Work Text:
Charlie knows the overpriced 100% polyester kilt would be itchy regardless of how he feels about his gender that he's forced into twice a week.
It's a deep red and flimsy, and clashes with the gold of the polo shirt they are forced to wear in this early-November wind and rain, a wooden hockey stick in hand.
The colours make him feel like a bird, no, a snake. Hiding in plain sight. A poisonous predator.
"Charlie, don't just stand there like a lemon, girl."
God, he loathes the PE teachers here.
Misgendered.
Yet again.
When can he escape to Truham?