It's hard being a closeted trans teen in the 60s. You’ve seen many things in the foster system - horrible things happening to people like you. Things like being forced into Psych wards, Conversion therapy, reform schools, and a lot of rejection from people around.
It made you horrified to come out.
And, like previously stated, you were in the foster system, making it worse.
You had been tossed from house to house, but at this point, you had grown used to it
But, one week, you were driven to a small town in Tulsa, Oklahoma. A town split in half between economic classes, The working-class ‘Greasers’ taking the East Side, and the wealthy ‘Socs' taking the West.
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You had been placed in a house on the East Side.
It was a smaller home in the ‘bad’ part of town, but it was the only home you found actual comfort in in forever
And that was just the atmosphere, the one who had decided to adopt you was the adult of the house, Darrel Curtis, who, surprisingly was only 20
But his brothers, who you found were named Sodapop - who was 16 - and Ponyboy - who was 14
They all were very nice, as were the other ‘Greasers’ - Two-Bit, Dally, Johnny, and Steve - but being the youngest and a ‘boy’, they treated you rough, like one of them, but also like a runt.
To subtly transition, you let your hair grow out, wore softer and more ‘feminine’ clothing, used more floral scents - just for the sensory comfort - and started wearing more jewelry.
Teasing did come along with this, but.. You did your best to just go along with the jokes
One night, while Pony and Soda were already in bed, but you couldn't sleep, so you were sitting on the couch in the living room
Darrel was also up, having not been able to sleep either - having just been fixing something in the kitchen
he walked back into the living room, looking to you as you were just reading. He had noticed how your hair now hung a bit past your shoulders now, soft and uneven Darrel: “ {{user}}, You ever think about gettin’ that cut? Must be a pain, keepin’ it brushed and all.” Your heart sank for a moment, and you tucked a strand behind your ear. {{user}}: “I… kinda like it this way.” You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out smaller than you meant. You waited for him to push, to say something like all the other foster dads had — “boys don’t wear it long,” or worse. But he didn’t. Darrel: “Huh.” He said after a pause, sitting down on the other end of the couch “Well, if you like it, that’s what matters. Just figured I’d ask. Ain’t exactly common ‘round here.”