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Body image had always been a subject for Neil, whether his name was Neil or whether his father was using his birth name, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t exactly only related to his gender dysphoria, it was also about the amount of scars he wore because of what his father had done to him through years of abuse before he’d finally run away with his mother.
He’d had problems for years with his scars, knowing it made the years of abuse obvious and people worried. They made him stand out when all he wanted was to hide and even more so with the foxes who always questioned him before they left the showers and left him behind.
With Andrew it’d been easier, when they’d both had something to give each other. Andrew let him know a little piece of him and Neil actually tried to tell the truth, Andrew let him see and touch his scars and Neil did it back, without even thinking about how much that meant for Andrew when being able to touch his scars meant Neil was still him even in the dark of night. His binder hid some of them in front of the others and for quite some time he managed to forget that he was marked the way he was.
Neil wasn’t supposed to be this way, he knew it, but still he couldn’t let go of the scars. They were a constant reminder that he was alive, that he’d survived even if his mother hadn’t, and after Baltimore, a reminder of how fucking real he was. His name was Neil Abram Josten, no fake IDs, no birth names and Nathan’s expectations of finding Nathalie instead of him.
After Baltimore he’d started changing in front of the foxes, if only to prove something to himself. He didn’t want anyone to see his chest so he always took his binder off in a bathroom stall or covered his chest during the process, but he was not going to hide the scars on his back or his stomach because it hadn’t been his fault, he hadn’t deserves any of that. No matter how many times Andrew told him to stop being so ridiculous when he saw he got nervous, he kept doing it to get used to it.
Of course Neil knew he didn’t have to prove shit to anybody, but he needed it for himself. His scars were a part of him and with the time he’d learnt to think about them as something that showed he was there, even when he fucking hated them and the memories they brought.
Neil was real, even if Andrew called him a pipedream once in a while.
After Baltimore Neil decided he could finally allow himself what he’d been hoping for ever since he’d gotten his first binder, but had never dared plan because he’d known he was going to die and it wouldn’t be worth it. It hadn’t mattered, because Mary told him a thousand times he’d never stay long enough to even get a chance to see a doctor, and she often threatened to leave him behind if he decided to have surgery anyway. They didn’t have time for stupid things.
Mary Hatford hadn’t been a bad mother, but she was right, they didn’t have time for something like that. She allowed him to use the names he chose and present however he wanted to, mostly because it made it harder for Nathan’s people to find them.
But apparently the foxes and Wymack did have time for whatever stupid thing they thought would improve Neil’s life. Kevin didn’t make a comment on it only because he knew Neil’s performance would improve without worrying so much about his chest.
So yes, scars had always been a thing for Neil. Something he recognised and knew were there, but something he never wanted to talk about. He didn’t want people to mention them, he didn’t want to have to answer stupid questions, he just wanted to be okay with the way his body looked.
And then there were different scars on his body too. Scars that were there because of Exy, scars on his chest because of his top surgery, scars he felt comfortable showing and he even liked when they didn’t look an angry red in contrast with his pale skin. He liked it when Andrew’s fingers lingered on them, when he looked at himself in the mirror and when he took off his shirt in the middle of the changing room despite knowing the foxes didn’t care.
It didn’t mean he was completely okay with people staring at them, but at least whenever people did he felt a flash of pride because he’d fucking made it.