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He wishes he were a boy.
Yuno’s revelation comes quietly—with no fanfare or angels. He thinks his death might be the same way.
The revelation itself is unremarkable, maybe because he’s never been the person he supposedly is, so it sits on the back burner for a while until the ache in his stomach reminds him. Like accidentally licking over an open sore in his mouth.
A wish is just a wish. Unimportant enough to be buried with all the others.
But a shallow grave only invites it to crawl out. He cuts his hair later and doesn’t remember when. There’s no clear timeline of when and where when he thinks back on it. It’s not short by most standards still, just a bob that’s leveled at his chin. People comment: cute, stylish, in-season. It’s not intended to be, but what they think works best for him.
Yuno isn’t a doll—he detests the idea that it’s an outside influence moving the scissors farther away from his scalp, but he does even the cut until it looks tidy and adds two barrettes to pin it back just over his ear. He’s not stupid. He’s mature. Maybe it’s dumb to get angry over it when he’s selling his innocence as a commodity, but he knows the consequences of his actions. He knows what he’s doing.
He brushes the clippings off his shoulders, straightens his uniform, and watches as his reflection tries his very best not to cry. There is a perception of him he’s never wanted. The terror of knowing is almost worse than the feeling.
Cleaning up the leftover locks is strangely humbling. Dustpan, a brush of the broom, the open trashcan. Just another mistake to add to the garbage.
There’s something to be said about his presentation, which stays mostly the same. Nobody knows; nobody could figure it out. It’s not disingenuous if he just wants it less (less than being wanted), and it doesn’t really matter if it’s a lie.
When it comes to that day that got him stuck in Milgram, he thinks about how easy it was. Another part of him to hide, then remove. Morality is on Yuno’s prejudice, just like it’s on everyone else’s. For him, it was nothing new—a decision that had been made before it came up. True justice is a farce, but that suits him just fine. Life works better for him if people can rationalize doing bad things.
Yuno finds it strange, sometimes, that he just doesn’t go back or stop caring. He, by all standards, looks, acts, and dresses like a girl. Everyone else sees him as one and he doesn’t want to correct them. But once he realizes, he contextualizes everything he does within the framework of masculinity. For once, he listens, and hears a boy.
It’s not the idea ‘boys are not’ that makes him. How could taking away parts of himself make him more? He’s a boy because he feels like one, and the masculinity that comes with it is just him. It’s always just been him.
Milgram is a cold place. It’s not there for warm feelings or relationships, and what Yuno thinks of his fellow prisoners isn’t more than what he thinks of his coworkers. It’s awkward, polite, and a little bit uncomfortable. They’re all there for the same reason, sure, but that reason’s reason decides them more than the murder. And it’s never the same.
The other prisoners are generally nice, some are even kind. Yuno misses being wanted. Sometimes, he’s a balloon, light, airy, cheerful. He makes people happy, completely empty of substance. It’s good until it isn’t. It’s good until he’s alone with nothing to keep him warm.
There’s no flesh, no heat, no blood. There’s not a thing left in him.
Yuno has been on this track before. He knows in the morning it’ll feel like a distant ache to shove into the trash. It doesn’t stop him from contemplating if being her is really worth it. It’s a stubborn splinter under his perfectly polished, painted nail.
He wishes he were a boy.
It seizes his mind once again, until the thought echoes and rattles all day. Fighting against himself is tiring.
It’s foolish. He doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to mean.
“Kazui-san…” Yuno starts, subconsciously twisting his wrists. The moment he notices, he stops, shakes them out, and resolutely asks. “What is it like being a man?”
He only asks to make sure it’s enough to definitively put himself down. A central coup de grace. The wording makes him wince still, but it’s better than ‘What does it mean to be a man’ or ‘Can someone like me really be a man?’
Kazui looks startled and a little put off, which makes Yuno bite his lip before saying, “I mean, I’m not asking you in particular. Like, what’s it like to be you or Shidou-san?”
Kazui settles after this, contemplatively holding his chin. “Well, isn’t it different for every guy?”
Yuno smiles placatingly, because it isn’t at all what he asked. He fishes harder, still aiming for casual, “What’s the difference for guys, then?”
“Most men just think they are. Is there just one thing that makes someone a man?”
Yuno bunches his skirt in his hands. “That’s all?”
Anger tears through him like wildfire. He’s just supposed to believe it’s okay for him like that? An ugly frown twists at his features, tears communing at his lashes. “If that’s all it takes, why can’t I,” His voice breaks halfway through, slipping higher in some cruel reminder of what he’s stuck with.
When he looks up, Kazui is still there, awkwardly waiting for a cue, and Yuno curses at himself for breaking at such a moment. His overreaction wasn’t something that should have happened in front of other people.
“I’m not really sure what’s going on…” Kazui starts, stepping closer cautiously, “But I know it’s not easy to just be whatever you are.”
Kazui’s hand on Yuno’s head is hot. Yuno’s tears are hot. When he cries, he feels himself burning up, and when it washes away, all that’s left is warmth.
He wants to be a boy.