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Nagito is pretty. This fact hits Chiaki when he prances around her room in one of her many skirts. She eyes his flat, shapeless body, with no distinctive curves. His sinewy skin, vivid, green eyes, and his usually messy, unkempt hair tied back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, loose strands hanging in front of his face.
Nagito was pretty.
Something inside her stirs.
He slows when her laugher falters, tilting his head to the side. "Something the matter?"
She shakes her head, envisioning herself in his body, awashing herself in the feeling of aplomb. "Nope," she smiles, "you just look pretty."
He grins, "Not as pretty as you."
The bubbling discomfort is pushed down by the daydreams of looking into the reflective glass and seeing something angelic—some omnipotent god, weirdly enough.
———
Hajime is pretty. It makes sense for Nagito to be pretty, with his slim, almost feminine figure, but Hajime was a different case.
They came into class wearing makeup, one day.
It wasn't as much as Chiaki wears on a daily basis, but their cheeks are reddened and eyelashes slightly longer and darker.
She finds herself staring at them.
She wonders what she would look like if she wears less makeup, would she look so much different?
Would she look pretty?
They pick up on her staring. "You okay, Chiaki?" Hajime asks.
"You look pretty, Haji."
"Oh," they mutter, then smile. "thank you."
She smiles, fabricating herself in a universe where she doesn't have to refer to herself as herself, "No problem."
———
Chiaki is a girl.
Even if she wasn't born a girl, she knows she'd want to be a girl.
She thinks.
Maybe if she wasn't born a girl, she'd look like Nagito or Hajime.
She'd be pretty.
Of course, she knows she's pretty. She'd been told that more than she can count on her fingers.
She's pretty.
She's a pretty girl.
Chiaki is a girl.
She likes wearing makeup, and skirts, and thigh highs, and those cute vintage shoes.
Chiaki is a—
Chiaki steps in the shower, rubbing her skin with water so hot she thinks, hopes, it'll melt her away. It does nothing but turns her skin raw and red. This would suffice.
She thinks of the others.
Nagito was gay, at first telling everyone that it didn't matter, but then weaving it into an excuse, saying he couldn't do certain things because of how gay he was. Hajime quite shyly told everyone they'd feel more comfortable if everyone started referring to them with they/them pronouns. Ibuki would proudly shout how hot girls were on the daily. There was Mahiru, who felt the same but was a bit more quiet with it, preferably and obviously, sending small compliments and encouragements Hiyoko's way. Fuyuhiko was trans, not an obvious fact or something he talked about, but briefly mentioned when they asked him why he didn't want to go swimming. Sonia, on the other hand, was open about it, exclaiming to everyone it was part of her but it didn't define her in any way.
Chiaki thinks about this. The relief that must've swept them all when they knew where they belonged. Who they are.
She realizes she didn't need to think about this.
Chiaki is a girl.
———
One morning, Chiaki decides to change things up.
Instead of putting on eyeshadow or eyeliner or blush, she just wears concealer and black eyeshadow under her eyes. She wears leggings and an oversized hoodie instead of her normal attire. She collects her hair into a beanie, making it appear shorter.
She looks in the mirror.
A girl stares back at her.
She goes to class like this.
No one questions it. They go about their daily school life.
She stares down at her feet all day, conjuring up a world where all the puzzle pieces fall into place.
A few tears slip. Chiaki can't be bothered to wipe them away.
———
There's only, really matter of time before Chiaki gets tired of running away from this, she thinks.
She can't handle the feeling of the world gliding out of her fingers. She understands ignoring the problem only makes things worse. Thinking about it hurt.
Chiaki lays on her carpeted floor, gaze fixated on the ceiling.
She's in this position because she can't handle the feeling of her throat tightening at the appearance of her chest.
She was always blessed, huh.
Chiaki realizes she can't handle a lot of things.
She can't handle being in this body.
She can't handle that she doesn't know how to subside the pain.
She can't handle the sudden dryness in her throat she sees her classmates happy.
She can't handle that Nagito, Hajime, Ibuki, Mahiru, Fuyuhiko, and Sonia have everything figured out.
She can't handle the fact that's she a girl.
Her ears are wet.
She closes her eyes, humming a tune she heard in a silent film.
She tucks her knees into her chest.
Chiaki sleeps on the floor that night.
———
"I've been going through it," Chiaki says to Hajime as they lay on her bed.
"Oh?" They mutter back, scrolling on their phone.
She nods, "Been listening to Mad World on repeat. Mental breakdown anthem." She chuckles.
She expects a chuckle back, a snicker, or even an unenthusiastic "felt".
Instead, they set their phone down, looking back at her. "What's wrong?"
She feels a lump build up in her throat. “Gender shit,”
They stay silent, expecting her to continue.
She does.
“Being referred to as a girl makes me want to cry and I know I’m not a boy. The thought of everyone referring to me as they/them makes me feel like my world isn’t crashing down around me. I don’t know, I wish I didn’t have to be anything, I wanna be me. What if it’s just a phase?”
“Hey,” they say in a soft voice, “it’s not a phase. It’s you. It only feels that way due to people who want to confine you to gender norms and shit.”
The dam breaks.
Hajime strokes her hair as she cries.
For the first time, in a long time, everything feels okay.
———
Chiaki comes to a conclusion.
Using they/them makes them feel whole.
So, they wear makeup, and skirts, and thigh highs, and those cute vintage shoes, and anything else that makes them feel pretty.
Happy wasn't a word they'd use to describe how they felt as of the moment.
Though this was a headstart, they think.