The dorm room is dead silent, except for your breathing.
The hot water engulfs your body and you manage to relax for the first time all day.
You close your eyes, zoning out.
You don’t hear the key turning the door of the small bedroom. Startled, you hear him call out your deadname from a foot away.
“Guess she isn’t here,” he thinks aloud.
He has a habit of talking to himself. It’s especially bad around his friends and family but it tends to annoy Otto’s classmates anyway. You often hear complaints about him when you pass by other lunch tables or in the hallways.
It’s fine he doesn’t know you’re here, you think, in no mood to speak, much less scramble to greet him. Why should you get out and get dressed? You’re perfectly fine where you are in your own corner of the world, ninety five percent sure you locked the bathroom door.
Then the second creak is heard.
Your roommate, Otto Octavius, greeting you in the worst way possible.
“Oh my god, [deadname]. I’m so sorry.”
You cringe.
“Well, shut the door, Octavius!”
“Sorry,” he says hastily, covering his eyes despite you being fully clothed.
Still, he’s never seen you when you weren’t binding so you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt.
It felt like by covering his eyes he was calling more attention to your body and you hated it.
He leans up against the door.
“Hey, [l/n].”
Why was he calling you by your last name? you think.
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to answer but why do you bathe with clothes on?” Otto blurts out and then slaps his forehead with his right hand.
Idiot, he thinks, scolding himself. You are such an idiot.
You sigh, not wanting to answer Otto’s question and not knowing that he’s pissed at himself right now.
You thought about coming out to Otto so many times before. It wasn’t a question of whether he’d accept you — you figured a gay man would accept his roommate/new friend for being trans — but it was still scary. He’s this dopey guy who at all times has the attitude of a teacher who's not getting paid enough to be here. Even when he’s beaming with joy he has that look in his eyes of “I hate you people”. He makes jokes when he’s not trying to and when he does they’re so incredibly cheesy that only you ever laugh. Not even his boyfriend, Norman, does — he just rolls his eyes and cracks a smile.
Otto’s lovely — he has been since you met two months ago. But what wasn’t lovely? The day you first met, only a month on testosterone, and he heard your voice and made an assumption. He even asked if the dorms where still male and female divided and if he was in the right spot for fucks sake!
What else wasn’t lovely?
Not having the courage to tell him right then and there.
And having to explain yourself over and over again to cis people? Yeah, that sucked. It sucked last year when you first started coming out to people in your college. It was soul crushing when your favorite professors seemed to care about you less and less after and classmates became distant. And now here was this goofy guy who was like a human teddy bear with an intimidating outer shell. Sometimes mean and sarcastic but so damn nice. Otto gives the most corny advice and watches romantic comedies on his laptop, thinking his headphones are connected but they never are so you always know how much of a sap he is.
Norman is also sickeningly sweet. I mean, the man suggested you take an art class together to get to know each other better! You have pottery Fridays!
It was so awkward when you accidentally came out to him on the drive over. It didn’t dawn on you until you were five minutes from the destination that unless you told Norman, everyone there would know your deadname. It happened so fast but Norman surprised you with a secret of his own. You were then bonded together, Norman feeling like the first real friend you’ve had in a long time. He was sworn to secrecy and now here was your best friend’s boyfriend trying to make up for a stupid mistake that was more your fault than his.
“I was just going to take a shower. I went for a run to clear my head so I’m sweating a lot. I wouldn’t have opened the door if I knew you were there,” he explains.
Otto needed to clear his head about his anxiety around getting a driver's license. Now he needs to clear his head for an entirely different reason.
You sigh again, your throat dry with worry.
“It’s okay, Otto. Really.”
He shakes his head but you can’t see it nor his face that has been lit up with realization moments ago.
“Hey, [l/n]?”
“Yes, Octavius?” you say, mimicking his choice to use your last name.
You’re growing increasingly worried. Why does he sound like he’s walking on eggshells?
“So I have this, umm, friend of mine,” he starts, sitting down on the floor and leaning against the door. “He’s trans.”
Otto was talking about Norman but he didn’t want to out his boyfriend or speak too much on it without permission. What he did want was to show that he’s trying to understand those he cares about.
You squeeze your eyes shut, not picking up on this, waiting for him to say something transphobic. Waiting for him to say he hates a community you belong to.
“And he gets really dysphoric. The way I understand it is that his body makes him uncomfortable. So much so that he gets bad panic attacks and he can’t look himself in the mirror.”
Norman? you realize. Is he talking about Norman?
“Sometimes he bathes with his clothes on. It relaxes him enough that he can wash the bubbles off in the shower after and not feel dysphoric to have his clothes off… and I, well I, wouldn’t mind having another trans friend. I would be happy to have a friend that knows who they are. That’s all I wanted to say, I guess,” he concludes, feeling awkward.
The door makes a small noise as the pressure is taken off and footsteps can be heard down the hall.
You start to sob, deciding you’ll tell Otto when you’re ready, grateful to have a friend like him.