TRANS // ot4

Nine

((I'm not picking winners until this and Definition are over omg sorry I just want to make sure everyone has a chance!!))

((Tw // dysphoria majOR DySphORIA))

"Excuse me?"

Michael plasters on his best fake smile and turns around. The customer standing in front of his register is a round, middle aged man with a bad comb over and a handle bar mustache. He's the type of man Michael would have fluttered his eyelashes at, back when he had long blonde hair, and maybe conned him into buying a few extra shirts.

"Can I help you?" He asks gently, hands grabbing at the name tag around his neck.

"Yeah, I talked to a girl on the phone about an hour ago about some cargo shorts?" He asks, eyeing Michael suspiciously, like he's trying to figure out if Michael is the girl or even a girl. Michael flinches.

"Yeah, that was me," he sighs and sets about showing the man to the cargo shorts, jaw tensed and shoulders hunched. He goes back to his register and rings the man up, not bothering to con him into another pair of ugly shorts or mention a shirt that would match. He leaves, just as he notices his supervisor walking over. He fake smiles at her too, but she returns it with a genuine smile of her own. She likes Michael- well. She likes Isabella.

She's got a clipboard and pen in her perfectly manicured hands, instantly poising the pen ready when she reaches Michael, like she's going to take down a statement, or something. He shifts nervously at the tilt to her ruby red lips and the dark hair framing her face. "Hey, Bell, how are you today?"

Michael catches himself mid frown and instantly smiles again. "I'm good, how are you?" He replies, as always. It's his instinct to reply with that. He could be half dead in a hospital bed and he'd respond with that exact line.

"I'm great," she flicks her blue eyes down to the clipboard, then looks back at Michael. "I noticed you asked off for the first two weeks of the new year?"

"Uh, yeah," he nods. "I'm- um. I'm having surgery. I might be able to get back a little sooner, but my boy- uh, husband- thinks I should be out for two weeks. Recovery, I guess."

They'd had a conversation about it. Calum had scribbled out some numbers and words that Michael didn't care to understand, while Luke counted out all the money in The Dick Jar. Calum's in contact with Ashton, apparently, despite the fact that he hasn't been back for a few days, and they've decided on a doctor. The doctor told Michael to ask off for two weeks, so that's what he did.

"Oh!" His supervisor responds, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows and scribbling something on the clipboard. "What on?"

He's not sure if it's completely legal to ask that. It is his employer, though, and he might be under some obligation to tell them. He's not sure, Calum and Ashton usually handle all the paperwork and legal technicalities. His jaw tenses and he swallows thickly, darting his eyes around to find the store empty and no coworkers around to save him. He settles, staring at the counter separating them, and swallows thickly.

"I'm, um," he pauses and chews on his bottom lip for a second, inhaling deeply so he can get this all out in one breath. "I'm transitioning to male, I'm transgender."

She's silent for far too long. Michael glances up to find her pretty red lips pressed into a thin line and scribbling away in the clipboard. Michael's heart is racing, it's a miracle he's managed to keep his breathing even. When she looks again, she eyes the makeup on his face and the tight shirt clinging to his chest, before saying, "All the way?" He nods. "Okay. Still going by Isabella, or will you be changing to Bruce?" She cracks a smile like it's meant to be a joke and Michael's insides shatter.