Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

dedicated to: duck, for helping me feel less alone during nights when dysphoria and grief kept me awake, and for being a constant source of comfort even when (and especially when) i thought myself beyond comforting; my trans friends, and every trans person who feels alone right now. trust me, it will pass.

1.

THE LIGHT MAY FADE (BUT I WON'T WITHER AWAY)

andrew had learned numerous truths through life, the most prominent being thus:

• death was an inevitable constant; both the brother and the destination to life;
• even if each night was followed by the bright rays of dawn, eventually darkness would fall again;
• he was a man. (this was the most pressing truth of all: it hounded his footsteps no matter how many times he attempted to ignore it, persisting through countless turns of dusk and dawn; through numerous mistaken people, strangers and ‘family’ alike, taking him for a girl; through a lifetime of being referred to with the wrong name, wrong pronouns)

as such, andrew possessed within him a constant, suffocating awareness of being trapped. if his life was a predator he was the helpless bird trapped beneath: losing breath with each passing second; each stupidly stubborn pulse of his failing heart spilling blood out of his aching, throbbing wounds; trapped. trapped by society’s foolish, one-dimensional views of gender; by abuse he had been helpless to prevent; by the constant degrading misery of the existence he’d been forced into, and, last of all, by the ghosts of a past he could simply not outrun.  

he had attempted to disclose his truths only once, the multitudes of his suffering spilling out of his beaten, broken body and through his spasming, aching throat—right onto deaf ears. he had been denied, so swiftly it was as if he had said nothing at all, and in the aftermath there was only ruin. nothing to save him—not from himself. not from the creeping hands, the rasping laughter, the three truths he had carried with him since he was a child.

never again, he had sworn, but they had nearly killed him. when his dawn had been shot through with darkness so absolute, so consuming, so utterly devastating, all he knew was death: glinting off his blades, laughing with screeching tyres, dripping off his knuckles, staring up at him from thirteen storeys below. it was more a brother to him than his twin ever was: accompanying him everywhere; there with him in the bathtubs, in the car rides, in the smoke breaks. he almost gave in, too—considered digging up all his ugly innards for the world to see; thought constantly about flying, freefalling, landing with a smack on hard concrete. he knew the numbers, too; thought something had died within him when he’d read, more than half of transgender male teens reported attempting suicide in their lifetime…

he didn’t want to be another statistic. didn’t want to be a news headline, a horror story, a drip of kerosene on a raging wildfire. and then there was also, of course, the hysterical irony that if he did succeed, his gravestone would read the wrong name; his memory would have the wrong gender.

nobody would know the truth. that, if nothing else, was what gave him enough spite to step away, to grace the awful, ruthless world he lived in with another day of his unapologetic (even if concealed) trans existence.

and so, years passed. he grew older than he ever thought he would be, playing a stupid sport he could care less about. each day was a monotone repeat of the same mundane horrors, the same rotting secrecy eased ever-so-slightly by the knowledge that if he were to die tomorrow, there would be two people who knew the truth of him.

and then there came a dangerous, red-haired menace who seemed to somehow look straight at the core of him without flinching. who had the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen; eyes which were weighed with the darkest horrors yet shining still with a stubborn desire to live that was almost unfamiliar to andrew; a desire that was spiteful in a way that was like looking straight into a mirror. here was a man who had been beaten to the ground utterly; who had been pointed at when he was down and told, stay, and, in response, had torn off the arm that dared direct him with his teeth. the scars of his defiance lined his face, his arms, and yet. there was no budging. his spite burned brighter still.

here was a man who was everything andrew was not. and so, andrew had tried to stay away. had ignored, avoided, brushed past until he could nearly fool himself into thinking that he was immune, indifferent to the siren call.

but, oh, he was a fool for thinking it could ever last. he had spent his entire life trying to ignore his gender and had failed.

how could his sexuality be any different?

Chapter Text

2.

LIFE MAY LEAVE MY LUNGS (BUT MY HEART WILL STAY WITH YOU)

the day that sent his facades crumbling had been like any other. on the surface, at least. beneath the veneer of mundanity was a persistent itch beneath andrew’s skin; after several months of iron will he was thinking, once again, about his own blood. he had woken that morning feeling hollowed out, his boxers wet and sticky in his pants, and the sensation of his chest moving in a way it wasn’t supposed to as he brushed his teeth had sent his defenses crumbling until he had knelt in front of the toilet and thrown up the remains of his dinner. he had spent the morning ignoring first allison and dan’s, then nicky and aaron’s, inquisitive stares; on days like this, even a look at his brother and the features he was supposed to have but didn’t sent rage and bitterness roiling through his chest and he did not want a repeat of the violence to his own skin and body that had occurred on the day he had first discovered this.

somehow, he managed to make it through the repeat of breakfast, practice, classes, practice. by evening he was so exhausted with the dysphoria caused by the constant, grating exposure to a name and pronouns he didn’t want that during practice he was near-catatonic, unable to respond to the world around him or the shots fired his way; trying not to move more than he had to lest the sensation of his chest jiggling shoved him into a hysteria-filled, nauseating breakdown right in the middle of court. he was the first to leave when coach rang his final whistle, ignoring kevin and aaron and the girls and the nausea (and envy, at renee and the genderless changing room coach had advocated to get for them). he attempted to change out of his uniform and shower as fast as he could with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and by the time he made it out (with a hand on his armbands to discourage anyone from talking to him), his nerves were utterly frayed, his attention focused solely on remaining upright and making it to his car before anyone else.

it was because of this that he did not notice neil hurrying to catch up with him, seeing him with a startled flinch only when he opened his door and nearly slammed him in the face with it.

“amy—”

at the sound of that blasted, accursed name, an instinctive, soul-deep rage overcame all rational thought. moving before he was even cognizant of the movement, andrew whirled around and grabbed neil by the collar, slamming him into the car.

“don’t call me that name,” he hissed, his voice shaking—whether with anger or desperation he did not know. he had to turn away, then, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their tremor as his racing heart twisted itself into vicious knots inside his chest. neil’s voice rang in his head, repeating that name over and over, overlapping with countless memories of every other instance until bitterness flooded andrew’s mouth.

“don’t call me that name,” andrew repeated, his voice raw and frayed with emotion and exhaustion as his shoulders slumped. a whispered, desperate please almost followed and he bit his tongue around it so hard iron replaced the bile he had been tasting.

what are you thinking? his mind whispered, cackling. there’s no way—no way he would listen. no way anyone would. luther's dismissal rang loud and clear in his ears—it was like that day all over again: his self-control shattering, his willpower bruised and battered, his body exhausted and spent. fear and adrenaline thrumming through every cell, every heartbeat.

but, despite the warning sight of andrew’s knives in his hands, neil stepped closer. andrew almost stabbed him, then, but could manage no more than a twitch. the tense silence stretched for a long, endless second in which he contemplated murder in broad daylight and regretted all the choices and impulsiveness that had led him here, before—

“okay.” neil’s voice was calm, even and void of judgement. stunned, andrew turned around only to find clear acceptance staring back. “what shall i call you, then?”

quite abruptly, andrew’s eyes began to burn. he blinked hard, thinking, pipedream. thinking, too good to be true. “why?” he managed to ask, his voice cracking around the word.

neil looked at him with steady, water-smooth eyes, not a trace of pity in sight. “i know all to well what it’s like to hate the name you’ve been given at birth.”

for a second andrew’s heart skipped with foolish hope, but he remembered the nathaniel riko had hissed at neil during the banquet a moment later.

“so?” neil prompted, raising expectant eyebrows. “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he added, when andrew did not say anything, then gave him a crooked, handsome grin. “i’ll simply not refer to you by your first name at all.”

andrew swallowed hard. something fragile and tender and hesitant was blooming in his chest, sending warmth through his system. foolishly, he did not want to let it go.

“andrew,” he said, voice rising no higher than a whisper, the word familiar and warm on his tongue. “andrew minyard.”

neil nodded and accepted the truth as if it was nothing.

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3.

THE SPECTRE IS CALLING.

over the span of merely a week neil had, suddenly, found his free time filled with research of a most peculiar, non-exy kind.

it began like this. at first, he had taken am—andrew, he reminded himself firmly—andrew’s request, however abrupt, at face value. calling it a ‘request’, though, seemed a bit like an understatement—it had been more of a plea, underlined by a gaze shadowed with pain and desperation beyond what neil could understand. and thus, the more he thought about it, the more curious he felt. and thus, what began as a simple google search about the reasons why someone (other than those similar to him, that is) might choose to go by a different name than their birth name evolved into diving down a rabbit hole of transness.

and it was… well, astounding, to say in the least. with the kind of childhood he’d had, neil had no idea people could identify as a different gender than that assigned at birth. hell, he’d had no idea gender was ‘assigned’—he’d thought it just was. but reality—true reality, not the one society had fabricated—made sense in a way he couldn’t quite put into words.

with this fresh bit of knowledge, the person who’d always been an enigma to neil turned into an addictive mystery—one he was determined to solve. but he didn’t want to cross any lines and he’d read all too much about the dangers of assuming people’s gender, so he didn’t want to do that, either.

it was after much hesitation and thought that he decided to approach renee. he had noticed how comfortable andrew was with them, and was hoping that she could help him learn. although the youtube videos and social media posts had helped him understand a lot about what that entailed, he wanted to hear about it from a trans person as well.

after a lot of anxious waiting, the hour finally came. renee was waiting for him in the café they’d agreed to meet up in. he took a seat across her, giving her a small smile as he did so.

“i’ve taken the liberty of ordering jasmine tea for the both of us,” they said, putting aside the menu they’d been looking over.

neil nodded. “thanks, i really like that.”

he paused, fiddling with his fingers as sudden nerves flooded him. “uh… um… i… i actually wanted to learn more about. um. about andrew.”

renee did not react, save for a barely-there tensing of her shoulders (caught only because of his proclivity for noticing when someone was angry). “andrew?” she asked, raising a brow.

“yeah!” neil nodded vigorously. “they asked me to call them that. you know who i’m talking about, right?” he stared hard at them, hoping his guess had been correct. he did not want to have to explain who he was talking about; andrew hadn’t consented to that, after all.

luckily, renee relaxed. “yeah, of course. what do you want to know?”

“is andrew trans?” neil blurted out, then groaned at his own stupidity and buried his face in his hands. “sorry, sorry. i know it’s not your place to tell me that. this is really new to me.”

renee chuckled. when neil glanced at her she was smiling, her expression fond. “yeah, i’m afraid that’s something i can’t tell you. but i can tell you about anything else.”

neil nodded. he was interrupted by a waiter placing their tea on the table, and waited for them to leave before turning back to renee.

“what is it like being, uh, non-binary?” he pitched his voice at the end, unsure if he was using the correct term for them, and he let out a relieved sigh when she gave him an encouraging smile. “like… what was it like growing up? did you always know?”

renee shook her head. “i didn’t know about the term itself, or that it was, hm. possible, in a sense. i mean, i guess i was never truly a ‘boy’. my earliest memories are of doing things that weren’t considered very ‘masculine’, like picking flowers and playing with dolls. i guess i always wanted to look pretty and couldn’t understand why i wasn’t allowed to wear dresses or shorts as i pleased. when i joined the gang… they could tell i wasn’t ‘normal’,” this said with a roll of their eyes, “and often called me things like prissy and fruity and faggot.”

neil flinched at the thought of such a word being used for kind, angelic renee, but they appeared unfazed, their gaze hard. “most of my childhood was spent supressing these urges. i never tried to appear more masculine than i was comfortable with, but i had to struggle a lot to rise above the pecking order and not be pushed down, and it helped if i didn’t have any visible weaknesses for anyone to exploit.”

neil nodded, all too familiar with the struggle. 

“but at the same time, if i was ever called ‘girly’ or if people condescended to me by asking me if i was a girl, that didn’t feel right either. sure, i wanted to look more femme. but i wasn’t a girl. it’s a pretty thin line to tread, but it made sense to me. gender… see, the very idea of gender eluded me. i never understood the fuss and i didn’t understand why i had to tone myself down, to fit in one or the other rather than both or neither, and that too so i was more palatable to others.”

neil blinked. that hit a bit closer to home than he’d expected. renee, oblivious to the way his world had tilted ever so slightly to the left, took a sip of her tea and continued.

“everything changed when i got adopted. i didn’t have to live in survival mode, you know? it took a while for it to sink in, but when it did, i felt… free. like i’d suddenly been liberated from the hyper-masculine perfomance i’d been forced into. but at the same time, i was scared. i’d seen all too well what the world thought of ‘men’ in dresses, and i didn’t want to get kicked out. and yet… stephanie had a room full of dresses for the girls.”

the wistful longing in renee’s voice made neil’s breath catch. he leaned forward, gripping his cup with a white-knuckled grip. “did you—?”

renee nodded, their eyes wide with excitement. “i pretended to be sick on a sunday morning and skipped church. then i snuck into the room and put on a pretty cornflower-blue dress. and neil… it was magical.”

neil exhaled sharply, letting out the breath that had been trapped inside his lungs, and relaxed in his seat. a broad grin tugged at his scars and he hid it instinctively with a hand.

renee, meanwhile, had the most serene joy on her face. “i felt beautiful. graceful. it was absolutely wonderful. i twirled in it and i felt like an angel.”

neil nodded, laughing a little. “that’s amazing.”

renee smiled. “yeah. after that, i couldn’t resist. i snuck in there all the time, until eventually stephanie caught me. but she wasn’t angry, or anything like that. apparently it wasn’t the first time a ‘boy’ had put on the dresses she kept, and that was why she stored them in the open to begin with. she was the one to teach me what non-binary meant and helped me understand it in the context of being a christian, as well.”

neil nodded, setting down his cup. he wasn’t interested in the particulars of renee’s relationship with their god, but he was glad they had something to get them through difficult times.

quite suddenly, he felt absolutely exhausted, like he’d run a marathon. renee must have noticed it on his face, because she reached out and squeezed the hand that was still cupped around his tea. “we can continue this conversation later, if you like,” they said with a small smile. “i know this can be a lot to take in.”

neil nodded, relieved. “thanks,” he said. “i would love to go on, don’t get me wrong. this is something i’ve been looking into ever since andrew asked me to call them by that name and i just can’t seem to pull myself away from it. it’s just… so interesting!” he gestured, a bit wildly, unable to figure out the correct word to describe his wonder.

renee grinned, quite brightly and abruptly. “isn’t it? i’m glad you’re open to these ideas, neil.”

“of course,” neil said. “it’s good that you’re able to exist in a way that brings you joy. it’s not my place to judge that, and it’s not like it’s harming me.”

renee smiled. neither of them commented on the way her eyes were full of quiet relief.