✖ PROBLEM CHILD ✖

So much was happening all at once. Mutsuki blinked down at Suzuya groggily before his request finally registered. “O-oh! Oh! Um–” He reached out a hand and pulled the both of them to their feet. 

“I wasn’t snoring that much…was I?” Embarrassment colored his tone and he blushed slightly. Like a grizzly bear? Surely Suzuya was only playing with him about that…right? 

“I’m sorry. It’s all my fault you missed eating. I…you could have just left me here! You didn’t have to stay. I’ve taken your whole day.” There was still a slight rasp to his voice but he felt much better overall after resting so much. “Next time, don’t worry about me! Just go take care of yourself. I’ll always be fine! Really!”

He took the hand— palms, cold with perspiration, rejoicing in the insulated cocoon of much toastier ones— and set about ironing himself back out; joints clicking rheumatically as he did so (with more than one gurgle of complaint).

❝ S’okay. I’m not really that hungry. ❞ 

His sense of sight might’ve been a little foggy and his nose might’ve been clogging up, but he wasn’t deaf— and could tell that Tooru still sounded ill. 

Okay, he could work with this. So Suzuya didn’t know what a binder was? That was fine. That was to be expected, really. He had no real reason to know what that was. And if Mutsuki wanted to tell him about himself, he would have to explain that. It was okay. Everything was okay. 

Still, his heart pounded in his chest so loudly and incessantly. 

“Y-yes,” He stumbled, hands curling around the hem of his sweatshirt nervously. “I do wear it. Every day, actually.” It was hard, but he kept his tone even and informative. It wasn’t as if he was well-practiced in this conversation. But he was trying, because he wanted to have this conversation. 

“A binder um…helps to compress my chest.” Suddenly he was years younger, sitting stock-straight in that chair as the men with faces that he couldn’t remember asked him to join the CCG. His heart beat heavy, just as it had then. But he had something he didn’t used to have. He had self-belief. He knew who he was and what he wanted to be.

He sighed, allowing himself to look down at his hands and gather the courage to look back up at Suzuya. “When I was younger, I had only unpleasant feelings about living as a girl. I didn’t know why.” He looked back up at him then, face set in determination. “But I do know why now. It’s because I’m a boy. I’m not a girl and I never was. I’m a boy, Suzuya.” He explained, hoping he was making sense. Hoping beyond hope that somehow he would be understood –that he would be accepted. 

That he wouldn’t regret giving away his first kiss.

Tooru was doing the thing again— the thing where he fidgeted his hands and fiddled with his clothing as if it was nothing more than cellophane and he was exposed— voice projected at the ground. It was as if he expected to be told off. Juuzou couldn’t imagine why… you’d have better luck finding a philosopher’s stone than shocking him. He didn’t get it— him— at all.

A binder to compress his chest…?

Juuzou unfolded the garment and, experimentally, held it up to his own chest… trying to understand what, of the cartilage and calcified bone, there was to flatten until—

                                                         Girl.

There was no tact in the way he looked Tooru up and down— not to objectify him… not intentionally; but in the same way he’d rather refer to the illustrated instructions on the back of a noodle packet than read. 

❝ Tooru used to live as a girl. ❞

And then, internally—  

                                                “ ...Juuzou used to live as a girl... ”

Now, their experiences might not have been identical, but they still related... and for him to relate was an entirely new and entirely terrific phenomenon. Excitement filled him all at once. He had questions. He had so, so many questions that’d gone unsaid to a world that would surely be judgemental. But now... now he had an opportunity to speak about it and the feeling of freedom was incredible. With a hopeful grin, he hopped over to the table and took a seat— inching so close that their knees touched; eyes huge and inquiring. 

Mutsuki rinsed and spat into the kitchen sink, using an extra toothbrush Suzuya had dug up –still in the package, even. He felt guilty for it, a waste, he supposed. But still it was nice to begin to feel a little fresher. He splashed cool water on his face, wishing for a shower himself. He could still hear the water running in the bathroom as he leaned against the kitchen counter and a wave of sleepiness tugged at him once more. The couch looked awfully inviting…

Before he knew it, he was curled up on the couch once more, somewhere halfway to sleep. Waffles weren’t enough to distract him from what had happened. They’d kissed. And then what? What was supposed to happen? Were they supposed to just act like nothing had happened? He’d never had to deal with anything like this…but…

He’d done it for a reason.

Even if he was drunk, he had clearly been inspired by something. Some feeling inside of him that he had been able to mask while sober. When had this happened? And h o w? He couldn’t keep pretending. But if he was going to be honest with Suzuya…he had to be wholly honest, right? Maybe…he should tell him about himself. They’d been through so much together that it was the next logical step, right? Or maybe he was just too tired to think straight. If he reacted well, then maybe…

It was that thought that was interrupted by Suzuya’s arrival. Mutsuki sat up again, startled by the sudden noise. Suzuya was always so boisterous. How he could keep that up under the circumstances was beyond Mutsuki. “A–ah!” His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the binder in Suzuya’s hands. His first instinct was to l i e. To make up a story that would shift attention from him. To deny all knowledge of what was going on. Suzuya would believe him, too. He trusted him so much that he wouldn’t think it was false information. Mutsuki had control over the situation and he could run from it.

But–

“I-it’s mine.” He admitted, voice too serious in contrast with Suzuya’s joke. “I…I was thinking about telling you.” Fingers gripped at the too-loose sweatshirt fabric and he swallowed hard. “It’s a…it’s called a binder, Suzuya. Have you heard of those?”

❝ A binder... ❞

Hands, still pruney like his unironed shirt— stitches puckered and wooly in places (he’ll need to replace them soon)— rotated the funny doughnut of cloth. It was no bigger than a handkerchief, really, when he let it’s elasticated self crinkle back up. It wasn’t something he’d ever seen before, and so he shook his head.  

❝ What’s that? ❞

He might not be well-informed in the way nitty-gritties, but Suzuya did know that not everyone identified as the gender they were born into. The gourmets were an eclectic group— and the more rococo, flamboyant side of things had not been closeted to him. He knew that you didn’t need to have ‘boy-bits’ to be a boy or ‘girl-bits’ to be a girl. He himself had crossdressed; his genitals had been neutered— but he was a boy... and why?                                               Because he said so.                                Because that’s what made him feel good.                Because he’d been Rei and been uncomfortable for far too long. 

SEND A SYMBOL FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS: ✣ bringing them food

Of all the things that could’ve hospitalized him… of all the ghouls, enemies made, the gymnastics he did as if he were elastic from top to toe, and even his diet… of course, of course it would be a pair of rollerskates. He’d never used them before— but with everything else he could do, you wouldn’t think it’d end in injury. Even Hanbee— the perpetual killjoy who’d joined him that day— hadn’t expected him to hit a rock, and then the gravel with his face. And so, here he’d found himself— in a cot, nursing a fractured jaw, concussion, and the loss of a tooth. But that wasn’t the worst of it. No… by far, the most upsetting thing was the fact that he COULDN’T CHEW.

There were only so many purees the doctors could give him before he got testy. Fortunately, Haise had delivered to him just what he needed in the nick of time.

❝ Haitheeee—!!! S’that a milkthake?! ❞

It was, and as he grabbed it and puckered his lips around the straw, realized that it wasn’t just any flavour— but cookies and cream, from the doughnut shop. He tilted his head back and grinned.

“Ah…S-suzuya…?” He recognized that body language. It was the language of someone paralyzed in pain.

“Suzuya…if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. But please, is there anything I can do for you?”

❝ Can you just—... ❞

Go? Definitely, if Tooru wasn’t Tooru. But Tooru was Tooru, and Juuzou was Juuzou— not Rei— and he was GOOD. He was.                                                                       Wasn’t he?

“Suzuya?” He fretted quietly, approaching with his gentle type of caution when he realized that Suzuya didn’t seem to be in a good state. “What’s…what’s the matter?”

❝ —Don’t. ❞

...Don’t lose your head. He pinched at his thigh; at the itchiness under the flesh. Hooks. Hanging from the ceiling. A human chandelier. 

Go on Anon and attempt to make my Muse cry! (STILL ACCEPTING)

Three years ago, the reaction would’ve been explosive— a feral eruption of the most primitive rage and knives and kill-or-be-killed determination to hurt the other as they’d hurt him. And he’d have done it. He’d show them a FREAK, and make them regret fucking with someone as intolerant… as homicidal as they described. 

But this wasn’t three years ago, and a lot had happened in that time. His vocabulary had grown; only he hadn’t used a dictionary to learn what it meant to love and grieve and how it felt to have every last artery, vein, capillary filled with guilt. It was hard for him to believe that humanity was such a good thing when it made him feel so bad.

The words avalanched, and he lost himself in the fray.

He felt bad. He’d been bad. He was bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad. 

                                                                        —Apologize, Rei-chan.