Oliver wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was true that the person he saw in the mirror was totally different when he wore men’s clothes, but there was always a part of his brain whispering that he was a fraud. That he would never be like Darcy, or Bingley, or any other person recognized as a boy at birth. There was always a fear that someone might notice the very slight bump of his chest beneath his binding cloth, or might think his hips too wide, or his voice too high, to truly be a man.
