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he chews his lip and swirls his cup. lean and ultra strawberry dreams. "that's nasty," they'd said, but the color's pretty and the carbonation glitters in the shaker cup like some kid's arts and crafts project. it's... good.
a yelp makes yumi's eyes snap to the window. the people he'd stupidly invited were still outside, messing around as their now-flat sodas splash out of the sides of their cups. he takes a sip of his own drink in sympathy. god, he wishes they'd just go home already.
he'd retired to his room after some jumbled excuse of "i'm tired" and "i want another drink." the sun is long past set, but the music and laughter still flow strong from his backyard. yumi thinks he managed a good façade today -- it isn't hard when you're known to be perpetually annoyed -- no one picked up on anything out of the ordinary. no extra gloom, no shorter fuse, no avoiding reflective surfaces and pictures.
yumi can't do it anymore.
not today, anyway, and probably not again this week. acting like you don't hate yourself is exhausting. after this stupid party, hes locking himself back inside for a damn month. his eyes drag from the window to the full-length mirror near his bed and he almost recoils.
his face is... okay. a little rounder and bigger than he'd like, not as delicate as it should be, and he really needs to shave soon, but it's okay. below that is where the problems really start.
the shoulders are the worst of it all. broad and square and all wrong. they make him sick to look at. yumi actually winces when met with the sight.
the rest isn't desirable, but it also isn't too bad. those "child-bearing" hips of his actually work with him here. he thinks that if he put on a skirt, they would look... okay. it wouldn't be horrible. long socks to try to shape his too-stocky calves and hide his leg hair. he imagines his thighs spilling over the top of the socks, causing the cellulite to crease and shape into chunky strips. his lips split into a rare smile at the image.
it falls quickly when he remembers where he is.
i have to get out of this room.
yumi stuffs his wallet into his hoodie pocket and rushes downstairs, careful to hide from the backyard and windows. the walk to the closest gas station isn't a long one. his hands are tucked into his pockets and his hood is pulled over his head -- he probably looks like he's about to rob the place. whatever.
the bell chimes above his head as he enters the store. his hand lands on the first thing that looks remotely appetising. cheddar jalepeño crunchy cheetos. the tired cashier doesn't speak a word when he slides the cheetos across the counter and whips out his card. his brain only turns off auto when he hears the distinct sound of a decline.
"you got a different card?"
yumi grunts and fumbles for his wallet again, this time reaching for the card for his business account. he'll just use that and figure out what's wrong with his main account later.
the memory only strikes him when hes walking back home, plastic bag holding his purchase in hand. right. the last bit of money on his card went to a shirt. one that he isn't even gonna fucking wear because he's dumb and insecure.
objectively, it's gorgeous. a purple-pink that reminds him of his favorite drink concoction swimming in a shaker cup. it crops up and rises to the start of his ribs when he lifts his arms. the sleeves stop just before his fingers start, and part of his shoulders are exposed.
right now it sits, hidden, in the back of his closet. never worn, only seen the light of day once when nick found it and yumi had to convince him it was bought on a dare. nick probably believed him. yumi doesn't like to think about that.
his hand brushes the cold metal of the door to his room, but a voice stops him.
"yumi?"
fucking christ. his head snaps around, and he has to force all the panic and frustration from his voice.
"...yo."
"thought you were headed to bed."
"got hungry." he holds up the bag of chips.
isaac nods slowly, then goes quiet. yumi reaches for the doorknob again.
"what's up with you?"
"huh?"
"don't play that shit with me. something's up, something that you won't tell anyone." some look on yumi's face must've told isaac he was correct. "spill it, or i look through your stuff and figure it out myself."
yumi tenses. he definitely does not want that. the top circles back to the front of his mind and he suppresses a shudder. "don't touch my stuff, you bitch. pick on someone your own size." he rumbles, not fully angry but definitely annoyed, before trying to push through back into the safety of his room.
isaac isn't having it, because of fucking course he isn't. nothing ever just goes yumi's way. "dude, no. tell me what's up."
yumi's eyes narrow at a specific one of those words, and he tries to push through again, harder this time. he manages to get to the doorframe and almost in his room. "i'm not telling you shit. get out of my way."
"i'm just-"
"i don't care."
"you should-"
"leave me the fuck alone."
"god, please, dude-"
"i'm not a damn dude!" yumi snaps, and slams the door. he locks it too, just as the offender reaches to jiggle the handle.
fuck. i really hope isaac isn't smart enough to figure that one out.
he sighs in relief as footsteps leave his door and don't return. there's almost a guilt that comes with pushing away his friends like that, but it's overshadowed by the heaviness of remembering why he's doing it.
protecting her himself is the goal. that's what's important.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
but is it?
surely not. yumi can't be. it'd make no sense. that's not who he is. someone like... that just wouldn't be.
but how the fuck else is isaac supposed to take "i'm not a dude"?
it'd be different if yumi had said "i'm not your dude." that would imply that yumi doesn't want to be friends with him anymore. that just isn't it. that makes even less sense.
so how is the most logical, possible conclusion that yumi is trans?
not that isaac has anything against transgender people. he knows a few. not too well, but enough to call them friends. truthfully, it wouldn't make a difference at all if yumi were a girl. his mind helpfully supplies him with images of his friend in a cute cropped sweater, the strap of a bra visible when the shoulder of said sweater slips down, pleated skirt stopping mid-thigh, tall socks covering the rest of his legs save for a sliver of thick thigh meat just below the hem of the skirt...
damn. isaac really doesn't mind that.
...not the point.
a text lights up his phone screen and he shifts in his chair to pick it up.
yumi • 11:45 PM
sorry
isaac's face hardens. not to be that guy, but it's really unlike yumi to apologise without being prompted. this is weird.
isy • 11:45 PM
nah dw about it. sorry i pushed you
he actually isn't sorry at all. he got an answer. not one that made any sense, but it's something. he watches as yumi starts to type, then stops, then starts again about a million times. the text isn't really anything special when he finally sends it.
yumi • 11:46 PM
i didnt mean to get mad at you. rough day today.
isy • 11:46 PM
ik its fine tho like actually
isaac waits for another response after his message is read. his phone shuts off from lack of use. his eyes rise to the ceiling, mindlessly tracing patterns as he thinks through where he should go from here. his phone finally buzzes with another text.
yumi • 11:51 PM
can you come back
i have something to show you
he straightens. huh? before his brain catches up, his socked feet are out of his chair and down the hall. his knuckles tap a few gentle times on yumi's door.
it cracks open, light from the hallway slipping in and painting a stripe of yellow across the dark night-blue room. yumi stands, fabric bunched up in one of his hands. he beckons isaac inside and shuts the door back.
"not a word of what i say leaves this room."
isaac nods, squinting to try to figure out what yumi's holding.
"isaac. not a word."
"yeah, yeah. i got it. not a word, promise."
yumi holds out the fabric.
it's a shirt, isaac realises. a pale magenta with sleeves longer than the body. the neckline is stretched, meaning it's probably a bit off the shoulders. yumi's hands are trembling where hes gripping it.
"it's a nice shirt."
"i know."
"so what's the deal?"
"i..." yumi hesitates, then blurts. "would it look good on me?"
isaac tilts his head like a dog. the image of the shirt on yumi's soft body swims through his mind, soft shoulders exposed and the chub of his tummy sticking out -- he speaks before he can decide if it's the right thing to do.
"yeah. definitely."
yumi looks somewhat shocked. "you think so? it's not... girly?"
isaac chooses his words carefully. "no, it's definitely girly. but that doesn't mean it looks bad on you. you can be girly."
yumi fails to fully smother the way his face lights up. isaac lets out a laugh that he couldn't quite stifle. the room fades into a warm silence. then, prompted only by the comfortable quiet:
"you should try it on."
yumi sputters. "i... i mean-"
"and show me. if you want. ill step out so you can change or whatever."
isaac would like to congratulate himself on his choice of words there. technically, yumi should have no problem changing his shirt in front of him. but if he is actually trans... then he would probably prefer his chest be covered up around people. W thoughtful isaac.
he slips into the hallway and winces as his eyes are forced to adjust to the light. the noise outside has quieted to a lower volume. the darkness makes it hard for isaac to see anything in the window other than his reflection, but it's okay. he can recognise voices anyway. he's leaning up against the hallway wall and daydreaming for so long he wonders if yumi changed his mind.
"...isaac? you can... come in now."
oh cool.
he opens the door. and there yumi is.
isaac wouldn't call himself gay. he thinks men are pretty, sure, and he has his moments with nick, but he likes girls. that's all he's ever been interested in. to keep that up, he better be right about yumi secretly being trans, because he's gorgeous.
the color of the shirt complements his paler skin and isaac can see the soft smattering of freckles on his shoulders that are usually hidden. the sleeves covering most of his hands make them look smaller, delicate, feminine. the crop of the shirt curves in just right to make his hips look wider than his waist. isaac is awed.
"does it... i mean, is it okay?"
"god, is it. you look... really pretty. like actually."
"don't fuck with me, isaac."
"i'm not, swear. you're..."
"i'm what?"
isaac's eyes glide over the feast that is yumi. he could eat him up, literally. teeth ripping into flesh, tearing away the chunks and parts he can't stand about himself and reshaping him into something new like clay. something yumi wants, something isaac needs. the words leave him before he can think about them.
"you'd be a pretty girl."
yumi's face turns a delicious shade of strawberry-icecream pink. so do his shoulders, actually. "you- i-"
"this is why you've been hiding, right?"
the response is an almost shameful nod. isaac nods back. silence washes over the two, full of words and confessions that remain unsaid. for now, at least. he doesn't want to pressure yumi into anything he isn't ready for. then, isaac gets an idea.
"larry and i are seeing a movie tomorrow. you should... come with. in that shirt."
yumi blinks. "i should? i feel like larry would beat my ass."
"dude, he's bi."
"...right." yumi shifts in place, thinking. "you're sure i wouldn't, i don't know, embarrass you guys?"
isaac shakes his head. "nah. i think you look... great," understatement of the year, "and larry definitely doesn't care what the hell you wear."
he nods slowly. "i'll... think about it. okay?"
isaac smiles. "yeah. let me know if you need anything." he stands from yumi's bed and pats his exposed shoulder. it's still warm to the touch from his blush. "night, yumi. sleep well."
"night, isy. thank you."
"anytime, girly." and he pulls the door shut.