Chapter 14: John

"I'msorry for bugging you earlier about that guy," my dad mumbles sleepily in his bed.

I tuck his blanket up to his chin, making sure the pillows that keep him elevated are right in the middle.

"Don't worry about that," I tell him, reaching for his blanket-covered hand. "I want you to know that I'm really glad you're here. I know—" I cough into my shoulder and look away, annoyed that I can feel so many feelings in such quick succession. "I know I said some things when we were in the hospital. But I need you to know—I need you to really know that I'm glad you're here."

He looks up at me with wide eyes and smiles. "I know I haven't been a good dad, John, but I'm glad you're my kid. I'm proud of you even though I get that I don't have any stake in your upbringing."

I pat his hand and walk out of his room. There isn't much more to say. I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at my dad and feel the same way about him that Isamu feels about his dad. But I am glad he's still here. I'm glad that he's trying.

The rest of the mobile is dark, except for the living room where I can see Isamu's light from the couch. He's been sleeping here just in case my dad needs something, but I imagine the couch isn't a comfy place.

When I come over, he has his prosthesis thrown off the side and his other foot tapping along to a beat only he can hear. I had originally thought he took off his prosthesis every day when he got home—assuming it was just as uncomfortable as a binder—but he only really takes it off to shower.

"Hey," I say, wanting to run my hands through his messy hair but still a little unsure.

He smiles up at me and reaches his hand out, loosely grabbing my wrist.

"Aww, come to keep me and Inu company on the couch?" he teases.

I lean in slowly and he eagerly lifts himself to meet his lips against mine.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch if you don't want to. My bed is big enough," I tell him, finally running my hand through his dark wiry hair.

He perks up and grins, scrambling off the couch to follow me, leaving Inu behind where she's sleeping on her back—legs in the air as she runs in her dreams. My legs feel a little wobbly, nerves of having Isamu in my bed making my entire body feel like a spark plug.

My childhood bedroom isn't much. There aren't photos tacked to the walls; instead they're shoved in a box underneath my bed and its plain sheet. Nonetheless, Isamu looks at everything as if I've given him a gift, hands running over a pile of notebooks on my desk.

"This is exactly what I pictured," he says with a grin, turning over a few old cassette tapes.

"Boring?" I ask, suddenly worried now that I've let Isamu in, he won't like what he finds.

"Nah," he says with a shake of his head. He turns around and smiles at me, thumbing at a cassette tape. "If I didn't know you the way I do, maybe I wouldn't see it. But you're all over this room." He takes a step toward me and puts a cassette tape in my hand.

It's one from my childhood that my mom made for me. I run my thumb over the crossed-out name that was once written on it in my mom's handwriting, only the "J" of my deadname still visible, followed by my own scratchy middle school handwriting.

"My mom made me this. We were driving back from base to Durham."

Isamu wraps his hand around mine where I hold onto the tape.

"You want to tell me about her?" he asks, but I'm already shaking my head.

I put the cassette on my bedside table—just a bright red milk crate—and sit on my bed, still clinging to Isamu's hands. He follows me, stepping between my legs.

"I think I've done enough emotions for the rest of my life," I say, leaning my forehead against his stomach. "Last secret?"

He laughs and intertwines his fingers with mine—his fingers are thinner than mine, and I feel the warm sensation of gender affirmation as mine encompass his. It's a rare thing for trans men, so I cherish it even harder.

"I sure hope not. There's too much about you that I don't know yet," he complains sweetly.

I drag my hand leisurely over the back of his leg. When he shivers, I go to pull it away, but he hastily grabs my hand with the one that was scratching my head and puts it back.

"I'm really nervous to get undressed in front of you," I say, quietly, tightening my hand around him.

"Well, you don't have to," he says, matching the whisper of my voice.

"Not like that," I say, shaking my head against his stomach. "Do you ever... wish we'd met before?"

He snorts and continues to rub his stubby nails against my head. "Yeah, this would've been nice to have before. I mean . . . I had Gonzales and my dad, but I was still lonely."

I bite my lip, annoyed that the route I've taken to avoid speaking about my mom is the same route that dredges up old feelings. "I was really lonely, Isa." My chest hurts and my eyes protest as the torrential downpour of emotions overwhelms me.

"But," I continue. "The biggest thing is that I just wish I would've had someone to share everything with. Like all the transitioning stuff." A cold laugh escapes my throat and I pull away from Isamu. "Maybe that's dumb, but it feels like all my milestones went unseen."

Isamu doesn't let me put distance between us and crowds into me even more, which is a feat when we were already nothing but points of contact.

Slowly, he falls into bed beside me and presses his lips sweetly against mine.

"So, tell me about them."

I laugh, a little embarrassed, and grab his hand pressing it to my chin. My stubble there makes me feel just like any other guy. It gives me confidence I never thought I'd have. "I used to just be this baby face."

He moves his hand to cradle my cheek and presses a kiss to my scruff. "How long ago did you start taking testosterone?"

"About as soon as I turned eighteen and I didn't need to rely on my dad to approve anything," I say against his lips that have veered to mine.

"What else?" he asks, hands snaking up under my shirt, resting on my waist. It makes me laugh with the memory of how much I hated that part of myself. Hip dysphoria was an issue I only cured by burying myself in textbooks.

"Well, you know. It's puberty, so a whole slew of things you probably don't care about."

He smiles and noses against my shirt. "Come on. Tell me your embarrassing second puberty stories and I'll tell you mine."

"When I had top surgery, I got so sweaty that Aaliyah had to put baby powder underneath my surgery vest so I wouldn't get sweat acne."

He laughs and leans back to look at me. "Can I?" he asks, tugging lightly at my shirt.

"The scars aren't visible. I got them tattooed over. Black skin isn't as forgiving about scars," I explain before lifting my shirt over my head.

He runs a hand across my tattoos, suddenly distracted by them and forgetting the scars all together. Maybe he never really cared about the scars at all.

"I used to get awkward boners," I tell him as the feeling of his fingertips across my pecs sends tingles across my skin. The nerves there will never be the same, but I feel like it was a fair trade off to get rid of my chest tissue.

He chokes out a laugh. "Mhm, same. Don't think that's exclusive to you."

"At least mine weren't visible," I say with a smirk.

He looks up at me and rolls his eyes. "Well, aren't we lucky. What else?"

I take a deep breath, suddenly uncomfortable. Every part of me looks and smells like a man except one. The one some people can't seem to get over. I have to push at the pit in my throat to say it to Isamu—to trust him enough to not care.

"When I got my first packer, I just stood in this room for hours in nothing but boxers staring at myself and, ha, like doing this happy dance, I guess?" It wasn't the first time I had packed, but it was the first time I'd used anything but socks. My first official dick that I ordered off some gender affirming website that guaranteed discreet packaging. It didn't cost much, but I still had to take some money off my dad's disability check for it.

Isamu's eyes don't drift from my chest, but I can sense he's fighting the urge to look. "Do you want to know my secret?" he asks with an embarrassed grin.

What I really want is his immediate validation. "Sure," I say tentatively.

"I spent all day googling transgender affirming things, because I'm fucking stupid. Anyway, I ended up on a website for packers," he says with a giggle. "Did you know that there are some that are like thousands of dollars and custom made?"

I give him a bemused look and he splutters.

"Wait, like not that you have to get one or anything," he says quickly, holding up his hands in defense. "I literally do not care if you have a meta or phalloplasty or literally no changes since how you were born?—"

"How far down the rabbit hole did you go?" I ask, surprised he knows all these terms for different bottom surgeries I've only ever dreamt of with my lack of funds.

He grins sheepishly. "Uh, I watched vlogs and spent a lot of time on the Reddit threads for FTM folks."

"You could've just asked me about that stuff." But I still feel giddy that he's chosen to like—love—every part of me.

Isamu snuggles against me, wrapping his leg around me and burying his face between my pecs. I had no doubt he'd be such a clingy person, but I feel all the discomfort melt off me. This is nice and I hadn't expected that his clinginess would be so welcome.

"I know that," he starts, lips brushing against my skin. "That's what Reddit said, but I didn't want to go into this totally blind."

I laugh and wrap him in my arms. "Well, if you want an anatomy lesson," I tease.

He snorts and slaps my shoulder lightly. "Fuck, Johnny. What, are you in high school?"

"Is it working?" I ask.

He groans and presses his hips against mine. "Yes."

Isamu

John isn'tin bed the next morning when I wake up in a haze. I call for Inu who trots in excitedly as if I didn't sexile her the night before.

"Do you want—" Martin asks, following in after her.

I squawk and pull the blanket up to my chest, face bursting with red that probably matches the rising sun.

"Stop that. Nothing I ain't seen from my time in the army," he says, waving a hand. "You want breakfast?"

"Should you be out of bed?" I ask, about to scramble out and suddenly remembering I'm naked and unfortunately unwashed from last night's endeavors. "Where's John?"

Martin shuffles away. I hop out of bed and throw on my briefs and a pair of John's sweatpants.

"He's in class, and I'm grown. I can get out of bed if I say so," Martin calls from the kitchen.

I look down at my prosthesis as I cuff John's too-long sweats over them. "Yeah? Think they can give you another liver if you don't listen to your doctor and get an infection?" John's shirt is also too big, but I pull it over my head anyway before going into the kitchen.

I lean against the doorway and lift up my pants leg to show Martin my prosthesis. "I know a thing or two about healing."

He grumbles at me in a generally John way.

"Listen, it sucks being stuck without mobility. Trust me. I fucking get that. But it's going to suck more if you strain yourself and John has to deal with you being sick again." I drop my pant leg and smile as Martin walks past me to the bedroom.

"Fine. But you're making breakfast," he says, hobbling back into bed.

I roll my eyes fondly, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer before bringing it to him.

"Here. I'm sure you're regretting that." He probably regrets it even more since John flushed his painkillers after the first day. Those things are bad enough for people without addiction issues, and the last thing Martin needs is to begin another addiction.

"Hey," he calls as I turn to leave. "My boy, you gonna treat him nice, you here?"

I have to stifle my smirk. If he had a shotgun, I'm sure he'd be holding it right now. I can just picture Martin, if I were still a teenager in high school picking John up for prom or something, sitting on the front porch, cleaning the shotgun for effect.

"Of course, better than you could," I tease, knowing that since he's a vet, he's going to understand the humor with no bars.

"Them eggs better be good, boy, or I'm gonna take back my approval," he calls, laughing as I retreat back. "Where were you?"

"Fort Bragg," I tell him. "Although, they changed it to Fort Liberty the year I was injured."

"82nd?" he asks. I peek my head out of the kitchen to make sure he's still in bed.

"Yes, sir," I reply once I see he's still in bed. "What about you?"

"Fort Bliss," he tells me and I cringe at my own question, realizing I actually don't know what division he was in, but knowing it was probably something with tanks.

I put the eggs back in the fridge—he shouldn't be having foods high in salt or fat so soon after the transplant—and start to toast some whole grain bread. The cantaloupe is perfect, and I put some chili powder on top, wishing it was mango like Gonzales eats so frequently. I pop a slice into my mouth and groan. It isn't the same, but it's still good.

Martin accepts the plate gratefully and then looks down at the cantaloupe with confusion. "What is this?"

"Chili powder. Don't tell me I'm seasoning better than you are?"

He frowns looking at the cantaloupe slice in his hand. "If I could throw right now, I'd hit you with one of these. Why don't you go bother John? He's probably just about done with his final now anyway."

My stomach clenches as I remember why John wasn't in bed this morning. We stayed up so late last night and now he's probably suffering through his final. I'll make sure to stop and get him coffee on my way.

Inuand I loiter around campus, sleepy students passing by us. As we wait for John, I pass her a treat for sitting so calmly beside me.

"Oh, thank fuck," he says, grabbing the coffee out of my hand. "Why didn't you remind me I had a final today?" He downs the entire coffee and leads me to the library.

"Can I take Inu in there?" I ask, clutching his hand. I also should go back to my apartment at some point and check in with Gonzales. I don't want to be the type of friend who disappears off the planet when I suddenly have a . . . a not-boyfriend but more than a friend.

John pauses and looks down at her. She's in her vest, but I still tell him he can pet her. John arches his eyebrow at me and shakes his head.

"Yeah, not falling into your bad training. I see how many scraps of food you try giving her while you cook."

I grumble a complaint that he ignores.

"She should be fine, but I guess that's up to you if you want to risk someone asking?"

I shrug. "Can't stay scared forever," I say, feeling like I'll be scared forever anyway.

The library is packed with last-minute crammers, but I spy a head of curly hair attached to a set of broad shoulders I'd recognize anywhere.

"Gonzales!" I shout.

John immediately lets go of my hand, turning away from me just as four people look up at me with anger on their faces.

I hold my hand in apology and walk over to Gonzales.

"Your boyfriend really seems to have your back," he teases as I sit across from him. I look down at his papers splayed out and push them neatly aside so I can lay my head down.

"I'm already embarrassed," I say with a groan. "I don't think I've stopped embarrassing myself since we kissed."

Gonzales leans forward and grins. "Oh?"

Aaliyah chooses that moment to sit beside me. "God, that final was awful."

"Sorry amor, but you're gonna need to hold that complaint a few more seconds because my boy here had his first kiss," Gonzales jokes just as John pulls up a chair beside him, looking at me with shock.

"No!" Someone shushes me, and I hold up my leash as if I can sick Inu on them. They turn away, properly reprimanded and I turn back to John. "No, that was not my first kiss or my first—" I blush. "Fucking shit, Gonzales."

He laughs quietly. "It's a running joke we have. Don't worry about it," he placates John. "So, now that John has timed his entrance perfectly, tell me about that exam, Aaliyah."

Aaliyah shakes her head at us and starts to tell Gonzales about it, but John looks across the table at me and presses his foot against mine. I can only tell because of the vibrations all the way in my thigh, but he's pressed against the wrong one.

"Other one," I whisper at him, as to not draw more attention to me or disturb Aaliyah's diatribe about electronics or some shit.

He gives me a confused look and then it dawns on him.

"Sorry," he says, readjusting.

This time I press my foot against his, then turn to listen to Aaliyah even though I don't understand a word she's saying. Being surrounded by college students makes my brain have a moment where it thinks, do I want this, quickly followed by a, no, definitely not. Look at Gonzales's eyebags. But when I look across at John, I wonder if maybe there is something I'm missing out on. Maybe I don't know if I want to go across the country anymore. Maybe my home is still right here in Durham.