Hey! This is just a little one shot I wrote a while back. I hope everyone enjoys it

TW: This chapter contains Transphobia. If this is a trigger for you, please put your comfort first.

This fic can also be found under my AO3 account, HailingTorrent.

The musician scene was always a mixed bag when it came to her. You got the people who push the envelope on gender. The people who blend it, taking fragments from each part of the spectrum to add to their show. But that's what all it was to a lot of the fans. A show. The moment someone takes it as an identity, something that's them. That's where the contrarians and bigots start to suddenly have a problem.

Growing up in a family of musicians, Jirou was sadly aware of this tight rope girls like her had to walk. Going to her parents show's, back when they thought she was their son. With her short hair and tiny band shirt of her Da's Silver Lightening entourage. Hearing the rtyhm of her dad's guitar, sending chills through the air like ripples in a rockpool. The smooth, liquid-like lyrics leading lavishly from the band's lead, written by her Mom. Oh, she may not have realized who she was back then. But these memories? They were definitely hers.

Especially the night of March 8th, 2009.

The thoughts that had pervaded through her life were beginning to become even more prevalent. Fish style things, bobbing and swimming just beneath the surface. How being told to "Act like a boy" made her feel yucky inside. How she would sometimes sneak into her mom's closet, and just look at the skirts and dresses. Pretty things, but not for her. All those thoughts were beginning to overflow her mind and would soon come out her mouth.

March 8th, a Friday. Her parents were playing in a small time night club. It wasn't necessary for them, could even been seen as too small time. But they enjoyed it. "Gotta remember ya' roots, little Jirin" The little burn in the back of her head that name placed only solidified what she was feeling. Sitting backstage, the sitter having cancelled at the last minute, the little, minimalist world behind the curtain was something she was used to.

A commotion. Glass breaking. Sadly, this was also something she was used too. Used to ignoring it too. Her parent's told her too. After all, Quirk or no Quirk, she was an 11 year old kid. Getting involved would cause more issues than it would solve.

But this night, she ignored this teaching. Maybe it was the fact her roadie caretaker was distracted. Maybe it was because she could hear her father's voice among the shouting. Maybe because destiny decided to tilt things into play. Doesn't matter the reason. Just that night, she decided to get a look for herself.

Peaking her head out the stage curtain, the chaos amongst the décor making being spotted unlikely, she spied the commotion. One face she recognized easily. Long black hair, piercings every which where on his face from Sunday. Her dad had an unmistakeable appearance. He stood firmly, fists clenched and standing protectively in front of a woman she had never seen before. Opposite to them was a man with a face full of hate. Didn't need to be an expert on the human condition to get that.

The woman was beautiful. Not in the way the magazines or society would portray. Her face had a sharpness to it. Her voice, shouting warnings to the attacker, was deep not like any other girl she had ever heard. There was something familiar to Jirou in this woman. Something like Jirou. Someone like Jirou.

"Get that fuckin Tranny out of here!" That word. That one. Jirous had no idea what it meant. She would learn in the coming years what a disgusting word it was. But even then, it made her wince.

What didn't make her wince was her father's fist colliding righteously with the bigot.

"Tell ya' what, mate." Shaking his fist, an act of intimidation, Jirou's father continued. "I'm gonna be real nice. You apologize to the nice lady. And then leave. See, I'm being real nice." Jirou had seen this in her father before. When angry fans would approach them after the show, mad at something her parents had done that Jirou was far to young to understand. She saw it in both her father and mother. They would push her behind them, fists clenched and faces full of righteousness. The expression of someone who was a protector.

"Yeah, that's not a lady-" Before he could continue, Kyotoku grabbed the bigot by his collar, roughly and violently, and threw him towards the door. He didn't make it, of course. They were about ten feet from it. But, security took care of the rest.

The threat having gone, Kyotoku's face softened as he turned towards the woman. Yes, a woman. No matter what that man had said, Jirou knew she was a woman. A woman like Jirou.

"Sorry about that, Miss. Unfortunate to say some of my fans can be pieces of shit." The woman, her own expression had softened, the rigidness of defence fading. Giving a rueful smile, she picked up her bottle of beer and sipped it.

" 'Tis unfortunate. Can't be helped, I suppose." She saw her. The woman had turned, and her eyes immediately spotted Kyoka's face partially Coming Out of the curtain.

"Eh, is he meant to be there?" The woman was now looking over her shoulder at Jirou's dad, gesturing her bottle of Budweiser towards the young spy. Kyoka knew there was no way it could happen, but she wished that the Woman would've known she was a girl. Someway that girl's like them could just know about each other.

Confusion darted Kyotoku's face as his brow arched and he turned. As soon as he saw the same sight, the guitarists mouth fell agape and eyes widened.

"Ah-Ah, that's my son." While he originally seemed to be aiming for embarrassment, Kyotoku's mouth quickly closed and transitioned into a small smile. "Kyokan, come over here."

Hearing her name (No, not her name) being called, Kyoka shyly scurried over the stage and to the bar. Her parent's would normally be livid if she went near a bar, but this seemed to be a special occasion. The rest of the club seemed to have accepted that the band was "Taking a break".

Having made her way over, her father grabbed him and gently placed him on his knee. Kyoka hated when he did this. She was too old for it, she wasn't a baby anymore. But Kyotoku would always say "You may be too old for this, but I'm not."

Eyes once again meeting the woman, Kyoka was once again surprised by her beauty. The Woman had such kind eyes. One's the radiated gentleness.

"Kyokan, I want you to meet Lucy." Lucy. The name suited her.

The kind eyes were matched by an equally kind smile.

"It's very nice to meet you, Kyokan."

"Are you a girl?" The momentarily startle from Lucy and the shocked expression from Kyotoku confirmed to young Kyoka that this was most definitely not the right thing to ask.

"Kyokan, that is a very rude thing to ask someone." The stern expression looked down at Kyoka from above her head, her father's face having the "This is a lesson" character. Quickly, his head rose to face Lucy. "I am so sorry. He doesn't think when he speaks sometimes."

As mentioned earlier, Lucy's startle was only momentary. It quickly turned back kind and gentle, but in the way a teacher would appear to an incorrect student.

"It's fine, Kyotoku. Kids tend to ask this sort of thing a lot. Not saying I wouldn't prefer if they didn't, but it is what it is." Kneeling down so she was face to face with Kyoka. "When I was younger, everyone thought I was a boy. My parents. My friends. My doctors. But I wasn't. I'm a girl. Just as much as your mom." The eyes became a quality more soft. "Does that make sense, little Kyokan?"

Like her father said, Kyoka tended to talk without thinking sometimes. And what she said next wasn't any different.

"So, you're like me."

It was lucky that everyone in the nightclub was giving them distance. Lucy's face once again turned to surprise, even more so than before. Unable to see her father's own expression, the fact his hands had fallen from holding Kyoka to his knee suggested what it was.

A few moments passed, and everything started falling apart for Kyoka in those few. That was the wrong thing to say. Lucy wasn't like her. She had got it wrong. They're all gonna think she's weird.

"Yeah, like you."

The moments ended, Lucy's expression turning to something more solid. The gentleness remained, but it was more steeled. "And don't let anyone tell you anything else. You hear me, Little Kyoka."

Kyoka. She had never even thought of changing her name before. She hated Kyokan. Too much memories to it. Kyoka seemed nicer. More free. More her. And all it took was taking away one little letter.

But, the hard part wasn't gone yet. Turning her head, she looked up at her father. The same father who had always put her first. The one who made sure to read her a bedtime story whenever he was back home for the night. The one who had just risked his own safety to protect a girl like her.

So, it probably wouldn't come as a surprise what happened.

"Yeah. You're just like Lucy." Arms pulling her into a gentle hug, Kyoka beamed warmly at her father. She knew there was a long way to go. She would need to tell Mom. Her friends. Everyone. But looking at her father. Kyotoku's warm smile. The one she was so very familiar with. It made her feel like everything was going to be all right.

Five Years Later

March 9th. 2017.

The light strumming of the guitar, the strings slight wearing out but still held just enough sentimental value to put Jirou off buying another set for one more month.

Across from her sat Momo, playing on her own, newly bought guitar. There was an obvious contrast between the two. Momo's bearing a blue sheen, the strings coloured white to look as if clouds on a sky. Momo's was bright red, the black strings creating a stark look that contrasted greatly with the wielders personality.

These little sessions had started a month ago. Momo had been eager to learn the instrument, and Kyoka was just as eager to teach. Or as eager to spend time with Momo.

"Hey, Kyo'?" A few sparse tunes came from the picking of strings. Momo could learn many things quickly, but this wasn't one of them.

"Yeah, Mo'?" Jirous repeated today's lesson tune for Momo.

"Do you , I dunno, wanna go out for coffee or something next week?" The strings gave off a slight scratchy noise as Momo cursed under her breath.

"Oh, sure. Will I ask any of the others if they want to come?" Once again, Jirou repeated the tune. No admonishment. Just a gentle reminder. She had learned the value of being a gentle teacher.

"I actually thought just the two of us."

It was now Kyoka's turn to mess up as her fingers became tangled in the strings. Taken aback, she placed the guitar to her side.

"Is this, uh, is this a date?" Jirou did all she could to keep the hope out of her voice.

"Yeah, if that's OK." Mimicking Kyoka, Momo had placed her own guitar, leaning her arm on the side of it.

Trying to look anywhere except her companion, Momo began pacing in her mind. This was it. A date with Momo. She had wanted this for so long. It was finally happening.

But she also wanted to tell her before anything happened. To make sure Momo was OK with it. To make sure Kyoka was safe. You can only get burned so many times.

Well, might as well get it over with.

"I'm trans." Whelp, that was just as awkard as the very first time she Came Out. Already on this road. May as well drive to the end of it. "I just wanted you to know."

Momo looked at Jirou for a few moments. Those few always hurt Kyoka. Takes too long. Time where dark thoughts can swarm and infest your mind like insects.

"Oh." Nodding, taking the information in, Momo looked up towards her companion. "Thank you for telling me, Jirou." A smile beamed towards Kyoka. Like a sun rising on the horizon. Burning all those insects. "So, where do you want to go?"

"For what?"

"For our date, you ditz." A goodnatured laugh erupted from Momo.

A hundred questions began to form in Jirou's mind. Doubt. Anxiety. Self-loathing. But, she decided to use the one answer among them instead.

"I was thinking Gepetto's. At the end of Errol's Street." Retrieving her guitar from her side, Jirou began attempting to once again establish her position on the strings. Always felt more relaxed with it in her hands.

"Oh, I love that place." Once again mimicking Kyoka, Momo pulled the guitar into her hands and strummed gently on the strings.

As they began to once again settle into their teaching routine, Kyoka couldn't help but think back to six years ago. In a night club on the end of no-where street. How much her life changed that night. How it was the first time she knew everything was going to be OK.

And as she looked across at Momo, we she couldn't help but feel the same as that night so long ago.