we know, we know (we belong)
trans!grace, grace & stratt, pre-mission
"Is there something wrong?” It comes out sharper than he means it to. He forces himself to lessen his grip on his chopsticks as he picks at his noodles. Stratt’s perched on the table, forcing him to look up at her, craning his neck while the lights shine down like a halo.
“Well, the sun is dying,” she says, and they both know it’s not what he asked. Grace’s noodles keep falling apart when he tries to fish them out with his chopsticks and eat.“I know that. I mean–” he has to swallow, unexpected emotions welling up, that familiar old feeling from his teenage years, his twenties, every time someone called him the wrong thing or looked at him out of the corners of their eyes with that fear, or disgust, or worse, pity. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Normally he would appreciate the straightforwardness, but today everything is grating on his nerves.
“You’ve been looking at me weird all day.” He stabs at the noodles again with his chopsticks. No luck.
“Grace, do you want surgery?”
Oh.
--
eva wants to thank grace for his work on the project. grace wants something so badly, he doesn't know if he can have it at all.
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