Stealth. (FtM Karl)

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Triggers:
-yelling (between parents)
-fighting
-mentions of "fixing" someone
-transphobia

The yelling from downstairs was muffled.
But Karl could still make out ever single word; clear as day. He sat beside his closed door, leaning against the wall and he flipped the dead phone in his hand round and round his fingers.

A man's voice in the kitchen, it was familiar, he could immediately make it out to he his fathers. He was loud, his voice boomed, trying to dominate the others more frail and higher pitched voice.

But the woman's was still the loudest.
Maybe it wasn't even loud, maybe it was just squeakier, creating a higher volumed illusion.
Regardless, she was angry.
The voice that belonged to his mother, she had left for work purposes months ago, only to return to a situation she couldn't begin to comprehend Karl's side of.
Only listening to his father's.

They screamed at eachother, but it wasn't even a fight.
It was a war.
And they were on the same side.

It was all about Karl.

Words like "conversion camp" and "mentally ill" were thrown around for a bit before they started yelling about some kind of "punishment system".

It was honestly terrifying.
The fact that Karl had no escape, locked in his room, locked in his own home, locked away.
They were ashamed of him.
And they were determined to "fix" him.

He could feel his whole body shaking as they continued to yell, tear streaks already starting to crack on his cheeks, only to be replaced by another fresh tear.

They could come up at any moment.
And like all those horrible things they were saying about him weren't enough, he knew they would probably take away his whole life.

The life he had made. More like a dream.
It felt so unreal, maybe it was.
He had never been as happy as he was with his friends.
He had never felt so free as he did seem as a man by his peers.
He had never smiled as much as he did when masculine terms were used for him.
He had always dreamt of experiencing such emotions.

His freedom, his binder, his ability to be seen as male, his friends, his emotional balance, the feeling that the jigsaw puzzle finally had its missing piece...
All of it was going to be taken away.
And he wasn't ready to come to terms with that.

He rested his head against the wall as he sniffled, wiping his teary eyes as he just tucked his legs closer and listened.
It was all he could do for now.

The shouting quietened down after a while. Now, still scheming away, they were at an average volume, only rarely raising their voice to make a point.
It was harder to hear what they were saying now, the voices less clear.

'Well this sucks.' He thought, sighing, like it would change anything.

His room felt emptier.
And it was.
Expecting his arrival after sending police, his parents had cleaned out a lot of his room. Anything they thought would "make their daughter feel like a boy" was confiscated.

He stared out his window, spacing out for a minute, his own thoughts deafening downstairs shouting.
It was getting dark already, he had been taken home around the time that Bad had made dinner.
He had no clock, no access to the time.
He could only estimate that it was probably just after 7.
And he was actually quite hungry.

He jolted as a echoing knock at the door shut up his parents.
The whole house went quiet.
It was tense.
Who the hell could be at the door? His father had no friends, nobody knew his mother was back.

Postman perhaps?

No sound came from downstairs for a few minutes.

A knock sounded again.

Footsteps echoed from downstairs, headed towards the door. The lock clicked once and a loud brushing-like suction noise slowly creaked as the door opened.
Karl didn't need to be there to see how his father probably looked; stern glare and a scowl, a permanent seeming frown with anger filled wrinkles and dips on either side, slightly hunched back and tight fists.
What a sight.

"What do you want?" He spat. This confused Karl as he assumed his father would be able to tell if it were a postman, someone he would usually be nicer to.
They carried his parcels after all.

The voice that spoke was rather calm, for someone meeting the current rage of my father, standing face to face with the definition of scum, at not Satans doorstep but my own fathers; he seemed rather confident in his words.
Karl could just about make out a smile in his voice.
A voice he knew.

"Hey, is Karl home?" Sapnap asked, standing at the door, written address in hand.