Archive of Our Own

They had a new student at the dojo. A young man in his mid-twenties with dark hair that had green highlights. Green eyes. Freckles on his cheeks. Gunhead wasn’t planning on taking in any more students. He had a full class. But New Guy had come in oh-so eager to get started; it was hard to say no. New Guy was already well-built, lean with tough shoulders, but not too muscular like some of the other students who did weights. He’d come in wearing cargo pants and a shirt that had an anime logo on it.

“I read reviews on you,” he told Gunhead, his face all smiles. “Everyone says you’re the best in the area. You’re a legend.”

Gunhead was, indeed.

Gunhead said, “Thank you. Did someone refer you to me?”

New Guy said, “Yeah! From another dojo not far from here. And I Googled you. I wanted to be sure who I’d be training under. I wasn’t comfortable with my last trainer.”

She didn’t want to ask why. That was none of their business. Gunhead could’ve told him they wouldn’t be training any more pupils. But Gunhead turned to her and said, “I have my hands full at the moment. Uraraka, you won’t mind taking over this one, will you?”

She should’ve said she couldn’t. According to whatever her doctor planned next, she might need to take time off from the dojo later. She should’ve. She didn’t. That was a mistake on her. New Guy was just so bright-eyed she couldn’t turn him away.

“Sure!” she said in a happy tone.

“That’s awesome!” New Guy said, balling up his fists. “Thank you. When do we start?”

“Monday at four sounds good to you?” Gunhead said.

“Yeah!”

Might as well train him before she couldn’t anymore. She’d trained other students before, and she felt honored that Gunhead saw her as one of his best students for this; but she just hadn’t triened anybody under her new painful circumstances.

New Guy’s name was Izuku Midoriya. She’d be seeing him a lot.

***

He was a mangaka for a living. Barely a living. The job didn’t pay well for all the hard work he and his assistants put in. But he loved art and superheroes and storytelling, so it was fulfilling in that regard. He did feel bad for his assistant, making Shoto shade so many pipes. He did so without complaints, though Izuku was half-sure he’d traumatized him with the pipes.

They weren’t just coworkers but roommates. Tokyo was expensive, so they rented a one-bedroom apartment together and rolled up two futons on the floor in the bedroom. It was tiny but it was home. They worked in the living room on the chabudai that had two small fans – each pointing where each artist would sit and draw – and two drawing tablets. Digital art was the last step in the process, mainly to add darker lines, fix lines, or remove lines. Clean up. The sketches and inks came first.

Shoto was a quiet worker. He never complained despite the number of crooked fingers Izuku had made him shade over the weeks. They took turns making each other breakfast and dinner. For lunch, they ordered out, ate out, or Izuku worked through lunch to do more pages before his hunger reminded him that he was overworking again. He couldn’t do much about that – not when he worked fourteen to fifteen hours a day including weekends. He had one day off, in which his brain worked on plot points and worried over deadlines. He didn’t want to risk the magazine dropping him if he couldn’t keep up with work demands.

It was a struggle to both work and take care of himself. He’d lost too much weight, which, considering he’d been pretty skinny before, was alarming. His first gym trainer, Yagi Toshinori, had managed to build him up with a healthier diet and, admittedly, brutal exercises. The man worked with him up until Toshinori retired due to stomach cancer and heartbreakingly passed away. Izuku still couldn’t get himself to look for another gym trainer; losing Yagi Toshinori felt like losing a father. There would never be somebody like Yagi Toshinori. His therapist advised him to go into martial arts to build up his confidence. He didn’t have much of that, especially not thanks to his childhood trauma from bullying at school.

Squeezing exercise into his already full day had been a challenge. He slept four to five hours, woke up at five in the morning for a run, came back to work on his manga, worked out at home while Shoto watched TV nearby, went back to work, then went to the gymnasium or one last run for the day. He had martial arts practice twice a week. Unfortunately, his relationship with his teacher soured.

The martial artists, who had initially praised Izuku for being one of her best students, had started to behave more distant the more Izuku’s body started to change throughout the weeks. Izuku had looked more feminine initially before he’d started taking testosterone. He’d started with low-dose at first, wanting to see if testosterone really was for him. The change was subtle, things like more body hair and clitoris growth. He determined, yes, this was what he wanted, and went on an increased dose, which immediately increased the changes. His voice dropped; he shaved more often; his shoulders widened. All of which must’ve puzzled his teacher and classmates. He hadn’t told her – it was his body and his business, and it didn’t affect his training – so the more masculine he became, the longer his sensei stared.

At some point, she must’ve realized – that, or somebody from her class who did figure it out themselves earlier had told her – because she’d started to scowl more like she was disappointed in him. He’d fancied telling her his new name but figured it was better to look for a whole new teacher and start anew. Start with a teacher who wouldn’t know about his transition or his deadname.

He’d almost signed up with a teacher named Ojiro but his class schedule did not line up with Izuku’s mangaka life. Ojiro redirected him to somebody else:

“Try Gunhead’s dojo. He’s just around the Diamond Gym, between the train station and Hana Park.”

Sure enough, he found it. Only this dojo was annoyingly hard to locate. The door looked like a wall; he must’ve passed by it four times before he noticed it was a door all along.

She was just slightly smaller than him, the student who would be teaching him. After Gunhead assigned her to be Izuku’s trainer, Izuku stayed to watch her demonstrate a few techniques to a class under Gunhead’s order. Izuku wanted to check out her training style. She fought like a small person, aiming for the gut and legs a lot. Kicks and takedowns and self-defensive moves. It was what he was looking for. She’d be his senpai.

Shoto continued to be his assistant and loyal friend during Izuku’s transition. When Izuku had come out to him – that he was demisexual and trans-masc – Shoto had slurped his cold soba and simply said, “Okay.” Izuku wasn’t sure if Shoto understood what he’d been told but didn’t seem to care.

His mother had been a bundle of support, calling him her baby like always, gifting him any item that had a trans flag on it – mugs, a clay frog, a plush shark, pictures of the flag hung at the back of a restaurant, because, why not? – and she’d let him stay with her during his six weeks of recovery from top surgery, telling him, “You don’t have to wash any more binders, honey.” She’d bought him lots of button-ups she helped him slip on and off because, right after his surgery, he was stuck with T-rex hands for weeks, unable to stretch his arms out lest he pulled at his stitches. He had very impressive scars where the double incisions had happened.

***

Ochaco determined, on his first training session, that he was capable and bright, but lacked confidence in himself. He was just a few months older than her, and he showed that he knew more than he’d let on.

“You doubted yourself,” she said over him after she’d thrown him to the mat. “You saw the opening. I saw you see it.”

“Yes, Senpai.”

“You didn’t go for it.”

“…” He held perfectly still, half of his face pressed against the mat.

“You hesitated. We need to work on that. Don’t let your opponent have you on the ground or it’s over for you.”

“Yes, Senpai.”

“Alright!” She said with a sudden chipper attitude and got off of him. “You can get up now. That’s it for today. You did pretty good.” She went to the vending machine to get some water. She ordered two and tossed him one. “Catch.”

He did, almost dropped it, but managed to hold it upside down. “Ah – thank you.”

“You knew more than just the basics like you mentioned before.” She was initially surprised he knew how to counter her for a second. First-time students got overwhelmed easily and weren’t used to trying to think and act at the same time in such a short time frame. He would’ve gotten her if he hadn’t hesitated.

“If feels like I just know basics.”

She giggled. “Well, that was impressive for just basics.”

“I’m actually learning because of, you know, the confidence thing.”

“Well, you’re already way ahead of most of the other students here. You can do it, alright?”

“Thank you, Senpai.”

***

Her doctor’s appointment didn’t go well. Her pelvic exam was dreadful. She scheduled an endometrial biopsy appointment and MRI scan, which she was not looking forward to. The whole ordeal of her condition put her in uncomfortable situations.

Part of her was angry her past doctors hadn’t taken her seriously when she complained about pain and her period being abnormal. Most told her to lose weight. Even when she had her polycystic ovary syndrome diagnosis, they hadn’t explained to her what that was exactly. It was like anything to do with her reproductive health was a case of hush-hush among doctors. She did her own damn research and suspected endometriosis. Again, they didn’t believe her.

Her last male doctor hadn’t taken her seriously when she’d told him she sometimes felt like her insides were shredding. He assured her it was normal to be in pain, and Ochaco was sure he had gaslighted her about her pain being normal that time because he didn’t sound like he was listening to her. He had told her, “Have you tried losing weight?”

She was sure that, no, this was not just regular period pains; she was not even on her period, so why the bloody discharge? It sometimes hurt to pee; that was definitely not a period thing. Her pains were sharp and inconsistent. She started hating doctors because I’m in agony, why won’t you help me? She’d lost count of how many times she’d switched doctors.

It was only when a new doctor had told her the bleeding might be cysts in her ovaries rupturing and transferred her to the hospital for surgical drainage that they accidentally found the real cause.

If only it were the cysts.

***

Ochaco accidentally bumped into him at the supermarket. She saw him at the dojo twice a week. Izuku was a good student. A hard-working one. That was one thing to describe him: hard-working. He was polite. Overly so.

“You live near here?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s a little late but I worked through my alarm and didn’t hear it. Oh, I need alarms to make me take breaks when I work. My roommate says I wouldn’t feed us when it’s my turn otherwise.” He chuckled.

She laughed with him.

***

He switched from injections to pellets, little things inserted under the skin that fed him testosterone for the next four to six months instead of needing a shot every two weeks. It was much more convenient for him; he didn’t spend time preparing the syringe and waiting for the bubbles inside to rise and pop. He didn’t think of himself as a man, just masculine presenting. He was okay with being called a guy, but being called a man just didn’t feel right.

But being masc-presenting meant people automatically perceive him as a man. They treated him differently: girls thought he was trying to flirt when he tried to be nice; men didn’t like how ‘emotional’ Izuku got; the catcalling had all stopped; walking behind a girl at night made the girl nervous, and it would take a few minutes for Izuku to realize why and he’d cross the street instead.

He looked much different now. It was probably why, when he accidentally ran into his old bully from middle school and high school, the guy did not recognize him at first. He’d stared like Izuku had grown a second head instead of just a more masculine build.

“Who are you?” Katsuki had all but whispered. It felt like a dread-filled accusation rather than a question.

It was odd, hearing that voice out of a person who normally talked by yelling.

Izuku hadn’t seen him since graduation, when they split up for college.

“Hi, Kacchan.”

The look on Katsuki’s face would’ve been hilarious if Izuku hadn’t been terrified of the situation. He could tell Katsuki recognized him. He wasn’t ready for whatever was going to come out of his childhood bully’s mouth.

Izuku mumbled, “I, uh, my name’s Izuku now.”

Part of Izuku thought somebody brash and abusive like Katsuki wouldn’t hesitate to be transphobic. But maybe Katsuki wouldn’t sink that low. To his surprise, Katsuki swallowed and said, “Right.” That’s it. That was all he had to say.

This was… odd. All of it. He was used to Katsuki ripping up his doodles and throwing his shoes into the pond and having a laugh at him. This Katsuki was, admittedly, freaking him the fuck out.

“Did you always know?” Katsuki asked, not looking at him.

“No. I thought I just hated myself. Turned out I was dysphoric.” And hated himself.

For a while, Katsuki didn’t say anything, then, “How’s your mom doing?”

“My mom? She’s good.”

“Tell her mine said to call her more often.”

“I will.”

Their moms were friends. Izuku didn’t know if his mom told Mitsuki of Izuku’s transition. If Katsuki didn’t know, she probably hadn’t. That was for the better. He’d originally tried to go stealth with his transition, but that was almost impossible with people who’d known him before.

“Heard you really became a mangaka.”

“I did.”

Katsuki made a noise that was half-snort, half-huff. “Can’t believe you actually did it. I read that shit, you know. They have them in the store next to the fashion studio.”

 “Fashion studio?”

“Where I work.”

His past bully worked… at a fashion studio.

“Don’t give me that look,” said Katsuki.

“I thought you went elsewhere. I don’t know where exactly, just not that.”

“You think I’m not good enough for a fashion studio?”

“No, no – just surprised me, is all.”

“You’re not the only one who can study art, dumbass.”

Izuku thought Katsuki would’ve gone into the STEM field. This… was all sorts of surprising.

“Are you a model?”

“Fashion critic.”

Izuku felt sorry for whomever Katsuki critiqued.

“I, uh, look,” started Katsuki, “I don’t know how to say this to you, or when’s the right time, or if there even is a right time. I’m… sorry. For everything. I was an ass and I shouldn’t have been and… yeah. Fuck, this is hard.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to, like, forgive me or some shit. I owed you an apology.”

“You’re different.”

“Says the guy I just knew was a guy this whole time.”

Izuku laughed.

Katsuki said, “Therapy changes you. I didn’t think it was working. But everyone I talked to from years before said I’m different. So I guess the money’s been worth it.”

***

It was the first time he managed to grapple her into submission, his arms and legs crossed around her, trapping her, his face all red from the effort. She tapped him on the arm and he let her go.

“You did great. That was really good,” she told him excitedly.

He didn’t look too thrilled. “Hm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You’re not hurt, are you? You looked like you were in pain.”

“I’m fine, Midoriya. Don’t worry about it.”

He just looked at her with sad eyes, no doubt thoughts going through that big brain of his. His eyes were telling. Calculating. “Your gut. It felt strained when I grabbed you.”

“I appreciate your worry. I’m just tired. Been a long day.”

She didn’t think he believed her. She knew he didn’t believe her, and he knew that; he didn’t bother to hide the pleading look on his face.

She went to the bathroom, pulled her panties down, sat on the toilet.

She bled through her underwear again. The tampons weren’t enough to stop the ungodly amounts of bleeding. She’d been bleeding for four straight weeks now, a thing that started happening a few months ago after missing periods and needing birth control to regulate it. Only her body was not cooperating with the pills now. Her severe cramping started during her teaching lesson with him. Her pain relief medication wasn’t helping. On some rare days, the pain sent her to the hospital. It was a lonely experience, going to the hospital, going to doctors who said they either didn’t know what the problem was, or that she was overexerting, or misdiagnosed her. Her current doctor now knew.

***

He walked with her to the train station. They both boarded the train, and sat next to each other.

“You walk strangely today,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re hurting, aren’t you?” He gave her a pleading look.

She didn’t deny it this time.

He asked, “How bad is it, Senpai? Are you sick? If you are, you should rest. It’s not good to overexert yourself. You’re a good teacher. Please take care of yourself.”

It fluttered her, this person with such bright eyes that almost always looked wet. She smelled his cologne, his shampoo. She wanted to feel his hands. He was always careful with those hands whenever she paired him up to face another student. He knew how to defend himself and not hurt anyone. Even when he won, he’d help his opponent up, apologize, and ask if they were okay. Kindness was all this person was made of.

She smiled gently and said, “I’m fine.”

***

She didn't come to class. He was paired with another student for the time being.

He texted her if everything was okay.

She said, Something came up.

That was all.

***

She found him just as she walked out of the grocery store at eight pm, when it had started to rain. She was having trouble carrying two grocery bags and an umbrella when someone else hovered his umbrella over her.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” she asked him.

Izuku shrugged and said, “You have a pattern. I thought I’d find you if I came back at the same time I did when I saw you here the first time. I think I got lucky.”

She looked up at his umbrella. “Thanks.”

“Can I walk you home? I don’t want you to get wet.”

She said, Sure. They were silent for the walk there, passing by couples and high school kids out having fun or doing errands, old people waddling their way to their little bicycles they parked near stores.

At the train station, he shook the water off his umbrella, folded it, held it between his legs when they both took seats, waiting for the train.

“You came looking for me. Why?” she finally asked.

“I had a bad feeling, like something was wrong. I had to be sure you were okay.”

“That’s thoughtful, but I’m okay. Besides,” she laughed, “I’m just someone you see at the dojo.”

“My old gym instructor was just a teacher. But I saw him like a father to me. I had a bad feeling when his bad health got him. I hoped he’d be okay. But…”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I just… wanted to be sure you were still around.”

Still around. At the grocery store, or in general? She wouldn’t know.

She told him, laughing lightly to ease into what she had to say, “I had a doctor’s appointment. It’s something personal, but I’m doing okay.”

“You’re seeing a doctor.” He tested the words in his mouth, then said, “That’s good.”

“I sometimes wonder how much really goes on in your head if you somehow had space for me in your mind.”

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, you’ve been on my mind a lot. Can I… would it be weird if I asked you to come with me for coffee sometime?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“… Maybe. You don’t need to say yes, of course!”

“I think I’d like that.”

“Really? You mean it?”

“Of course.” She’d had boys ask her out before back in school. Normally, she kindly turned them down or she’d accept then the guy turned out to not be much of a match for her; or she’d say no, and the boys would keep trying, not getting the hint, or get mad and call her a bitch. She’d dated two girls for a time, and the process of letting them go was much tamer. Boys. They were a confusing bunch. Izuku felt different. He didn’t bother to act tough, gave her the option to back out if she wanted to. He wasn’t a confident person. So him asking her out was a big deal.

“There’s just, something you should know,” he said, “if… if we’re going to go out. I feel like I should tell you now. I hope you’ll still train me if – if it doesn’t work out.”

“What is it?” She held her breath.

“I’m trans.”

And she released that breath. “Have I been referring to you by the wrong thing?” was her concern at that moment.

He laughed, his voice a bell ringing with relief. “Oh, no, I’m not a woman. I’m… not necessarily a man, either.”

“Okay. That’s good. For a second, I thought you were going to tell me something bad.”

“You’re okay with this?”

“Yeah – why wouldn’t I be? Oh. Your last martial arts teacher… You said…”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that in this dojo. I can tell you right now Gunhead won’t care.”

“Would it be alright if you don’t tell him just yet? I don’t want to look for another dojo right now. And you’re a good instructor.”

“Sure. Of course.” She’d been lamenting on boys in her head. Turned out he wasn’t one. That was a bit of a relief.

***

He insisted he pay for her coffee.

“You’re a mangaka?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I don’t move around much. I wasn’t eating well, either. I owe my gym trainer a lot. He really taught me how to take better care of myself. He was… a really great man. He had cancer. Stomach cancer. He’d had it before. They took out his stomach. It wasn’t enough – it had already spread outside his stomach. I came to talk to him beside his bed sometimes. Then he didn’t wake up. He wasn’t ever going to. I’ve only known him for a few years, but it felt like I knew him all my life. There’re just some people like that in the world. They’re hard to let go of.”

She could never understand what that kind of loss might feel like. He talked about that man like he was a father to him. She still had her parents, still called them to hear their voices. In fact, she’d had them over just a week ago. They insisted they visit after she told them her diagnosis after her endometrial biopsy results. They made her dinner. They watched TV; her dad yelled at the screen when they turned on sports. They stuck around, hugged her, kissed her head, her dad telling her, “We’re proud of you, kiddo.” Then they left, and she cried after. They didn’t pass away. But them leaving felt like goodbye that day. Yes, her doctor said she was hopeful things would be alright in the end. But there was still a chance it won’t.

And maybe that was why life seemed like a fever dream.

She liked Izuku. Very much so. He made her calm. He saw life in a way she wanted: through all the colors and not just the shades low self-confidence and childhood trauma wanted him to see. The dojo had many students – specifically ones with trauma – who’d come in because therapists had advised them to. When he’d told her he was training to up his self-esteem, she immediately knew his background hadn’t been an easily-lived one. He hid it well, all smiles and bright eyes and cheerfulness. Such a happy person for someone who’d had it rough before.

She asked him out for a second date.

He said, “I’d love to. That’d be great.”

***

He saw her collapse during a training session at the dojo. She’d been stiff the entire time; he suspected it was one of her pains she kept trying to hide. Her brows were furrowed. Her mouth strained to keep at a straight line and not scrunch over into a snarl. She was going to demonstrate how to throw an opponent – him – over her back and onto the mat. She got as far as pulling his arm over her shoulder and his chest flat against her back, and stopped right there. She released him.

He grabbed her before she sank to the floor and eased her down slowly. She began to sweat. They hadn’t started anything yet for her to be sweating in the face so.

“Senpai? Uraraka Senpai, are you alright? Gunhead Sensei, something’s wrong!”

“I just… need to use the restroom…” She tried to laugh it off. It came out fake as ever. “Must be a stomach bug still.”

Gunhead insisted she take a break at least, and if she was still unwell she should go home. Izuku helped her to the only bathroom the dojo had and waited outside.

He talked to her through the door. “Do you need to tell your doctor? I can go get your phone if you want.”

“It’s okay. She knows. It… happens.” Her voice was muffled from behind the door.

“I want to ask what it is, but you said it’s a private thing so…”

He heard a flash, the tap water turning on and off. She came out and seemed to be having trouble walking, the pain still lingering. Izuku dragged over a cheap chair for her.

She collapsed onto it. “Thanks. Give me a few minutes. It usually goes away later.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go home? We can do this another day.”

“I’ll see if this lets up.”

He didn’t look convinced it was a good idea. Still, he said, “Alright. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Can I at least get you water?”

The vending machine was right there.

She said, “Water’s good.”

He got her a bottle, stayed quiet when she took a few sips.

“Hey, Midoriya?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s my turn to tell you something.”

He tilted his head like a curious puppy.

She said, “Before things get serious. You probably should know. I should’ve told you when I asked you out for a second date. It’s just… what you said made me think I shouldn’t tell you. But now, I don’t know when I should’ve told you.”

“What is it?”

“I have cancer.”

***

Endometrial cancer. She’d complained of the beginning symptoms. Her other doctors hadn’t taken her seriously enough to spot it earlier. Female reproductive health was just not important enough to look into when all the complaints were just pain and bleeding.

Izuku wasn’t saying much. He wasn’t saying anything when she told him. He’d already lost someone to cancer. Now, just as he got to know her more, got to take her out for coffee, she told him she had it too.

“What…?” He swallowed a hard lump in his throat.

He didn’t believe the words he heard. Ochaco wondered if he was having a momentary flashback of his past trainer telling him he had cancer before he died.

“I have cancer,” she repeated.

He ran a hand down his face. “Gosh… I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“I have surgery booked. They’re taking out my uterus and ovaries. I have radiation therapy then.”

“…I’ve had those taken out,” – for an entirely different reason – “if… if you need any information on that. What I’m saying is, I’m here for you, if you need anything. I – if you need me to go with you to the hospital, I can do that. I… gosh, I wasn’t ready for this, I’m so sorry.” He crouched and hid his face behind his hands.

She gave a weak chuckle. “I kind of sprung that on you out of nowhere.”

“I… and you’ve been training me. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, I decided I wanted to do that.” She flexed her arm, showing off her arm muscles. “Let’s keep working together, okay?”

He lifted his head, eyes so lost in her eyes. “Hm… Yeah. Let’s. Just, stop if you need to.”

She couldn’t promise him the thing that happened with his past trainer wouldn’t happen again. Yes, her doctor assured her things had a high chance of turning out okay. But she kept talking in percentages and numbers and probabilities; it was hard to be positive and promise something that had the probability of not working.

***

She took him to the aquarium for their date. It was the day just before her surgery was scheduled.

He wanted to pay her for lunch. She said it was her turn and waved him off.

He did come with her to the hospital for her surgery, sat next to her and talked while the nurse fitted her with the IV catheter. He talked to her about his past, how he got bullied a lot, then about seeing his bully again after years apart only to see how much the both of them had changed.

“I don’t forgive him. Not yet,” Izuku said, “But it was good to see where he’s at now.”

He told her about his own hysterectomy, what he experienced, what she had to lookout for. “I don’t get periods anymore. That’s good for me; they always made me dysphoric. I thought I just hated it like how everyone hated periods, but then, after I figured out who I was, it made sense. I didn’t hate it like others hated it. I hated it because it reminded me of what I had inside. I hated going through the aisles and looking at products labeled for women only. Getting periods heightened my overall dysphoria. It made me squeamish remembering what I had inside. I didn’t want them anymore. Finding a doctor to do the surgery for me was difficult. I kept getting asked what if I wanted children someday, what if I changed my mind, what if I regretted it. Things like that. All the advertisements and websites talking about it advertised it for cis women. I had to really look to find someone who’d not tell me to go elsewhere. I had to wait a long time to find someone who didn’t ask me a million questions. I’m a lot happier now.

“I still struggle with doctors. Yes, they’re more likely to believe me and take me seriously now that they see me as a man, but then, they’ll ask me for certain things, like a hormone test; or when I had a UTI, had trouble urinating or giving them a sample, and they wanted to put a catheter in and I had to warn them I didn’t have a penis; or they’d see female written on my file and get confused when I’m the one who walks in. I’m now comfortable with my body. I’m not comfortable with how people make me feel. I’ve changed my ID so it says X instead of F, and I just get questions, people thinking it’s an error or a fake ID, or not accepting my ID, or they ask me if they should put female or male because their hospital computer system didn’t have any other options.”

It just seemed like a female body was not that much of a concern for some doctors if a baby wasn’t involved. Heck even when a baby was not mentioned, doctors somehow made it about a nonexistent future baby. Ochaco didn’t think she wanted children of her own. She had no interest in having children; it was hard enough taking care of herself. Besides, adoptions were a thing, albeit a difficult and taxing process.

She didn’t go to work for a while after her surgery. Izuku came with her to every radiation therapy visit. Each session was thirty minutes. It gave her stomach upsets and made her extremely tired. Izuku actually walked her home those mornings instead of going for his usual run.

One day, in front of her apartment, she held the door open and said, “Would you like to come in?”

He hesitated. then said, “If that’s alright with you.”

In the kitchen, she poured them both a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Senpai” he blew at the steam rising from his tea, his hands careful with her delicate teacup.

“You can call me by my name,” she said with a light chuckle.

He scratched the nape of his neck, admitting, “That’s going to take a few tries to get used to.”

“I’ve picked up your manga, by the way.”

He blushed. “You… you did?”

“Hm. Wanted to check it out for a while now. I’m hooked – it’s pretty good. Binge-read it.”

He smiled, shy and polite. “Thank you.”

“Your comment on the author’s page. You said the story’s almost done.”

“Yeah. It’s been running for a few years now. I didn’t think it’d take this long, but I’m happy with where it’s going.”

“Am I allowed to ask if the two characters are going to get together or…”

He laughed. “I’m honestly not too sure. I’m not good with writing romances so I don’t know how if I wanted too.”

“I can give you pointers if you want.”

“You would? That’d be great, actually.”

“What’re you going to do when it’s done? Got ideas for a new thing?”

He sipped from his tea. “Yeah, but… I was thinking of trying for a monthly magazine, not a weekly one. I don’t know if it’s a good decision. If not, I might look into teaching manga somewhere. It’s fun creating stories and art and all these characters, but I don’t get to take care of myself.”

She smiled. “Hey. Whatever you decide, it’ll work out, okay?”

His phone alarm went off, three beeps. “I need to set my next appointment for my T pellets.”

“Are the implants more convenient?” Ever since her hysterectomy surgery, she had to be on estrogen replacement therapy. She had to take pills.

“For me it is. It does leave a little scar if you don’t mind that. And it’s more expensive. I’ve thought of trying gels but I do martial arts now; I don’t want to smear it on people.”

“Yeah – that was my worry too when I looked into what my options were. I’ll ask about the estrogen pellet and see if it works for me. It’s a little funny how both of us are taking hormone replacement therapy now.”

“It is.”

She lifted up her cup of tea. “Don’t know where life is taking us, but let’s keep heading forward.”

He chuckled and clinked cups with her.