Phoenix sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, his back pressed against the tub, his arms wrapped so tightly around his knees it hurt. He barely noticed. The ache in his chest was worse. It was the kind of pain that settled deep, that latched onto his ribs and hollowed him out from the inside. His breath came in uneven, shuddering gasps, his vision blurred at the edges. He felt like he was falling apart, and no matter how hard he tried to hold himself together, the pieces kept slipping through his fingers.

He had spent years dreaming about this, hadn’t he? He used to lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, chasing a future that always felt just out of reach. He imagined himself in the clothes he wanted, speaking with a voice that felt like his own, moving through the world without this unbearable weight pressing down on him. He had rushed to understand, to put words to the feelings that had haunted him for so long. The question of why he wanted to be a man had consumed him once, and all that remained was the pain behind it.

“I don't know how to do this. I thought knowing would help,” Phoenix choked out, his fingers digging into his arms. “I thought once I figured it out, once I had the words, it would all make sense. But it just makes it so much fucking worse.” He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, but it died in his throat. “I finally know who I am.” His voice wavered, thick with emotion. “But no matter what I wear, no matter how I try to stand, or walk, or talk, it doesn’t matter. It’s still this body. It’s still this voice. And I can’t- I can’t stand it.”

Phoenix's breath hitched, and he buried his face in his arms, his body curling in on itself like he could make himself disappear. "I don’t know how to live like this,” he whispered, so quiet it was almost swallowed by the silence. He wanted to scream, to cry, to disappear, to start over in a body that felt like his from the start. But all he could do was sit there, shaking, his heart breaking over and over again in a way he didn’t know how to stop.