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Ancap was meeting a potential business partner. One of the centrists, true, but who was he to turn down some potential connections? As he and Dead Centrist were sitting in their living room with a cup of tea, Ancom wandered out of the kitchen.
“Oh, hey,” qi said, taking a sip of qis juice, waving lazily at Ancap and their guest.
“Hello, dear mi— sir..?” the centrist seemed to be a little confused, but that was the usual reaction strangers had to Ancom.
“I’m nonbinary, actually,” qi clarified. “Qi/qim.”
“Qi?” he chuckled. “That’s not a real pronoun.”
“All pronouns are made up, like all language,” qi retorted.
“Well normal pronouns have existed for a long time,” he sipped on his tea, his tone dismissive. “Quee/kvem or whatever is just something you made up on a whim. Or what, do you use them because you identify as an attack helicopter?”
“Ha ha, very funny,” qi sarcastically sneered. “That’s pretty transphobic, actually.”
“There you go, leftists getting offended by everything,” he rolled his eyes. “That’s why I don’t identify with you guys. Both sides are way too sensitive.”
Ancom stood silent for a bit, and from under his sunglasses Ancap could see qir lip quivering a bit. Qi turned around and stomped off upstairs into qir room.
“Transphobic,” scoffed Dead Centrist. “Can you imagine? I mean, you’re trans, and I fully support you. Just because I’m not crazy doesn’t mean I’m transphobic.”
Ancap nodded, absentmindedly. He was choosing between prospective ties and the only extremist in the house he’d be willing to call a friend. He sighed, placing his sunglasses on the coffee table.
“I’ll be back.”
--
“Ancom—” Ancap tried to approach the other anarchist, sitting on the couch and seemingly playing Animal Crossing with furrowed brows, showing qi was clearly distressed.
“I’m not in the mood for drugs right now, sorry,” qi said, not looking up from qir game. Ancap froze in awkward silence for a bit, not being sure about how to breach the line of the acquaintance-like relationship they had.
“That’s not why I came,” he said slowly, earning a confused look from the other. “I wanted to apologize, for the Dead Centrist, for all the misgendering and stuff.”
“Why are you apologizing?” qi furrowed qir brows more, staring back down into qir game. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I just know how much it sucks to be invalidated,” he sat down next to qim, looking onto the floor in front of him, still being unable to lead the conversation properly. “You seemed… upset.”
“It’s not that I’m upset, per se,” qi sighed, trying to think of a way to formulate qir thoughts. “I mean, I am. It’s just that I know that if I keep being in that environment I’ll either get really angry or really miserable, and in either case I’ll just end up feeling like shit afterwards. So I leave. But I know that regardless of what I do the other person will think I’m going to go off and cry about it for the next three days non-stop. And that sucks.”
“Yeah,” he considered reaching out and hugging qim but he decided now wasn’t really the time. “I’m also sorry about all the stuff he said invalidating your gender identity.”
“It’s weird,” qi said, putting down the console on qir lap. “I’m non-binary and gender non-conforming so I always feel like I have to constantly prove my identity is ‘real’. And sometimes that means instead of overcoming my dysphoria and relieving it I sometimes loathe in it even more, because even though it hurts there’s a tiny feeling that this means that I’m valid, that I’m real, that I actually am the gender I say I am. But then I feel like shit again because no real trans person would ever want to have gender dysphoria, so I feel like the only reason I’m happy about it is because I fake it all the other time. And then the cycle repeats until I lose my mind completely. And I know that voice isn’t mine, that it’s not me who’s invalidating myself over and over, that it’s all internalized shit I’ve heard from others. But the realization doesn’t really stop it.”
“You’re allowed to have good days,” Ancap made eye contact with qim. Qi looked distressed, but not like qi was about to cry. It was like qi was just annoyed at the reoccurring mental loop and just wanted it to stop already. “You’re allowed to be happy about yourself.”
“I know,” qi ran qir hand through qir hair. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’m not trying hard enough to… I don’t know. Disconnect from my assigned gender? Not trying hard enough to pass as something else? Just generally, not trying hard enough to be trans, I guess.”
Ancap snorted, catching qim off guard.
“Being AFAB and liking skirts doesn’t make you fake,” he looked like he had just heard that communism is compatible with freedom, or that a planned economy could result in anything other than starvation. The statements were all equally idiotic to him. “The point is to be your authentic self. My authentic self just happens to be the alpha chad you see before you.”
Qi rolled qir eyes, but he saw the corners of qir lips perk up in a slight smile.
“And if your authentic self wants to wear skirts,” he went into a softer tone, smiling affectionately. “Let it. You aren’t any less valid because of something that trivial.”
Qi fully smiled at him. Qir face beamed of reassurance and confidence. Ancap reached out to qim and pulled qim into a hug. They comfortably sat like that for a while.
“Thanks,” qi said finally, pulling away. He nodded, standing up.
“Do you wanna watch some anime?” Ancap felt his cheeks coat with a slight blush as he said the words. Ancom didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah,” qi said, standing up.
--
Both of them descended down the stairs, Ancom skipping the last two steps and coming down on the floor with a hard thump. Qi laughed but qir expression immediately upon seeing the centrist still downstairs, lounging on their couch.
“Oh, hey!” he seemed to completely ignore Ancom, instead addressing Ancap. “Did you calm down the SJW? Made sure they didn’t have a panic attack?”
“First of all, it’s qi,” Ancap started out, unsure of how to even answer the question thrown at him. “Second, it’s none of your business..?”
“Qi? Really?” Dead Centrist rolled his eyes. “You’re indulging them?”
Ancom tried to say something but no words came out, and qi felt qir hand being lightly squeezed by the other anarchist.
“It’s qir pronouns. I’m just using them. What’s the issue?”
“It’s just,” he clicked his tongue and waved his hands in the air to try to illustrate his point. “Why use those weird pronouns in the first place? They is right there. It’s gender neutral, what more do you want?”
“Qi can use whatever pronouns qi wants,” Ancap could feel Ancom get more agitated behind him with every second. “Respect that.”
“Okay but they can’t get mad when they get misgendered, I mean if they don’t put effort into—”
“Shut up,” Ancom stepped out from behind Ancap, bat clenched in qir hand. This can’t be good.
“Look, I don’t mean to offend you, the truth can just hurt sometimes—”
“I said shut your mouth,” the bat in qir hand rose a bit.
“Damn, be thankful I’m not calling you ‘she’—”
Crunch. Thump. Silence.
The bloodied body laid on the floor. Soon Ancom’s bat joined it as qi dropped it. The two anarchists stared at the dead Dead Centrist, one being way more nonchalant about this than the other.
“Dude you fucking killed him,” Ancap muttered in horror.
“Yeah,” qi exhaled, with a satisfactory sigh of relief.
Ancap gulped and glanced over at his fellow extremist.
“We need to get rid of the body.”
“Yep,” Ancom said, tilting qir head in deep thought. “You wanna frame someone else for it?”
“Sure,” shrugged Ancap after a pause. “I’ll order a body bag.”
“Sounds dope.”
And so both of them bonded over hiding the corpse of a dead transphobe. They decided the anime session can wait for another day. Preferably one where neither of them were covered in anyone’s blood.