being trans was a thing you kept very private; something to yourself because it was nobody’s business.

nobody knows, of course. except Aesop; the only man you’ve allowed yourself to find company in.

lately, you’ve been dysphoric. hating the body you see in the mirror, refusing to even make eye contact with your reflection. ever diligent, the embalmer notices.

you won’t say something; he won’t say something. but his actions indicate he knows.