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At this point they had known for years. Milo didn’t even know how long it had been exactly, only that they had been much younger and had needed to figure out much more shit than their fucking gender identity. They had been unsure back then, hells, they still were somewhat unsure sometimes, but it had become much clearer.
‚Are you a boy or a girl?‘ had to be the most conflicting and most persistent question of their life since being a teenager. It’s not that they were asked the question very often. Milo had been asked this since before they had known that there were other options. They had been asked it by kids and by grown-ups. Milo both loathed and anticipated, wished for the damned question, for it meant that people weren’t sure which categorie they fit in, which was what they intended, however it also meant that they were expected to pick one of the two, when neither fit. The question meant that they had been glimpsed at, but they had not been recognized. They wanted to be recognized. But did they really?
The times Milo had been asked for their pronouns could be counted on three fingers. Each time they had been surprised, downright shocked and had fumbled for an answer. Should they answer truthfully? It should be safe if people knew to ask, right? And why, for fuck‘s sake, did people have to ask in front of other people?
In the end it probably didn’t matter how long Milo had known, when the outcome was still the same. They were not out. It sabotaged them in their ability to properly get to know anybody else, let alone on a deeper emotional level. They were angry and frustrated more often than they liked and they were still terrified to be recognized. They could always tell how their opposite regarded them and it felt fucking wrong most of the time. Gender was so fucking stupid. How could others not see what Milo tried to subtly communicate? Maybe the time for sublety was over. But deciding to wear a pin or something, to be seen for who they really were by anyone they interacted with meant to encounter incomprehension, even meant to be hated by some without having even exchanged a single word.
Would it have been easier, Milo wondered, if their mother had accepted what they had tried to tell her about themself some years ago? An attempt at coming out that had been contained before it had even had the chance to grow into something. A step back instead of the anticipated step forward.
Would it have been easier if they had chosen a different career? If they had gone to university to ‚properly‘ use their intellect instead of going into crafts and learning everything they could about taking care of machines? Milo loved their profession, loved working with their hands and applying their knowledge, but workshops and craftspeople were not exactly known for being queer-friendly. So they had been careful. They had allowed themself blue hair as a compensation for keeping quiet when some of the others joked about pronouns or felt the need to behave hyper-masculine and prove themselves or some fucking shit.
Milo wanted to finally be recognized, so they had moved away from their hometown, from their family and to Jrusar. They only introduced themself with their chosen name anymore and had decided to not hesitate if somebody asked for their pronouns. With time, Milo was confident, they would be able to ask for their pronouns to be used. They were currently back in school to learn how to run their own small company that they were already planning to found. There was a place in the Fownsee Hollow that seemed promising as a workshop and home, if they could find some people as housemates...