I fidget with my hands and don’t look Stephen in the eyes.
“Do you think…”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I often do,” he jokes, monotone.
I glare at him and he sighs.
“Do you think that somewhere out there I…”
Stephen’s brows furrow.
“What? You’re perfect in every universe,” he says and I laugh as if it’s a joke but I don’t think it is.
I often can’t read his monotone voice but he doesn’t joke when it comes to how much he loves me. This I know to be true even though he hasn’t outright said “I love you” yet. I think he’s still full of so much fear. Every once in a while I’m able to bring his fear out and relieve him of the pain.
“Where I’m cis?” I ask quietly.
“I, uhhh, no I don’t think so,” he says, caught off guard.
“Oh.”
I’m not sure what answer I wanted, honestly.
“Well, okay, I’m actually not sure I understand the question. Do you mean a place in multiverse where you’re a cis woman or a cis man?”
“Either,” I say, staring at the straps on his black boots.
The thought of a me out there as a woman makes me nauseous. But I was wondering if there was a me out there without a binder on. With surgery scars or even without a need for them.
He stands very still and I start to regret asking. The silence is killing me.
“I think that,” he starts and I look up at him again. “I think that there may be a cis man version of you out there but I highly doubt it. You’re meant to be this way — of that I’m certain. You know America?”
I nod.
“The her that you met is the only America that exists. That’s because who she is is important and she’s exactly the way she’s meant to be, even if it brings hardship. I don’t think you’re meant to be cis. You’re perfect like this,” Stephen says and reaches out to grab my face.
His shaky hands grab my cheeks and his thumbs rub my face, as if to wipe tears. I’m not crying, though I’m close to it. The gesture is calming regardless and I feel the pounding in my ears die down. I take a step forward and lean my forehead against his.
“I’m meant to be…”
“Trans. You. Mine.”
Him and that stupid smirk always makes me laugh.
“I love you as you are,” Stephen says after a moment.
It’s quiet and the fear he pushed down spills out in the words. The pain in my chest rises again and I move my head onto his shoulder, clutching him. The cloak I forgot he was wearing reaches out and wraps around me. They’re like a weighted blanket and my anxiety calms, if only for the moment. It’s opposite for Stephen as I can feel his heart pounding fiercely against me, his shaky hands gripping my waist tightly. Such a gesture would normally make me dysphoric but now it’s calming. I know that he has me and he’ll never let go.
“I love you too, Stephen. I really do.”
We both said more than we planned to. It’s awkward and painful, but I’m grateful for the reassurance.