Chapter Text
Cass awoke to the scent of eggs perfuming their bedroom. An early-morning haze enveloped their mind and blurred their vision, but they could make out Rapunzel standing off to the side, her back turned away from Cass. She busied herself by adorning a breakfast tray with petals of lilacs and roses, perennial smile struggling beneath a careworn expression.
Upon hearing Cass stir, Rapunzel beamed, whirling toward them. “Cass, Cass! How are you? Are you feeling any better?”
"Stellar.” The muscles of Cass’s upper back began to throb, burdened by three days of bed rest. They wiped their eyes. "Raps, what are you—"
Pain lanced through Cass's shoulders as they jerked their body up. They winced, a grunt escaping their lips.
"Cass!" Rapunzel rushed over. She gripped a stack of papers, which she shoved in Cass’s face. "Have you read this? You are expressly forbidden from getting up. Doctor’s orders."
"I was just—"
Rapunzel leveled a stern glare at Cass.
"Ugh, fine," Cass responded, slumping back into their pillows. They then scrunched up their nose, inhaling. “So… breakfast?”
“Oh, yes! I almost forgot,” said Rapunzel, scrambling to place the tray on Cass’s bed. “Here you go! Enjoy your eggs"—Cass reached for a fork—"oh, and don’t lift your arms above your shoulders. We have to remember that.”
“I think I got it,” Cass said, chuckling. “Thanks, Raps.”
The conversation entered a lull as Cass ate their eggs in silence. As they finished, they picked at the binder strap chafing their shoulder. "I just— ugh, I can't wait to get this thing off. It's been giving me hell."
"Hm. What did the doctor say?” Rapunzel gave the papers a cursory glance. “You can take it off for a few minutes, right?”
“I, uh. I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Well, let’s do it. Let’s see your chest!” Rapunzel leaped toward Cass, reaching out toward the binder’s velcro straps. “Oh, Cass, this is so exciting!”
Rapunzel undid Cass’s binder and tore off all the dressings covering their chest. As she removed the final layer, she smiled, taking in the sight. “Wow… you look amazing.”
Cass dropped their head, letting their eyes fall onto their chest—their flat chest. A wave of euphoria washed over them. All those years of binding, of hurting, of waiting faded away, supplanted by pure, unadulterated freedom.
But those scars. Cass frowned, inspecting the jagged red streaks lining their chest. Distinct, conspicuous; a reminder of how their body betrayed them, etched forever on their skin. Of how they were broken, needing to be fixed.
At that moment, Cass’s bedroom door flew open, and in bolted Eugene—wavy hair gelled into the most elaborate of coiffures, nascent facial hair emerging from his chin. "A-ha! If it isn't my comradely buddy in transition, my out-of-this-binary ice demon. How goes your recovery?"
Cass’s eyes widened in alarm; they hitched a blanket over their chest before Eugene could catch a glimpse of their scars. "Eugene, I'm not in the mood—"
Eugene gawked. "Cass, I can hardly believe my eyes—are you covering up your chest? Of all people, I’d never have guessed you’d be the one too afraid to show off those battle scars. I mean, come on, they're probably the least hideous part about you—though, really, is that saying much of anything?"
Too exhausted to hit back with a riposte, Cass rolled their eyes. But their thoughts hovered around a particular phrase.
Battle scars, they mused. Huh.
Eugene ripped his shirt off, then struck a pose. Similar scars ran across his chest, though the stark red had faded to his skin tone, barely perceptible.
“You see these?” Eugene asked, running a hand across his bare chest. “These, my friend, are the sign of a warrior. A fighter. A person brave enough to stare Mother Nature right in her nasty, pore-ridden face and say, ‘Y’know what? You don’t own me!’”
Eugene rested a hand on Cass’s shoulder. “Believe me, Cass, I know how hard it is for you to get things off your chest. You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Eugene,” Cass said, smiling. “Really, thank you. That… means a lot.”
Eugene winked, then took his leave, shirt draped over his shoulder. Rapunzel picked up Cass’s empty plate and scurried after him, leaving Cass to themself.
They exhaled, then let their hand slip down their chest; smooth, flat, free. Dysphoria was a formidable foe, but they had won the battle—and they had the scars to prove it.