The emitter gave no sound — just a soft blink of light from under the counter.
And in that instant, like a light flipping on behind the man’s eyes, everything changed.
He stopped mid-step. His mouth slightly open, but the anger gone. He blinked — once, then again — as if waking up from a dream he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit having.
Then came a slow exhale. A staggered breath. His shoulders dropped, not in defeat, but in release.
“I…” the man — no, he — looked around the store now with new eyes. The posters, the pamphlets, the binders in all shades and sizes. His gaze landed on a soft blue half-binder with compression mesh and a logo stitched in small, affirming script: You belong here.
“I’ve been standing out there for twenty minutes,” he said, voice husky, caught between awe and guilt. “Didn’t think I’d have the guts to walk in.”
James blinked. Noah stayed frozen for half a beat. Then: “You… what’s your name?”
He looked down at his hands like he didn’t quite recognize them. Then he chuckled, softly.
“Matheus,” he said. “But I haven’t used that name out loud in… damn. Since high school.
James came around the counter, his posture loose now, softened by disbelief.
“Matheus,” he repeated. “You came here to buy a binder?”
Matheus nodded. “Still kinda hard to say it out loud. That I’m trans. That I’ve always known.”
Noah exchanged a glance with James — a deep current of silent understanding flowing between them. James nodded slightly, then stepped toward a rack.
Matheus followed him slowly, eyes wide with wonder and confusion and something else — something new.
Matheus nodded, slowly.
“I’ve spent my whole life in the wrong uniform,” he murmured. “Feels like I’m finally in the right place.”
And for the first time since walking in, he smiled without armor.