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When he was young, Stiles never really felt "different" from anyone else. Even though his parents dressed him in pink and told him to use the girls' room, he was fine with it, didn't think about it. He never really thought at all about his gender or what it meant about him or about how people saw him. If someone thought he was weak, then they were stupid. If someone thought he'd rather stay indoors and play with dolls or kiddie cookware than run outside with Scott and play with bugs in the mud, then they obviously didn't know him very well.
It wasn't really until he started middle school when his chest started to get bigger and he discovered his first spot of bright red blood on his underwear when he began to feel uncomfortable in his own skin.
He rebelled against it. He threw out every last scrap of pink from his wardrobe and lived in baggy, monochrome clothes instead. He stole his dad's clippers and sheared his hair down to a buzz cut in the middle of the night and didn't react to his dad's shock in the morning. His dad perceived it as a delayed reaction to his mother's death, and Stiles let him. Scott rubbed his hands all over his head and said it looked cool.
Stiles first realized he had a crush on a girl in fourth grade. Lydia Martin was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in all his nine years and he wished he could do something, anything to get her to notice him. This turned into him teasing her and grabbing her stuff and holding it up high above his head so she couldn't reach and yelling at her across the playground, and then later whining to Scott when none of this worked to get Lydia to realize how amazing he is.
"Could you shut up about Lydia for two seconds? I'm trying to beat this level," Scott complained, his fingers flying away on his game controller. "It's like you're in love with her or something."
Stiles jaw snapped shut with a click. He stared blankly at the TV screen where Scott narrowly avoided a pixelated death, then he mumbled, "I'm not in love with her."
"It's whatever."
And just like that, Stiles realized maybe he does like Lydia, and maybe if Scott's so calm about it, maybe it's okay.
Stiles first learned what a transgender person was in his first year of high school. When he was in middle school, there were these two girls who were the "lesbian couple". Hardly anyone bothered to know them by name, they just knew them as that. Stiles didn't particularly bother, he just shared classes with them and incidentally noticed their names were Ruby and Nicole, and okay, maybe he felt really happy when he once saw Lydia talking to Ruby one day like they were friends, because maybe Lydia's okay with that kinda thing and she'd be okay if Stiles were into that kinda thing with her.
But then over the summer break between middle school and high school, Nicole chopped off all her hair and kept it short like Stiles was continuing to do, and started going by Nick instead. And he overheard Ruby calling Nick "he" once. The second he got home, Stiles started frantically googling. Unsure what to call it, he searched every variation of "girl becoming a boy" he could think of before stumbling on websites and forums and blogs about transgender people and their stories about transitioning. He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes going misty as he read one entry that was really similar to his story — liking girls and being confused about it, feeling more comfortable while dressing masculine, feeling way uncomfortable with the aftermath of the havoc puberty wreaked on his body. And then the entry talked about the sense of relief and belonging after learning about and joining online trans communities.
Stiles spent hours scrolling through posts and posts on the subject, learning more and more as lots of little things clicked with him and made him realize what he was going through.
It was a little past midnight when Stiles crept into his dad's room and gently shook him awake.
"Wha—Stiles? What's wrong? Are you okay?" He said groggily as he tried pushing himself up into a sitting position.
"Dad, I think—I mean, I'm a boy," he said right off the bat, his heart beating ferociously against his chest.
His dad went silent, rubbing his eyes before turning on the lamp on his nightstand and looking Stiles in the eye. "You're sure?"
"I, I did a lot of reading just now, and, well, deep down I think I always knew on some level? At least, I haven't really felt right ever since middle school, I mean, I know I started it kinda sudden, but I think—"
"Okay," his dad said simply, clapping a hand against his back. "I started to get a feeling about something like that when you never grew out that buzz cut, and, well, the way you act."
Stiles laughed in a whoosh, letting out happiness and relief and he launched himself at his dad and hugged him tight. He kept his cool the whole time, until his dad returned the hug and rubbed his back and quietly said, "I'm proud of you, son."
At that, the waterworks flipped like a switch and he sobbed into his dad's shoulder for a long time, clinging to him and letting himself be rocked back and forth until he slowly calmed down and ended up falling asleep right there in the bed.
After that, things came more easily. Now that he understood what he was feeling and why, and he was getting the tentative but full support of his dad, he didn't need his clothes to be so baggy to hide his body. Instead, he got a good binder online and a few outfits that felt cooler and more him — a little more form fitting, still boyish but trendier, more colorful. When he and his dad set up a doctor's appointment to maybe get started on testosterone therapy, Stiles realized he had to stop putting it off and tell Scott what was going on already.
His best friend in the world since he was seven, the idea of losing him terrified Stiles. He didn't really think he would; Scott had always been there for him through everything, and he's a sweet and open minded guy, but it felt so impossible to gauge his potential reaction to something like this.
It came out in a rush when they were having lunch at school one day. He tried to ease into it, maybe bring up that guy Nick to see how Scott reacted to that, but he was never very good at patience and ended up just blurting, "Scott, I'm a boy."
Scott looked up from his lunch and stared at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Stiles said hesitantly, unsure about his reaction.
"Well, duh."
Stiles laughed in amazement. "Duh?"
"Well I kind of just always thought of you as a boy, anyway," Scott said sheepishly. "I just didn't know if that'd tick you off or not. 'Cause I mean, if you were a girl, I wouldn't want you thinking I thought you were any less of one just 'cause you're boyish, but if—"
He cut himself off the instant he realized there were tears running down Stiles' cheeks. "Oh, shit, dude, did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"No, Scott, it's okay," Stiles sniffled and wiped at his face with both hands before looking back up at him with a shaky smile. "You said everything right."