The mirror. It was the one item Protag dreaded looking at, seeing his reflection just...made him feel sick. He paused in front of the one they had now in the bedroom, standing. Staring. He felt ill. The more they looked, the more flaws he saw with himself, the more everything looked..wrong. His features still looked too soft, too feminine for his liking. Was his hair too long? What about his body? He didn't look like a guy. He could dress in all the clothes he wanted, tell people to call him a certain name, but it didn't feel like anything changed. It never felt like anyone believed him.

He raised a hand to his chest, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He could do all he wanted to his body, buy a dozen binders, wear them anytime he liked. It didn't change what he was. That thought sang in his head at least a dozen times as he stared at his reflection. He wasn't a man. He didn't look like one. He didn't pass. A different thought came to mind after a moment, one he hesitated on before actually entertaining the idea.

What about his voice? It was so...soft. Lighter than his partner's. Anytime he spoke he felt ill, he hated his voice. He hated speaking. He just sounded like a woman and that made him feel sick. He hated everything about himself. His arm dropped to his side, hands curling into fists as he dug his nails into his palms. He didn't pass. He knew he didn't. Everything about him was wrong. He felt ill. His stomach churned, his chest felt tight. And, he wasn't sure when his vision has started to blur with tears, but it was now and he hated that too.

He hardly registered the door opening when Coworker came in. His gaze was fixed on his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. It looked wrong. He looked wrong. His eyes drifted from himself, off to the side, to his partner's reflection. He passed. He looked like a man. He was rugged, his voice was deeper, he was so self-confident and his clothes fit his wider frame. Protag's vision swam with tears, head spinning, he blinked them away. Fuck.