Trans-Male Imagines

Stressed - Mark Fischbach

 You stare down at the offending textbook splayed out on the table in front of you, words blurring in and out of focus. Your notes, vainly highlighted, seem to mock you with their vast pages of knowledge- who knew that taking fifteen pages of notes a day would get confusing? Colonial America into Revolution, Revolution to reforms- social, economic, governmental. Regional reasoning for the War of 1812- hell if you remember.

In a phase of frustration, you shove your chair away from your desk, the intent just to get away from the papers for awhile. Unfortunately, the wheel of your chair catches on the bottom corner of your desk, and as it jerks, you tumble onto the hard carpet of your dorm room. You can feel the rugburn across your forearm before you see it, and groan. You slam your eyes shut, but, hard as you try, the fluorescent lighting still burns through your eyelids. You can feel the familiar prickle of anxiety trickling up the back of your throat.

Muscles tight and head pounding, you shut your textbook and switch your laptop to sleep, and crawl into bed, jeans, sweatshirt, and binder.

~

When you wake up, your roommate, Mark, is already gone, bed looking immaculate. Right, he was at home for the weekend. You sit up, tugging at the cords of your hoodie that got tangled in the hood. Then it hits you.

"Holy shit," you breathe out. Your ribs ache, and you can tell without a doubt you have to skip binding for the day. Critical roles on anxiety and dysphoria. Straight 20s. Reluctantly, you slough it off and change clothes- but you shoulders are too slim and your hips are too wide and nothing is loose enough, and you can already feel a second breakdown coming. It's prolonged slightly by your phone going off, however, and you pull it off your desk.

Mark - Sorry I didn't stop in this morning, my bus from Cincinnati got back late

and I had to book it to physics.

No problem.

Mark - You okay?

You sigh. Was it even worth trying to explain? Could you explain if you tried? You give it a whirl; you and Mark have been best friends since freshman year of highschool. You take a deep breath despite the residual twinge in your lungs.

,,not really

Mark - Want to talk about it? I just got back on the train, I'll be there soon.

I kinda had a breakdown yesterday.

I have so many tests coming up soon,

and that's not even a problem for me

But it feels like so much to do?

I'm also crazy dysphoric, and I slept in

my binder so I can't wear it to classes, and

nothing fits right and everythings too tight and

I feel gross.

Mark is typing...

Sorry, that was a lot.

Mark - No, that's okay. If you want to borrow one of my sweatshirts, go right

ahead. Everyone thinks we're dating, anyways. I'm sorry you feel so shitty.

Thank you so much, Mark

Mark - No problem. I'm proud of you.

You set down your phone, stepping across to Mark's side of the dorm room, pulling open his closet. There's a black and white hoodie hanging on the front left hand side, and you throw it on over your t-shirt. It's soft and warm and intensely comfortable, and it doesn't hurt that it smells like him. He was right, after all, that everyone thought you were dating. It was no secret that Mark was pan, and the two of you were almost never apart.

You tug on your shoes and lace them up tight, and sling your backpack over your shoulders. You double check that your lanyard and keys are securely in your pocket, student ID in the other. Phone in hand, you set out down the hallway, door locked behind you. You send a prayer of thanks to past you for scheduling Lang before chemistry. You keep your head down in the stairwell, and you start when someone lays a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey," comes a smooth voice. You look up, inching away from the weight on your arm, but you lean back into it when you realize who it is.

"Hey, Mark."

"Nice hoodie," he says sympathetically. You nod absently. "You doin' okay?" You shake your head wordlessly. The screaming in your head has faded to a droning background noise. Mark pulls you down the last few steps to the second floor landing, and tugs you into a hug. With his head on your shoulder, you can hear his breathing, and the buzzing fades out a little more.

"It's okay. You just get through today, and I can help you study for history, and I'll give you all the caramel my mom gave me when I was back home, and I'll tell you about Lucy attacking me as soon as I walked in the door," he murmured in your ear. That last one made you laugh a little, and Mark pulled back, a satisfied smile gracing his face. "There it is! I was waiting for you to look like that again, man." He bit his lip, thoughtful. "Look, I know that basically everyone in this school can tell I'm a bubbly little bitch who's sometimes good at math, but I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

The both of you are still for a minute.

"I really needed that."

"I'm glad I got back, then. You're gonna kill it today," Mark says emphatically. "I believe in you."

aaaaaa i missed writing so much!! Between APUSH and pit orchestra (who writes in 6 sharps??) i have barely any time for writing, but i'm going to try and make more time for it, because my mental health slips so bad when i don't allot time for writing.