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Trophy was already having a terrible morning. First off, Tissues was sneezing and coughing all night. He barely got a lick of sleep, and then the cherries pulled a mediocre prank on him, tricking him into tripping over something and landing on his head, he was stuck there due to the flat topped cup he had until Soap decided to be a dear and help him out.
But now, Knife had the audacity to go through his camera while he was making his usual routine herbal tea? He couldn't get a single second of peace in this shithole.
"You actually take pictures of sunflowers 'n shit? I thought you were supposed to be the dictionary perfect jock, Troph." Knife grinned as he spoke, keeping the camera out of reach while Trophy was attempting to reach for it from his grasp.
"It's not actually mine, Lightbulb borrows it sometimes. She does that stuff, not me!" Trophy retorted, lying through his teeth as he continued reaching for the camera. Damn Knife and his stupid long arms...
Knife ignored the other's response, continuing through the camera roll until he came across a picture of Trophy with... is that mascara and a bow around his waist?
Holy shit, it is.
"You dress as a pretty girl as a hobby or something?" Knife said jokingly, not meaning it entirely.
But Trophy thought the exact opposite, his face flustered in humiliation. He freaked out and impulsively punched Knife in the face, causing him to drop the camera.
"What?! No! I don't do that stuff, you fucking jackass!" Trophy practically shouted, scrambling to grab his camera before Knife could get a hold on it again.
"Dude, what the hell was that for?! I was just asking a question!" Knife rubbed the side of his face, he almost forgot Trophy could really pack a punch.
"Touch any of my shit again, and I'll kill you." Trophy snapped, jabbing a finger at Knife's chest before stomping off to his room.
Once Trophy had actually gotten to his room, he slammed the door shut and slumped against it, his whole facade changing drastically from straight anger to sudden distress. Trophy shuffled over to his bedside table, placing his camera there, then looking at the hand mirror he had on the table.
Trophy looked at his reflection, immediately seeing the imperfections. His mind raced at thought of changing himself due to the fact how much he wished to be a woman, but shook his head profusely. That's ridiculous. He's one of the strongest guys in the hotel, but how comfortable he'd feel being called by female pronouns...
Trophy's head began to hurt. He'd never want to be a woman. He believed that he himself was the face of masculinity in this hotel. He couldn't imagine himself being a woman. Who would?
No one. He thought. What if people hate me for even doing so? Why would people accept me if I actually did come out? Who would I even tell—
Trophy was so lost in thought he didn't notice the door knocking. He jumped from being startled out of his mind and scrambled to open the door, his demeanor changing entirely.
"What do you want—...." Trophy was saying until he trailed off, realizing who it was exactly.
"Hey, Troph. I know you like, said you'd kill me 'n shit, but I do want to ask what the hell happened back there." Knife said, raising his hands in surrender so Trophy wouldn't try to hit him again.
"Nothing happened. I'm fine." Trophy responded defensively.
"I don't believe that, Troph."
"...Whatever, come in." Trophy said, moving out of Knife's way so he could enter the room.
Trophy sat on his bed, legs dangling on the edges. He was fidgeting with his hands in discomfort.
"So, what's on your mind, Goldie Locks?" Knife asked, using a usual nickname he would use for Trophy most of the time.
"..If you laugh at me for this, I'm never going to forgive you." Trophy muttered.
"Listen, I laugh at all the things you say," Trophy gave him a glare, "I mean, except for what you're going to say here!" Knife added.
Trophy sighed, rubbing his temples at the growing headache before blurting out;
"I think I want to be a woman."
Shit, he said it.
He actually said it.
Trophy peeked over to look at Knife's reaction. He was about to speak until Knife spoke first.
"That's it?"
Trophy sputtered.
"W-what do you mean 'that's it'?"
"I meant, that's all you had to say?" Knife responded blatantly.
Trophy huffed, nodding his head silently, answering Knife's question.
"So you want to go by female pronouns now? I can do that if you want me to, y'know." Knife put his hand on Trophy's shoulder, as if comforting.
Trophy hesitated for a moment before nodding her head again, refusing to respond verbally.
"Cool, cool. Do the others know?" Knife asked, referring to the rest of the contestants.
"No... You're the first person I've told." Trophy responded quietly, her voice a bit timid, which was unusual for an object like her.
"Are you planning on telling everyone?"
"Not soon, I want to wait a while longer.."
"That's fine, take your time, goldie." Knife responded.
Trophy gave Knife an almost genuine smile, leaning her head onto Knife's shoulder.
"I may hate you, but you're not as shitty when you're genuine."
Knife blinked, smiling back at her.
"I'll take that as a compliment."