#the deadname too was a double blow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vaguely-concerned · 4 years

Text

Twisted Fate/Graves thoughts 2 Electric Boogaloo because none of you can stop me

and I just have a lot of feelings okay

- t.f. taking an entire paragraph mid-fall during a harrowing life or death chase to give you the context for how much the imminent destruction of his boots is a tragedy is the funniest and most endearing character detail and also irrefutable proof that despite appearances he, too, really does only have that half a brain cell, it simply pingpongs around in there much more than graves’ half (which instead finds one idea and GOES HARD for it no matter what lol bless him)

also his pov is basically just a flippant ‘well this is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation’ until graves literally forces him to have an honest emotion at gunpoint, and y’know... that be what love feels like sometimes when you’re like that as a person, extremely relatable, I feel for him so much

- I’m still just quietly astounded by the hmmm... implied intimacy? I guess? in the argument they’re having once they’re actually talking in burning tides. let’s look at what they’re actually saying to each other:

T.F.: “Are you ever gonna learn? . . . Every time I try to help you, I-” and “ I tried to get us out. The rest of us saw the job was going south . . . But you wouldn’t back down. You never do.”

vs.

Graves: “You’ll run again. That’s all you’ve ever done.” and “You made out alright, though . . . You know why? It’s because you’re a coward. And nothing you’ll ever say can change that.”

like them’s the sort of fraught fighting words you have with a spouse right towards the end of an ugly divorce, the full fruitless ‘why do you always have to --’ and ‘but you never listen to me!!!’ deal, especially from graves’ side lol. it’s the sort of hurtful you can really only be with someone you’ve been very, very close to, someone you know incredibly well. considering the whole backstory what graves is essentially saying here is ‘It’s your own fault people have left you; you deserve to be alone’.

(interestingly, in twisted fate’s pov it seems that what’s really messing with him is the part of not being listened to. he tried to plead with his family and they refused to listen, he tried to convince graves to run away with the rest of them and he didn’t listen, and here they are again and graves isn’t listening a g a i n and at that point t.f. clearly just sort of. gives up on actually being heard, in a slightly heartbreaking way. and from how graves reacts to seeing that I really think he’s not naturally cruel like that at all, he’s just in too much pain to think until this startles him out of it and then he does actually listen)

- through both stories graves is so desperately, enduringly horny for t.f. to be emotionally present and engaged with him without slipping away into his ~*cool magic gambler*~ persona and I find it weirdly sweet

- graves immediately getting fond of this leaky battered old rowboat... hfsadkjfhasd he’s sort of adorable in a way? it’s also really cute how he’s got this really tight focus on tf and his mannerisms and how genuine he’s being at any given moment. it’s such a neat way to show what he’s feeling and thinking about, which must be hard with a character who’s so massively oblivious to the finer points of his own inner life lol

ALSO can we talk about how tf literally winks at him at one point, right after they’ve sort of had a little moment of regained trust... like my good sir that is so deeply unnecessarily saucy of you, please control yourself (though in his defense graves somehow still isn’t picking up what he’s putting down so y’know maybe subtle isn’t the way to go here anyway haha)

- I wonder if t.f. used to go by his initials even before he changed his name -- graves calls him by it straight off the bat in burning tides and t.f. seems to consider his real name mildly embarrassing lol. (also intriguing that he does appear to think of it as his ‘real name’, and not ‘old name’ or something like that. it’s why I feel like we’ve got more of a dual identity going on here than a deadname situation, it feels more like two distinct levels of emotional vulnerability/availability to me. and so ‘tobias’ stops being relevant when there’s no one left to know him as that. ow.)

- from reading his bio it seems like twisted fate has had to figure out a lot of the magic stuff on his own (except for the mention of his grandpa teaching him the fortune telling part of it -- seems like they had a bit of a special connection, really, if him leaving his old cards with the kid before they left is anything to go by). what I’m saying is that I would read thousands upon thousands of words of him experimenting with it when they were younger and graves hurriedly having to topple a table over and pull them both behind it for cover before they both explode lol

(and then t.f. popping his head up afterwards like ‘hAH see I TOLD you I could do it!’ and graves disconsolately lighting a cigar from the burning rubble b/c the things one does for love partnerships huh)

- I’ve been looking over burning tides with a writing eye a few times to figure out what makes it work so well for me, and one of the things I really like is that there are a lot of small comments/details that are there or are framed in a certain way specifically to emphasize the familiarity and history between the characters. Just small details like He moves fast for a big man. I’d forgotten that and graves mentioning he’s never liked standing too close when t.f. does the teleporting thing -- not to mention t.f.’s name reveal, which if I understand this correctly was actually new information to the readers when burning tides was going on. (and yes it is still very funny to me that his actual name is tobias. the duality of man)

(I also feel like there are HUGE differences in writing quality between the different POV sections -- I guess different people wrote for the different characters? Well, both of the first person sections are gold and that’s what matters to me in this story so I don’t really mind. Sadly the Miss Fortune parts read the weirdest and stiffest to me, which is unfortunate b/c I love her lore concept a lot and she’s so cool in double double-cross. WHO the fuck let an unironic ‘the crimson-haired siren’ slip through the edit, is what I really want to know. please, narrator, tell me about her cerulean orbs while you’re at it)

- The man I used to know seems lost under years of hatred.

I don’t try to say anything else. I can see it in his eyes, now. Something’s broken inside of him.

still makes me SO SAD and I’m incredibly happy it turns out not to be true in the end thank GOD

- this might just be me reading into stuff too much, but I really like this sense that in moments of high emotion/genuine vulnerability, graves tends to sound older and more tired while t.f. sounds younger than he actually is, more frightened and hurt

- if his mind hadn’t been completely focused on partner-rescuing and open murder were in any way his style, t.f. totally could have killed gangplank right there and then before miss fortune even got to blow the fucker up haha. then again if that were the sort of guy he were he’d be dead along with all the rest of them

- it’s so good that graves tries to save miss fortune’s guy before they leave the cave but also isn’t broken up about it when it turns out he can’t, that feels like such a correct encapsulation of his moral character haha

- I really do enjoy graves’ POV so much not just because there’s something immensely comforting about how he refuses to be scared even in the face of death because he’s too damn grouchy and won’t give the world the satisfaction, but also because the language/cadence is so satisfying. he does have a way with words, in a gruff non-flashy sort of way.

It smells like the end of everything – sulfur and ash and death; cooked hair and melting skin -- the rhythm of that is so gooood and that whole section conveys the horror and destruction but also the awe of the scene so well. (I’m telling you graves isn’t actually dumb at all, just astoundingly unbendingly single minded once he’s got an idea in his head lol)

- I keep thinking about the fact that the last two things twisted fate thinks about before he passes out from drowning is if graves is scared and ‘What would Malcolm do?’ and I’m feeling real 😭😭😭 about it

- I’m still so disproportionately intrigued by graves mentioning his mom in burning tides. considering how early and seemingly easily he left home (...not to mention that he brings her up in connection with someone punching him in the face) it might be a safe bet that they weren’t that close but like. she also seems to be one of the very very few non-revengy things he’s checked up on after getting out of prison. did he send money home sometimes? would he visit whenever they came back to bilgewater? did she ever meet t.f. and if so did she approve or was this a bit of a uncharmable mother in law from hell situation? I um. I want to know these things pls riot it’s for science

(First post is over here btw, if anyone’s interested!)

#tf x graves #twisted fate x graves #league of legends #meta #it's hard to overstate how much my brain cannot be controlled and WILL focus on dumb stuff all day every day lol

24 notes · View notes

lost-in-transition · 6 years

Text

short story: deathclocked

CN: This is something new for the blog, a piece of actual fiction. I was inspired. I am not actually a blonde ex-Polish trans hitwoman.

I strike at his throat with knuckled fist. I move the arm up to block, programming the motion before even it has a chance to happen. I'll also step aside and put my knee between his legs. Then either head butt him or bring my elbow down in his face. I don't know yet. As a child, I never ever fought. The thought of striking back was worse. It would have made me like them, and even then I knew I feared that. Better to run away, or else to let them. They wanted me to strike back, I know that now. If I had, they would have known I was like them, and we would have been friends. And I would have been something worse than being the nothing that I was. In a sense, they were so persistent because they were concerned for me, and perhaps scared as well - my existence as an oddity raised the potential things could have been different for them, too. We all fear the thought we might not be who and what we need to be, and it drives hatred of the strange all too often.

Ironic then that now I fight so effortlessly. It does not feel like aggression. It feels like stretching out. It feels like singing out loud. I miss that very much, but as time went by, it became less and less comfortable to hear myself, especially resonating in skull. Practicing martial arts, any kind, feels freeing. I feel present and moving and unbound by everything else. I decide my movement beforehand and execute it. If I am struck, I will be hurt, and accepting that makes it something I am not afraid of. In the training ring I don't feel or express anger, and my training mates accept that. When I fight for real, like now, they don't expect me to strike. In some ways, that is the point. It is because they don't expect it that I feel at peace being the one initiating. And ending it.

The man in front of me, I think of him as Boss Man, he wears sports gear slick enough for clubbing and laid back enough no-one will think he is gay or anything. God forbid. Sweatpants showing boxers. Tattoos, expensive wrist watch. He didn't have to queue to get into this club, which already sets him apart from 999 of 1000 people anywhere. There are several ways in which each of us stand out so. He and I share some, including, for me in recent years at least, spending significant time in the company of organized criminals. Boss Man is a criminal organizer, and I can only imagine this is why he passed the doorman directly whereas I stood in line. This place started as a gay club and in many ways still is, men give each other blow jobs among the smoky labyrinths that are the chill out area, the beat of a DJ I don't recognize but do like there in the background like a storm. Boss Man is the type of the leather bear doorman no more than I am in my skimpy sundress, but either he has the money or the fear capital from being a known gang leader that he gets in anyway. Even so, he still passes through the coat check, which means he has no weapon tonight and no body armour. Otherwise typically he does, and this is why I planned to take him down in here tonight. I too am unarmed, but as I now set out to demonstrate, this need not mean much.

I got close enough in the otherwise empty passage, so that first strike goes fine. He staggers, but he's been boxing; now he goes back and into something like stance. He'll strike next. Or will he? He backs up and stares at me. I followed him in here, when he was going to snort or inject I assume, or make a phone call. But when I did, he leered at me, smiling as I approached. Maybe he had not expected to, but he was fine with it, up until the point where I struck. There's enough of a code that he saw my following him as safe. It's what a girl would do if she was aware of his status and wanted him to share something of his - drugs, kisses, cock, recognition in some circles, though I don't know exactly which one. This city has several separate gang environments and they are not all hanging out. "My" criminals are part of other networks than his are. More to the point, "my" criminals live in little circles of salt surrounding a few people who also post on TOR-accessible truly anonymous forums.

Boss Man is an awful person. I know this because I read some of the police reports on things that happened with some girls who spent some time with him. None went to trial, and a few years back they stopped coming because none of them would risk filing one. This isn't why I'm here seeking him out. I'm not a vigilante, I just checked that before I decided to pursue the contract on him. Back in the old days, there were brokers who could connect clients and contract killers anonymously, for a cut. Apparently. They still exist, now they too are on the dark net. It works like a betting service, using crypto currencies and everything. Someone puts out a contract on a mark by anonymously depositing the prize with the broker. The broker verifies the money is legit and makes a bet on when the mark will die. Whoever comes closest wins the money, also anonymously. In theory someone could "kill steal" if they witness a contract killing, but the system works well enough. I was spending a lot of time on the dark web.

This also means that in principle a mark can know there's a contract on them. But in reality, most people where some shadowy figure want them dead will be just like Boss Man, a career criminal who is not all that computer savvy but rather very invested in his offline social network. I have no idea who wants him dead, I just looked into him enough to see if it was at all possible, and also on whether he has any redeeming traits that would make me feel guilty for it. I've cashed in contracts on people who were not gangsters too, some domestic abusers mostly. Still no idea on the client. Boss Man is just always paranoid, when on the streets he has a gun. His driver keeps that for him now I guess. If I guess closest for when he's dead, that's about 40K worth of bitcoins. The call was out for six months already. So either there aren't so many assassins around who'd take it, or some did and failed for whatever reason. I've tried and given up with several marks, sometimes others got them later. No idea on which other, either. I don't think I know any other contract killers, but then again, would I even know?

The thought strikes me that I should make a smartwatch app that bets on my time of death should my pulse stop, in case I find anyone contracting me. That way at least my death can be my own kill. But honestly, if my actual identity ended up there, something already is wrong. No one should know who I am. Heh. They'd have to use my deadname, since the road to a legal name change in my country of citizenship is... long. How fucking appropriate. Ha ha. Like cancer, fun for the whole family. I literally would have to sue my parents, which means I'd have to meet them again. It's been seven years now. They're still around in Krakow, I know, and my little brother hasn't moved out yet. He and I still talk every now and then. I wonder how he's going to make it.

Boss Man isn't going to shout, is he? Not that it makes all that much difference in this loud environment. No. He needs to do this himself or he'll lose face. He stares at me incredulously, already pretty coked up I guess, and leaps at me, all 95 kilo of muscle and bone and Axe bodyspray. I'm in the motion, I sidestep and rotate. Detachedly, I wonder again what precisely is wrong with me. I don't think I'm a sociopath. Is that even possible for me? If I were then surely I wouldn't have all these social anxieties, or feelings of inadequacy, and I wouldn't end up crying over youtube clips where little ugly fruits find other little ugly fruit friends. I do have empathy, for all that everyone tried to grind it out of me, growing up. I couldn't cry for years and years, it took me doubling the recommended dosage to get there finally. Now, it's not so much a matter on if something will make me cry, but when. I used to simply be unable. Now I cannot decide the "if", but I can delay it if I have to. There has to be something that I'm processing here though, it can't be just for the money. Maybe I'm processing my feelings of being an outsider by ensuring I must always be, that there is (yet another?) thing in my life that no-one ever will understand? Some sort of reaction formation? Or am I an adrenaline junkie?

"What the... fucking bitch! Fucking cunt!" he exclaims, slamming against the wall. I swing my fist at the back of Boss Man's head but he's already turned back and lifted a meaty arm for blocking. He has a tattoo of an eagle. He's in stance now. No more surprises.

He stares at me. With a sickening dread my guts recognize that look before my brain does. I shiver. He blinks. "What the fuck? You're a fucking man in a dress? A fucking tranny faggot?" Boss Man laughs. "That's why you fight like that. No fucking real girl could land a hit like that on me! Fuck! I can see it now, look at you, full of makeup and shit. But you've got balls, right? Show me you've got balls, man!" He takes fighting stance again, like he's challenging me. He smiles like a maniac. I'm staggering. It's like I'm split in two pictures like with those old 3D images, floating in different directions, none of them me. I can't sense my body, but it's like I see it from the outside. Tall, flat-chested. Tuck isn't perfect, is it? And I'm blonde, so plenty of electrolysis left before any kind of smoothness. Would any cis woman do contract killings like this? He's implying that, isn't he? That only someone incurably steeped in toxic masculinity would be a... a... hitman.

This is so dangerous, I know it. It feels like those times after meeting that support group when I couldn't stop idly thinking as the train approached the platform that it would be so easy to solve everything by just stepping in front. One part of me is deep in, one is detached. Neither really cares how this goes, right now. Am I angry with him? No way to tell. The important thing is, how dangerous to my beliefs about my identity are these implications? And are those just beliefs? He clocked me in a dark club corridor without me even speaking, so that horrible voice I have isn't it. What's wrong with me? I feel like I'm already dead. A waterlogged corpse having rotted, the bones move through soft flesh-mud. I freeze.

Boss man knocks me over and I feel a sharp pain as I hit the floor. Only luck it was not head first. Then again, if that damn head with it's fucking brow ridge and big nose cracked like a melon, then it would be over. He's on top of me. "What the fuck is this about, you little faggot? Huh? Did you really think you could fool me, you fucking ugly little cocksucker bitch?" I know it's over. I won't have to worry again on whether I'm actually just a sad, misandrist failure of a man, someone who still ticks off all the boxes of male stereotype and socialization. It'll be like with the train. Eventually it will all be over. Pain for a while. But only one outcome. It will be over.

He puts his hand on my left breast and there's another look of surprise on his face. Then his mouth is at the side of my neck. I feel rough, raspy stubble and smell the sour musk of his sweat and breath. He bites my neck hard and grunts. I feel his cock quickly growing hard against my thigh. Another rough hand moves up my thigh. He has to make sure now. The smell, I can't let it go. I remember my old training clothes. Four years ago? Before HRT. I used to smell like this. There is sausage on his breath, and beer. The stubble. When my hands had eczemas because I didn't moisturize, and they itched, I would scratch them against the stubble of the cheek of the body that I was in. The skin would eventually blister and bleed and get sticky, and it would hurt more and longer.

That's not me anymore.

That's who he is. I'm different. I always was. That never was me. That surface was no-one. I'm the will to motion. I'm the choice I made. I am me.

Boss Man isn't holding my hands in place because he's too busy groping at my tuck. So I press them against the veins at the side of the neck, holding and twisting as if I was opening a jar of pickles. I hear his neck snap, and slowly he goes limp on top of me. My head is spinning and for a moment I forget who I am, where I am, what I am. There is only the naked tube lights of the ceiling high above and the graffiti on the concrete walls. My back hurts.

I turn to get him off me. I squeeze his neck again to be sure, check the pupils. I kick Boss Man in the side of the head, first gingerly, carefully. Then again, harder. Again. A dozen times, with the hard toes of my pumps. I take out the phone, choose the camera settings to ensure there is a time stamp watermark as well as a GPS watermark. Then I remember. I have to remove the little coloured sticker they put over the camera lenses on your phone in this club. Check. Filter settings. Check. I upload an image of Boss Man's vacant gaze as he lies there to the server, through the TOR client app. It's done.

I hurry down to the bathroom, one floor down. I shy away from the mirror image because I can already guess what it would show, and I go in to hide in a stall. I lock the door carefully. Then I let the tears come.

#fiction #short story #slice_of_other_life #unedited #creative_writing #write_what_you_almost_know

4 notes · View notes

famosoentrescalles · 6 years

Text

So 2018 is here and I aggressively try to keep my good mood by thinking about the past four days. I had a great time, enjoyed the concerts as much as it was possible and all the hugs and cuddles really made me happy. I wish I could keep these positive vibes the tourlife gives me forever, because rn I’m struggeling with self harm thoughts and depression again.

I’m angry about some minor issues that happened on tour and that my family doesn’t care about what I tell them - I hate the double standard that they’re totally fine with everything I do but completely ignore me when I talk about my experiences. I could talk to a wall instead and it would be the same result. And I don’t want to go to work again because I kinda can’t be who I am there (I suppose it’s because they all call me by my deadname). Also I can’t really blog about most of the time because it’s really private stuff.

So, here is what I experienced the last days: I danced so much that my feet ache with every step I take and my already injured knee hurts even more. I went stagediving a lot because it is so much fun and in the current setlist are many songs you can surf to perfectly. On the first day we got some cake for the drummer during the concert because it was his birthday and he was really happy about it tho it was a joke candle and you couldn’t blow it out (I bought them by mistake). At night we were so loud that the security came to our hotel room. :D On the next day we went to Bremen and it really was a rough concert. The pogo was hard and I was pushed against the stage several times, also stagediving was complicated because people would throw you. Furthermore it was really fucking hot and I was in fear of me life because there were some really big and agressived ad drunk dudes in the moshpit. We left kinda early because R. didn’t feel well and we still had to drive one hour. Then we went to Bielefeld (yes, and it is of course a big UFO landing field, just nobody wants to believe it...) where we had the best hotel room ever. It looked like an IKEA flat. We got pizza to our room and then went to the venue where it was already fucking hot inside when we arived and it got even hotter during the concert. We all sweated so much that our clothes were soaking wet afterwards. But this was really the best concert of the four ones we attended. (If I get ill again it’s R.s fault becaue he offered me his drink and then told me he had a fever that day and still has a really sore throat. And basically everyone else had a cold too, lol.) I talked a lot to him and we cuddled nearly the whole night and he showered me with compliments - it was incredible and I felt so loved and valid. He’s such a good and wholesome man - he deserves everything. We stayed backstage until like midnight and then walked to our hotel. The last concert was in Köln but we stayed in Leverkusen because the hotels are much cheaper than in Köln. We got some roses (in the store was a guy who bought red roses for 110€ lmao) and chocolate for R. and B. as thank-you gift and some Jägermeister for A. because it was his last concert. The show started slow but after like five songs the crowd was as hot as the other days and I even went stagediving again tho the stage is like 1.50m high. For the last song we had sparklers that everyone loved. Afterwards we sat backstage and just talked and I ate the fucking best couscous salad ever.

All in all it was awesome and I’m so thankful for knowing these amazing guys and always having fun at their concerts and especially I’m fucking thankful for R. I don’t know what I would be without him - I can’t stress this enough.

#self harm ///#fdjpunx talks #tourlife #I feel like he's too good for me #Who am I that he likes me and that the others like me #And that I always am allowed to be with them #ughhhhhhh

2 notes · View notes

ezra-blue · 7 years

Text

You’ve Got Something - 24

24: Ringing In The New

Goku goes into the New Year by admitting some difficult truths to Sanzo, and as Sanzo copes, Goku is brought deeper into the Sanzo family’s reality.

Word Count: ~7000

This chapter was originally going to be two, but I decided that it would be best to merge them.

24: Ringing In The New

Christmas brunch could not have possibly gone worse.

Toudai was an asshole to Gojyo. Sanzo normally wouldn't object, he was usually an asshole to Gojyo, but Toudai had done it on a spectacularly unjustified level. From the tight expression Hakkai had worn when he'd abandoned the table to chase Gojyo down and comfort him, Toudai was lucky to be walking away with all of his teeth, with only Hakkai's restraint and need to ensure Gojyo wasn't breaking down shielding him. Goku had known the problem all along and had chosen not to say anything, caught between his loyalty to his boss and Sanzo.

Sanzo was pissed. He'd known Goku could be kind of an idiot, but this was a bridge too far. He also knew Goku was just as upset at himself as anything, so he knew scolding him wouldn't do anything. Goku was trying to put a brave face on, forcing a smile for Toudai and Koumyou as they waited for a taxi (their idea, not his, stubborn old goats), as Sanzo waited in the driver's seat, drumming his fingernails on the wheel and mulling it over in his head. When Goku sat down, though, he subdued and pulled his shoulders in. “Thanks for the ride home, Sanzo.”

“Hmph.” Sanzo put the car into gear and drove. He never said he was taking Goku home yet. It was far too rare for him and Goku to actually be alone, but now they were isolated. Koumyou had said that he found many people opened up behind closed doors, but that wasn't just limited to a therapist's office and sofa (the thought of which only reminded Sanzo of a conversation he was going to have to have with Koumyou later because what the hell, Dad, you're retired!), and people often felt safe in their cars. Sure, a two-ton piece of heavy machinery that killed more people every year than anything else, that felt safe. But at least he and Goku were alone, with no risk of interruption.

He started off driving towards Goku's shitty apartment, but veered off down a different road before he reached the tracks. Goku raised an eyebrow and raised a hand. “Uh, Sanzo, I don't live this way.”

“I know.” Sanzo knew where he was going. What he needed to know was where he and Goku were going.

He stopped in the parking lot of a dog park, threw the car into park, and took his seat belt off to twist around and face Goku. “This can't happen again.”

Goku shrank, his shoulders rising over his ears. “I know. I'm sorry--”

“Quit apologizing. I know what actually went down wasn't your fault, but hiding it from me – I don't have time for that bullshit.” Sanzo crossed his arms as Goku continued to shrink down. “Hakkai might tolerate Gojyo prevaricating and vacillating and hiding shit, but I don't.”

Goku sucked his lower lip in, chewed it, then slowly spat out: “You don't get it.” He put his fists down and set his shoulders back, but glared at the console of the car rather than Sanzo. “I've never dealt with this stuff before, okay? I've never had parents, and I've never had to worry about the parents of a boyfriend or girlfriend or anything.”

“You think I know what I'm doing? Shit.” Sanzo rolled his eyes, then took Goku's chin in his hand. “If you tell me, we can do it together.”

Goku blinked, bright eyes flashing with confusion. “You mean that?”

“I do.” Sanzo ran his hand up to Goku's hair. “Unfamiliar territory is best walked with someone else.” Goku relaxed a little when Sanzo ruffled his hair. “As for taking sides, I'm on nobody's side but my own. If you're walking my way, then so be it.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll try not to hide stuff from you next time.” Goku pushed his head into Sanzo's palm like a dog starved for attention, grinning like he was supposed to for the first time all day.

Exactly what Sanzo wanted. Crisis averted. Goku understood things left unsaid much more than Sanzo gave him credit for sometimes. He thought the conversation was over, but as he tried to withdraw, Goku grabbed his hand.

“Hey, Sanzo?” Goku twisted around in the passenger seat. His gaze went steely, and he set his jaw. He'd obviously made his mind up about something. “There's something I gotta tell you.”

Sanzo frowned, but let Goku clasp his hand in both of his. “I'm listening.”

Goku nodded, then sucked in a breath, filling his lungs, then squeezed Sanzo's hand. “I... I'm a guy, okay? You know that. I'm a guy, I act like a guy, I dress like a guy, most of my friends are guys, okay? But...” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I wasn't always a guy.”

Sanzo felt that like a blow to the chest. “What.”

“I don't usually say it like that. Um, it's like this.” Goku released Sanzo's hand and laced his fingers together. “Uhm, you know how when you're born, the doctor looks between your legs and says, 'this is a boy,' 'this is a girl,' they probably looked between your legs and said you were a boy, right? They looked at me and said I was a girl.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “So for a while, I had to wear dresses and hair bows, they called me a girl's name, and they made me play with baby dolls and pink stuff because they thought I was a girl, but the thing was, in my head, I didn't feel like a girl.” Sanzo could see Goku's knees shaking. “I liked monster trucks and wrestling and I hated Barbie, and I hated wearing pigtails and dresses, and I told Mama, 'stop treating me like a girl,' and then Mama took me to a special doctor in Sacramento and they put together that even though I had a girl's body, I was a boy on the inside.”

“You're telling me you're not biologically male.” Sanzo couldn't be hearing this right. Nothing about Goku seemed feminine in the least. “You said you were how old when you...?”

“Four.” Goku bit his lip. “Mama said it was just a glitch when God was putting me together. My head and heart and soul are all boy, but my body isn't.” He fidgeted again. “But some of me is a boy! I've, um, been on shots since I was nine.”

Sanzo ran his eyes over Goku's body. “Shots.”

“Testosterone.” Goku seemed to feel Sanzo staring at him, and subconsciously pulled his arms over himself. “I started it basically around when I hit puberty, so I started girl puberty a little, but it stopped short and I went through guy puberty. That's why I got a low voice and my face is a guy's, and I don't have girly hips.” He extended a hand to touch Sanzo's wrist. “But if you feel here?” Sanzo let Goku take his wrist and guide it to his shoulder. He pressed Sanzo's palm in, and Sanzo felt something under Goku's shirt. “That's a binder. I kinda have...” Goku traced a little circle around his chest, and Sanzo filled in the blanks and nodded. Goku shuddered. “Yeah, I kinda hate 'em. They're not big, 'cause like I said, I started testosterone early, and I'm saving for top surgery to get 'em off. Mama says that 'cause they're small and I don't wear my binding stuff too much, the surgery should be a lot easier, they can just do a keyhole instead of double-incision or – uh, guess you wouldn't know about all that.”

Sanzo sucked air in through his nose and studied Goku again. Top surgery. That meant there was a bottom surgery. “You don't have a dick.”

“Nope.” Goku hung his head. “And, uh, that's a lot more complicated. At least with top surgery, they're just taking something off. Bottom surgery means you're putting somethin' in that wasn't there before.” He laughed, sharp and anxious, and ran his hand into his hair and gripped it against his scalp. “I mean, when a girl gets breast implants, that's under the skin, so it's easier to hide that! You can't just, y'know, make something where there's kinda nothing.” He released his hair, his shoulders hunching. “So, uh, there's really good odds I'm never gonna have a dick. There's stuff you can do down there to sorta make a fake, but there's no real good way of making one that's gonna match yours. Plus, it's crazy expensive.” He scrunched his nose, and looked up at Sanzo. “So, I kinda came to peace with that. I pack most days, especially if I'm gonna wear tighter pants, and feeling something there is good enough for me. I might get a hysterectomy sooner rather than later, 'cause having a vagina's not a problem but I know getting knocked up would really set my dysphoria off. If I've ever got enough money, I can consider my options.”

Sanzo frowned, as Goku tried to set his shoulders back again and lift his face. Goku was baring his soul, and yet he still found himself searching over Goku's body. He wasn't sure he'd ever met someone who'd transitioned before, and suddenly found himself intimately close. He gathered his thoughts, still trying to put the new information together with the Goku he knew. “Alright,” he murmured after a moment, but shook his head again. Goku sat back, sucking on his lower lip and puzzling.

“Um... did you have any questions?”

Sanzo let a beat of silence pass, as a few children ran through the twirling snow flurries past the front bumper towards the park, a barking retriever of some sort in tow, but Goku only looked once, barely distracted. “What's your name?”

“Goku Son.”

Sanzo snorted. “What was it?”

Goku cringed. “Uh. That's, uh, not an okay question. They call it a 'deadname' for a reason. I kinda buried it when I cut my hair off – like, Mama dug a hole, and we tossed my hair and dresses and girl stuff in there and buried it. Mama changed my name and birth certificate. She kept a tiny bit of my old name, but I honestly prefer not thinking about who I was before then.” He hung his head. “It wasn't me.”

“Oh.” Sanzo frowned, and withdrew from the line he'd crossed. “Sorry.”

Goku's eyes widened with surprise. “Oh, wow, uh, it's okay, really! You didn't know, you don't gotta apologize. I don't think I've ever heard you – anyway.” He withdrew again, his hands clasping in his lap. “Anything else?”

Sanzo mulled it over. “You're... considering top surgery.”

“Definitely want that. Mama's got a special savings fund for it. I send whatever money I got left after the bills get paid, and she matches it.” Goku wrung his fingers. “I almost have two-thousand dollars in there now, so maybe once I'm working full time, I'll get enough this year. At least the hysterectomy might actually be covered by my insurance, y'know?” He grinned sheepishly. “Mama told me I have a higher risk of ovarian cancer 'cause of the T, so getting all that scooped out could be considered preventative care.”

Sanzo shuddered at the thought of Goku talking about his body like it was just something to be cut and changed, but gathered his thoughts for another question. “And you still use testosterone.”

“Uh-huh. Every three weeks, Mama drives me down to Sacramento. I get a great big needle and my butt's sore for a few days, but it's a maintenance dose. I'll likely be on some form of testosterone for the rest of my life, since some of the changes aren't permanent.” He frowned to himself. “Hopefully the clinic I go to stays open for a good long time. Mama said it's hard to find a good doctor who'll help me and not treat me like crap 'cause I wasn't born a guy.” Sanzo examined Goku's face, then put a hand on his shoulder.

“I can ask if Koumyou knows of anyone closer who does hormone and reassignment therapy. Sacramento's three hours away, that's one hell of a drive for a needle.”

“Oh, the drive's not a problem, Mama and me sing road songs the whole way, and plus we'll usually do a nice lunch together and go shopping while we're...” Goku trailed off, as if just realizing what Sanzo had said. “Look, I'm tryin' not to look a gift horse in the mouth here, but now the shock's worn off, you seem really weirdly okay with this.”

Sanzo's brow knit up, but he put his other hand over Goku's and squeezed. “Yeah. I didn't ask your dick out. I didn't give your flat chest and manly pectoral muscles my number. I wanted to see you. I'm just seeing you for who you are now.” He frowned. “It's more complicated than I expected, but it's still just you. Thank you for trusting me.”

Goku's nearly stoic explanation broke, and his voice cracked: “You mean you're not breaking up with me?!”

“No. Idiot, did I say I was?”

Goku groaned and sagged, turning so he could slump in the passenger seat. “Oh my gosh, I thought for sure – but you're not!”

“No,” Sanzo repeated, rolling his eyes.

“But you're gay! Hakkai said you were only into dudes!”

“You started this whole rant off with the very clear statement that you were a dude.” Sanzo folded his arms. “Look at me.” Goku barely lifted his chin, and Sanzo stared him down. “Why did you wait this long?”

Goku hummed and lowered his face again. “Well, at first it didn't matter, 'cause we just met, why the heck would you care? And then, well, you hadn't seen my body or even asked me to take my shirt off, and we weren't having sex or nothing, so it didn't matter. Then I just had to figure out when to break it to ya that maybe I wasn't everything you thought I was.”

“Idiot. It's exactly like you said. You are not just your parts.” Sanzo threaded his fingers into Goku's hair again. Goku leaned into his touch, and Sanzo felt something like sunlight melting ice down his face. “You're a companion, not a sex toy. This is fine. We'll figure it out together.”

“Thank you,” Goku whispered, and put his face in Sanzo's shoulder, leaning over the center console to sink against Sanzo. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Sanzo could feel that Goku had something thicker under his clothes now that he was feeling for it, but it didn't change that it felt very nice to hold Goku against him, like sunshine melting snow.

Sanzo let Goku hug him until the snow flurries had covered the windshield, at which point he turned the wipers on, which caught Goku's attention. “Oh, jeez, it's coming down now.”

“There are still people in the park, so it can't be that bad.” Sanzo turned the front defroster on. “But I'll get you home before the roads get icy.”

“Thank you.” Goku sat back and put his seat belt back on, though Sanzo caught him still quivering a little out of the corner of his eye. Sanzo knew that this had changed next to nothing between them, but he faintly realized that maybe it should.

“Do you want me to take you to Sacramento?” He put the car in gear just as Goku whipped around again, gaping. “For your shot.”

“S-Sanzo – I – uh, I have an hour of therapy when I go down there, too. You'd be bored.”

“I can amuse myself for an hour. If you'd rather keep this a special thing with you and 'Mama,' that's fine, but if you ever want to take me, you need only ask.” He paused. “Does 'Mama' have a name?”

“You could just call her Mother Bosatsu, I guess.” Goku sniffed, his lower lip wiggling through a big, wobbly smile. “And... yeah. Maybe we can do a Sacramento day trip together some time.” He smiled and snaked an arm over to Sanzo's shoulder, tugging him sideways in his seat. Sanzo grunted his annoyance, but let Goku have it. Goku had given him plenty today, he should at least make a token effort to meet him in the middle.

“Do you have big New Year's plans?” Koumyou could make loaded questions sound dreadfully innocent, and Sanzo peered out of his office to glare at him. He was filling out his accreditation forms at his desk using one of the pens decorated with a peacock feather and not quite looking at Sanzo, his smiling eyes down on his desk. Sanzo could already tell he was fishing. One of the things that made Koumyou a good therapist was that he could get the information he really wanted by asking questions around it in a careful waltz until he was taking the last step and had come in for the kill. Sanzo had gotten used to listening for it.

“Why do you want to know? You trying to make plans?”

“Ah, no, your father and I will do what we usually do.” Koumyou giggled. “Dinner, then stay in and watch a benefit concert on television. I think Marin Alsopp will be conducting the SFSO this year. I suppose I'd like to know if you'd like us to include you in our reservations, or if you were going to do something else this year.”

It sounded so reasonable. Koumyou was good at sounding reasonable. Sanzo's suspicion couldn't so easily be assuaged. “Hm. Maybe.”

“Let's see.” Koumyou paused and brushed the feather of the pen across his lower lip. “Hakkai told me he and Gojyo were going to a wine tasting. Did he invite you to join them?”

“Goku can't drink.” Sanzo bit his own tongue the second the words came out. Koumyou merely hummed, but Sanzo knew Koumyou needed more. “I haven't asked him about his plans yet.”

“Oh, really? Perhaps if you were going to make plans, it would be prudent to make them.” Koumyou returned to filling out his paperwork and hummed vacantly. Sanzo grimaced and scooted back into his office.

Making plans meant plans could be broken, but Goku had proven his worth every time Sanzo had taken the risk. He picked his phone up and dialed Goku's number without hesitating.

Goku picked up promptly. “Just a sec, greasy fingers!” Sanzo rolled his eyes, but he heard a frantic scuffle on the other side as Goku hurried to find some way to clean his hands (and likely his face). Then, Goku returned: “Sorry about that. What's up?”

Sanzo sniffed. “Do you have New Year's Eve plans?”

“Me an' some friends were gonna go to a movie.” Goku paused. “But, um, that's not totally set in stone, y'know? Did you want to make some plans?”

Sanzo felt a little relief at Goku understanding without him even trying to explain. “I'm not picky. Dinner?”

“Sure!”

“I'll make reservations.”

Goku, on the other end, gasped. “So, it'll be like a dinner date? Just you and me?” He heard Goku just off the receiver, “I've never been on an actual dinner date!” Then, he came back on. “N'then, maybe we could find somewhere nice to listen to music? I know you like that.”

Sanzo did. “I can do some looking and see if there are any places still accepting reservations with live entertainment.”

“Sure! Anything's fine, I can find something to eat on any menu. Usually I kinda wanna eat half of the menu.” Goku chuckled. “Just tell me where and what time, yeah? I'll be there, bells on!”

“I'll text you.” He hung up, but he could faintly hear Goku celebrating off speaker as he did. He had a funny feeling Goku hadn't been sure whether or not Sanzo would ask him out on a date again. He didn't tell Sanzo this, of course, because Sanzo would likely give him a good kick in the ass and tell him, 'I already told you once!' He couldn't lie and say that even after having him over for Christmas dinner that he'd completely come to terms with the knowledge that Goku was trans. He still, embarrassingly, found himself looking for any tells that Goku wasn't male. He'd found none thus far.

At the same time, Sanzo got the feeling Goku was waiting for Sanzo to decide he wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe he should take this opportunity to prove it.

He did so, with one last addendum by text message: “Bring an overnight bag with a change of clothes.”

Sanzo had no idea where Goku put all the free bread they'd put on the table at the restaurant. All he knew was that the waiters had replaced the basket at least three times and he'd only taken one roll for himself. How did someone so small pack away that much bread, a full plate of pesto, ask about the gnocchi Sanzo hadn't eaten (to the point of having his hand slapped away when Goku jokingly reached for it), and still want dessert?

On the bright side, whereas Goku was loud and enthusiastic, encouraging conversation, asking Sanzo to tell him how good his meal was and expressing how awesome the food was, when the band came out, a jazz quartet, Goku quieted down, speaking only in stage whispers to the waiter to ask for refills and the dessert menu, so Sanzo could enjoy the music. Goku did talk between songs:

“What was that one called? Do you know this song? Who wrote it?”

Sanzo found he usually knew at least one answer, and had no good reason not to tell Goku as much as he could. Goku admitted, “I listen to music, but only, like on the radio. Nataku puts orchestra stuff on while he's studying, but he doesn't actually know anything about it and he puts his headphones on sometimes, so I don't know much about it. The stuff you listen to is pretty neat, though! How'd you get so into jazz and stuff?”

“College,” Sanzo answered steadily, as Goku fidgeted with his soda glass, having long since scraped every last trace of chocolate mousse from his dessert plate. “I listened to the college radio and started to hear some songs I liked, so I researched the musicians independently. Soon, I just learned to listen for the songs that resonated with me. I listen to everything.”

“Cool! Do you do, like, deep cuts and stuff?”

“I'll listen to a full album, if that's what you mean. If I really like something that's not popular, then yes, I make an effort to listen to it when I feel like it.”

Goku glowed appreciatively. “You're all deep and considerate and stuff. It's so cool and cute.”

Sanzo felt his cheeks glow in return. “I just am.”

“Yeah, it's great.” Goku beamed, and the room only got warmer.

Sanzo suggested they leave by eleven, hoping to avoid any drivers who'd celebrated a little too hard, and Goku made no argument. He was perfectly happy to exhort all the fun they'd had up until that point as if Sanzo hadn't been there, enjoying it too. Sanzo couldn't admonish him as he chattered the entire car ride back to his parents' home. When they arrived, the shop was dark and locked, but there was a light on in an upstairs room. Goku hiked his backpack up his shoulders as Sanzo unlocked the door, and Sanzo guided Goku through the dark shop and to the stairwell. The front room on the second floor opened into a lounge where Toudai and Koumyou were sharing a worn-looking leather sofa and watching television. Koumyou hailed them with a wave as they walked past the door.

“Boys, welcome back. Would you care to join us? Madame Alsopp is about to take the podium.”

Sanzo grunted. “Not enough room on the sofa for four. We'll watch in my room.”

Toudai tipped his focus from the television for a moment to raise an eyebrow. Goku, however, gaped at Sanzo. “Wow, you got your own TV?”

“I insisted after sixteen years of passive-aggressive squabbles over whether we would watch primetime dramas or the cooking channel.” Sanzo continued to lead Goku up the stairs. “Besides, I preferred Jeopardy.”

“Lucky! We always had to draw straws at the foster house! Luckily, most everyone wanted to watch cartoons...” Goku tromped up after him to the third floor. Both of them missed the quick, nonverbal exchange between Toudai and Koumyou, Toudai gesturing furiously in their wake and Koumyou stifling a giggle.

Sanzo's bedroom was pretty sparsely appointed. He had a double bed, a chest of drawers that looked like unfinished wood, a bookshelf, and a television stand with, of course, a TV. Sanzo pushed the pillows against the wall like a makeshift daybed and gestured. “Get comfy.”

“Thanks!” Goku took his shoes off and put them by the door, dropped his backpack next to Sanzo's chest, and hopped onto the bed, shoulders against the wall, spread out so he could face the TV. Sanzo sat closer to the edge of the bed, but he yawned before he'd even settled in. Goku nudged Sanzo's hip with his toe. “Are you sleepy?”

Sanzo cast a glare in Goku's direction. “No.” As if to betray him, he yawned again, but cleared the roughness from his voice to add, “I'm used to early mornings, not late nights.”

“What time are you usually asleep?” Goku kicked his feet around. Sanzo muttered something, and Goku nudged his hip again. “Louder?”

“Nine.” Sanzo rolled his eyes. “And up by five. Forgive me for not being a spry college student pulling all-nighters.”

Goku snickered. “Man, if words could actually hurt a guy! Watch the sarcasm there, jeez. And it's okay! If you wanna get into your PJs and get actually comfy, it's okay. I'll put mine on, too!” Goku jumped back off the bed and went for his backpack, but paused just as he went for the zipper. “That's cool, right?”

Goku was holding his gaze, and it took Sanzo a moment for his brain to catch up with Goku's unspoken question. Then he remembered Goku was kind of an idiot. “Yeah. It's a sleepover. If you wanna change in the bathroom, it's across the hall. If you want a glass of water or a snack, you know where the kitchen is. Just don't go up the stairs, that's Toudai and Koumyou's suite.” He waved Goku off, but Goku looked grateful. For all of Goku's stupidities, it was nice that he wasn't presuming anything.

Sanzo shucked his overshirt and pants and flopped down on his bed again. Might as well get used to being comfortable around someone else now.

When Goku returned, it was in a tight-looking white tank top and boxer shorts with a monkey printed on it. Sanzo knew he was staring, but he hoped he was more subtle than Goku. Goku stopped cold for a moment, gaping, then shook it off and hopped back on the bed, leaving a little distance between the pair of them. Sanzo sat up and scooted so they could sit close, and Goku raised his eyebrows, but took the opportunity to wrap an arm around Sanzo's waist.

On TV, the conductor stepped to the podium and raised her baton, the orchestra members lifted their instruments and played a single note in unison, and Sanzo relaxed into Goku's shoulder. He was surprisingly solid for someone so small, and who clearly still had his share of cracks under the surface, and as Sanzo closed his eyes, Goku started to smooth his palm in little circles on his back. “Hey, if you're sleepy, it's okay. I'll tuck you in if you doze off.”

Sanzo was already lolling against him. Goku rested the side of his head against Sanzo's and pulled him closer by the waist. He wasn't sure how many liberties he could take with Sanzo, if he was allowed to stroke his hair or take his shirt the rest of the way off, but he let Sanzo doze against him as the music started to play.

When midnight came, Goku was still contentedly watching the concert, and Sanzo was fast asleep against him. “Hey, Sanzo?” Goku nudged him as the little countdown in the corner of the screen neared zero. “It's midnight. Did you want me to be your first kiss of the New Year?” Sanzo lifted his head a little, opening an eye halfway, then sat up and slid his arm up Goku's back.

“Don't ask me stupid questions.” He captured Goku around the shoulder and tugged him close, nose to nose, then hesitated. Goku, too, could see the countdown on the screen, and whispered it:

“Nine, eight, seven, six...” Sanzo's hand trembled on his shoulder, and Goku put his lip against Sanzo's chin and finished: “Five-four-three-two--!”

Sanzo closed the distance and kissed him, and Goku closed his arms around him. Sanzo's kiss was lazy and deep, and Goku forgot about time.

Sanzo fell asleep with Goku still tasting his mouth, and Goku eased him down onto the bed the rest of the way, then cuddled up to his side. He managed to turn the lamp off without moving, but left the television on, and music washed over them as they fell into solace without a sound.

Goku woke at four in the morning with his stomach growling. He could practically feel his stomach shaking the bed as it growled and complained at him, and he grimaced and sat up. “I knew I should have grabbed some more breadsticks for a midnight snack.” He untangled his legs from Sanzo's and stretched as he rose. Something felt off; his chest was a little sore, but he couldn't be sure why. “Probably just 'cause it's a different bed.” He glanced back at Sanzo where he still slept, breathing softly into his pillow. Sanzo's bed was really comfy; the top was as squishy as a marshmallow, the blankets thick and soft, and the whole thing smelled a little like Sanzo's soap and cigarettes. He kind of never wanted to get out.

Goku found the pantry easily and found a box of crackers. Hopefully, Toudai and Koumyou wouldn't notice a few missing. Or a sleeve. He found himself stretching his arms over his head again as he ate a few, but it was only as he itched at his chest that he realized the problem.

“Crap, fell asleep in my binder like an idiot!” He put the crackers down on the counter and quickly started yanking the Velcro loose on the sides. He breathed just a little easier with the compression off, but just as he went to take the tank off, he heard a gasp from the door and looked up to see a shadow blocking the dim light from the hall.

Toudai in a dressing robe. Gawking at him.

Goku covered his chest with his arm, trying not to panic. “M-Mister Toudai!” He grabbed the crackers off the counter. “Sorry, I was just gettin' a snack – I'll clean up the mess, I'm sorry!” Toudai's mouth was still agape, his shoulders slumped, and Goku waved his free hand. “I, uh, I can explain–”

“Wait.” Toudai compressed his forehead in his hand, his thumb and pinky pressed to his temples at his hairline. “Calm down. You don't owe me an explanation. Here.” He slid his robe off and held it out. “Take that thing off, you can wear this. I may not know much, but I know you shouldn't sleep in it.”

Goku felt his face flush, but as he took the robe, Toudai turned on his heel. “Meet me in the den upstairs. I wish to have a very serious conversation with you.” He strode away, brooking no argument, and Goku cringed and carefully peeled his binder the rest of the way off.

Crap, crap, crap.

Toudai's robe was three sizes too big for Goku, still a little warm off of his chest and carrying the faint scent of chamomile. Toudai had worn pajamas underneath, at least, and Goku was a little relieved he wouldn't have to have this 'very serious conversation' with Toudai shirtless. Toudai had settled on one end of the sofa, and had pulled a leather tuffet close. He patted the smaller cushion as Goku entered the room. “Sit, my boy.” Goku obediently sat near him, pulling the robe around so he wouldn't crush the velvet, and Toudai slapped a hand on his back. “This... whatever this is, changes nothing. If Kouryuu likes you as you are, that is all that's important to us.”

“Mr. Toudai, I'm sorry – I would'a told you, but--”

“It's not important to me. Your gender changes nothing, and as far as I care, it hasn't changed.” He actually smirked. “At least three of the young fellows I coached needed me to help them pack their shorts so they looked right for competitions. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Toudai squeezed his shoulder. “Where are you getting your hormones?”

That wasn't what Goku was expecting. He quickly searched Toudai's face for the deeper meaning, but found only stone cold demand. “Uh, I go to a doctor in Sacramento every three weeks for my T shot.”

“Okay.” Toudai sagged, clearly relieved. “Thank you. That's reassuring. I...” Toudai heaved a sigh, collapsing like a hollow mountain. “I need you to promise me something.” Toudai slid his hand down Goku's arm and took his hand. Goku sat up, listening intently, as Toudai squeezed his fingers. “I need you to promise me that no matter how hard things get, how impatient you are to transition, anything, you do not chase under-the-table testosterone, you do not take more than your doctor orders you, and for Heaven's sake, no matter what you do, never, never--” He clamped Goku's hand tight. “NEVER share a needle.”

Toudai's grip hurt, but his hand was shaking. Goku squeezed his hand back. “I promise.”

Toudai leaned in towards Goku, still clenching his hand. “You don't understand, boy. I may not be here next year to remind you of this. Hell, your relationship with Kouryuu is still hardly in its infancy, you may not be around, either. But know that Koumyou will help you, if it comes to that, just, please, never get so desperate that you make a foolish mistake like I did!”

Goku sucked in a breath. “Mister Toudai?”

Toudai's hand was still shaking. “I have made countless mistakes, my boy. I suffered through twenty years of a loveless marriage to a woman who spent our every damned photo op comparing me to her senorita lover under her breath, and only able to see Koumyou in the night, sneaking around. I turned down so many opportunities for the sake of protecting my identity. Worst, I tried to keep up with my failing body through my latter years of athletics with – with...” Toudai inhaled and exhaled, clearly straining to scrape his soul clean. “You can't imagine what it's like. To sacrifice one's happiness for years for the sake of success, only to see it drained by age... I thought I had no choice but to use HGH to keep up.”

Goku didn't dare say a word. Not with Toudai still shaking in front of him. Toudai shook his head. “It's horrible, isn't it? My pride and stubbornness drove me to... to...” He grimaced. “My own gravestone.” He forced himself ramrod straight. “It was the early nineties. I knew of blood-borne diseases, but there were no massive public information campaigns, and it wasn't taught when I was in school. I was flying blind, and though I knew long-term steroid use would have negative consequences, I thought that just a little, just until I could retire, it wouldn't... But it was illicitly acquired, and shared with...” Toudai swallowed hard. “Others. Other gay men. We knew of HIV, but it was not widely known all the ways it could be spread, and...”

Goku trembled. “Mr. Toudai? You mean you...”

Toudai's hands tensed, and he withdrew from Goku. “I've been HIV positive since the year we adopted Kouryuu.” He hung his head, lacing his fingers until his knuckles went white. “I've been fortunate. We're both professionals, well-to-do, and able to afford antiretroviral therapy and enzyme suppressants. It's become harder since my diagnosis became publicly known and I was forced to retire, even more when my medicine caused me to develop diabetes, but we've managed. However, just a few weeks ago...” He shook his head. “My viral load has steadily increased over the last few years. As of three weeks ago, I've been diagnosed with AIDS.”

“Oh, oh man.” Goku shook his head. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I had no--”

“Why are you apologizing, boy?” Toudai shook his head again, his forehead falling forward. “You didn't force me to take that dirty needle. You had nothing to do with anything I've done. I... I know I seem a crotchety old grouch, but it frustrates me to watch you young people make the same mistakes I did. I want to share what I know, what I've learned, but I can't force you to do what is correct. I can only ask that you hear me out.”

Goku launched himself off of his little stool and hugged Toudai around the shoulders. “Of course. And you're right. I promise I'll never share needles, I promise I'll listen to my doctor.” He hugged Toudai tight, embracing him despite Toudai's shock. “An', please don't be afraid to touch me. I'm smart, I know you're not contagious to me.” He sat right beside Toudai, as Toudai collected himself. “It's okay. I know me an' Sanzo haven't been together long, but he means a lot to me, and I hope I get to stay a for a long time.” He took Toudai's hand again. “Even if you won't be around forever, it's okay. Thank you for trying to take care of me.”

Toudai studied Goku for a moment, then cracked a wry, self-deprecating smile. “You're so easygoing, so much like Koumyou. I would kiss you if I didn't know better.” He wrapped an arm around Goku and hugged him again.

When he opened his eyes from Toudai's embrace, he noticed Koumyou standing just outside of the door, with Sanzo swaying on his feet a step behind him. He closed his eyes and hugged Toudai a little tighter, until Toudai lifted his head and spotted them too.

“We've been having a heart to heart.” Toudai patted Goku's back. “I've gained a new appreciation and understanding for the young man.”

“Ah. Well.” Koumyou came into the room and wrapped an arm around Toudai. “A new year, a new outlook, isn't that right?” He then patted Goku's knee, squeezing it through the velvet of Toudai's robe. “And if my understanding is correct, hopefully an improved you.”

Goku shot Sanzo a raised eyebrow, and he hung his head. Goku quickly understood that Sanzo had likely felt the need to explain, and shot him a winning beam. He knew he’d have to tell Koumyou next anyway. “Yeah, I hope so. The more my outsides match my insides, the better.” He opened an arm. “Hey, you wanna join in the big group hug?”

“No.” Sanzo folded his arms and propped his shoulders on the wall, but Koumyou got up just long enough to grab him by the collar of his shirt and yank him over to the hug pile. Sanzo flailed for a second, but finally begrudgingly let Koumyou and Goku hug him and Toudai.

“Since we're all awake,” Koumyou said after a moment, “Why don't I start some breakfast?”

“Nah.” Goku cuddled back into Sanzo's chest, breaking the two of them away from Toudai and Koumyou. “I just wanted a midnight snack. I'm still kinda tired.”

“That's fine, dear. Kouryuu, why don't you take him back to sleep?” Koumyou captured Toudai's hand in his. “Since we have a moment, Toudai and I are going to have a conversation now.”

Sanzo escorted Goku back up to his room and handed Goku a shirt from his drawer so Goku could keep his modesty. “That tight thing, don't wear it so much. Can't be good for you.”

“Thanks.” Goku turned and redressed, and when he turned around, Sanzo was already back in bed.

“Of course, the old men'll be the death of you.” He stretched out on the side closest to the wall. “They're probably plotting how to best help you right now.”

“Y'think?”

“I know.” Sanzo rolled over, leaving a very clear space beside him. “Get back in bed. We've got a few more hours before we have to start this new year.”

Goku thought it might be scary to come out to Sanzo's parents, or to Sanzo himself. He should have known that it wouldn't have been as bad as he'd thought, and that it would only make things better.

He jumped into bed next to Sanzo and cuddled up to his back, scenting his cigarettes and soap. He hoped that didn't change. It seemed like maybe lots of things would, and all for the better.

“Happy New Year, Sanzo.”

Sanzo was already snoring, and he unconsciously wound an arm around Goku. He closed his eyes into the wee hours, already knowing it would be a good year.

#You've Got Something #my writing #fanfiction

19 notes · View notes