Stop Calling me That (mcyt + ftm reader) -Book 1/2-

-9-

((Much like 7, this chapter is a replacement of the og))

((Schlatt is in this chapter! For like two sentences :0 - Not a TW, but true))

"Sweetie? What's wrong?" y/n's mother asked from across the table.

"What? Nothing, sorry," he mumbled without thinking about it. He couldn't tell them if he wanted to. Well, he could, but the thought of that was even scarier. He wasn't ready to. He really hoped she didn't press it.

And thankfully, this time, she didn't.

Maybe she'd had a long day at work, or maybe she just wasn't honestly that concerned, but y/n could care less so long as it meant he didn't have to think about it either. He thanked the heaven's for whatever it was which led her to allow him to continue staring blankly into his barely touched bowl of spaghetti.

She sighed.

Maybe she would press it after all.

"You can go to your room once you've finished. Just please eat and know you can tell us if anything is going on," she said with a gentle smile which must have taken effort. He knew she was worried, but he could barely bring himself to care. He couldn't get out of his head.

He kicked at the nearest table leg as gently as possible so as to not move the table whatsoever. He needed to move. He scraped his fork through his noodles before he took a breath. Fuck it. He was going to do it. He was going to tell them. He wasn't ready, but god knows when he would be, so he might as well just-

"The weirdest thing happened at work today," his father spoke and all of his courage died down, leaving an aching hole in his chest. He picked up his fork, intent to fill the hole with spaghetti.

And it worked. Kind of. Leave it to pasta to make everything somehow ok. He chugged the glass of water on the table and excused himself, standing and speeding up the stairs.

He flopped onto his bed and cringed for a moment at the way that his... chest... felt under him. The pasta had made him feel neutral enough to ignore it for now though and he closed his eyes, relaxing himself into the sheets.

Maybe he'd just... go to sleep for a while...

His phone went off and he jumped slightly before sitting up and searching for it.

Ah. A message from Tommy. Understandable.

Tommy was... something else. Y/n wasn't sure a single day had gone by since they became friends without at least one message from him. As someone not used to friends, let alone friends who actually message first, it was really really nice.

He made sure to answer as soon as he could every time, and this time that meant now. Even if it meant toughing it out and pushing past the discomfort Tommy's word choice often brought with it.

What's up woman

Considering having a nap

Old

Like a grandmother or something

Little old lady O/n

Sure you don't have something better to do?

Aaand that was enough talking.

Y/n sent out one last message:

Bitch boy