Chapter 15: John

Isamu's handsare ice cold against my sides. I juggle my coffee above his head so I can keep myself warm against the early morning chill.

"It's so early," he grumbles against my neck.

Inu's pressed against my side, and I use my other hand to scratch her forehead. I watch as Aaliyah comes down from her dorm room, cardboard in hand. She's bundled against the Carolina winter that isn't even cold enough to put snow on the ground.

"He gets it," she says, nodding toward Isamu. "You're a menace to society for only wearing that."

I shrug in my flimsy zip-up. The testosterone I inject into my body once a week keeps me warm enough, and winter is the only time that I feel any semblance of relief from the humidity. That and I don't really own a lot of warmer clothes. The warmer something keeps you, the more expensive it is.

"He's also bitching that it's too early," I tell her, trying unsuccessfully to unravel myself from Isamu.

He immediately unglues himself from me and looks up with wide eyes. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else though."

I roll my eyes at him, only because the sentimentality tugs at my heart in a way I'm only starting to grow used to. Too many years of shutting out my emotions is making this transition a test of my nerves and Isamu's patience.

"Oralé, party's here!" I turn at the sound of Gonzales's voice, just as a few students begin to pour out from the dorms, too early to be students taking their finals. Gonzales looks chipper and bright-eyed which is for the best, else he'd get taken down by the storm that is Aaliyah on game day.

As more people join us, Aaliyah begins to give her instructions, lining us up as far across campus as we reach. Gonzales follows her, carrying supplies and handing out posters. A member of the club that I recognize, but don't remember the name of, comes up to me with little tubes of face paint in their hands.

"Wassup, John. You want a trans flag on your cheek?" they ask, holding up the tubes.

"Uh..."

"I'll get one," Isamu says with a smile, stepping up toward them.

"Sweet," they say, voice still crackly from the early morning. "Just your cheek?"

"Deck me out," he says as another student comes up with shirts.

Aaliyah had told us to wear all black, but the student is wearing a trans flag on their shirt and carries more in their hands. I watch in awe as Isamu asks for one. He takes Inu's vest off and puts it in his backpack, telling her she's off duty, before putting the shirt on her.

After the student with the shirts walks away, Isamu leans against me, taking pressure off his residual limb, minding the paint now covering his face. He leans against me silently, absorbing my body heat and waiting for students to wake up for breakfast and exams. The silence eats away at me until I can't hold it in.

"Now you're going to look like you're the trans one," I tell him, my voice hushed against the other whispered conversations going on around us.

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

I take a sip from my mug, slip my hand into the side pocket on Isamu's bag, grabbing the thermos. My hands shake slightly as I top off my mug—a pride flag one from a local bookstore in Chapel Hill. I let the heat of the coffee fill me, calming the cold in my heart placed there by fear.

"Is it still wet?" I ask, gesturing at the face paint.

Isamu sticks a finger against it, and it comes back light blue. "Guess so."

I grab his chin, mindful of the wetness there, and quickly press my recently shaved cheek against his.

"There. Now I've got some too," I tell him, turning away.

He bumps his poster against me just as the first student slips out of the dorms, unaware of the protests until he sees us. We're a silent, looming line of students wearing all black. A reflection of the bleak future that transgender folks everywhere face.

I down my coffee quickly and set my mug at my feet before grabbing the poster I designed ages ago.

I was afraid I'd put too much detail into it: the faces of Black queer folks like Marsha P. Johnson, Bayard Rustin, James Baldwin, Barbara Jordan all surrounding the words, "Nearly Half (49%) of Black Trans Folks Attempt Suicide", only made better by Isamu's own "Trans Rights are Human Rights". My fears are all for nothing because as students come out, they all slow down, caught by the flashes of color on my poster and intimidated by the long line of students, standing silently through their walk across campus—an unavoidable wall of reality.

This is my reality that they're forced to face. It may be a small campus, but they will not go another day pretending this doesn't exist. That this doesn't affect them, as they see their friends silently stand in a line, protesting for their friends, family, strangers, or themselves.

Even though I've been to protests, organized them, shouted at the world, I've never worn the trans flag on my body, too afraid of how it may change how people see me or how they listen. There's nothing wrong with living in stealth, but I've never felt so seen as I do with Isamu in silent support beside me.

We've been standing for a few hours when someone comes up to relieve me for my final. I tuck my poster board under my arm as I lean down to grab my backpack.

"You don't have to stay," I tell Isamu, concerned for the hours he's spent on his prosthesis.

"Nah, I don't, but I'm going to anyway," he says with a grin.

I glance at the guy who's taken my place and back at Isamu.

"Alright. Well, wish me luck," I say, reluctant to take a step back.

He pouts at me and I lean in to steal a kiss from him.

"Luck, Johnny boy."

Walking toward my final makes me appreciate the intimidation of the protest a lot more. Hundreds of students shadow my entire walk to class, silently staring straight ahead as they wear black. It's disquieting and impossible to ignore. There are bystander students taking photos of the displays around campus, news crews covering the protest shoved in places they won't disturb exams, and the silent faces of stoney support—unyielding to the world of bigotry.

Isamu

I shovethe heat pack under the driver's seat when I spot John. His face is stoic like always, but even he can't hide the lightness in his eyes, the ease of his gaze. More than anything, I hope today has shown him he doesn't have to be so alone. His struggle isn't for only him to bear.

I also really hope that by the end of this date, he doesn't dump me before we've even really started dating.

"Look at this bad boy," he says, opening the back instead of climbing into the front.

"Admire your handy work later. I've got a date to take you on," I call out, desperately trying to keep him from spotting the dinner I spent the day before prepping and then this evening finishing.

He laughs and closes the door before finally getting into the passenger seat.

Inu hops off the bed in the back to investigate him, and I watch proudly as he pets her. It feels like acceptance. It feels like I may be about to throw this all out and I don't know if that's what I want.

"Where are we?—"

"It's a secret," I say, cutting him off.

He laughs and fiddles with the stereo system, easily syncing to my phone that instantaneously plays the angst heavy metal I thrive on. I cringe but he leaves it on, evaluating the sound as BABYMETAL doxxes me.

"Not what I imagined."

"What did you imagine?" I ask, taking the ramp for the highway.

He hums and I fight the urge to take my eyes off the road. "Something peppier. Like sunshine music."

"What does sunshine music even entail?" I ask, laughing.

I listen to his explanation, shoving my phone under my leg as I think of all the music I have that fits that very description.

When I first met John, talking to him was like pulling stitches from his mouth. Every word seemed painful to him, every secret a battle to fight. Now he talks without a pause for breath; willing to share his thoughts without hesitation. I've dug my way into his heart with bleeding hands and desperation, but what he doesn't know is that he's torn mine open with ease.

If he tells me not to go on this trip, I won't. If he tells me to sell the van and instead builds us a house, I'd do it without thought. I'm a fool because I've spent hours on the phone with my army buddies telling them they're stupid for this exact thing. But I get it.

This man beside me is worth it. There wasn't a reason to stay in North Carolina anymore but suddenly it's here. I only wish I could take him with me. I want to see the world but he's becoming my world. He's splitting me in two directions.

My anxieties don't disappear as I pull up to Eno River, lit up by the moon, but they do ease as a smile graces John's face.

"A picnic?"

"Well, it's cold so I figured an indoor picnic. Christening of the van, if you will."

I ignore his smirk and the blush on my cheeks, getting up and going to the living space. I busy my hands by pulling out the meal, but it's hard to ignore John in such a cramped space. He towers over me, taking dishes and setting up the dining area, still tucked away to give the van more room.

"Ramen?" he asks as I flick off the overhead lights, leaving us only illuminated by the mood lighting we set up.

"Authentic," I tell him, pulling out the wine glasses for the sparkling juice. It feels braggy to tell him the tonkotsu broth soaked overnight and the bones were tediously selected to provide the best flavors. It's not the way I normally make ramen, preferring the quicker recipes with premade broth or just buying them from street vendors. But I'm going out of my way to impress him.

I suddenly feel nervous as I sit across from him, worried that he won't like it. But when he takes his first bite, he barely comes back up until the bowl is clear, broth and all.

"You have to teach me to cook someday," he says, leaning back against the booth that doubles as a couch.

I lean my head against him, pushing my half-eaten bowl away. "Mmm, I will. Once I get back."

I'm glad I didn't eat more because my gut bubbles with anxiety—to the point I'm afraid the broth will make a reappearance.

He laughs and kisses my head, which only adds to the pain in my heart. "Yeah? I'm sure we can find some time in my busy schedule to cook before spring."

"Spring?" I ask, basking in his arms that are slowly wrapping around my waist. Soon, they'll be gone.

"Sure. That's when you leave, right? Once it gets warmer."

I grab his hand, tracing the callouses he has from working on cars all day.

"I leave after finals," I say in a whisper, barely audible if it weren't for my head against his chest.

He stiffens against me and I almost cry out when he shifts away from me.

"I'm sorry. I know long distance probably isn't what you were looking forward to and I'm more than willing to shift the dates to stay a little longer," I look over at him; his brows are furrowed, and I plow forward. "Or just cancel it all together. I'm sure I could sell the van and get my money back—maybe even get a profit?—"

"Long distance?" he asks, cutting me off.

I stare at him, realizing he's confused. "Is that... is that not... oh shit, you don't want that."

"That's not what I'm saying," he says, clutching his shoulder and scooting away. "Hold on." He takes a deep breath. "You should go. Even if it's sooner than I expected. And I want you to go, if that's what you want. I'm just scared you won't want to come back, but… I don't want to live like my dad—looking back in eleven years and realizing I missed out on something good because I was too scared to even try."

I press my face into his palm. "I will always come back, John."

His thumb rubs my cheek. "Yeah, I'm trying to learn that," he says with a sigh. "Long distance isn't ideal but, honestly, you've seen how busy I am. I'd be a terrible boyfriend right now anyway."

"Boyfriend," I repeat. "Will you be mine?" I ask, pulling my face away from him so I can look into his eyes.

His eyes are a clearer brown than they normally are, lit with joy. "Yeah."

His lips are chapped from the cold, but I press against him with the same neediness I always do, eager to be closer. Eager for everything John will give me.

"Wait," I say, pulling away despite everything within me arguing against it. "I had this idea. How would you feel about coming with me during holiday break? Then just flying back?"

He smiles but shakes his head. "My dad just got out of the hospital and plane tickets are expensive."

"Oh. That's fair. Well—" I'm interrupted as he leans in and kisses me.

"Hmm?" he hums against my lips as he pulls me in.

"Uh..." I pull back again. "Shenandoah. It's near DC, you've done your internships there, right? I could go there this summer. I'll spend the weekends with you and go back to Shenandoah during the week, so you don't have to entertain me during the work week."

He steals another kiss and another. "Whatever works, Isa. Just live your dream and come back to me."

His hands encircle my waist and I forget whatever it is that we were talking about as soon as he smirks. "So, about that christening?"

"Are you sure?"I ask John, clutching the Polaroid camera tentatively. The last time I held it, I broke it.

John sighs playfully and hits the power button. "Are you really going to tell me you're patient enough to wait for your phone photos to be ready?"

I shake my head and he frowns in mock annoyance. "I didn't think so."

Grinning, I lean up to kiss the annoyance off his face before running off.

I have to crouch to take a photo with my dad, both of us competing to smile the largest.

"Be safe," he says, holding my face as the photo develops. "And don't forget to eat, or call your mom."

I laugh. "Sure, sure. I'll call you too, Old Man."

He hugs me. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Gonzales is looking at the van when I get to him. "I'll take a gap semester or something before I start my master's, and we can travel."

"I'd love that, man," I tell him, pulling him against me. "Now, before we get sentimental, say cheese."

I get to Aaliyah last, making sure to give her an extra big hug.

"Hey, I want you to know I seriously appreciate what you're doing for John."

She waves me off, her nails still painted blue, pink, and white. "You're kidding. A Christmas where I get to spend it away from my parents and with John's dad instead? A dream come true."

I give her another hug, just to be sure.

"Okay. We should probably head out if we want to get to the campsite," I say.

John hoists his bag onto his shoulder but keeps talking to his dad, probably lecturing him about taking his meds and eating every meal.

"You know how to change a tire?" my dad asks.

I look at John. "Yeah, no problem."

"I said you, not your boyfriend."

I blush and give my dad a hug before going to John. I don't rush him, but he watches me amble over and says his final goodbyes to his own dad.

"Ready?" I ask him, excited to get on the road.

"Uh..." He fumbles with his bag and pulls out a sturdier camera. "Actually, I want to remember this moment," he says, tone heavy.

I let his Polaroid hang by my neck as I reach out for John, grabbing his forearm delicately. "Yeah. I think that's a great idea."

"A, uh, nice clear shot. Of all of us. Things are good, yeah?"

He looks uncertain. A little afraid, a little hopeful. I can't help the smile that overtakes my face.

"Yeah, Johnny. Things are great."

His smile is tentative, but he lets me gather everyone in front of the van.

"Are you taking it with the Polaroid?" Gonzales calls out to John.

John gives him a deadpan look and shakes the camera in his hands.

"I literally don't know what that means," Gonzales whispers to me.

"That's his nice camera. Polaroids don't have timers and couldn't capture a high-quality picture," Aaliyah relays from beside him, discreetly wiping at her eyes. She must know John's never done something like this before.

"Of course," Gonzales says, nodding sagely.

John places the camera back on my dad's trashcan before rushing over to stand beside his dad at the other end of the van.

"Everyone say cheese," he calls.

We all smile as the camera goes off.

"How'd it turn out? Like something to remember?" I ask John, leaning against his shoulder to look at the screen.

He grunts and starts walking away.

"We should go before we miss our reservation at the campsite," he shouts over his shoulder.

I can't help but grin at my emotionally constipated boyfriend. Baby steps.

"Good thing Gonzales is my shoe size," he says as he hops into the van and tosses his bag in the back, on top of his new hiking boots.

"Yeah, good thing," I say, waving goodbye to everyone as I pray I remembered to take off the tags.

As soon as we're on the highway, Inu comes up to the front and sits in her dog bed in front of John's feet.

There's an exit to a pit stop just a few miles away and I smile to myself. When I first started on this van, that's all John and I were. A cold, unwelcoming pit stop that people are dying to get out of the second they step into it.

But now.

I look over at John, Inu's head in his lap as he pets her, gazing out the passenger window at the trees that fly by.

Now, we're everything but a pit stop. A place I'd like to stay in forever. Cozy and warm but still learning each other.

His skin glows from the dappling sun shining through the trees and I follow my desire to reach out for his hand.

"I've never been to a National Park. Even if it's just for Christmas break," he admits.

I squeeze his hand. "I'll take you anywhere you want."