Author Notes - Oh goody. This website is doing that thing again where it corrupts the text upon saving it initially, so I have to paste the rest into the doc a second time and add all the bold/italics stuff back in again.

My problems with this website aside, this chapter mixes things up a little. Today, we're getting a look into Harold's life instead, from his teenage years up until the day he received his top surgery. I haven't used him much until this point, which especially sucks because the whole point of him was to provide the perspective of a trans man in contrast to Lynn. So let's actually focus on that kind of experience, shall we?

Gotta put up the WARNINGS again, because Harold's family aren't nearly as accepting of his transition as Lynn's were.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - BECOMING THE MAN I'M MEANT TO BE

Marilyn hated being a girl. Despised it, in fact. And she didn't know why. She stared at herself through the mirror, hardly able to stand the sight. By most people's standards, she wasn't ugly. So why did she feel ugly? Why did staring at her own body feel her with pain and disgust?

Her focus stayed mostly on her chest. On her breasts. It felt as if they had grown overnight, thanks to this 'puberty'. The periods, though unpleasant, were just fine in comparison. Which was strange, because the other girls seem to think it was the opposite way round.

'Look at those healthy breasts!' Her father would, rather creepily, say. 'My little girl is quickly growing up into a beautiful woman!'

Those two words, 'girl' and 'woman', made Marilyn feel sick to the stomach. For reasons she couldn't figure out. It was as if they were describing a totally different person. Of course, that couldn't be right. Because she was a girl. Still, those things on her chest made her feel sick. Those things weren't supposed to be there.

She took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Her parents were watching some random show, but her presence was enough to distract them from whatever they were watching. They both smiled at her, seemingly unaware of the apprehension on her face.

'Well, there's my sweet little girl!' Her father said. 'Though, I don't think you're a little girl anymore!'

Marilyn winced. There was that word again. 'Girl'. It still sounded wrong, as it had for a decade. But only when it referred to Marilyn. With other girls, it sounded just fine.

'Listen, Dad,' She said, scratching the back of her head. 'I…'

She didn't dare look either of her parents in the eye. A task usually so easy felt so cripplingly painful now. She couldn't figure out how to go about this. It was such a tall ask for anyone to admit to something like this. Then she thought about how she looked in the mirror, with that long hair and those things on her chest. It gave her just enough confidence to continue.

'I… I've been looking at myself in the mirror a lot lately,' She said, still unable to make eye contact. 'And-'

'You should admire yourself, Sweetie!' Her mother said. 'You look lovely!'

Marilyn stuttered. 'T-That's the thing, though. I, uh… I've been thinking about my breasts a lot. Would it, um, would it be possible to… r-remove them?'

She finally got it off her chest (pun not intended), but she didn't feel any better about it. If anything, it only made her feel worse. Now her secret was out there in the world. There was only one bright spot in that moment - the visions she had of herself with a flat chest. That was how she was supposed to look. She went a step further and imagined herself with short hair. It made her look kind of like a boy. And that thought made her happy, for reasons she didn't understand.

That good feeling disappeared as soon as her father spoke up.

'WHAT?!' He shouted. 'Absolutely not! I won't have my daughter remove her perfectly healthy breasts!'

'How could you even think of such a thing?!' Her mother yelled. 'If you did that, you would look like… like a boy!'

Marilyn opened her mouth to say a single word - 'exactly' - but she couldn't get it to come out. It faded away on her tongue, like her hope to get those horrible things removed. Seeing as her request had been swiftly denied, she rushed back to her room and looked at herself in the mirror again. No, no, no. Those things had to go. How did they seem okay on other women, but so disgusting on her?

Her father's words rang through her mind. I won't have my daughter remove her perfectly healthy breasts! She looked away from her reflection, unable to stare at it a moment longer.

How she wished she was her father's son instead.

The first thing Marilyn did once she finished moving into her new house was take a pair of scissors into the bathroom. She looked into the mirror, and saw a pretty woman staring at her. This woman, despite looking just like her in every way, did not feel like she was Marilyn. She had no idea why.

Without any hesitation, Marilyn took those scissors and lobbed off entire chunks of her hair. There was no direction or plan involved. She just hacked at her hair like she was chopping down intrusive foliage in the jungle, and she didn't stop until almost all of it had been removed.

Once she was done, she stared at the clumps of hair on the floor with horror. Did she really just do that? She hadn't been thinking. Instinct had taken over. The horror vanished in an instant when she looked at herself in the mirror. She gasped. Short hair. It looked so good on her! Something about that short hair felt right.

Her vision became blurry. Was she really tearing up over a simple haircut? She didn't care. If there was any reason to move out of her parents' home, it was the freedom to do this without getting someone mad at her.

Marilyn thought she had everything she wanted. She had fallen in love with a nice man, and it got her one step closer to having a baby. There was nothing she wanted more than to be a parent. The word 'mother' didn't seem quite right for some reason.

And yet, something was still off. She still kept her hair short, but those things on her chest never got any better. If anything, it only got worse as they got bigger. The thought of having them made her feel ill, so she tried to ignore it as much as possible.

She and her partner, Jack, were watching the news together. There were plenty of awful stories and others that tried too hard to be 'inspiration', but there was one story that ended up changing Marilyn's life completely. It was the story of, as far as the news station was depicting it, a man who went through multiple surgeries to become a woman. And he - uh, she - looked a lot happier for it. And it left Marilyn more confused than ever.

'I don't get it,' She said.

Jack gave her a look. 'What do you mean? He… or is that she… looks a lot happier for it.'

'I just don't understand why you'd want to be a woman. And to have breasts. It's awful! If I could choose to be a man, I would.'

She expected Jack to understand her point and agree with her, but his odd look only got odder.

'Wait, hang on,' He said. 'Back it up.'

Marilyn sighed. 'Being a woman is… well, it just sucks! And I don't mean the misogyny, even though that's bad too. I mean that being a woman is just so uncomfortable. I have to deal with these things on my chest, and society wants me to wear my hair long when it looks so much better when it's short. People call me a 'woman' and I just hate it!'

She took a deep breath. Her voice began to choke at the end, which surprised her even more than it surprised Jack. Jack looked at the TV, and at the man who had come out as a woman, and looked back at Marilyn.

'And… that doesn't concern you?' He asked.

Marilyn shrugged. 'Eh, it's just normal woman things.'

Jack stared at her silently for a little while. '... No. No it isn't. I'm not a woman, but my sisters and my mother and my aunts never felt like that. And all my female friends haven't either. Sometimes they get upset because of sexist jerks, but they don't think being a woman is 'uncomfortable'.'

Marilyn's eyes widened. Slowly, but surely, the reality of the situation was sinking in.

'Wait…' She said. 'So it isn't normal for a woman to wish she was a man?'

'Not really, no!' Jack said. 'Not like you apparently do. Have you always been like this?'

That question brought Marilyn to silence. But not because she was struggling to remember. Oh no. It was because she could remember it too well. She could easily recall all those times, from her earliest memories, of looking into the mirror and wishing she could cut her hair short. Wishing that she didn't have to wear 'girl' clothes. Wishing that she could fit in with the boys.

'Y-Yeah, actually,' She said. 'Ever since I was little, I wished I was a boy. I just kind of assumed that was, you know, typical girl stuff. Because… because being a girl was so uncomfortable that I couldn't imagine that any other girl enjoyed it.'

Jack looked back at the TV story one last time, looking at that woman. She was holding up a little flag, a striped one with three colours: pink, light blue, and white.

'Marilyn,' Jack said. 'I think you have a lot more in common with this woman that you realise.'

'What do you mean?' Marilyn asked.

'I mean… You're like that woman, but reversed. Instead of a man who wants to be a woman, you're actually a woman who wants to be a man. And should be a man.'

Silence went by. Marilyn wanted to laugh. She almost did. It seemed ridiculous. All the stories she had heard about someone 'changing gender', it had always been a man becoming a woman. The reverse was unheard of. But then she stopped and thought about it. The sentiments from that woman on TV - feelings of being uncomfortable, yearning for a different body, going against one's parents for the sake of happiness - were too similar, just reversed.

If a man could become a woman, then maybe a woman…

This had been the best investment that Marilyn had ever made. It got her one step closer to being the real her. No… the real him. Marilyn had briefly thought of himself using those 'he/him' words that suited him far better than 'she/her' when he was younger, but now he was using them for real.

She - he - spent a little disposable income on a binder. It was something Jack had recommended. The store he bought it from belonged to a person who was very friendly and accepting of his position. Apparently, they had met a few people like him. They, because - in their own words - 'he/him' had never suited them, and neither did 'she/her'.

As soon as Marilyn got it, he put it on. It took some working and trial-and-error, but eventually he managed to get it placed on his chest. It was called a 'binder' for a very good reason, because it binded those horrible things on his chest. Now, only one thing protruded from his body - the little bump containing his child. Never before had he imagined that men could get pregnant outside of weird comedies or cartoons, but there he was.

For a moment, he began to backpedal. If he was pregnant, thanks to his typically female anatomy, did that make him less of a man than his partner? He shook that thought out of his mind. He was a man, regardless of his body's build. Regardless of the organs placed in his body. A somewhat different man, but a man nonetheless. Any worry he had disappeared when he saw himself in the mirror.

There wasn't a pretty woman staring back at him anymore. Now, he was a pretty man.

Jack had been right. He wasn't a woman. He was a man. No longer that sad, little girl who dragged herself through puberty. Tears came to his eyes as he thought about those horrible feelings. As he wished he could turn back the clock and tell his younger self that she was actually a boy, and how much better knowing that would've made him feel.

But he had realised now. As the saying goes, the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time was now.

'So, how does it feel, Mar?' Jack asked. 'Does that feel better?'

Marilyn almost choked when he answered, 'Yes. This is me. This is who I really am.'

Marilyn's life became a rollercoaster. His son had been born, which probably made him the first man in Royal Woods Hospital to give birth. It was a boy (though his parents would accept it should he ever say otherwise), and Marilyn named him Clyde. He was, to say the least, a fragile little thing. The nurses struggled to find a blanket for him that didn't bring him out in a rash.

But soon after Clyde was born, Jack found himself losing interest in Marilyn. And he wasn't hiding it either. Marilyn didn't blame him - Jack was a straight man, only interested in women. Marilyn, however, wasn't a woman anymore. The relationship was doomed to fail, no matter how hard Jack tried to make it work. Marilyn wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't heartbroken when the relationship had to end, but he wasn't surprised.

Then, a trip to the community centre changed everything.

There was an art exhibition on, and Marilyn couldn't help it. A good show of art was sure to help heal his poor heart. He took Clyde with him, of course, pushing him along in a little pram. It was never too early to introduce the little angel to the finer arts!

'I think this one is my favourite so far,' Marilyn said to his little baby. 'What do you think?'

He had stopped in front of a particularly pretty painting of the night sky. The local artist who made it had used glitter effectively to convey the sparkle of the stars, minus getting it everywhere. Clyde, being an infant, didn't respond with anything but cute babbling. Which was a pretty good response in comparison to how his skin had responded to a friend's jumper the day before.

The sound of quiet weeping caught Marilyn's attention. The sounds of despair always did. When he looked around, he expected to see someone upset in the corner for this or that reason. But all he saw was a man - a tall guy with red hair - looking at a lovely sculpture. The man had tears trickling out from his widened eyes.

'It's s-so b-b-beautiful…' He said, probably without intent of having anyone hear it.

Marilyn could feel his saddened heart warming in an instant. The beauty of this stranger's sensitivity and willingness to show it surpassed that of the statue he was looking at, as far as Marilyn was concerned. He couldn't help noticing that this sensitive man was always within earshot of him, and he was always weeping at whatever beautiful art he could find. Heck, he was crying at the garbage can by mistake too.

After a while, Marilyn struggled to focus on the art.

Everything hit its peak, however, when he went to get his jacket from the coat check. When he slipped it on, he immediately realised something was wrong. It was way too tight. He could barely get it over his shoulders! The binder was one thing, but this was ridiculous. At least Clyde thought it was funny. Before Marilyn could ask himself what the problem was, the answer became clear.

'Oh, what's wrong with my jacket? It fit me perfectly when I dropped it off!'

The voice came from that tall red-headed man. He too was struggling with his jacket, which was way too big for him. It became apparent pretty quickly what the problem was. The two men stared at each other and their jackets, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. The two jackets looked almost identical, and they had gotten them mixed up! The men laughed when they realised their silly (but understandable) mistake.

'Looks like there's been a bit of a mix-up,' Marilyn said, deepening his voice as much as possible.

'I don't know how,' The other man said. 'Your jacket is clearly much nicer than mine!'

Marilyn went to help him out of the oversized jacket, when it happened. Their hands happened to meet. It was a complete accident. But when contact was made, Marilyn couldn't bring himself to pull his hand away. For a moment, he tried to ignore this wonderful sensation. It was stupid to expect this to go anywhere. What were the odds that this man not only liked men, but also didn't mind having a stepson, or - most concerning of all - that the man before him used to be a woman?

But then he looked into the man's eyes. He was thinking the exact same thing. It was meant to be.

'Oh, where are my manners!' The man said. 'My name is Howard! What's yours?'

For anyone else, Marilyn would've been terrified to reveal the answer. He hadn't thought of a masculine name yet, and while he didn't mind 'Marilyn', he didn't like the implications that name carried. But there was something about Howard that seemed welcoming and safe.

'... Marilyn,' He said, allowing his natural voice pitch to surface.

Howard seemed a little confused - not shocked, just a bit bewildered. 'Marilyn? That's an interesting name.'

'I… I'm named that because I used to be a woman. I only recently realised that I'm actually a man.'

He had no idea how Howard would react. With disgust, maybe. He saw it best to figure this out now, instead of letting this ruin their relationship later. You cannot imagine his relief when Howard just smiled instead.

'And what a man you've become!' He said.

'Are… are you sure about this?'

'You'll be fine, Hare-Bear. I promise.'

This was about to be the biggest decision Harold had made since choosing to raise Clyde. Not 'Marilyn'. Harold. After struggling to come up with a new name to suit his new identity, he chose one so similar to the greatest man he had ever met. Harold and his beloved Howard were sitting in the waiting room together. They were there for one reason, and one reason only.

'Just imagine how much better you're going to feel once your chest is nice and flat!' Howard said. 'Doesn't that just fill you with cheer?'

Harold looked to the floor and sighed. 'I want to do this. I've been wanting to do this since I was a teenager. But I…'

Howard frowned. 'What is it? You can tell me what's wrong. You can tell me anything!'

'I can't help thinking about my parents. Last time I brought it up with them…'

The voices of his parents echoed in his mind.

'WHAT?! Absolutely not! I won't have my daughter remove her perfectly healthy breasts!'

'How could you even think of such a thing?! If you did that, you would look like… like a boy!'

He cringed just thinking about it. Many things from his teenage years, both good and bad, had faded away into the back of his mind before they were forgotten forever. Those words, however, were ones he could never forget.

'Oh, who cares about what they say!' Howard said. 'They think that they've lost their daughter. If they can't accept that you're actually their son, then they don't deserve to see you happy!'

Harold managed to laugh. 'You're serious about this, aren't you?'

'Because this is serious. This is all about you being the man you're supposed to be. Your parents aren't important. All that matters is you. You're a lovely, sweet man. And you're a wonderful father to our little angel. You deserve to be happy.'

Howard was the one tearing up at the end of his own speech. Harold grabbed his hand and held it tight. It seemed like a miracle that he happened to cross paths with a man like this, and he couldn't be any happier for it.

'Alright,' He said. 'There's no turning back now. Besides, we've already arranged the surgery. Let's hope it goes well!'

'I hope it makes you happy,' Howard said. 'No matter how well it goes.'

Author Notes - This chapter took inspiration from stories I've heard from actual trans men. It seems like it's fairly common for them to think that every girl/woman wants to be a man thanks to misogyny. Part of the problem stems from how rarely trans men are depicted in the media, leading to a lot of people to believe that trans men don't even exist. Transphobes see the flag emoji and start belting their 'you will never be a real woman' spiel, not realising how strangely supportive they're being.

The way that Harold and Howard met was based on (and try not to laugh here) an episode of The Really Loud House. Yes, I'm talking about that terrible live-action show. Yes, I've watched episodes from it, out of obligation. Specifically the episode 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand', which gave us a subplot with Harold and Howard which I much preferred over anything else the show gave us. Seriously, the actors for them did a fantastic job conveying the love and care they have for each other and their son.

I noticed while proofreading that I had Jack mention his 'motherS', with an 's'. I was tempted to keep it, but I only changed it because I'm not sure if two women would've been allowed to adopt a child at the time. Hell, even nowadays it can be kind of tough. I'm trying to keep this story at least a little historically accurate, at in least terms of queer history.