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He feels all of the air leave his chest when he runs full speed into the wall. He isn’t phased, picking himself back up and pushing the screen door open to grab the package on the doorstep. He’s absently thankful that he didn’t crash into the screen door instead, but all of those thoughts leave his mind when he feels the squishy plastic in his hands.
“Dad!” He shouts, nearly running into the wall again as he sprints back into the house. He holds the package like a trophy, like something precious that he’s been given as a reward. It doesn’t feel real even in his hands.
His father is in the living room, reading a military novel. He looks up over his shoulder as Draven runs into the room.
“I’m guessing that it came.”
Draven is beyond ecstatic. “It came! I need to go try it on…” He trails off, too excited to form sentences.
He returns to his room, and the thoughts begin to catch up with him. He was thankful that his father was so accepting- ‘thankful’ likely not being an apt word for the debt of gratitude that he owes his father. Draven was only 12, younger than most of the people he knew from the trans support groups that he frequented, and he knew that his age would likely be a point of contention for a different parent. He was ‘too young to know’ to someone else, but to Benjamin, he was free to make his own decisions. ‘Whatever makes you happy, as long as it’s safe’.
Fatherly advice was doled out somewhat regularly in their house, but Draven always cherished it. He and his father were close, and the elder Kondraki kept a watchful eye on his son. Throughout Draven’s journey of becoming a ‘son’ rather than a daughter, Benjamin had been inquisitive but supportive. Outside of this, too, Ben was much the same.
In his room, Draven wastes no time in ripping open the package. It’s purple, slightly sheer in places with a long tanktop style to it. He had chosen it over the shorter sports bra-esque models on the site, wanting something that could give him more coverage.
Draven Kondraki is 12 years old, and he’s holding his first binder.
He’s nervous to put it on, at first. Will it hurt? Will he feel anything ? What about mentally- what will he feel inside when he puts it on?
His hands are trembling a bit as he takes off his shirt, then as he slips it over his shoulders. It’s a bit tight, and for a moment, he wonders if he bought the wrong size- but then, it slips over his arms just right, and the fit is perfect . Draven dashes to a mirror, and words can’t describe the depth of ecstasy that he felt on seeing himself with a flat chest. He had hit puberty young, and so a flat chest is something he hasn’t seen for a few years now.
It feels natural, it feels right when he sees himself in the mirror.
He doesn’t want to take it off. He knows that he doesn’t have to, not yet, but he doesn’t ever want to take it off. It’s as if a thousand pound weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and now he’s able to breathe naturally for the first time in years. He makes note of the slight compression of his ribs; though he’s still able to breathe perfectly fine, he’d need to make note of that when being active.
Draven puts his shirt back on over the binder, and he runs back into the living room.
“Dad! Look!”
He runs in front of Benjamin, and his father looks up from his book. A smile quickly spreads across Ben’s face, and Draven can’t help but return it.
“Does it fit?”
“It fits perfect!”
Ben leans forwards, and Draven comes closer. He pats Draven on the shoulder once, hard, and winks at him.
“You’re gonna be a real ladykiller with that thing on.”
Draven blushes. “Dad!” He mutters, “I like boys, too.”
“Then you’re a real mankiller. A slaughterer of men. An axe murderer-”
“Dad!”
This was how many of their conversations went. Benjamin Kondraki was an eccentric, sometimes erratic man, but he did his best not to let his stranger qualities interfere with Draven’s quality of life. Being raised in the Foundation inherently led to some odd situations, but Draven had braved it thus far without any incident. He and Ben traded light blows at one another in a fatherly way, and they both loved it.
“I’m gonna go look at myself in the mirror more.” Draven had already taken off for his room.
“Alright, Narcissus.”
Draven groans as he pulls open the door to his room, and another ‘Dad!’ interjection went unspoken.
He’s watched dozens of Youtube videos on the subject in preparation, but nothing comes as close to feeling ‘real’ as the actual moment when he unsheathes the needle. Draven takes a deep, shaky breath, feeling his chest expand in a binder that now feels too tight. He debates taking it off, but he knows that it’s just nerves.
He’s 16, and he’s holding part of his new prescription. Calling it a ‘prescription’ sounds weird; it’s lifechanging, life saving , something he’s been waiting for since he started puberty blockers at 13.
Draven tries to remember the steps as he draws out the testosterone from the vial, then as he changes out the needle tip. The steps ring out in his head, but he still isn’t sure he’s getting them right. He cleans a small area of his buttock with an alcohol swab (he was bendy enough to reach back there, and there was no way he’d be jabbing himself in the thigh).
“You’ve got this,” He says to the mirror. “You’ve got this.”
He takes a deep breath and takes the weight off of that side of his body, lifting up his foot like he’d heard was helpful. He taps the needle once more to get any remaining bubbles dislodged, then sticks it in, hissing involuntarily. It doesn’t really hurt, so much as it’s just an uncomfortable intrusion beneath his skin. Ok , he thinks, as he slides it in deeper, it hurts a little .
Draven pushes down the plunger and feels the resistance of the thick oil inside of his body, and it takes an agonizingly long time for all of the fluid to empty itself out. He takes a deep breath, pulls out the needle, and slaps a bandaid on the spot as soon as the needle is out, not wanting any of it to seep out.
“You did it,” He speaks to the mirror again. “You fucking did it.”\
Draven searches for poetic, inspirational thoughts, but he comes up short. One thought rings out in his mind as he inspects the Hello Kitty bandaid that he’s put on the injection site: his ass itches.
Draven is 20, and he’s nervous to move his arm with the IV in it. They’ve only got saline running in it right now, keeping his veins nice and plump before they give him the anesthetic. It’s a funny thought- or at least, his panic-stricken brain is interpreting it as funny.
“You doing alright?”
Talloran looks up from his book.
“Why would I be doing bad?” James reaches out to pat Draven. “And you’ve asked me that three times.”
Draven chuckles. “Sorry.”
The chuckle was more of a tense hiss behind his teeth, but he can’t help it. He’s nervous. He’s never had surgery like this, not since he had impacted wisdom teeth taken out after a procedure in the dental office had initially failed. He remembers that- being led out to his dad still drugged up from the nitrous, drooling blood and spit everywhere from an open wound in his mouth as they explain that they’ll need to do surgery.
Oh, God, what if he has a reaction to the anesthesia? Sure, he didn’t when he had surgery, but he had had a reaction to the nitrous; Draven knows that they’re nothing alike, but he wonders in his fear-wracked mind if it might be similar.
“Mr. Kondraki?” A voice breaks through his panic, and soon a nurse is visible as they pull back the curtain in the waiting area. “The surgeon is ready for you.”
“O-oh, cool, uh,” Draven’s voice breaks in a way it hadn’t since he was about 6 months on T. “What do I need to do?”
The nurse smiles wide at him, like she’s dealt with stupider questions before. It’s sort of reassuring, he has to admit.
“Nothing, sir. I’m just going to give you this,” She holds up a comically large needle. “And you’ll go right to sleep?”
“That goes in me!?”
James speaks up this time, “It goes in your IV.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, that’s right. This is just ketamine while we get you ready for surgery.”
Draven overcomes his fear of moving his arm to grip tight at the sheet of the bed. He tries to take deep, slow breaths, but he’s not very successful.
“Ok. I’m ok. Let’s do this.”
“Count backwards from 6.”
Draven isn’t quite sure why, but he does it. “6, 5, 4…”
“Slow your breathing down.”
“3, 2...James?”
Draven blinks. He’s looking at James, who has his hand on the side of his head. His head is swimming, and the nice nurse is gone.
“Did it work?”
“Look down, Draven.”
He does, and he sees his chest wrapped in bandages.
“I fell asleep!?”
“You’ve been out for about an hour and a half. It went very well, and they said you should heal perfectly fine.”
Draven smiles blearily, and fist-pumps. He can’t wait to get these bandages off and see what’s there- or, rather, what isn’t there.
They cuddle beneath the stained sheet that they call a blanket. James’s head is pressed into the small of Draven’s back, and Draven can feel the warmth emanating from his hair. Draven shifts in bed a bit, trying to get comfortable.
“Babe, can you move?”
“Yeah, hold on-”
Before James can move, though, there’s a knock at the door.
“Special delivery!”
It’s Clef. Of course, it’s Clef. Before Draven or James can reply, Clef is opening the door, and Draven scrambles to cover his chest. There’s nothing to cover, but that doesn’t deter him from the habit that he’d never lost. Clef is holding a bottle of whiskey, and he takes a few steps closer to the bed.
“What’s up?” James blinks blearily, his glasses on the bedside table.
“Draven, your dad said to offer you some of this before I opened it.”
Draven squints. It’s...banana cream pie flavored?
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Really? Your loss.”
Clef unscrews the cap, visibly cutting his hand on the foil wrapper, but he’s undeterred as he takes a giant swig from the bottle. The liquid is an off-yellow-brown-ish color, and Draven hears James gag.
“Come join us for games if you want. Your dad wants to play Cards Against Humanity.”
“Will do,” Draven chuckles, and he shifts in bed to get up and close the door as Clef leaves it hanging wide open.
Draven Kondraki is 23, and he feels complete.