Akira stiffened as a cold, April breeze tore through his threadbare clothes. Even with the mass of people writhing through the streets, he couldn't escape the cold morning. He was used to it by now, by it offered a nasty contrast after the cramped subway ride.
He glanced at his phone and sighed, trudging along to the automated directions. Despite the bright sun, none of its warmth reached him. He tried to swallow the rising knot in his throat, but it seemed to only grow larger.
He really couldn't believe this situation. He'd always done his best to help people, but, as usual, it backfired spectacularly. God just… Why? Why was everything he did returned with nothing but malice? No matter what it was, he'd known little more than unkindness aside from his doctors.
He wiped his free fingers under his glasses, clearing the tears as he stood outside Leblanc's door. His hand wavered on the handle, almost struggling to breathe a little as he braced himself. It was better to anticipate the anger, hatred, and treatment he'd faced all his life. When combined with his new record, he could only imagine what his new guardian would say. He trembled a bit and his shoulders folded, hunching over even more than normal, tears welling anew as he trembled.
The bell on the back door barely made a sound as he entered. The owner looked over at him, harsh expression softening as he approached the counter, white knuckles gripping his bag. The man nodded him upstairs and he followed, doing his best to remain as small as possible.
"I know it's not great, and I'm sorry for shutting you in such a shitty place. And…what would you like me to call you?" Akira's head snapped up, eyes rounded as he looked at Sojiro. A gentle smile graced his face and Akira swallowed. There was no way… No way he'd be so accepting…
"…Akira. I…hate the name Maemi…" He glanced down and away, a few tears making their way down his cheeks. He hated the fact of who he was, the criticism it brought, the malice it invited… He just…wished he had been born correctly like the majority of people…
"Akira-kun then." Again, Akira's head snapped up only to meet the same soft smile again. Was it really as simple as that? Was he really going to accept him as he was? Aside from his doctors, no other adult had. His teachers all tried to force him to wear the female uniform and respond to his birth name. It had all ultimately ended in failure but…
Akira managed a faint smile and nodded, looking around the dusty attic. "I have a few errands to run, so I'll close for the time being. You're free to make yourself at home, Akira." Akira nodded as Sojiro walked downstairs and turned to the cluttered attic, giving a resigned sigh before rolling up his sleeves. He was so used to cleaning and organising his entire house by this point that it didn't faze him in the slightest as the next several hours slipped by.
His gaze turned to the stairs when he heard a small noise of surprise. The books in his hands thundered to the floor when he saw the bags in Sojiro's hands. "I don't think I've ever seen this place this clean since I bought it…and even that's debatable." But his attention fell to Akira as he walked over and sat them on the floor. Akira's throat tightened again, looking away.
"Sakura-san, you really didn't—"
"I wanted to. I'm guessing those are some of your better clothes?" Akira looked at the ratty disheveled shirt and pants. Even for as thin as he was, the waistband clung uncomfortably to his hips. His abdomen showed itself whenever he moved. One could even see the skin between the bottoms of his pants and the tops of his anklets. The innumerable patches and repair jobs over the past two years made themselves visible as well.
"Sorry if the size is a little wrong but.." Akira nodded a little in understanding. Even with his male presentation practically flawless, his body was still female.
"Thank you, Sakura-san." Akira kept his gaze plastered to the ground, managing to speak above a whisper. He really couldn't believe the kindness the man showed him. Yeah, he was his guardian for the next year but… He could have just left him to rot in the attic which…was admittedly still more than he'd expected.
He heard Sojiro approach and a hand rested on his shoulder. The kind smile greeted him again and more tears welled in his eyes. "The clothes make the man, right, Akira?" With that, Sojiro pulled him into a hug and he buried his face in his chest, body shaking as he sobbed.
Maybe this year wouldn't be as bad as he'd thought it would be.
This is my first time writing Akira at length like this, so sorry if it was a little stiff. Not meant to be a prelude to a large, extended fic; I just wanted to write this.
And anybody that says Sojiro would favor being a hardass to an obviously neglected, traumatised, abused transgender kid in threadbare clothes can fight me.