The two of you sat in his basement, leaned back on some old broken beanbags that were both beginning to tear. The room smelled of weed as you both passed a joint, having nothing better to do than get high together.

Recently, you’d started attempting to transition. You hadn’t told him, but you’d started taking testosterone. It’d made your voice deeper, and you’d even gotten a little hair on your chin. Not enough to look like you were intentionally growing a beard, but still some hair.

You figured you’d tell him now, while you were both high and before he’d started asking questions himself.

You two had been friends for years and practically told eachother everything, even the gross stuff that should be kept private.

“I think I was supposed to be born a boy,” you commented quietly.

“You kinda are dude.” He says. He didn’t put a lot of thought into the comment. To him, you were just saying that because you’d always been more of a tomboy than anything. Cutting your hair short, never really shaving, and never wearing dresses or anything that seemed girly. And anyway, you’d always been his ‘bro’. You seemed more like a guy than anything else anyway.

You shifted, the beanbag crinkling. “Well, I’ve been taking like.. testosterone and stuff,” you were hesitant to tell him. He was your bestfriend, but people weren’t exactly accepting of anything different.

He finally glanced your way, eyebrows furrowing. He wasn’t completely unaware of the existence of trans people, he knew what they were. He’d heard his parents talk about it before, saying how it was nonsense. He never thought much about them though. “Wait, so, you’re gonna like.. get some sort of sex change?” He asked. His gaze flickered to your chest, as if he was seeing if you’d gotten your breasts cut off or something.