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Futaba woke up already feeling ready to curl right back in bed. Tired? Well, yeah, maybe late night gaming sessions on school nights aren't on everyone else's schedules, but that's what caffeine’s for, right? This was a different kind of ‘I feel bad’, she could already tell, not the kind that could just be waved off so easily.
Still a school day, still her cue to pop back into her usual routine. She downed the prescription laid out by the nightstand and trudged over to the frankly ominous tower of a clothing heap that filled the closet of empty hangers. The school uniform adorning the top of the mass was swapped with her sleepwear, but as soon as it was put on, that bad feeling turned to downright suffocating.
Her chest felt painfully tight as the deafening one-two heartbeat resounded, encompassing her entire mind. The uniform shirt shouldn't feel this tight, she just wore it yesterday, yet she can feel it digging into her skin like claws. The skirt made her feel exposed, vulnerable, it just didn't feel natural.
Ah, it’s one of those days.
On a typical day, they didn't think much of it. Sure, they didn't love it, but it's not a big deal, you kinda just forget about things like uniforms once you get used to them, it becomes natural. Didn't really care, why should they? It's just clothes. It's literally just clothes, why should it matter! But right at that moment, having to wear it felt sickening.
They had hoped this wouldn't happen, they successfully managed to distract themself from similar issues before. It was already purposely purchased oversize for the extra length, but even that wasn't enough. It didn't matter, this monster constricting around them was already seeping its venom into their mind and they needed it off immediately. They threw the skirt like a hot coal into a waste bin, but it just barely hit the rim, tipping the entire can over in the process.
Time to equip the comfort jacket. Such a complex feeling wouldn't be resolved with such an easy solution, but regardless, they swiped it from their computer chair and swaddled themselves in the familiar warmth.
…Yup. Still dysphoric. Go figure.
And so they resigned themself to rotting back in bed. Going outside is the last thing Futaba could handle right now, let alone going to school . The easiest course of action here would be to ignore anything and everything; all consequences would be for Future Futaba to handle.
Hah, it was laughable really. Getting this messed up over clothes? Clothes don't have a gender… is an easy thing to say, but a harder thing to internalize. It was frustrating enough to not even have a choice ! How come the dress code let students accessorize with practically anything else, while the iconic skirts and pants were still gender-locked like some outdated MMO?
Everyone just seemed to be fine with all these pointless standards that Futaba couldn't wrap their head around. Even as a kid, they were always asking “why” to all the “boys do this, while girls do that” adults slung around, and they were never provided a justified answer; because there wasn't one. Why don't they get that!
But no, I'm the one with the problem, they thought, they're never gonna understand. Futaba was losing gravity fast, and all that was ahead was the infinite void of self loathing. They shut their eyes, hoping for the safety of unconsciousness to come and keep them from spiraling worse.
And it was quiet. Too quiet, their strained breathing mingling with the soft hum of electricity filling in the room. The white noise was too weak of an anchor, Futaba was already drifting miles off from the ground and-
KNOCK KNOCK. “Food’s getting cold,” their brother called from the other side of the door.
No response. Too much effort.
“Are you OK in there?” Akira knocked again.
“Mo,” came a muffled response from a face-down Futaba, unintelligible after traveling through layers of sheets and pillows.
Something of a stifled snort could be heard on the other side of the door. “Alright, I'm coming in then,” he asserted. As he entered the doorway, he nearly tripped over the familiar plaid lump of fabric half hanging out the trash bin. Akira deftly kicked it up into his hands, examining it. No rips, no stains, so why would it be-
His eyes widened at the familiar realization as he turned to the Pathetic Lump That Once Was Futaba, who was now frustratedly kicking their feet against the mattress in a clockwork rhythm.
“Ah… bad gender day?” he said as more of a statement than a question.
“Mmhn,” Futaba grunted, rolling over to face him. They grabbed a plush, thumb brushing over the fabric, and sat up with it placed in their lap. Akira silently sat in the space left behind.
“How come you always know what’s up?,” Futaba turned to him.
“Takes a thief to know a thief?” Akira offered with a smug grin.
The trickster received a flick to the forehead in response. “Smartass.”
He chuckled, “Thanks, I try.”
The corners of Futaba’s mouth perked up a little at that, then returned to a contemplative expression. Seconds passed until they spoke up again. “How did… how did you deal with it? With this,” they vaguely gestured at the garment now between them, lost for words.
He thought carefully for a second, like viewing a list of dialogue options, before setting with: “A lot of stubbornness.” His expression shifted slightly. “I was a lot younger too so, well, you can imagine they weren't taking anything I said seriously.” When he saw them nod, he continued, “Once I held my ground for long enough, I think they almost started to realize how stupid a dress code like ‘skirts only’ was. Keyword: almost,” he added quickly.
“Nn.. It’s so easy enough to be bold about this stuff online though. And outside it's just so… suffocating.” They pulled their legs up on the bed, hugging them to their head. “It's all these normies that get pissed that instead of ‘girl’ or ‘boy’, you just choose to be ‘yourself’.”
“Listen, just because so many people feel fine with putting themselves in little boxes…” he gestured. “It doesn't mean you have to feel bad about not caring to conform to that.”
“I know, I know, It's just so.” They stuttered. “Graaah! It's so stupid!,” they cried out, to which Akira nodded in response. “It's usually no biggie, but I'm just so…hyperaware of it right now?”
“Alright,” he turned as he was already halfway out the door. “One sec, I'm getting something.” Futaba waited wide-eyed for whatever he could be possibly scheming this time.
They could hear shuffling coming from a room over — the room that was now his own, they boy couldn't be kept away from his true home for long — and soon enough, had a bunch of fabric tossed over their face. Akira’s old uniform pants.
“Hwuh? I can't wear these, I'll just get in trouble with the teachers!” They retorted, but the rebel’s spirit inside them still fought back. “And everyone's gonna stare, and- and-”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. Cmon, we’re gonna be late if we don't leave soon,” he remarked, leaning on the doorframe.
Pause. “Wait, WE ? You don't even go to Shujin anymore!”
“Save the complaints for all the ‘No Trespassing’ signs I’ve ignored,” Akira winked. “Oh, and I'll be needing this,” he added as he grabbed the skirt.
“Wait wait wait, you're actually wearing it?” Futaba exclaimed.
Akira stared back, deadpan. “Futaba, I've literally done drag. This is like a performance to me,” his blunt response pulled a laugh from the other. “Now help me decide: leg warmers or tights?”