Note: For those curious, the faceclaim for Pheonyx is Colin Ford(Specifically when he played Joe Mcallister in Under the Dome)

Chapter Content Warnings: Angst, scars mention, slight transphobia from parents, top surgery, dysphoria

*2 weeks before Outbreak Day*

It was shortly after 8pm when Pheonyx finally opened the door to his tiny apartment. Normally, he would be home before five but he wanted to make sure everything was squared away at the shop before he left for Atlanta the following morning. 2 years of planning was finally coming to fruition.

In less than 72 hours, he would be getting the lumps of fat removed from his chest. No more binders. No more top dysphoria. He could finally feel at home in his skin. The tattoos covering his skin had been the first part of that. Covering the scars that were constant reminders of devils in his past. The surgery would be the last part. Pheonyx was grateful, to whatever higher power there was, that he only had top dysphoria. Sure, he'd love to have been born with the parts that would allow him to be considered "biologically" male. It would have saved a lot of pain and heartache from his childhood. Over time, though, he had grown comfortable with what he had going on below the belt. Which is also why he chose not to take hormones. Every trans person's transition was different, and this was the path he found happiness in.

Pheonyx sighed, tiredly, and dropped his backpack next to his packed suitcase and acoustic guitar case. Too tired to be bothered with packing, he was grateful that he had the mind to pack it the night before. He could hear his neighbors arguing upstairs and the sounds of sirens pierced through the shut windows. Despite the noise, his apartment felt too quiet. The missing sound of happy whimpers and nails clicking on dirty tile wore at his heart. Pulling out his cheap flip phone, he dialed his sister's number. As usual, she didn't pick up the first time he called. He shut the phone and waited. 5…4…3…2…1… The phone buzzed in his hand. Maggie was quite predictable sometimes. He flopped down on the couch and pressed the green button.

"How is my boy?", Pheonyx asked.

There was a melodic chuckle on the other end, followed by his sister's strong southern accent. "Well hello, Nyx. Good to hear from you. The farm is good. My classes are goin' well-"

"Maggs, I love you but my boy spent hours on a plane today. He might have been doped up on Benadryl-laced cheese but I need to know he's not traumatized. I feel guilty that I couldn't get him room on the same flight as me. Stupid breed laws, I had to go through a third party airline."

A door shut in the background, one Pheonyx knew from memory. He could just imagine Maggie shutting the old screen door on the white farmhouse and heading out onto the porch. "Kismet is fine. He's already peed on every tree in the first acre. And has already tried to break into the chicken coop twice. Literally scared an egg right outta Hillary Fluff."

A deep laugh rumbled through his chest. He could already see his goofy, bluetick coonhound/pitbull running around the fields and causing havoc. His mutt had the stocky body of a pitbull, all muscle and brick head, but the speckled color of a bluetick coonhound. The dog was crazy. The smarts of a hound with the spastic energy of a pitbull. He was a happy-go-lucky dog and the light of Pheonyx's lonely life. A shade different from when he had found him as a skinny puppy behind the tattoo shop. The poor thing was skin and bones, covered in scars. The pain in Kismet's eyes was one that Pheonyx saw in the mirror everyday. He found kinship in the bundle of fur. And from that day forward, they were glued to each other.

Maggie continued, "He's asleep in the living room right now. You might have to fight Daddy for custody when you head back home next month, though. Gave him the full vet treatment. Shots, nail trim, ear cleanin'. They fell asleep on the couch together, and he's been spoilin' him all day. "

Pheonyx slightly tensed at the mention of his stepfather. "Speaking of Hershel, how are he and mom doing about the whole surgery thing? I know they're the ones who offered for me to stay but I still remember the first time I mentioned it. Mom just cried for the whole call. And Hershel just kinda exploded."

There was a pause before his sister responded. "They're set in their ways, Nyx. Both are of the mind that God makes no mistakes. That by changin' your body, you're throwin' insult to the Lord. But they love you. I've been showin' them those studies and articles you send me. That seems to help with the misgenderin' and deadnamin'. Haven't heard them do either in almost a year. They would prefer you not have surgery, but they want you to be happy. It took them a while to get used to your tattoos too. Once it's over with, I feel like things will get better."

Even though she couldn't see him, Pheonyx nodded, "Yeah. I think so too. For me too. I'm just- Maggie, I'm just so happy this is happening. It feels like everything that has happened has been leading me to now. I don't know if I would have the courage to do this, if I had stayed in Georgia. Don't get me wrong, I miss you guys. But I couldn't heal there. Here, I have friends.", he heard his sister sniffle on the other line and tried to break the tension, "Hell, I can have hookups without worrying about Hershel or Beth freaking out about premarital sex."

The joke hit home and Maggie chuckled, "Speakin' of hookups, you got anyone special in your life currently? And I might not be able to see you but I know you're rollin' your eyes at me, mister. I'm knee-deep in my senior thesis. I need to live vicariously through your love life."

True to her words, he rolled his eyes and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, "No. Just a couple shitty hookups. I went to a street fair with my boss, Zane, last weekend. Saw one of those psychics there. Really cliche with the purple headwrap and crystal ball. The whole nine yards. Told me that my soulmate would make an appearance soon. I asked for a description and she vaguely said he would be 'a dark, gruff man with a streak of blue that carries a bow'. Also, said something about us having the same marks but I'm not sure what she meant by that. So, if you know any dark, mysterious archers. Let me know." He laughed, not knowing that an emotionally-stunted, bowman–with eyes of Georgia blue and matching scars–was closer than he would have expected.