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They were starting to spread rumors.
In the thin mirror, Draven could see his body, and the ways it did not fit in his own eyes. Waist too slim, hips too pronounced, lacking the shape other men had. These were meager issues, because people were not always born in these rigid forms. He had seen and spent nights with many bodies, boys with beautiful curves that rivaled his own, girls with broad chests and wide waists. They weren't supposed to be doing these things, but eyes were never always upon them, and teenagers could often not resist chasing coyotes. He never let them touch him back, lavishing attention with hands and mouths. The same hands, rough and calloused, traveling against the muscle, taut skin of his belly.
His waist was too thin, too narrow like this. He'd been trying to widen it, with muscle and fat, but their diets were restricted and his efforts weren't proving too fruitful. Hands slipped higher yet, cupping small breasts that were lined with scabs and scars. Draven figured himself lucky that they hadn't grown much, but just their shape, the presence of being there. Soft flesh. Weak flesh.
Hitching breath, he gathered a roll of bandaging. Trying not to think too hard, too much, he began to wrap it around his ribs.
The difference between boy and girl is not so apparent early, but there's much that can betray. The lilt of a voice, buds pressing into the baggy fabric he was always wearing. Beneath clothing, a spindly body that belonged to nothing and no one, and still he had memories of his brother's hands. Draven had put up too much of a fuss when Darius attempted to trim his hair, but no amount of whimpering and complaining would cease the binding. Cheap cloth, flattened against his growing body, wrapped until he could barely breathe.
Draven whined until he was scolded, that he was a man and men were strong. Men could bear burdens and they did not speak otherwise. He could handle it, even if it felt crushing, even if it was too tight and left him light-headed. Anything to keep it hidden, to keep it quiet. Eventually, he learned to do it himself, and his own hands were not as rough as his brother's. Loose enough that he could breath, tight enough that his chest was flat beneath whatever he wore. He was all scraped knees and broken teeth and rough palms. Never questioned when he returned to Darius bloodied and bruised, when his measly blades were dried with blood and flesh because he never remembered to clean them.
The first layer done, and he could still fucking see them. In the mirror, he saw a shadow looming over him, with stern, steely eyes that never softened. Not for anyone. Not for him. His breathing quickened as he kept wrapping.
How wretched girlhood was, even without a hand guiding him, Draven fostered no love for his body. Without association, without feeling, he cut until they found out. Then, he simply did it beneath his clothing, where they would have to pry away the layers to find the wounds. Pain kept him icy, kept him in place, kept everything real and visceral. Along his waist, his hips, his breasts. His skin felt alight, so tender that he could feel his ponytail on his spine like needles in his flesh. The bandages were burning through the meat, when he pulled them away, there'd be nothing left. Nothing but muscle and bone. It would be better that way.
One more layer. Just one more, and then it would be enough. Draven's hands were shaking with a violent anger, and he could only imagine gnashing teeth and closed fists. They looked at him, they spoke about him with cruel tongues, whispering. A nobody from a nothing city, only amongst them because of a big brother's shadow. Looming over him, a hand guiding him, forcing his path. Binding his chest until he suffocated, with an iron grip on his shoulders, the child in the mirror was not him and it never would be. Air hissed between his teeth, a narrow gaze as he gave the bandages a rough pull.
It hurt. It forced the air from his lungs and it was not enough.
Donning his uniform, tying his hair back. Draven could not look into the mirror, where that little boy sat staring back at him, wondering if he would ever resemble the man his brother asked him to be.