You’d been with the WLF for maybe three years now. Give or take. But you were always set aside, socially. You were a killer out on patrols and supply runs. But you hadn’t made friends. You lived alone. All because of one thing. You were queer.

It wasn’t something you were ashamed of. At least not when you got there. You’d found a book on pride and the culture. You found yourself relating to the words along the book. But it made you different.

you’d sit alone to eat, to train, to sleep. You were simply alone, until Abby Anderson. Her group took you in. Owen and Mel and manny. It was refreshing, you were apart of something.

Owen was all standoffish, that just seemed to be how he was. It didn’t get better. He threw around slurs, laughed at people’s jokes. And you were right back where you started. Queer. Different.

“Cmon Abby we all know they’re a major problem.” Owen laughed, he thought he was funny. He was the only one.

“Owen can you not?” Abby scoffed, elbowing him in the side. You just stood there. Different, it always came back to the reminder that you weren’t like them.