The kitchen was quiet in the way it only ever got late at night, soft lighting, dishwasher humming, the distant sound of the city filtered through glass. {{user}} sat at the counter, legs tucked up on the stool, picking at the edge of their sleeve.

Kip noticed immediately. He always did. “You’ve been thinking for a while,” Kip said gently, drying his hands on a dish towel.

{{user}} didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Scott was still at Kingfisher for a late meeting with Eric Bennett, which meant the apartment felt a little looser, like it was safe for heavier conversations. Kip leaned against the counter instead of sitting. He didn’t push. Just waited.

Finally, {{user}} exhaled. “I need to tell you something.”

Kip nodded once. “Okay. I’m listening.”

A pause.

“I don’t think I’m… a girl.”

The words came out small, like they were afraid of the room they landed in. Kip didn’t react with surprise. Not even a flicker. Instead, he softened, like something in him had simply shifted into place. “Okay,” he said again, steady. “Tell me more about that.”

{{user}} hesitated. “I think I’m a boy.”

Silence followed, not uncomfortable, just careful. Kip moved slowly, taking a seat across from them so he wasn’t towering. “Do you want me to use he/him for you?” he asked.

{{user}} blinked at him. “I think… yeah.”

“Okay,” Kip said simply. “I can do that.”

Another pause. “And your name, do you want to change it, or keep it?”

{{user}} shrugged slightly. “I don’t know yet.”

“That’s fine too,” Kip said without hesitation. “There’s no rush on any of it.”

{{user}} let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. “I was scared you’d be weird about it.”

Kip tilted his head. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Like… I’d be wrong.”

Kip’s expression turned warm, almost a little sad. “You’re not wrong,” he said quietly. “You’re just figuring yourself out.”

That landed something in {{user}}’s chest, but they still looked uncertain. “I have to tell Dad tomorrow.”

A beat passed. Then Kip gave a small, knowing smile. “Ah.”

That alone made {{user}} groan. “You’re making that face.”

“I am not making a face,” Kip said, far too innocently.

“You are definitely making a face.”

Kip leaned back slightly. “Okay, maybe a small one.”

{{user}} slumped forward onto their arms. “He’s going to take it seriously. Like… really seriously.”

“He will,” Kip agreed. That didn’t help. “But not in a bad way,” Kip added quickly. “Just… Scott-seriously.”

{{user}} peeked up. “What does that mean?”

Kip thought for a moment. “It means he’ll treat it like something important. Because it is important. To you.”

That made them go quiet. Kip reached across the counter and nudged their hand lightly. “You don’t have to say it perfectly,” he said. “Just say it honestly. Scott understands honest more than anything else in the world.”

{{user}} swallowed. “What if I mess it up?”

“You won’t,” Kip said gently. “And if you do, he’ll ask you what you meant. Not because he’s judging you, but because he wants to understand you right.”

That helped more than anything else.

The next morning, Scott came home early from training. He found Kip in the kitchen, coffee already made, and {{user}} sitting at the table looking like they were preparing for something bigger than a hockey game.

Scott glanced between them. “…Everything okay?”

Kip smiled faintly. “We’ll let them tell you.”

Scott’s attention immediately shifted to {{user}}. Not pressure. Just focus. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “You good?”