Chapter Text
Izuku stares numbly at the school uniform set out on his bed.
He knew school was starting up again soon- he knew.
Just like he knew exactly what school entails.
But knowing, and going through this annual tradition so many times is apparently not enough for him to be mentally prepared.
Right there, limp and imposing atop his All Might bed sheets, lay a simple skirt and stockings.
In a few days, Izuku knows he will be forced to wear those clothes for school. Knows his fantasies of coming out and attending school as himself are well and truly over, and that he’ll have to deal with at least one more year of constant misgendering and dysphoria.
He wills himself to stand on weak legs to try on the uniform. His Mum wanted him to check if it still fits right.
It does. More or less.
It’s tight enough that it’s slightly uncomfortable and… flatters his curves, but it’s not so tight it won’t last him the year. He wouldn’t want to make his Mum spend money where it’s unnecessary, so he won’t say anything. It’s the last year, anyway. Why waste the money for the sake of a bit of extra comfort?
He’ll be fine.
Izuku wants to cut his hair. He wonders how he’d look. Wonders what it’d be like, to have hair more similar to all the other boys his age.
He thinks even an undercut would be fun, eventually.
If he got an undercut, he thinks, he’d have to pay the women’s rates. Any time he’d go back, no matter how hard he tried to pass, they’d charge him women’s rates.
He isn’t sure if his Mum would let him cut it, though.
He still wants to try.
It’ll probably be a struggle- his mother loves his long hair. Always compliments it and calls it beautiful and unintentionally makes Izuku’s stomach churn unpleasantly.
It’s probably not a good idea.
Izuku knows.
He knows.
But how is he supposed to move forward?
How is he supposed to go on, with life like this?
He’s spent his whole holiday break thinking about it.
So, the day after he tries on his uniform, he goes to his mother and he asks.
She asks why.
“I thought it would be a nice change. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have shorter hair, and having it be really low maintenance sounds really nice, too.”
Mum frowns at him. “It’ll be a shame to cut it, you’ve grown it out for so long…”
It’s tense. Mum doesn’t want him to. But after a few minutes of discussion, she relents, “..But if you’re sure that’s what you want, go ahead sweetie.”
She means well.
Izuku smiles and hopes it doesn’t look bitter as he heads to his room to find a place to organise the appointment.
The inexperienced hairdresser messes up, cuts his hair much shorter than he asked for. It’s little more than a tiny sort of bob, now. She is extremely apologetic, offering a discount- no, no charge at all, for her mistake. Izuku is too busy admiring his short hair to really care, utterly lost in the image the mirror reflects back at him.
He loves it.
Smiling a little too wide with the beginnings of tears wetting his eyes, he reassures the hairdresser and pays the full amount, leaving with a skip in his step.
When he first gets home, Mum is worried. Says his hair is pretty as always, but she frets over how Izuku might feel about it- he’d only gone for a small cut, after all.
Izuku bites his lip and shakes his head. It’s fine, he tells her simply. I’m happy with how it turned out.
Mum leaves it at that, and so does Izuku.
Later that night, when Mum’s in bed and Izuku knows he won’t be seen, he grabs a few choice items from his room and squirrels himself away into the bathroom.
With several layers of sports bras over his chest and his comfiest, most oversized clothes thrown on (including an All Might hoodie from the boy’s section, because apparently girls don’t like heroes? What’s with that logic, the big stores are missing out on big money because of that heteronormative stuff!), Izuku completes the finishing touches: slap on a cap, angle it just right, and tuck away the longer strands of hair.
Izuku takes a step back and looks at himself in the mirror. A sense of wonder and awe mingles with glowing joy in his heart, light and airy, a fresh spring breeze over his face. Tears nip his eyes and he makes no effort to blink them back, too absorbed by the unattainable person in the mirror who is so him it hurts.
He looks like a boy.