25

It was barely past five when I showed up—early enough that the gym lights still buzzed like they were waking up too, casting long fluorescent shadows over empty benches and squat racks. I liked it this way. Quiet. Sparse. The smell of rubber mats and disinfectant still clinging to the air before it was overtaken by sweat and cologne and noise.

I stuck to the corner like I always did, near the cables and weight benches. Chest day. The one that made me most self-conscious, made me layer up like armor. Sports bra. Compression bra. Another regular one on top. Didn’t matter if it made me sweat bullets—I needed the coverage. I needed to feel flat, even if it squeezed the breath out of me.

Still, I could feel the way my shirt clung to me, damp down the spine, sticking to the curve of my chest like betrayal. My face was flushed from the burn of the last set. My arms were shaking just slightly. I grabbed my water bottle and sat back on the bench to breathe.

That’s when I noticed him.

By the dumbbells. Leaning forward like he was pretending to stretch, but his eyes were locked on me. A guy. Stocky build, wide in the shoulders, heavy lidded eyes, sweat slicking the curls that escaped from under his cap. He looked familiar. Not in a friendly way—like someone who came here often but never spoke. Like someone who noticed things.

His gaze trailed over me, too direct to be casual. I wiped my brow and glanced away, pretending to check my phone. Why was he staring? Was something showing? Did I look weird? Was it the triple bras—did they bulk out my shape too much? Or was it my face? My body? I could feel the anxiety twist in my gut, heat spreading behind my ears.

I stood, slinging my towel over my shoulder and making my way to the water fountain. My steps felt heavier than they should, like walking through water. When I turned around, he was closer. Closer than before.

The gym was still dead quiet. Just the hum of the vending machine and the faint pop of music from a Bluetooth speaker someone left behind.

He approached me slowly, not rushed, not aggressive—but purposeful.

“You know,” he said, voice low and firm, “only a pervert man goes into the women’s bathroom.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard.

“What?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. His eyes pinned me in place, searching, confirming something only he seemed to see.

I raised an eyebrow, confused and starting to bristle. I’m a girl… right? I thought. But the way he looked at me didn’t match that. And yeah, maybe I’ve felt weird about that before—about my body, about how I dress, how I move through the world. About the way I hide everything under layers. About how I feel more like something else when I’m in here lifting, breathing heavy, existing as just muscle and effort and heat.

But that wasn’t his business.

“I… I’m not—” I started to explain, but the words felt wrong in my mouth. Weak. Confused.

He shook his head, stepping in closer. His voice dropped even lower, like it was a secret meant just for me.

“I know what you are,” he said, not unkindly. Not cruel. But there was weight behind it. Certainty. Something final.

His eyes scanned my face like he was reading something there I didn’t even know I’d written.

And in that moment, I didn’t know whether to run… or ask him what he saw.

maybe also wanna start T

coping

been feeling weird about my gender since i seen force masc and ftm stuff on my main

had to make a secret one

need to see more of it

i’m gonna try to make my own soon but i found these on pinterest