Work Text:
Kat doesn't want to wear the skirt when her mother says she bought one for her.
She doesn't need to wear a skirt to be a girl.
No matter how flat she is up top and how blunt she is with her tone and how she walks and talks like a guy- they'll all know damn well she's a girl.
Her mother just has a simple idea of what a girl should be.
"It's not gonna look good on me."
"Just try it on for gods sake!"
Kat practically tears the skirt from her mothers hands.
It's a long skirt, drapes down to her ankles most likely. The fabric is a sheer black with red highlights around the waist and the bottom.
And like she thought.
It does not look good on her.
Somehow it only makes her feel worse. Look worse. Less and less like a girl and more and more like a guy. It makes no sense to her, she doesn't know why her perception of self is like this. Why the things that are meant to make her look and feel like a girl don't.
When she trudges back out to face Mitsuki, she's greeted with a faltering expression.
"Well?" Kat speaks promptly, trying to beat the gruffness out of her tone.
Mitsuki gives an awkward sort of sound, "Yeah, yeah no- skirts are a no go for you."
"That's what I said."
"Worth a shot."
-/-/-/-
She doesn't bother making changes to her hero costume. She's sure it'll look great once she's sporting some tits anyways, don't fix what ain't broken. That's the idea at least, she doubts she'll have anything to show for it by the time schools up.
Fucking legal system. Sure, she turns fifteen soon enough, but she's been enrolled male. It'd be far too much of a hassle to get all of those documents changed, she doesn't even know if Mitsuki would be willing to fight through hell for her. If she'd even consider it to be worthwhile considering she's already been forking over cash for half a years time for hormone blockers.
She's burning a hole through both of her parents pockets. As soon as she makes it pro she won't have to worry about that anymore though, she can start paying it back in spades. She told herself she would, to make up for the fact she's like this.
She hates how perfectly the costume fits onto her frame.
She doesn't know how she feels when Kirishima says she's looking manly.
Not bad, she knows that much.
-/-/-/-
"Kachan!"
Shit shit shit.
Eyeliner, oh fuck, is her eyeliner that noticeable?
Whatever. It is what it is.
She'll just never ever wear it again then.
Instead she nods slightly in Deku's direction, "Yeah, nerd?"
"I was just wondering if you had the answer to question three."
"Go ask Momo for help, unless you want me to punch it into you." She really should work on that. She should also tell someone about this, about her, anyone really. Being referred to mainly by her last name makes it a lot more comfy if nothing else.
Deku almost flinches. But he doesn't leave from Kat's desk. Doesn't budge a fucking inch. It's a commendable act, even if somewhat stupid.
Kat sighs, "Sure. Whatever. I can help you."
Deku grins before laying down his workbook.
Kat returns the smile a little bit.
-/-/-/-
She's one month into the school year when she bites her arm so hard it bleeds.
Why she did it she couldn't say.
But she did.
And that's what matters.
There are bloody punctures in her flesh, deep biting indents and thin layers of skin peeling back. It stands out like a sore thumb. The hand she grips her arm with shakes as she stares down at herself, trying to ignore as much of herself as she can in the process. It's a fine balance she can usually strike.
Not tonight for some reason.
She doesn't know why.
It just, happened.
One second she was fine, the next she was ready to rip herself to shreds and die crying.
But whatever.
She just washes out the wound and wraps it up and goes the fuck to sleep.
-/-/-/-
Everything is really bad for a month or two.
Everything is raw and red every day.
It's like there's a sludge inside of her skin. It's like her skin is a coffin that she's scratching at, begging to get out of, aware it's already been buried. The cocktail of medication didn't do enough to keep her body from going the wrong way, just slowed it down. She wonders if that has to do with it.
Whether or not it's the meds failing or everyone looking at her like she's a man, she feels like shit. Just, absolute shit. Getting out of bed is a struggle in itself. Making her brain solve questions is even harder. Making an incorrect body move and work is the hardest part though.
A deep rot rests in her nerves.
She pushes through it regardless.
-/-/-/-
Kat is crying when she calls up Mitsuki.
She might as well be begging with how tense she sounds. How desperate her tone is.
"I can try."
God, holy fuck, that's more then good enough. Maybe if the teachers can't finalize papers being changed then they could sneak around it.
Her shoulders ease. Her breathing barely stabilizes, but it's a lot less wracked with panic. Her crying doesn't sound like something rotten is trying to crawl out of her chest.
"Thanks."
-/-/-/-
Midnight is the one who brings the Kat the papers.
“What do you want?” Her voice is full as bark as ever, but it’s considerably weaker. She’s been in shambles all weekend.
Midnight taps the papers with her pen, “Your mom called, said something about changes. Was she just pulling our leg?”
Kat chuckles, “How pissed did she sound?”
“Livid.”
“She was serious.”
“Good, can you sign here?”
Kat grabs the pen and clipboard. She scans through it briefly.
“The long and short of it is that we can pull strings to get you on the right track a little bit sooner, official name changes in check as well.”
Kat falters on signing. “How much of the payment is gonna be through you guys?”
“We’ll have you covered until your time at UA is over.”
“Alright, sounds fine.” With a simple flourish she signs the release form, and on another page she spells out her new name. She hands both back to Midnight. “And all the teachers are gonna know about this through you, right? You’re not gonna make me go around telling all of them?”
Midnight gives a simple, humored hum, “I also have that aspect covered for you.”
Kat doesn’t bother saying thanks, but the lack of sharp retort speaks volumes.