TF2 (Alternative Fashion AU)

Smoke Breaks

Content Warning: cigarette use, mentions of dysphoria
A/n: Scout's transmasc in this au

Scout, known as [REDACTED] at the time, stood outside on the balcony of Spy's smoking room. He had been feeling dysphoric that day– much more than usual. His long hair was braided underneath his favorite baseball cap; he also decided to wear a few sports bras to bind, which usually made him feel better, but today wasn't one of those days. He was never one to like expressing his negative emotions– well, the ones relating to sadness or his insecurities. Instead, he simply bottled up those feelings and found other ways to distract himself from them or cope with them. He did the same today, taking out a pack of Marlboro Reds he had taken from the drawer of his father's nightstand. He was never a smoker, but sometimes, he'd steal a few cigarettes from his dad. "It always seemed to keep Spy calm, right?", he thought to himself as he lit a cigarette and pressed it to his lips.
He watched the remainder of the sunset, only a thin line of brightness peeking over the horizon. Normally, being outside on a clear, peaceful night such as this would be enough to put him at ease, but his focus would always wander back to the thought he so hoped to repress. He just wanted to forget about the present and just daydream. He didn't want to be here, trapped in this body that only made him feel distant from who he truly was— trapped by his own thoughts, constantly reminding him of everything he hated about himself. Dammit, why couldn't he just... Ignore it!? Why couldn't he be fine with existing how he was!? Not even the grainy, overwhelming taste of the Marlboro Reds couldn't keep his mind off it. What if he couldn't ever feel... Okay? Would he just have to repeat this every night? Pretending to be someone he knew damn well he wasn't? Living in fear of what could happen if any of the team found out? Having to constantly pretend he was alright when he wanted nothing more than just... Disappear? His thoughts clouded his brain more as he exhaled the smoke from the fifth cigarette.
It seemed like he had only been out there for a few minutes before hearing the door to the balcony swing open, and feeling an all-too-familiar smack to the back of his head, knocking the cigarette out of his mouth. He looked over at the preparator, Spy; he was obviously annoyed about his cigarettes being stolen– go figure. "What zhe hell do you think you're doing?", he questioned, snatching the almost empty pack from my hand. "Since when were you a smoker?". Scout, turning to the Frenchman with a broken smile, tearing up as he gripped the railing of the balcony, "One the day I gave up and decided to fuck myself over". He let over a small chuckle as he tilted down his hat, trying to his the tears streaming down his face. Spy's expression softened, and almost immediately, he wrapped his arms around his son; he didn't need an explanation– he just needed to be there for him. Scout hugged him back tightly, sobbing onto his shoulder, and even though in actuality he felt like complete garbage, he felt a wave of comfort rush over him— the feeling of love he didn't know he was lacking for so long.