Trans!Danny. [Body dysphoria warning]
It had started small, a wistful sort of feeling as he was browsing through a clothes website. A certain style of pants he knew he'd never be able to pull off, an update from one of his friends about how their transition was going.
He had been fine, just chilling in his bed, mostly naked but for boxers and a sheet thrown over his lap. Sue him, it was hot out.
It officially began with a little beep, an alert that someone had sent him an image file.
#day40 #witnessme
He had laughed at the tags, opening up the picture of his friend. The other boy was healing from surgery, posting more and more selfies as the days went on, and the scars healed. From the bare shoulders before he scrolled down, Danny could already tell it would be his friend's first shirtless selfie since that day.
He expected to feel pride, or be impressed, or something positive.
He didn't expect the sudden sucking need that punched him in the gut when the smallest of shift brought attention to his own chest.
Like the worst kind of black hatred, he felt it crawl up inside his ribs and around his throat, every movement just amplifying his awareness that something was terribly wrong.
The phone made a quiet 'thump' as it hit the bed, dresser uncomfortably loud as it clattered open. The first black scrap he grabbed, shoving it over his shoulders.
He couldn't help the quiet whine in his throat when the tag let him know he had it inside-out.
Yanked off, shoved back on, he fumbled with the eyehooks and struggled to calm back down.
The first strap was easy.
Snapsnapsnapsnap
Threads breaking only added to the hysteria Danny could feel building in his chest. He tugged at the strap, trying to get it over his shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes as it just dug harder into his deltoid.
He could hardly breathe, baring his teeth and gasping for tiny breaths, praying that the eyehooks would hold.
"please…."
Another quiet –snap- as a thread broke, and he sagged forward against his dresser, desperation clawing at his throat and an anxious haze swirling up in his hindbrain. No, he needed it ON. It couldn't break.
It just couldn't.
He tugged at it again, wriggling his shoulders and exhaling as much as he could.
Finally, the strap slid home.
"ohthankgod."
Danny let himself flop onto the floor, arms and legs akimbo. One reached up, patting his flat chest.
The frantic jackrabbit pace of his heart started to slow down.
He smoothed his palm over his abdomen, and back up over his chest. He patted it as relief swept over like a delicious balm on his nerves.
He took a deep breath, relishing in the tightness as well as his silluette in the tall mirror.
He pushed himself to his knees, reaching up and back to adjust the straps, feeling for broken seams and grimacing at the stray thread that tickled his fingertips. That would suck to try and fix.
Danny stood up to tug his pants lower, throwing on a t-shirt on before reaching for his nightstand.
Lemony gel slid onto his fingers, a sharp smell that seemed to solidify the feeling of "here and now." He ruffled it through his hair, spiking it up and to the side, twisting his neck and tilting his head in different ways to see the shadows play in his reflection.
Yeah. Much better.
The skin-crawling feeling was ebbing away, and he stepped back to raise his arms in a half-hearted flex.
Something about it perked up his heart, and he did it again with a bit more intent, twisting his hips and jutting his chin up defiantly.
Much better!
Fingers drew down his chest again, feeling the edge of rough cloth under his shirt. Part of the edge was lifting up, reminding him of the rapid tick of seams giving way. He reached in, adjusting the positioning of how the binder fit on his chest, making sure everything looked fine once he flattened down his shirt again.
That was too close for comfort.
He could still feel the echo of knots in his stomach.