Work Text:
Fundy was really done with his keys.
Scrabbling to try and get them in the stupid thing, he played with the doughnut keychain he had gotten from his boyfriend as he tried to unlock it again. This time, he managed to get the door open. So, he walked inside and looked around. “Oh, hey, Fundy!” His adopted dad called. Perking up, Fundy hurried into the dining room where Phil was. Looked around the corner. His eyes landed on the package in Phil’s hands. “Do you know what it is?”
Quickly, Fundy yanked out his phone, backpack slung over his shoulder. Then, he went to his Amazon app. Checked in on what he had ordered. Gasping, he looked over at Phil. Jumped a little bit, grabbed onto the bag. “It’s my shirts! I ordered them after my birthday, they’re men’s shirts!”
Immediately, Phil handed him some scissors. Then, Fundy sprinted off. Eyes widening, he went to his room. Phil yelled after him, “Fundy! Don’t run with scissors!” Apparently, that caught the others’ attention as well. They chatted a bit, but Fundy slammed the door closed behind himself. Immediately, he started cutting open the bag of shirts as quickly as he could.
It was a five-pack of grayscale colors. Two light grays, two blacks, and a dark gray one. Oh gosh. These look smaller than I thought they’d be, he fretted. Grabbing one of the black ones, he tossed it in between his hands. The fabric wasn’t too soft, but wasn’t harsh, either. It was just…a shirt. Which made it a little stupid that he was so excited, heart literally pounding as he held it in his hands.
Pulling off the little strip of tape holding it in a little bundle, he unrolled the shirt. Set the scissors aside. Taking a slow breath, he shifted his bra straps because he hadn’t been able to wear his binder that day since they were being washed or air-drying. Quickly, he went to find one of his older binders, one with the clasps. It wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t going to wear it for long. Yanking off his other shirt, he threw on the clasp binder and then shook out the new black shirt. Then, he yanked that on, too.
Looking down, he inhaled slowly. Shakily. Settled his hands on his chest and then let them wander down. He looked…flat. Like, actually flat. Quickly, he started moving around. Stretched a bit, looked at the way the shirt bent around him. It hung down straight from his arms. The seams were settled on the top of his shoulders. And he looked…he looked like him. Like, he really looked like himself. And it felt nice. His heart was still pounding a little, he was a little breathless, he’d admit it. But he looked like himself.
Exhaling shakily, Fundy tucked away the scissors in a drawer of his desk. Then, he turned and stroked Boots’ head, then hurried off to the bathroom. He spotted the others in the dining room, Phil and Kristin were standing and drinking from their mugs while also apparently cooking popcorn from the smell of the kitchen and the hum of the microwave. He ducked into the bathroom, turned the lights on. Normally, he avoided mirrors and pictures like the plague. He could see himself in them, see his face, but they weren’t him. He saw the face, physically. Saw the features he had. But there was so much body dysmorphia and then facial dysphoria from the years that he was just…he couldn’t connect that that was himself in those photos. It was his body. It wasn’t him. It would get better, hopefully, once he was able to get on hormones and get top surgery and then things would be better. He didn’t need any other surgeries, he just didn’t want tits.
Turning, Fundy looked at himself. Gasped softly, kept feeling his chest. Not in a weird way. But he was flat. Well, not flat, flat. He wasn’t perfectly flat. But…at this point, Techno, who worked out regularly, had bigger boobs than he did. Because Techno was like Chris Evans. Mans worked out a lot. He had big pec muscles. So did Chris Evans. So, while Fundy did look like he had some decent-sized pecs, he didn’t look like he had boobs. And he definitely wasn’t as big in the chest as Techno was. Which was funny to think about on one hand, and amazing on the other. Because he was flat. He was him.
He looked like himself.
Laughing, Fundy looked at himself, turned slightly. Smiling, he bounced on the balls of his feet. Laughed again. Hysterically. Then, he yanked the door open and hurried into the kitchen. Sliding to a stop in the doorway, he held out his arms in a sort of T-pose. “Look!” He said. Immediately, everyone else turned to look at him. Then, he slapped his chest, beamed brightly. “I’m flat! Man shirt!”
“Whoo! Movie time!” Wilbur announced, throwing his arms up. “Spiderverse?”
“Spiderverse!” Fundy yelled right back, pointing at him.
+++
They were curled on the couches, thrown all over one another.
Kristin and Phil were on the love seat, Kristin having her legs tucked up beneath her and then leaning into Phil casually. Her head rested on his shoulder. Humming, she turned and looked at him every so often as she stole MnM’s out of the bag in his hands. He didn’t seem to mind, honestly. The popcorn in total was covered in chocolate with MnMs mixed in as well.
As for Fundy, he was curled into Wilbur’s side. Tommy was on Wilbur’s other side, sandwiched in between Wilbur and Techno. He was wrapped in blankets with one of the jumpers he had definitely stolen from Wilbur sometime in the past week. He stole a lot of them, really. Constantly. There were so many stolen jumpers and no matter how many they bought for Tommy himself, he always ended up grabbing one of Wilbur’s. He seemed to just love them for some reason? He just…grabbed them. Possessively somehow.
Wilbur’s arm was thrown over Fundy’s shoulders. When Fundy’s phone buzzed, Wilbur glanced down as he pulled it out. “Your boyfriend?” He asked.
“Mhmm.” He replied. Looking at it, he smiled softly. “Aww, he’s such a sweetheart.”
“Yeah, but if he ever hurts you then I’ll kill him.”