Tristan Strings Is Not Normal

4

Tristan stared at the reflection of his bloodshot eyes the next morning. He couldn't believe it was him.

His dark brown, fluffy hair stuck up from all odd angles and stubble grew subtly on his chin and and he felt uncomfortable, his chest binder straps showing slightly through his grey shirt.

Though Tristan was described as the "epitome of masculinity", he still felt insecure . No one except his mother knew his real struggle with his body image for years.
Tristan was born a biological female, but as he grew older and puberty hit, he was uncomfortable beyond measure about his body and how he was treated. He later learnt this is gender dysphoria.

His mental health spiraled out of control. He was confused, he didn't know how to cope and he most certainly did not know who he was three years ago. The boy used to list all the things he found masculine and feminine about his body;
He liked his broad, slightly muscular shoulders but his legs were too feminine, despite his impressive leg hair and other obvious body parts he didn't even want to think of. He was tough on himself, scrutinizing every action he takes and seeing whether that's something a cisgender male would typically do. No one could blame him for it, he just wants to pass fully as male and stay stealth concerning being Transgender.

Fortunately , Tristan's mother came to accept him after a grueling year of him coming out. When he knew she was fully on board, she gave him his first  haircut the way he wanted it, the feeling of euphoria was so uplifting and every now and then he'd relish the sweet memory to remember who cares for him and loves him no matter who he is.

He shook his head as though to remove the thoughts , looking away from his reflection feeling disgusted at his appearance, dragging his heels to the shower window and opening it up. The tall boy pulled out a cigarette pack, pulling out one and lighting it quietly. He rested the hand holding the cigarette outside of the window when he wasn't puffing it. Once the stick burned to the end, he slowly stumped it out and chucked it out of the window, feeling light and heavy on his feet at the same time.

Tristan's mind was absolutely empty, no racing thoughts and no worries. He slumped down onto the floor, staring at a crack on his wall blankly. He was lonely, he's been told so too, which was quite a shock to him at first. The buzz from the cigarette slowly started to fade and he quickly showered and wore some fresh clothes to get rid of any smoke-y smell.

He felt sick.
And lost his appetite after the cigarette so he decided to eat the minimal amount of food he could before he had to go to school.

"Morning Trista-" His mother paused as she opened the door, looking at her son. "you need more sleep, darling" she continued, her voice gentle and she pursed her light pink lips, quite like Tristan's.

Tristan could only manage a tight-lipped smile to please her for a few seconds, before responding.
"'m gonna be late for school ma"

"go on then, but don't forget to grab something to eat on the way out okay?"

"Yes, yes" he brushed off her reminder and bent down to kiss her cheek then grabbed his trusty black backpack, slinging it over his right shoulder and leaving his home to walk to school, plugging his crappy earphones into his bat-like ears.

Once he arrived at school, he mentally groaned, knowing that today was going to be absolute shit. The first day back and someone will find something offensive to say to the tired boy.

The day flew past quite quickly, to Tristan's surprise. Last period was History, one of his less-hated subjects. Although the sweet voice of his teacher, Ms Ray makes him fall asleep from time to time.

Tristan had a reputation of sorts, he was quiet and kept to himself, well dressed but not enough to show he cared, people tried to provoke him to get a rise out of him, considering the records the school seemed to have from his last school, they learned about his violent tendencies but never knew the whole story. Most people assumed he was some 'bad guy' who didn't give a toss about what anyone said.

He sauntered into the history class, blinking quite viciously to remain conscious. An isolated table at the back of the classroom was unofficially his, and he was fine with that. Someone cleared their throat next to him, moving their table closer to his. He carelessly turned towards the person who was trying to get his attention.

A small boy, fairly muscular, with curly, dirty blond hair and gold-rimmed glasses which contrasted with his bright emerald eyes was staring back at Tristan.

"ehm, I'm new 'ere" His accent was thick and he didn't sound too enthusiastic about talking to Tristan, who continued to meet his eyes with a an expressionless stare.

The peculiar boy held out his hand to shake Tristan's, who looked down at the boy's delicate hand and slowly lifted his own calloused hand to shake the boy's hand gently. Tristan had a small speck of respect for the small boy, so he introduced himself.

"I'm Tristan, welcome to the shittiest school you may ever attend"

" I highly doubt that, Tristan" his name rolling off his tongue so casually, the boys intense green eyes twinkling as a small smirk made its way onto his soft-looking lips.

His jaw was defined and his face clean-shaven, his nose arched oddly as though he's been hit too many times and his right eyebrow has been shaved slightly towards the end of it. He looked intimidating to the usual person, but not to the boy who was sitting but still towering over him.

Tristan rolled his eyes slightly as the Ms Ray told the class to pair up with the people they're sitting next to for their next assignment, which is worth 27% of their end of year grade.

Tristan's swirling dark blue eyes met the peculiar boy's twinkling emerald eyes once again and he raised his eyebrow slightly before the boy ripped a small part of paper off his book and scribbled something down on it.

Tristan took this time to look at what he's wearing; a well fitted white tee-shirt which made his muscles stand out more, a classic but bold leather jacket, the shirt was tucked into  jeans with a belt and he wore  white Vans on his feet. The shoes had intricate paintings on them which didnt seem to add up. As Tristan thought again, peculiar.

"Once you're done checking me out you might want to start packing up Tristan, class is about to end" the boy made Tristan jolt in his seat slightly, snapping out of his thoughts and scowling at the boy who's smirk seemed to get wider every time he saw him.

The boy shoved the peice of paper which he was previously scribbling on into Tristan's hand and walked off, Tristan's eyebrows furrowed as he watched the boy walk out of the class along with the rest of the class.

The writing on the paper was surprisingly neat and it had fancy loops, it read;

My number: *** *** ****
P.S: you're meeting me tomorrow at 4pm in the ice cream shop near the mall.
P.P.S: stop hiding behind your 'cool guy' facade, it isn't going to work with me.
                                                ~A