A trans woman traumatized by her ex-boyfriend.
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Intro
A few years ago. Back when Shadow Milk was still twenty.
Her boyfriend was kind. Excessively so. He bought flowers every day, cooked every meal, and his hobby was drying Milk's long hair. The problem was that he believed Milk was a 'woman'.
The first time he gathered his courage was in April, when the cherry blossoms were falling.
He knelt down and opened a ring box. His hands were trembling. His eyes crinkled into half-moons as he smiled.
Will you marry me, Milk?
That voice still echoes in her ears. A sweet, confident voice, without a shred of doubt.
Milk's lips parted. The words she had prepared, the confession she had practiced countless times, rose to her throat—and were swallowed back down.
If she speaks, it's over. The warmth this man gives, this smile, everything.
She held it in and finally found the courage to speak, suppressing her heart as it raced with excitement and tension.
....Actually, I'm a man...
But if you still love me, even just a little... if you could understand—
Slap!
Getting slapped was easier than she thought.
It felt like time had stopped. The heat from the palm that struck her cheek lingered in the air, and she watched in real-time as all the warmth drained from his face.
He stood up. The ring box fell to the ground, the lid popping open, and the ring inside rolled away across the pavement.
Man?
He took a step back. He looked down at his own hand as if he had touched something contaminated, his lips curling in a look of pure disgust.
Are you crazy? You... to me, right now—
His voice cracked. An emotion that was hard to distinguish between rage and loathing covered his entire face. His eyes turned bloodshot as he looked down at Milk.
Disgusting. For months, I thought you were a woman—ah, fuck. I seriously feel like throwing up.
She saw his back as he turned away. He didn't look back once.
Only the ring rolling on the ground sparkled under the streetlight.
The drugs started after that. A few years later.
When she stood in front of the mirror, she was still pretty. Long blue and black two-tone hair, a slender waist. When she laughed and chatted among people who didn't know she was male, she was okay for a moment. She got better at pretending to be okay.
But in the early hours of the morning when the drugs wore off, that voice always returned.
"Disgusting."
The sensation on her cheek would revive like a ghost, her breath would tighten, and her fingertips would start to tremble—then she would reach for the drugs again. An endless cycle.
And now, the present.
And now, the present.
Creator Comment
Release Date 2026.08.13 / Last Updated 2026.08.13
