Change in The Air

Mettaton Ex has always felt like a boy trapped inside of a girls body. He's always liked boys. He's always felt different.


2. Sad Smiles

I brushed my black hair behind my ears and lifted my mascara brush to my eyelashes. I blinked three times when I finished it looked spectacular and I smiled, I really had a talent for this stuff. If I didn't have my heart set on being famous, I would probably consider being a makeup artist. 

I hated it when people said makeup was only for girls because I knew that after I transitioned I'd still be wearing makeup. Boys can be feminine, and with this, in mind, I smile because I wouldn't want to give up all these pretty things for new body parts. Yes, It was mostly the body parts I desired because I liked my femininity. I didn't think it really applied to my gender. 

My hair, on the other hand, I didn't like at all. 

Long, bouncy curls I had never found attractive. However, that was what I was stuck with. I stared into the mirror, imagining myself with shorter hair. Not short-short, but short-long, in kind of an edgy style. I would have side bangs that would cover up the nasty scar across my other eye, the one that I was blind in. I don't remember what happened, exactly. When I ask Blookie, he doesn't want to talk about it, and when I ask my uncle he doesn't hear. My aunt died of an overdose months ago, so I couldn't ask her. I tried, once, though, when she was alive. She was high, she always was, and she simply told me to forget about it like she did before she passed out at the kitchen counter. This left me dumbfounded, was it really so bad? So bad that she had to force herself to forget about it? I thought about this as I began to apply my lipstick. It was a sheer pink and it smelled like strawberries. 

I finished and the gloss left my lips sparkling. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. It knocked against my boob and I grimaced. All I wanted was a flat chest. 

I was going to get a surgery when I was older. My uncle didn't have the money then, but I was sure once I graduated and got a job it wouldn't be too hard to do. For now, I swallowed my male hormone pills that no one besides Blookie knew about before leaving the house.

I slipped outside and got in the car, where Napstablook was waiting for me in the driver's seat. He was 17 and in the grade ahead of me. I would have gotten my license so he wouldn't have to drive me everywhere, but I didn't exactly have the best depth perception with my whole eye dilemma. Blookie didn't seem to mind, though, which was a good thing. As much as I wished I didn't, I really needed a reliable chauffeur.

"Ready for school?" He asked. He was wearing a black hoodie and had his headphones hanging around his neck. His voice hinted that he was hoping to move past the events from the night before. 

"Yep," I replied, straightening my pink sweater.

He started the engine and I leaned back in my seat, pressing my forehead against the cool window, watching the trees fly by on the way to school. Every now and then we would hit a bump and my face would hit against the glass and bounce back ever so slightly. This hurt much more when I was younger. I remembered my dad before he kicked me out saying "You shouldn't do that, Metta," But I did anyway.

My dad was a nice guy. He always pretended that the scar on my eye was normal. He always told me that I was a normal girl. We would go for walks in the park together. There, I would tell him what all of the kids did to me earlier in the day. I would describe the torture and he would give me a hug and let me ride on his shoulders around the pond, while I flung my snack at the ducks. One day, while we were walking, I let something slip I probably shouldn't have.

"Dad, why do I have to be a girl?"

He stopped suddenly.

"What do you mean, Mettaton?"

I looked up at him slowly.

"I mean, why do people call me a girl when I want to be a boy?"

He furrowed his brow, clearly unsure-or perhaps unbelieving of what he was hearing.

"Because you were born that way," He replied.

I pouted.

"I don't like it, though."

I pointed to the boys on the other side of the park, "I want to be like them, Daddy."

I couldn't have possibly known then that I had made the biggest mistake of my entire life.

When I turned 13 they were simply done with trying to raise someone who was "A disgrace to the family" And "An abomination to nature."

Blookie never thought I was a freak, though. He was always so supportive of me. 

We pulled into the school parking lot and I jumped out the door and into the sunlight. I basked in it, it felt like a spotlight. Blookie laughed when he saw me swaying in the wind. 

"You look like a dork."

I laughed.

We walked inside and Blookie rushed off to his first class with an "Oh, crap! I'm late!" Leaving me alone in the crowded hallway.

I walked swiftly to my locker, keeping my head down, hoping not to make eye contact with the glaring students surrounding me. As much as I loved attention, this kind I despised. I opened up my locker, checking my makeup in my plastic mirror and grabbing my algebra books. When I closed the door, I was greeted by the sneering face of none other than Kate Smith. 

She looked as though she'd gotten dressed in the dark, a blue tank top and a yellow, crinkly skirt, paired with some ugly sandals. Her red hair was done up in a braided bun. 

"Hey, mad-eye moody," She said her nickname for me, sweetly, like it wasn't rude. 

"Wow, smart," I drawled because she literally was calling me a Harry Potter character.

She frowned, stepping in my way as I tried to get past her. 

"You know what happened to mad eye moody in the deathly hallows?"

I shook my head because I hadn't even seen the movies.

She backhanded me across the face and screamed, "He dies!" 

I slowly raised my hand to the gash in my cheek. It stung like fire. 

I could hear laughter from the other students in the hall and all I wanted to do was run away, but I was in too much pain so I just looked up to Kate, cowering on the floor, my back pressed against the gray lockers. She laughed, kicked me in the stomach and walked off. 

After a moment, the crowd of giggling students disappeared and I was left alone on the floor, tears threatening to spill from my eyes and smudge my makeup. I didn't care if I missed class, I couldn't possibly face a classroom like this. 

As I sat there, I couldn't help but thank god they didn't know I was transgender. I couldn't imagine how bad the torture would get. 

Suddenly I heard footsteps coming down the hall and knowing that it was already too late to hide, I did nothing. A boy with dark skin a fuzzy brown hair came into view. He was wearing a white T-Shirt and blue shorts, along with a pair of big, red, boots. He looked pretty hilarious and I would have laughed, had I not been in so much pain. 

When he saw me his jaw dropped and he ran over, his books falling to the floor and scattering across the hallway. 

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" He asked me, kneeling down next to me.

I sniffled and slowly nodded. A cute, kind boy like him shouldn't have to deal with me.

He furrowed his brow.

"You don't look okay to me."

"I'm fine, really," I said, smiling. 

"Okay, well at least let me help you up."

He held out his hand and when I took it I felt something. I looked up into his eyes as he hauled me to my feet.

"My name is Papyrus," He introduced himself, smiling.

"I'm Mettaton," I said shyly.

Shy? Me? Why was I acting so strange?

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" He asked sincerely, his eyes full of concern. 

I hesitated before saying, "I think I'm fine. I'll just go clean up in the bathroom."

He nodded and waited.

"Um," I mumbled. 

"Aren't you going to go to the bathroom?" He gestured towards the door of the girls' room.

 My face flooded with embarrassment. 

"I-uh, I..."

He looked confused.


Hearing him say my name made my heart skip a beat and I pushed the feeling out as I searched for an excuse, any excuse. Finally, I just said it.

"I'm a boy."


He looked me up and down.


I nodded slowly.

He smiled.

He smiled.








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