Work Text:
The itch is back.
It starts up while Jon’s shopping for new work trousers. He’s perusing the department store aisles, trying to find the men’s clothing section, when his eyes fall on a skirt. It’s a pretty thing, deep blue in color and long enough to reach his ankles. He gingerly takes a handful of the fabric, and is pleasantly surprised to discover that it’s actually quite soft. As he gazes down at the skirt, he can feel that itch in the back of his mind again, urging him to try the skirt on. He bites his lip, considering. He can almost hear his grandmother chiding him, saying that it’s “not what respectable boys wear”, but, well, his grandmother’s not here, is she?
Before he can process what he’s doing, he grabs the hangar holding the skirt and makes a beeline for the changing room. Once he’s in a stall, he makes quick work of changing, swapping the grey trousers he’s currently wearing for the skirt. Once he’s got it on, he turns to the mirror, and-
Oh. Oh.
The cobalt hue is absolutely lovely against his dark brown skin. On impulse, he twists around a bit, delighting in the way the skirt twirls and flares with him as he moves. It feels so free. He feels free, feels as though some part of him is breathing a sigh of relief.
He ends up buying the skirt. He doesn’t have the courage to wear it outside of his flat yet, but for now, it’s nice to have something that’s just for him.
--
It’s not a constant itch. It pops up every now and again, often enough to be noticeable, to be annoying, but not enough for Jon to want to put any effort into actually dealing with it. He’s already got enough on his plate with his new position as Head Archivist, he doesn’t have time to tackle something as trivial as his feelings. Besides, it’s not as if his health is at risk (not that he would be any more likely to deal with the issue if it was). It’s just a bit of personal discomfort, he can handle discomfort.
He just wishes it wasn’t always so unexpected.
Today, for instance. Jon had been feeling slightly off all morning, but he’d attributed it to the fact that he’d skipped breakfast (which, admittedly, probably hadn’t helped). Martin had somehow badgered him into taking a break from statements and eating lunch with his coworkers, so he was stuck sitting around the breakroom table, only half-listening to the conversation playing out in front of him.
“-Jon?”
Jon looked up from his leftovers as he belatedly realized he was being asked something.
“Sorry, what was the question?”
Sasha rolled her eyes, but she didn’t actually seem all that annoyed. “We were discussing the books we had to read for English class back in school, and I wanted to get your opinions on some of the classics. Figure a well-read man such as yourself is bound to have some interesting thoughts on Wuthering Heights.”
The words sent a shudder down Jon’s spine, and his stomach twisted with disgust. His face must’ve conveyed his discomfort, because Sasha’s expression twisted into one of concern.
“Jon? Is everything okay?”
“I-“ He doesn’t know why, but in that moment, having the term man used for him makes him want to scream. He needed to get out of here, away from the prying eyes of his coworkers now. “Sorry, I-I should get back to work.”
He didn’t wait for a response before grabbing his things and rushing out of the breakroom, back to the safety of his office. He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him.
What had all that been about?
--
He needs to go grocery shopping.
He doesn’t want to go grocery shopping. Today is one of those days where everything feels wrong in a way that makes his skin crawl, and he’s certain that going out and being around other people would only make it worse.
He can’t keep putting off the shopping, though. His fridge and pantry are already too bare.
Jon forces himself to get out of bed and move over to the closet. Normally, he spends days like these with a blanket wrapped tightly around himself, because it helps to not have to look at his body. However, seeing as how he can’t wear a blanket to Tesco’s, he’ll have to go through the herculean trial of picking out clothing that doesn’t make him feel even more awful than he already does.
He digs through his options, feeling worse and worse as he tries to find a suitable pair of trousers, when he stumbles upon the skirt. His hand hovers over it, uncertain. He’s worn it around the flat a few times at this point, but never outside. Never where people could judge him for it. The idea of trying to wear trousers makes him feel a little bit ill, though, so he pulls it on.
The sheer relief is absolutely palpable. He instantly feels lighter, more himself. He grabs a plain black t-shirt and his old combat boots to go with it. It’s not an especially complex outfit, but it feels so right.
He takes a moment to look over himself in the mirror before grabbing a hairbrush and brushing his hair so that it falls in neat waves around his shoulders. Most of the time, he keeps the bulk of his hair up in a bun, professional and out of his face. Right now, though, he’s liking the way it looks hanging down, long and free. His grandmother insisted he keep his hair short, because that was what was “appropriate” for boys. When he’d gone to uni, he stopped putting in the effort to cut it regularly, only breaking out the clippers when it got too long to be easily manageable. Personally, he suspects keeping his hair long is one of the few good decisions he’s ever made.
Satisfied with his appearance, he grabs his phone, keys, and wallet, and heads out of the flat.
For most of the trip, Tesco’s is… It’s okay. Nobody says anything, positive or negative, to him. It’s not until the near end of the errand that anything noteworthy happens.
He’s standing in the sauce aisle, trying to decide what kind of pasta sauce he should buy. Standing a few feet away from him is a pair of young men browsing the shelves, trying to find some item or other. After a couple minutes, one of the men peels away and walks over to near where Jon is standing.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Jon looks around a bit in confusion. There’s nobody in the aisle save him and the other two shoppers.
“Ma’am? Would you mind moving just a bit, please?”
The man asks the question a little louder, and Jon startles as he realizes that the question is being addressed to him. He whips around to stare at the man, who seems just as surprised as Jon feels.
“Oh! Sorry, I’ll just, um-“
He turns and hurries back to his companion, who looks somewhat amused by the whole ordeal.
Jon is left standing in front of the sauces, utterly baffled. The man had apologized, like he’d expected Jon to be offended for being mistaken for a woman, but Jon hadn’t been upset by the mistake. If anything, he felt almost… lighter. Relieved, even, like a part of himself that had been desperate to be seen had finally been recognized.
But that didn’t make any sense. He was a man, men weren’t typically glad to be mistaken for women, right?
Unless… he wasn’t actually a man? But he was fine being called a man most of the time.
…Of course, if he really was a man, he’d be fine being called such all the time.
His heart began hammering in his chest, and his throat felt a little tighter. Oh. Oh no. Tesco’s was a terrible place to have an identity crisis. He blindly grabbed a jar of pasta sauce and put it in the cart. Buying the groceries and walking back to his flat went by in a haze. Once he was home, he set his purchases on the kitchen counter, not bothering to put to them away before he went to his room and collapsed face down on the bed.
--
After the incident at the store, Jon did what he always did when presented with a query: he researched.
He opened up his laptop and began typing into his browser’s search bar. He searched for “can you only be a man sometimes”, which returned several pages on nonbinary identities and resources for nonbinary people. Before long, he had several tabs open, some containing labels and definitions, some containing stories from nonbinary people on what their experience as a nonbinary person was like.
All in all, it was a rather educational endeavor. He’d known about nonbinary people in theory, but he’d never thought the idea could apply to him (was he still a him)?
The one term he kept coming back to was “genderfluid”. Out of all the identities he found, that one stuck out to him the most. That had to mean something, right?
“Let’s try a little experiment, shall we?” He says to himself. “I am… genderfluid.”
There’s no chorus of angels when he says it, no moment of glorious triumph when he says it… but there is an overwhelming feeling of rightness that courses through him. He nearly cries with relief. “I’m genderfluid!”
He’s laughing in joy when he notices the time. 3:28 A.M. Leave it to him to stay up researching into the wee hours of the night. Still, he’s practically giddy as he gets ready for bed.
He has a better understanding of who he is now.
He’s genderfluid.
--
They begin to use different pronouns for themself in their head. They don’t think they could ever change their name, they’re too attached to “Jon”, but they like the idea of alternating what pronouns they use.
The only issue is that they haven’t actually told anybody this.
It’s not that they think their coworkers would react negatively, it’s just… there’s something so terrifying about the idea of being known, of being seen for who you truly are. Jon’s never been the best at overcoming that fear, and so they keep quiet.
For a while, anyway.
Everything comes to a head one Wednesday morning in the archives. Jon’s in their office, looking over a statement and trying to ignore the itch in the back of their mind. They’d learning while researching that it was called “dysphoria”, and that it was a fairly common experience for trans people. Jon hates the days where they feel dysphoric, where things just feel wrong and they want to hide from the world. If they were at home, they would wear something more feminine, maybe put on some of the make-up they’d bought recently, and that would usually help. Now, though, they’re stuck in their office, wearing their too-masculine clothes because they were too afraid to try wearing anything feminine into work.
After the fifth time trying to read the same sentence, Jon accepts that they’re not going to accomplish anything like this, and abandons the statement. They bring a hand up to massage their temples, trying to figure out what else they could do. As they think, their gaze falls on the upper-left corner of their desk, where there’s a stack of discredited statements waiting to be filed. Normally, they’d just hand the task off to one of their assistants, but they don’t mind doing it themself.
They grab the files and head for their office door, taking a moment to steel their nerves before exiting.
Their assistants look up as Jon leaves their office. They normally only leave the office when it hits evening, or when they’ve been dragged out to lunch, so they can’t really blame their coworkers for being surprised.
That doesn’t make them feel any better about being scrutinized, though.
“What’s up, boss?” Tim asks, leaning back in his chair.
“Nothing,” Jon replies, a little too stiffly. “Just… filing some statements, that’s all.”
“Alright,” Tim says, his tone neutral. “Nice to see you voluntarily leaving your office for once.”
Martin gives him a look. “Tim!”
Tim rolls his eyes. “Am I wrong, though? If we didn’t drag him out every now and then, he’d probably spend all his time holed up in there. Honestly, Jon, it can’t be healthy for you to spend so much time cooped up in that dusty office.”
Jon’s not listening.
They know, logically, that Tim has no way of knowing that he’s using the wrong pronouns for them.
It doesn’t stop the words from piercing through their chest like a knife. It takes every ounce of willpower Jon has to not scream.
“I’ll take that under consideration, Tim,” they say, internally cursing at the way their voice ever so slightly wobbles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some filing to do.”
Jon stalks off deeper into the archives, where the labyrinth of filing cabinets is kept. Once they’re alone, they take a moment to try and compose themself, abandoning the papers they’re carrying on a random shelf. They try to take deep breaths, calm down their racing heart. The last thing they need right now is to have a panic attack at work.
A voice calls out from somewhere nearby. “Jon?”
Scratch that, the absolute last thing they need is for one of their coworkers to witness them having a panic attack. Jon wants to yell at the other person to go away, that they’re fine, but their breath hitches, and they can’t get the words out.
“Jon?” Tim turns around the corner, coming into view. “Whoa, bossman, are you-“
“Don’t call me that,” Jon snaps in a wobbly voice.
“Right, sorry. Um…” Tim rubs a hand over his face, trying to figure out what to do. “Here, can you sit down against that wall for me?”
He points to a nearby wall, and Jon shakily nods, moving to stand against it. They slowly lower themself onto the floor, and Tim joins them.
“Alright, there we go.” He speaks in a soft, gentle voice, trying to be reassuring. “Mind taking some deep breaths for me?”
Jon tries, but they can’t quite manage it. “I-I c-can’t.”
“You can,” Tim assures them. “Try again?”
They try again, and again, and eventually, their breathing evens out.
“Alright,” they say, a little more steady. “I’m- I’m better now, I think.”
Tim gives them a long, considering look before leaning his head back against the wall. “Okay.”
He sounds as though he doesn’t quite believe them.
“…Okay,” Jon replies, leaning their head back against the cool wall as well.
The two of them sit like that for a few minutes, until Jon works up the courage to break the silence.
“I’m fine with you calling me boss,” they begin.
Tim turns to give them a confused look. “Okay?”
Jon takes a deep breath before continuing. It’s now or never. “…It was the ‘man’ part I have an issue with.”
Tim’s confusion morphs into realization. “…Oh. Shit, I’m sorry-“
Jon shakes their head. “Don’t be, you had no way of knowing.”
“I’m still sorry.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you want me to use a different name for you? Or different pronouns?”
Jon opens their mouth to answer, but stops. They’d much rather do this in front of everyone, because they’re not sure they have the nerve to do it more than once.
“I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have,” they say as they begin to stand up, “but I think we should go get Martin and Sasha first.”
--
Jon’s wearing the cobalt skirt again, the one she found while shopping almost four months ago. She often wears it on her more feminine days, along with a pair of heeled boots she’d picked up on a shopping trip Sasha had insisted on dragging her on. They do that, now, sometimes: have little girls’ day excursions, just the two of them. Jon always loves those days.
Today, though, is a work day. Jon’s in her office, having gotten into the archives early to get a head start on the day’s tasks. As she’s finishing up a statement, she hears the voices of her coworkers trickle in through the cracked door, signaling that they’ve arrived. She smiles, and gets up to go greet them. It’s funny, really; before coming out, she couldn’t imagine being close (being friends) with her assistants like this. Now, she almost can’t believe things had ever been different.
Martin’s in the middle of telling some story when Jon peers out of her office. He perks up when he notices her.
“Morning Jon! Still using they/them today?”
“She/her, actually,” she gently corrects. “And good morning to you all, too.”
“She/her, got it” he says with a smile. “Anyway, I was just telling Tim and Sasha about this completely ridiculous encounter I had with my neighbor yesterday evening…”
Martin begins the story again, and as Jon leans against the doorframe to listen, she decides that maybe being seen isn’t such a terrifying thing after all.