A/N: the next chapter of Save the Voices is coming, but writing has been hard lately due to stress. So I decided to get this headcanon out there.

The Long Quiet, or simply Quiet as he now went by, had a lot of time to think. And it was a bit of a shock to his system.

In the Construct, decisions were made quickly, and their consequences reaped even more so. He hadn't had a lot of time to relax, so much as think about who he was.

"I am a person," he had told the Shifting Mound when She'd asked, to which She had immediately denied. Perhaps that should have been the first clue to the horrors that would be in his future.

He didn't let those words hurt him anymore, however, for he now knew that just because the goddess was right about many things, didn't mean She was right about everything. She changed and transformed, but She had no say in what things changed into.

Quiet was a person. And now that the Construct had crumbled, and the dust cleared, he could now think about what kind of person he wanted to be. Presently, one particular facet of his personhood occupied his mind.

The former-god couldn't be completely certain how much control either of them had on the specifics, but he knew one thing for certain: the Echo had been rather close-minded. The Shifting mound was the physical manifestation of transformation and change, but every Vessel, all of Her multitudes were female. At least, all Quiet had seen.

In contrast, he, the supposed god of stagnation, of nothing, was male. His Voices all seemed to be as well, though he swore he saw Contrarian wearing a dress one time. But he figures he shouldn't judge based on just that, especially given just what kind of person Contrarian is.

But then, why should he judge himself based on how others viewed him? Quiet was not a creature of perception, like the Shifting mound was. He didn't need others to define his shape.

And that's what Quiet had been thinking, and later researching. He seemed to have a rather good grasp of what the internet was and how to use it, despite how young he technically still was.

It turns out that gender was a lot more complicated than people (the Echo) made it seem. He read about the experiences of transgender humans, their discomfort with being in the wrong body, and their euphoria at finally acknowledging their true selves. But Quiet? Quiet felt nothing.

Not that he wasn't happy for people finding themselves, but he felt nothing in terms of his own gender. No discomfort, but no contentment or belonging either.

Being a boy was fine. Being a girl was strange, possibly because of the memories of the only girls he'd ever truly known, but fine, too. Nonbinary? A little closer, maybe? Still fine.

Maybe my gender is just… nothing. The thought comes unbidden, and dread builds deep within Quiet's gut. He'd tried so hard to define himself, despite everyone seemingly telling him it could not be done, not without Her. How could he claim to be a person when he was failing at something so crucial to the identity of one?

But then, when he had almost lost hope, when he'd almost driven himself into a whirlwind of existentialism, he struck gold.

Agender.

The moment Quiet read that word for the first time, he knew. The further he read about its definitions, the more sure he became.

It wasn't just him. It wasn't just him who felt this way. He wasn't broken, or incapable of essential parts of personhood because of what he was. He didn't have to have a gender at all to be real. His gender was nothing, and yet it was still something. Because there was a word for it! And it had a pride flag and everything.

Quiet felt so relieved, they could cry.

Wait, they?

That thought had come as unbidden as the last one, but it was far less distressing. They'd thought about trying the singular they pronoun for themself before, but something had held them back. The fear that they were overstepping some sort of boundary, were pretending to be something they weren't because nonbinary didn't fit them. But now, they realized that words only had the meanings people decided they did. And they could use whatever they felt comfortable, without fear of what others had to say.

They still didn't mind being called he, though. Though he definitely preferred they/them, he still felt a connection to the pronouns used for him before. Maybe it's because they'd been referred by them for so long.

On further research, Quiet realized it wasn't uncommon for people to use multiple pronouns, so that was a problem they solved quickly, too.

They weren't sure how to discuss it with their Voices. They feared it would bring up uncomfortable memories from their pasts, so instead he decided be a little more subtle.

They found someone who soled very customizable pronoun buttons on Etsy, and in less than a week, had one for themself. It had his preferred name: Quiet. His pronouns: they/he. And all of that was written atop the agender pride flag.

It quickly became Quiet's most prized possession, for it reflected who they truly were, and not what anyone told them they had to be. They never left home without it.

No one seemed to notice, though. Which disheartened him slightly, but only for a day or two.

"Stubborn, can you get in here and help Quiet carry in the groceries?" Cheated called from the dining room where he sat playing on his tablet.

Stubborn grunted irritably from the other room. "Why can't you help them?"

Quiet almost dropped the large bags they were carrying. That was the first time anyone had used they/them pronouns for them. The first time anyone had to refer to them in the third person since they started wearing their pin.

Even though he was struggling to keep his lode from falling to the ground, that simple, casual acknowledgement of their true identity meant more to Quiet than they could put into words.

Now if only Stubborn and Cheated would stop arguing and help…

A/N: The first use of they/them to refer to Quiet in the narration was accidental, but I decided to leave it in.