Hey Iâd like a mini burger (Mr. Puzzles) hamburger, chocolate cake (reader is an effeminate trans man) and espresso please?
(Want to make your own order? Check my pinned post!)
The waitress raises an eyebrow, slightly concerned about the amount of burgers you're ordering. But she decides not to question it as she gives you a plate of
Being an effeminate trans man isnât easy, and a particularly tough day leaves you crying on a park bench. What you didnât expect was for a man with a TV for a head to show up and comfort you.
Tags: hurt/comfort, platonic relationship, transphobia, crying, strangers to friends
TW: Transphobia! If that's triggering for you, you might want to skip this one.
Social media was such a double-edged sword. On one hand, it allowed you to easily connect with your online friends and fandoms. On the otherâŠ
âLol I thought you said you were trans? Why tf do you look like a chick?â
Your heart sinks as you look at the comment on your latest post. The post wasnât even about you bring trans, but comments like this seem to creep onto your posts regardless of what theyâre about. You take a deep breath and delete the comment. It stung, sure, but arguing with the guy wouldnât help anything. Best to block and move on.
You continue scrolling, but barely a minute has passed when your feed dings, alerting you to another comment.
âUgh, I hate people like this. Make real trans men look badâ
You shake your head in disgust. âReal trans men?â What the fuck did that even mean? Youâre about to click on the delete button when another comment pops up.
âI know right? Hate it when girls fake it for attention.â
Your finger hovers over the screen, shaking slightly from rage. Who the hell do these people think they are, putting arbitrary labels on other peopleâs genders? What was the point of it?! Youâre halfway through typing a biting response, when you suddenly pause. Thereâs no point in interacting with trolls like this, better to just step away from social media for a bit. Maybe youâll take a walk. Clear your head a bit.
You get ready on autopilot, slipping on some comfy clothes and sneakers, mechanically making your way out the door and closing it behind you. Itâs a cool, cloudy day and you canât help but feel like the weather matches your current mood. You try to think of positive things, but the comments of those trolls keep creeping their way into your head. You speed up slightly, almost like youâre trying to outwalk the bad thoughts, but you just canât stop thinking about the comments.
Tears begin clouding your vision, pooling in your eyes faster than you can wipe them away. You know itâs stupid, you know there isnât any point in caring what other people say. But you canât help it, youâre only human, and the cruelty hurts. You give up on trying to stop the tears, and sit down on a nearby bench, burying your face in your hands. As you quietly sob, you feel the gazes of people walking past you, but nobody stops to check on you. Not that you expected them to, but it would have been nice. Itâs just when you think that that you feel someone sit down next to you.
You look up, vision still blurry with tears to see a tall, lanky man with a television for a head staring at you, a concerned look on his screen. He doesnât speak at first, seemingly unsure of what to say. âAre you alright?â he finally asks, voice soft and worried.
Your immediate reaction is to nod your head. This man is a stranger after all, and you donât want to worry him with your problems. But the genuine concern in his voice gives you the courage to whisper a small ânoâ before dissolving back into tears.
The stranger waits a little bit, allowing you to calm yourself slightly. Once youâre no longer hysterically sobbing, he speaks up again. âWould you like to talk about it?â
âOh, um. I donât want to burden you. Itâs really nothing, Iâm overreacting-â
The stranger cuts you off with a wave of his hand. âNonsense, whatever it was it clearly affected you! Donât write off your own struggles for the sake of others comfort, it wonât solve anything.â
Though tears still blur your vision, you canât help but smile a bit. âO-ok. Itâs stupid reallyâŠsome people online were being bitchy about my gender.â
The stranger makes no move to stop you, so you keep talking, the words coming out in a rush. âPeople online just assume so muchâŠlike, just because I donât look like a stereotypical trans dude they feel like they can call me âfakeâ or say that âIâm just doing it for attentionâ. Most of the time I just brush those types of comments off, but I got a lot of them today andâŠI donât know, I guess it just got to be too much.â
The stranger doesnât speak for a bit, and for a second, youâre worried youâve overshared. But right as you open your mouth to apologize, the stranger places his hand gently on your own. The touch is comforting, and you realize that youâre no longer crying.Â
When the stranger next speaks, his voice is quiet, interlaced with an emotion you canât name. âItâsâŠannoying how people assume they know everything about you based on the slightest glimpse into your life. I know itâs hard, but donât listen to them, alright? You are valid, no matter what others say.â
You smile, lightly squeezing the strangerâs hand. âThanks for listening to me rant. I actually feel a lot better now.â
The stranger stands, screen flickering to a smile. âGlad to hear it my dear. Hold on one second, if you pleaseâŠâ The stranger rummages around in his pockets for a second before pulling out a slip of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbles something onto the paper before handing it to you. âThis is my personal cell number. Give me a call if you wish to talk again, about anything.â
You fold the paper carefully before putting it in your pocket. âI think Iâll take you up on that.â
The stranger turns to leave, but you quickly grab his arm before he can. âSorry, I donât think I got your name.â
Surprise flickers across the strangerâs screen as he speaks. âAh, yes. My apologies.â The stranger dips into a theatrical bow. âMr. Puzzles, director extraordinaire.â
You canât help but giggle at the overdramatic introduction. Mr. Puzzles stands back up quickly, straightening his bowtie. âI really must get going, but please donât hesitate to contact me again.â
âI wonât.â you promise, waving as Mr. Puzzles leaves. You sit back on the bench, replaying the afternoons events in your mind. You hadnât expected to make a new friend, but you certainly werenât upset about it. With a smile on your face and a skip in your step, you begin the walk back to your apartment.
Don't forget to tip! (Reblog)
