Chapter Text
Ranboo stared at his reflection, at his too-round cheeks, at his too-long hair, at his girly appearance. He stared at himself and hated it, because the person he saw staring back wasn’t him . It was just some random girl.
In his right hand, he held a pair of scissors, while his left hand shakily gathered a chunk of brownish-blond hair. It had to go.
The thirteen-year-old took a deep breath in and released it with a shaky sigh. Then, he cut.
---
“Maria! You are in so much trouble, young lady.”
He winced, both at hearing his dead name and at the words ‘young lady’. It wasn’t his mom’s fault though. He wasn’t exactly out to her yet. It still hurt though.
“You are a girl, and girls have long hair.”
Ranboo lowered his head, his mom’s words piercing him like needles. His short, choppy hair brushed his face, a few strands sticking to the river of tears that had started flowing.
“Now you look like a boy.”
He had to bite his tongue to avoid yelling that that was the point, that not wanting to look like a girl was the entire reason he cut it in the first place. But he knew it wouldn’t go well, not while she was still mad.
The young boy stood there with his head bowed for the rest of the time his mom spent berating him for his stupidity. It was his fault after all.
---
Ranboo stood in front of the mirror once again, the now 14-year-old’s hands shaking as he examined the red handprint on his cheek. He gingerly touched the area where his mother’s wedding ring had hit him, his fingers coming away with blood on them from where it cut him..
His coming out had not gone exactly how he’d planned.
---
Ranboo knocked quietly on the frame of the open door of his parent’s bedroom. “Mom? Dad?”
Ranboo’s mom looked up from the show that she and her husband had been watching and smiled at Ranboo. “Yes dear?”
The boy swallowed, struggling to breathe with the iron band suddenly wrapped around his chest. His dad seemed to catch on to this, and looked at him with a concerned frown. “Honey, are you alright?”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Ranboo blurted. His mom muted the show they were watching and his dad patted the edge of the bed they were sitting at. Ranboo accepted gratefully, as he felt like his legs were going to give out any second.
“Hey, it’s okay Maria. Just take your time. No matter what you tell us, we’ll still love you. You’ll still be our little princess.”
Ranboo shifted uncomfortably, the words not doing anything to calm him. He lowered his gaze, took a deep breath and spoke. “That’s the thing. I’m not your little princess, I’m a boy and my name is Ranboo and I would like to go by he/him pronouns,” he rushed out, afraid to look up at his parent’s shocked faces.
The room fell into silence.
Ranboo risked a glance up at his parents, just on time to see surprise on his mother’s face turn to disgust. “So you’re saying you’re one of those, those-” Ranboo flinched at slur his mom spat with hatred practically dripping off of it.
Ranboo looked at his dad, hoping for him to understand. His dad offered a small, sad smile and opened his arms wide as an invitation. Ranboo jumped forward, feeling himself be sheltered by his dad’s arms. He knew he could count on his dad at least.
“Hey, hey. Look at me,” his dad instructed. Ranboo obliged, his bi-colored red and green eyes meeting his father’s striking blue. “Listen Maria-” Ranboo tensed, dread plunging into his stomach. Surely not-
“It’ll be okay. You’re just confused, this is just a phase you're going to out grow.”
Ranboo pulled away, looking at his dad in disbelief. I thought he’d understand , or at least listen , Ranboo thought with tears springing to his eyes.
“I, no-w-what?” he stuttered.
“I don’t know what happened to make you think like this, but it’s not your fault. You’re just sick, and we’ll be there to help you recover and grow out of all this-this ‘trans’ nonsense. We still love you and you’re still our daughter, no matter what.”
“NO DAD! I’M NOT YOUR DAUGHTER!” Ranboo yelled, tears pouring down his cheeks. “I’M NOT CONFUSED, IT’S NOT A PHASE, I’M NOT SICK!”
“I’M JUST TRANS. I’M JUST A BOY!” he wailed.
Ranboo’s mom, who had been silent since her initial comments struck him across his face, successfully cutting off his wail. “Don’t raise your voice at us,” she hissed. Ranboo looked at her, shocked, his hand drifting up to the reddening handprint on his cheek.
His mom softened her voice, though there was still a harsh undertone that spoke of her being upset. “But, like your father said, we’ll help you. What kind of parents would we be if we stood by and did nothing about you obviously not being okay?”
“I-there’s nothing wrong with me,” Ranboo whimpered. He saw his mom reach out her hand to comfort him, but he sprung up from the bed and ran from the room, not wanting her touch.
He ran to the bathroom, closed the door, and slid down it. He sobbed into his arms. Why couldn’t they just accept him for who he was? Why wouldn’t they understand?
---
The 15-year-old sat in the tub, not bothering to look in the mirror. He knew that all he’d see was some stranger that copied his everymove.
Ranboo had run to the bathroom after yet another fight with his mother. They had been watching a show, and she had complained about the lgbtq+ representation, saying stuff about how she didn’t know how they could handle showing the world how ‘disgusting’ and ‘delusional’ they were. Ranboo, of course, defended them, to which his mom punished him with a long scolding session where she deadnamed and misgendered him at every chance she got. She even made sure to use lots of slurs and invalidate literally the entire community. Woo.
All of this led Ranboo to where he was now, sitting in the bathtub with a knife he stole from the kitchen in his hands. He turned it over and stared at it. Did he really want to do this?
Ranboo didn’t particularly want to die(
but he wouldn’t be opposed if he did)
but he did want to make himself bleed. He wanted to watch the crimson leak from his arms and swirl down the drain. He wanted to finally release the tension from his skin. He wanted to add cuts to his body, to make his arms and legs less
empty
.
Ranboo took one breath, then another. He braced the knife on his arm and held it there for a moment. Then he drew the knife down his arm and watched the blood start trickling out. A small laugh bubbled out as he added a second cut, then third, and so on.
This was the first time red swirled down the bathtub’s drain. It would not be the last.