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Narancia always knew he looked extremely feminine. He tried not let it bother him too much. Androgyny was very in these days, anyways. However, more often than not, it was something he just couldn’t let go. He loathed the body he was born in. His baby face, his chest, his waist, his hips, the parts of him he could hardly bring himself to talk about, all of it so very wrong.
It was this self-hatred that caused Narancia to spend his night lying awake on the living room floor, contemplating his dissatisfaction with himself. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t blame himself for his own suffering. Sometimes he thought that if only he could have stayed the precious girl his mother always wanted, things could have been better. If he hadn’t been so desperate to fit in with the other boys, he wouldn’t have been so easily manipulated by his “friends”. If he could have just sucked it up and lived as a woman, no matter how much his mind screamed that it was wrong, no matter how much he’d rather die than be called “her” again, then maybe his father wouldn’t have hated him. Maybe he could have stayed in school and gotten a job. Maybe he could have settled down with a nice man and lived out the rest of his life in a nice home in the suburbs with his two kids and a dog and a nine to five job and a steady paycheck.
Narancia sighed. No matter how many “what if” situations he came up with he knew that he couldn’t change the past. He was a boy, even if his body betrayed him. His friends were shitbags who would have betrayed him no matter what. His father would never care about him, no matter what his gender was.
“Narancia?” Abbacchio's voice shook Narancia from his introspective state. “What are you doing up?” There was a hint of concern in his tone.
“I.. I don't know. I couldn't sleep, I guess.”
Abbacchio went about his business in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine and grabbing a box of Cheez-Its from the pantry before settling onto the couch. “Well,” he said, “if you're not going back to your room, at least get off the floor.”
Narancia dragged himself up from his spot on the rug and sat on the couch next to Abbacchio.
“Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?” Abbacchio asked.
“Who said something was bothering me?”
“People don't just stay up into the wee hours of the morning for fun, Narancia,” he said, grabbing a handful of Cheez-Its from the box. “Something's keeping you awake.”
Narancia was torn. Part of him wanted to tell Abbacchio all his thoughts, all his doubts, everything that kept him up at night. Another part of him, the part that was still a scared lost child on the streets, scavenging and stealing to survive, didn't want to trust the older man with his emotions. He broke and spilled his guts.
“I'm…” He struggled to find the words to express himself. “I'm sad, I think. But I'm more than just sad. I feel… wrong. My body is wrong. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I just want this to be over. I want to be able to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see. I want to be able to have a flat chest and still be able to breathe comfortably. I want to have a deep voice like yours without my throat hurting from trying so hard. I want to be able to wear whatever I want and still be seen as a man. I…” Narancia's voice hitched. He could feel himself tearing up. “Fuck, I-”
“I get it, Narancia.” Abbacchio said calmly after taking a long sip from his glass of wine. “I was where you are just a few years ago.”
“Fuck, I can't wait a few years,” Narancia was growing more panicked. “I need this now. I can't keep going like this.”
“Well, I can't instantly give you hormones and surgery, but I can help you feel a bit better now.”
Narancia wiped the tears that threatened to fall.
“You look like shit, kid. How long has it been since you showered?”
“Uh…” Narancia was taken aback by that question. “Three days, I think.”
“You think , huh?” Abbacchio’s expression was somewhere between concerned and amused. “Showering will help, go do that now. You can even use the bathroom in my room if you want. Just be quiet, I'm not sure if Bruno is asleep.”
“But I don't want to- I don't want to have to see-” Narancia gestured vaguely at his body.
“Have you tried keeping a shirt on when you shower?”
Narancia shook his head. “It doesn't work. It just gets soaked and sticks to me and makes it worse.”
“Try turning the lights off, that helps a little. But trust me, you'll feel better when you get out.”
“Okay.” Narancia was still a bit wary of the shower, but he trusted Abbacchio.
“Hold on, one more thing before you go upstairs-” Abbacchio stopped him.
“Yeah?”
“How long have you had your binder on?”
“Not too long.” It had been almost a full day by now, but Narancia wasn't about to admit that to Abbacchio. He couldn't deal with that lecture right now.
“Okay, sure,” Abbacchio said sarcastically. “Anyways, leave it outside the door, I'll wash it while you're in there.”
“Alright.”
Narancia quietly made his way into Abbacchio and Bruno's shared bathroom, not bothering to turn on the lights as he undressed. Abbacchio was right, the warm water felt amazing. The soap had a comforting masculine aroma. Narancia made an effort to avoid unnecessarily touching his chest while scrubbing himself down.
When Narancia stepped out the shower, a clean hoodie and a pair of sweatpants were waiting for him outside the bathroom door. He recognized the hoodie as one of Abbacchio's from the logo on the front. “Mandragora Scream” wasn't a band he listened to, but he had seen the name before in the stack of CDs near the radio in the living room. Once he had changed, Narancia crept back downstairs.
To his surprise, Bruno had joined Abbacchio on the couch along with multiple pillows.
Abbacchio, who was now nestled under Bruno's arm, held the box of Cheez-Its out towards Narancia and shook it slightly. “Want some?” he asked.
“I'm not really hungry,” Narancia lied. His stomach let out a loud growl that said otherwise.
Abbacchio smirked and tossed the box to him. “Snack on these for a bit, I'll make you some real food.”
Bruno groaned in protest. “Darling, please, you're cooking is awful. Do you want to make the poor boy sick?”
Narancia had to agree that Abbacchio's cooking wasn't ideal, but he was never picky when it came to food.
“My cooking is fine, your taste buds must not be refined enough to appreciate it.” Abbacchio grumbled, feigning offense.
“You can either sit back down or set up the movie player, because you are not cooking.” Even now, Bruno's voice held some authority.
“Oh, Bruno, I love it when you use your boss voice.” Abbacchio flirted.
Bruno pressed a quick kiss to the man’s forehead as he entered the kitchen. “Leave that kind of talk for in the bedroom, officer. ”
Narancia cleared his throat.
“God, Bruno, have some decency!” Abbacchio chuckled. “There are children present, you know!”
“Oh, fuck off and let me cook,” He grumbled.
Abbacchio passed the gang's small collection of movies to Narancia. “Pick something out,” he said.
If Narancia was being honest, their collection was shit. It was an ungodly combination of Abbacchio's weird psychological horror, Bruno's rom-coms, and Fugo's artsy movies that he said were cinematic masterpieces, but bored Narancia to death. The only things of Narancia's in there was Fist of the North Star on DVD, Space Jam on VHS, and a copy of The Goofy Movie . He tossed Fist of the North Star to Abbacchio, who slipped it into the DVD player.
Abbacchio left the living room while the previews played, leaving Narancia with Bruno and the smell of french toast cooking. His mouth watered as he inhaled the sweet scent.
“How long until food'll be ready?” he asked, peeking into the kitchen from the couch. His stomach was practically gnawing on itself.
“Not long at all, Narancia,” Bruno said with a smile on his face. “I promise I'll be done before the previews are over.”
Abbacchio returned to the living room with a thick blanket. He brought it over to Narancia and wrapped it around him with far more aggression than anyone performing such a domestic task should.
“Fuckin’ shit, Abbacchio, you could stand to be a little more gentle!” Narancia teased him, but there was no malice in his words. The blanket was warm and soft, fresh from the dryer. Narancia practically melted into it's warmth. “Oh god, Abbacchio, you're a miracle worker,” he moaned.
“I told you, I know what I'm doing,” Abbacchio replied smugly.
“And I'm sorry I ever doubted you. This is amazing.”
“And I'm sure it'll be even more amazing with good food,” Bruno added, reaching around Narancia to place a plate of french toast in front of him.
Narancia tore into the sweet with gusto. It may have just been because of how hungry he was, but Narancia swore that it was the best thing he ever tasted. “Bruno, this is amazing!” he mumbled through a mouthful of french toast.
“Yes, I sometimes wonder why he doesn't cook for us more,” Abbacchio teased from where he had settled in to watch the TV.
“My cooking is a treat to be earned,” Bruno said, only somewhat joking. He joined his lover on the couch.
Narancia smiled. He was warm, full of delicious food, and watching his favorite show with two people who supported him. Things might not have been magically become perfect. Narancia still may have felt like shit in the long run. Nevertheless, things were better tonight, and to Narancia, that was good enough for now.