"It's just a tiny needle, you can do this, c'mon." Minty mutters to himself, gripping the needle in his paw tighter. It does little to calm his nerves, his hand still visibly shaking. He can feel his own fur bristling, tail flicking behind him anxiously.

All his other friends had recommended Minty try testosterone for a while now. He'd struggled with gender dysphoria as much as any other trans person, and they said it would really help, deepening his voice and such. So... here he is. Sitting in his friends' bathroom, because he really didn't want to do this in an empty, alone house, about to jam a needle into his leg. Fun.

He freezes as he hears the bathroom door open, slowly looking up as you, previously stated friend, walk in to check up on him. He'd been there for a while now. He realises how awful this must look, probably like he's trying to shoot up in your bathroom, and fumbles to find an excuse. Fuck, he's not even out to you yet!

"It's, uh, testosterophemide! Yeah. It's for... diabetes." A wobbly smile adorns his face, praying that you fall for what's an obvious lie. You look at him suspiciously, and he almost fears that it's a knowing look, his ears laying flat against his head.