Friends (Good/Not Good)

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Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of intolerance, bullying, and explicit homophobia.

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“Dude, a girl? What are you, a sissy or something?” a deep voice thrummed in my ears.

Huh? Wait. Why am I… at my PC?

I tried looking around, but I couldn’t control my own body.

Another voice chimed in. “For real, what kinda man are you? Why d’you even know about that girly stuff in the first place? You gay? LOL.”

Oh. It’s a memory. That memory.

I wanted to close my eyes. Don’t make me relive this. Please.

“No, I’m not! I swear! People just like looking at anime girls, dude.” My mouth moved on its own, as if reciting lines from a script.

“Sure thing, my guy. And that’s exactly why you know to call it an off-shoulder boulder holder,” a third, deep, masculine voice jabbed.

“It’s- It’s not- …It’s called an off-shoulder ball gown!” I protested.

The first voice clapped back, “Why do you need a ball gown when you’ve got no balls, man?”

“Hahahaha, nice one, Alch!”

It was a late night. The glow of my PC monitor provided the only light in the apartment, even smaller than the one I was living in right before I transmigrated. Streaming hadn’t taken off for me, yet. The foul-mouthed, insensitive jerks berating me over voice chat: IronAlchemist, decimat0r, and alteredEgo — my three closest friends at the time.

That period of my life was lonely, alright?

I met them when I first started streaming. This particular memory was painful. After getting the sketch back for my VTuber design, something I’d worked really hard on with the artist, I excitedly showed the guys during one of our late-night gaming sessions.

And you can see how that went.

My mouth opened on its own again, “Haha, alright, you got me, dude. I really just wanted to get nitty-gritty on that historical accuracy. You know how I am.”

“Pfft. Thought I did. Dunno ‘bout this shit, though,” decimat0r shot back.

I felt my memory-chest tighten. I couldn’t reply.

“Hey, watch the gank, dude! Are you blind!? Where are the wards!?” alteredEgo interrupted.

“Oh, my bad, sorry! Spent down to zero on my last back,” I stuttered.

“Quick, they’re on an early mega-lizard, you got ult yet?” he asked.

“Coming!”

The thing about these three was that they were perfect for this game. It was known especially for its toxicity, and it was generally considered an act of self-sabotage to queue up for a match.

Like I said, dark time.

“Wait, is that why you’re always playin’ girls, dude?” IronAlchemist changed the topic back.

“Oh my god, like he wants to dress up as one? Duuuude, you’re onto something!” Ego chimed in.

I felt indignant. What’s so wrong with that, anyway?

“And kiss guys, too. Tons of ‘em,” decimat0r tossed on.

Memory-me retorted on my behalf, “Hah, yeah right. Takes one to know one, fellas.”

“Heyo!”

“I ain’t the one kicking my feet over a princess dress, now, am I?” Alch jabbed back.

I felt my face heat up in the memory. “Yeah? It so hard to imagine having a single thing that brings you joy, dickface?”

Ego tried to interject. “Whoa, hey-”

Alch ignored him. “At least what brings me joy is normal. M’not some freak like you.”

“Guys-”

“Well, if you’re so grossed out by me, then finish this match on your own. Peace out, losers.” My voice was filled with venom, but it was purely defensive. My hands were shaking.

“Yo, man, calm down, it was just-”

But my hand had already pressed the power button on my PC. The room went dark. My memory self threw my headset off and collapsed on my tiny bed. One sensation filled my body: pain. I buried my face in my ragged pillow, willing tears to flow from my eyes.

But no tears came.

~~~~~~

I awoke with a start, my breath rapid and frantic.

That. Was an awful dream. One of my least favorite memories, probably of all time.

I leaned up. My hair cascaded down around my shoulders, and gravity pulled on my breasts. I grabbed them and squished. Their presence comforted me. I was Elisabeth once more. Well, I guess I hadn’t stopped being me, since it was just a dream, but you get the idea.

The room was dark. Marie’s gentle breathing grounded me, making me feel at home again. After a nightmare like that, her steadfast presence was reassuring.

Slipping my feet into my slippers, I swung my legs off the side of the bed and slunk out onto the terrace. The occasional songbird’s warble told me that the first rumblings of dawn were approaching, though the sky was still dark. Stuart’s finches from yesterday popped into my mind.

That’s right. I’m Elisabeth now. And I’m safe.

A deep sigh escaped me. I never wanted to return to that period of my life. I’d forgotten how awful everything felt.

The stone balustrade, now an old friend, invited me once more. I leaned onto it, the cold rock jolting me even further into the waking world.

Why that memory? Why now? What had triggered that? I played the events of the day back in my mind. My first casting of magic. The hug with Finley. Choosing a tool.

What’s so wrong with wanting to be a girl, anyways?

So what if I want to wear a dress?

Or have a flower in my hair?

Or like men?

The mocking tones of people I once called friends still rang in my ears. I don’t think I’ll ever forget those words, or that feeling, as long as I live.

While my time in this world had given me plenty of opportunities for introspection thus far, this morning was the first time I really tried to face it. I couldn’t kick the can down the road any longer. Not with that memory resurfacing now. I gripped the heavy stone parapet with both hands, stood straight, and looked up at the sky above.

Do I like men?

Do I like…

Finley?

My gut wrenched. Faced with that question, my first instinct was to run, run as far away as possible. My perfectly manicured nails scratched into the stone. You can’t run.

Forcing myself to think back to all my interactions with the prince, I tried to approach it logically. The first meeting. The flowers. Kissing my hand, holding the small of my back, pulling me in tight for a hug. I kept myself tethered to that terrace edge, mercilessly chaining my mind to the question at hand.

I had continually rationalized my relationship with him as purely friendly — he was a great support, after all. A really good friend. But friends don’t usually get butterflies in their stomach when they touch. The hug had to have been the final nail in the coffin: so warm, so joyous, and nothing at all like what it felt like to embrace Marie. Friends don't make your heart flutter.

It was more than just spending tons of time with him. I spent plenty of time with Marie, Margot, and Sir Robert, and not a second ever felt as electrifying as being around the Andrastian High Scholar. Friends don’t make your gaze linger on their face, daydreaming about getting pulled tightly to their waist, wishing they were by your side for just a moment longer.

My day at the festival with Finley resurfaced, the long line of people waiting eagerly to celebrate their love at the Altar of Aine returning to the front of my mind.

“He wants to kiss guys, too. Tons of ‘em.”

I remembered how nonchalantly Diana had proclaimed her own identity only the day before, as da-sheorsach. A bisexual.

This country is full of people like that. People who like other genders.

If I’m here… Maybe it’s okay to be one of them, too.

The tension in my arms released. A weight that had been on my shoulders for days — and possibly years — began to ease. Gone entirely it was not, but the simple acceptance that I, too, might be bisexual sated a gnawing in my heart.

If I like men, then that makes me… gay. Well, not totally, since I’m a woman. Wait, if I’m- My arms tensed up again, my nails scritching on the rough stone once more. It felt as though, in sidestepping a landmine, I’d come face-to-face with a hydrogen bomb.

I instantly pushed the thought off. Later. Later. One thing at a time. Refocusing, I told myself one simple fact.

I am bisexual.

And I …like …Finley.

I like him. A lot.

Only one question remained. Did he feel the same about me?