian. He’ll always be Florian. He’s always been Florian.

And every time she comes back, she fades away even more, to the point she’s just the ghost of a rejection he suppressed the memory of enough to just remember his family.

“Are you alright? You look very shaken” says Annabelle, looking at him with the sweetest glance he’s ever seen, and his shoulders finally let a bit loose.

“I’m… I’m alright… It’s just tough to say, it’s always been… Sorry for making you worry” he apologizes, head still slightly spinning.

He comes back to a correct sitting position, lays his arms on the table. She puts her hand on his, a comfortable familiar warmth invades him, and he’s never been so grateful for the angel she is. He barely deserves her.

“It does not change any feeling I have for you, Florian. I am glad you trust in me enough to confess a thing so deep and painful for you, it shows how brave you are and how far we have come. However, believe me when I say this does not change the way I see you, nor my feelings for you. You are still yourself. I would follow you to the end of the world if it meant staying together.”

He feels like crying again, and he does, but this time it feels amazing. He has to take off his glasses and wipe his eyes out.

“I should have known you weren’t going to make a huge fuss about that… Sorry for all the worry I’ve induced in you, that wasn’t my purpose…”

She looks away, reddened cheeks, as he puts on his glasses again.

“You know, Florian, you should also stop with the Parisian attitude. This is not yourself, and I do not see what is fundamentally wrong enough with your natural speech for you to hide it.”

“Wait, how do you… Snap, I’ve been talking with my accent all along, haven’t I?”

She just giggles at his slight panic.

“Oh, Florian… You always talk like this when you are nervous… Not to mention this is how you spoke when you were ill. What is the issue with this?”

“It’s… just that I don’t like being that countryside guy in the class… I’ve come very far from where my family came from, but I can never entirely get rid of it, and I just relay on hiding my accent and speech…”

“Speaking of which… Where do you come from? I do not think I have heard this accent before.”

“I’m born and was raised in Evry, but my family is from Lorraine. I inherited my family’s accent during my childhood.”

Annabelle gets up from her chair, goes next to him.

“Can you get up for me, please?” she asks.

He doesn’t really see why, but he still does. She goes on the tip of her feet, takes support on his chest and leaves the smallest kiss on his lips.

“You are quite tall,” she says in a gentle laugh.

Florian simply decides to lower so she can do whatever she wants to do with his face.

“I will have to buy taller heels,” she snickers.

“You just have to ask me to bow down.”

He’s the one to kiss her next.

So... I guess this is the first time I get to say this.

Florian is transgender.

I've always been scared of making it official because, well, I'm questioning (I think I have genetial dysphoria, but I need to get diagnosed because I say anything) but it's possible I'm "just" cis. I know it's a touchey topic, so I handled it with as much care as I could for him. I hope this shows, and if it doesn't, I'm very sorry again.