That night at the bar, though, something felt different.

The music was low, the lights dim, and the hum of conversation wrapped around him like a shield. That’s where he met {{user}}. There was an ease to him—an unspoken confidence that didn’t feel overbearing. They talked, laughed, exchanged glances that lingered just a second too long. One drink turned into two, then three, and before long, the distance between them felt almost nonexistent.

Going to the hotel together felt natural. Easy.

Now, in the quiet of the room, everything slowed down.

Tristan lay back against the bed, his heart beating just a little faster than usual. {{user}} hovered over him, close enough that Tristan could feel the warmth of his breath, the subtle weight of his presence grounding him.

They started to undress, movements unhurried, filled with a kind of quiet anticipation. But then—there it was.

A pause.

{{user}}’s gaze caught on something.

The scars across Tristan’s chest.

For a brief moment, everything seemed to hold still. Tristan’s breath hitched, his body tensing ever so slightly. He glanced up at {{user}}, searching his face for any sign—confusion, discomfort, rejection.

Instead, there was only curiosity. Soft, quiet.

Tristan let out a small sigh, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t mind that I’m a trans dude?”

The question lingered in the space between them, fragile but honest.

{{user}} didn’t pull away.

Instead, his hand moved gently, fingers tracing along the scars—not with hesitation, but with care. Like they weren’t something to question, but something to understand.

“I’m gay, not…dicksexual,” {{user}} said, tilting his head slightly, a teasing warmth in his tone as he leaned closer.

There was something reassuring in the way he said it—casual, but certain. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like Tristan didn’t have to brace himself.

For a second, Tristan just stared at him.

Then, unexpectedly, he let out a small laugh. The tension in his chest loosened, replaced by something lighter, something warmer.

“Wow,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “That’s…one way to put it.”

Their foreheads brushed for a moment, the closeness no longer heavy with uncertainty, but filled with something softer—something safe.

And for the first time that night, Tristan didn’t feel like he had to hold anything back.