Sex in C Major

And suddenly, Stefan realised his initial assessment of a sombre, severe student wasn't wrong after all. Not where it counted. Not where Yannis wanted-needed to get his own way against forces more immoveable than Daz.

Yannis had threatened his way through his transition. He hadn't waited. He hadn't lingered and died on obscene waiting lists, and been fobbed off as a mental case or unimportant by a slew of so-called professionals.

He'd armed himself, and gone in fighting.

And now he was doing it again. For Stefan.

The doctor made a phone call. Then another one. Then scurried out to talk to the practice manager. Then made another phone call. He tried to get Yannis to leave twice, only to be stonewalled by a flat, cold stare that had Stefan's dick interested again.

Then, finally-finally-he started to type.

"I'm going to refer you to an endocrinologist who runs a clinic for hormone replacement therapy," he mumbled as his fingers rattled on the keyboard. "Our practice policy is that he has to start the treatment within the hospital-❞

"So Stefan ought to wait weeks, continuing to take dangerous drugs, until an appointment can be made?" Yannis asked loudly.

"T-that is the policy..."

"Your policy's stupid and dangerous."

"It has been agreed as the safest course of acti-"

"I'm sure that will sound lovely at a medical negligence hearing should Stefan come to harm due to what he's taking."

The argument was brief and brutal-the doctor refused to budge, and would not issue an immediate prescription. Yannis, in turn, filed a complaint, insisted that the appointment be requested as an emergency, and gave him a card from a solicitor, saying they would be in touch.

But Stefan couldn't bring himself to care.

Because the printer spat out letters.

Referrals.

One to the gender clinic in Leeds. And the other to an endocrinologist in Sheffield.

Referrals.

He clutched them almost blindly, staring at the letters like they were Yannis' Arabic. He couldn't even read them. But they were there.

Referrals.

They would go to the clinic and the endocrinologist. And he'd be on the waiting lists. And some day-not soon, never soon, it would take years for Leeds to see him, but someday-he would go into the system properly and get help.

Transition.

Not be this. Not be a her anymore.

Suddenly, that fever dream of people calling him 'mate' and 'pal' in public wasn't ridiculous. Suddenly, the annoyance at being called a dyke and a lesbian was justified.

Suddenly, his name wasn't going to be that, anymore.

And he could barely breathe around the lump in his throat. 37

Snow was settling when they got outside. It was freezing, the wind biting at their legs, and Yannis' glasses steamed with the shocking change in temperature.

Stefan didn't care.

He turned on Yannis, referral letters still clutched in his fist, and hugged him.

For a moment, Yannis simply stood there, perhaps too stunned to move. Then a hand came up around Stefan's back, and he was carefully hugged in return.

"Thank you," Stefan breathed.

"You're welcome," Yannis said a little awkwardly.

"No. No, thank you. You can't imagine..."

And then Stefan stopped. Because of course he could imagine. Of course he could.

"Thank you," he repeated simply.

"Step one."

"Of what?"

"Of getting out of that spiral you sent your life into."

Stefan bit his lip as he stepped back. "I-that's not totally my fault."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

Yannis shrugged, and nodded towards the bus stop. "So let's walk back. Why don't you tell me why it's not your fault?"

"I got thrown out."

"I ran away."

"You had Daz."

"Who also had nothing."

Stefan hunched his shoulders and clutched his letters to his chest. "It makes a difference. Having someone."

"You had no-one?"

"No."

"What happened."

It wasn't really a question, the way Yannis said it, and yet Stefan didn't mind the quiet demand. Not after Yannis' steely voice in the surgery, and his unyielding defence in the face of the receptionist and doctor's shared ignorance. "I told you. It was just my mum and my grandparents."

"You didn't tell me much else aside from them not approving."

"Yeah."

"So what happened?"

"I-I'd been...I'd never been girly. I'd always...I didn't really know what I was, like I'd never heard of transgender people and I didn't know why I felt so wrong, but...I did. Wearing school skirts and Nana telling me one day I'd have babies, it felt wrong. And when I was sixteen, I saw this transgender woman in a crime show on the TV. She died. Obviously. She was the victim. But she just had this one-this one line, about how it felt to be her. And it was like how I felt. I knew I was pretty, I knew I should like my body and showing it off, and I didn't know what I didn't like because I wasn't fat and I didn't have awful acne or anything. And I saw this character, and I thought, you know, maybe that was me." "So you tried to figure it out?" Yannis asked.