One-shots [Reqs: 5]

Oh, Boy

trans cross story!

cross spends the first few paragraphs in a super dissociative state.

of course, this story won't be the same as all the other trans cross stories, since my experience with being trans isn't the same as everyone else's

and yeah :)

hope you guys like it

i just had to use that title, i think it's funny ajsdfjcas

---------

Cross rubbed his arms, glaring at his reflection, muttering angrily. Most of it was nonsense, of course, but every bit of it boiled down to one thing.

He knew he wasn't the best at communicating, that he was horrible with emotions. With setting and upholding boundaries.

He was rather good at respecting boundaries, at listening, at helping, though. Ironic.

He scratched his ribs, flinching as his fingertips caught on a nick. He felt dumb.

Cross ran his hand over his skull, turning away from the mirror and draping a cloth over it. A clock on his bedside table read 4:16 in a harsh red.

For a moment, he stood at the foot of his bed, his mind empty of all thoughts. Nightmare always complained about Cross's sleeping patterns, claiming them to be 'abhorrent' and 'unhealthy.' The clock ticked to 4:17.

Cross tried to argue against it, but, like always, his opinions and thoughts were caged and locked away. He'll sleep more, he promised. He lied, though. It was at night when he felt at his best. Where he could zone out without consequences. Staring at the wall for four hours raised no harm, brought no anxiety or looming panic.

The clock ticked. Cross blinked. Odd, how he sometimes stopped breathing without realizing. He sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily. Sleepless nights were what kept him from breaking. There was no one to impress. He didn't need to speak. He didn't have to hear those overlapping voices of his teammates.

The cold was finally getting to him, biting slowly into his bones with a frigid burn. He had to make himself breathe again. He had around four hours before the rest of the castle started to get up. Four hours of freedom left.

He rubbed his arms again, and turned to where he'd set out his clothes. He forced himself to remain present as he got dressed. To think along with every movement. His jacket came on last. He tucked his locket into his shirt and was still for a moment. If he asked one of the guys what they thought, what would they tell him?

He tugged on his sleeve, staring at his door with unease. Would they disagree? He took a step. His door. His fucking door. It was the worst and best thing he had. It was a barrier. A saving grace, a floodgate, a safety net. But right now, it looked like the gateway to hell.

Cross sighed heavily, scratching his neck. It was time.

The door creaked when he opened it, a wall of ice slapping him and bringing a chilled flush to his cheeks. He adjusted quickly, used to the cold now. Three years was enough time to get used to it. He skipped the kitchen, the living room, and tip-toed past the open door to Nightmare's lit study.

Nightmare was a bit of a hypocrite. He demanded Cross sleep every night, but the king himself never slept. Cross jogged the rest of the way, crossing the castle in record time. The forest path was lined with frosted grass. Cross puffed out a laugh in a cloud of white. And to think it was summertime.

His shoes crunched in the gravel, the sound keeping him rooted in reality. His internal clock was starting to chime with warning. Killer got up around this time. Cross picked up the pace, huffing a relieved sigh as the training building finally came into sight. His fingers were numb as he fumbled with the key, his marrow feeling entirely frozen.