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Growing up Tyler always hated pink.
He hated it as much as being called a girl.
He hated it as much as being forced into dresses when his family would go to church.
So maybe Tyler hated pink for the wrong reasons. Because yes, it did remind him of how he's trans. It reminded him of all the times he'd beg to cut his hair short, all the times he'd attempt to flatten his chest, all the stares he'd receive for shopping in the men's section, and the hue of his bed room walls growing up. Pink. The word itself felt disgusting in his mouth. Or at least that's how he felt for the majority of his life.
But suddenly it began to matter less and less to him. The damage of the rosy colour had faded to a shade of serendipity when his eyes had come across the back of a certain individuals head on the bus. The fluorescent shade of hair that laid upon that boys head,
it was pink.
The boys head turns. "You like the view?"
Tyler's face becomes flushed, "It's a good color." The pink haired boy smiles.
"I don't think I got your name?"
"Oh is that so?" The boy laughs, no, he giggles at Tyler's sass. "It's Tyler,"
"I'm Josh."
Tyler's still not sure how it happened, but in the mess of his vocabulary he somehow obtained a phone number, and began texting this pink haired punk almost every night. Little by little, for whatever reason, pink became less and less of a bad memory. Suddenly, pink to Tyler was his hands running through hair and his neck being kissed, his body being loved, despite him not lacking a chest, Josh loved him for what he was, and that's all that mattered.