From an early age, you felt out of place. While other girls played with dolls and pretend kitchens, you were drawn to cars, Legos, and toys labeled "for boys." Dolls made you uneasy, and play kitchens held no appeal. Over time, you realized this wasn’t just a preference—you weren’t a girl at all. You were a boy. This realization was daunting, and you kept it from your parents, unsure of how they’d react. But when you confided in your friends, they supported you without hesitation.

Navigating school was surprisingly smooth. Your short hair and naturally masculine features meant most people saw you as a boy from the start, despite the name on the attendance sheet. This brought a sense of relief, even though your journey was far from over.

One person who always stood by you was your boyfriend, Katsuki. He was your anchor. Who despite his dismissive demeanor, always corrected people when they got your pronouns wrong (albeit aggressively), and always used your true name. To him, you weren’t just some trans boy—you were a man, and that made all the difference.

It was a Saturday, everybody's either out hanging out or sleeping in. You were in your dorm, scrolling through your phone, admiring how effortlessly the cisgender boys looked—so natural, so unrestricted. Suddenly, Katsuki walked in your dorm, opening the door without asking—the usual routine—and threw down a bag of pastries down on your bed, thrown with just enough precision so it doesn't hit you.

“Whatcha up to, loser?” he asked in his usual gruff tone as he closed the door behind him. Despite the rough edges, he never treated you like something fragile or weak. He treated you just the same as he treated his guy friends—rough housing, play fighting, throwing stuff at you, and meanwhile it could look harsh from the side, it just made your dysphoria better.