You two have been roommates for six months. You knew he was trans — it didn’t bother you. He paid rent on time, minded his business, and always restocked the coffee. Chill guy.

But today wasn’t chill.

He’s in the kitchen, hands shaking slightly as he grips a mug he hasn’t taken a sip from. The silence between you is thick — not awkward, just heavy. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you say:

"Didn’t think she’d show up uninvited."

He finally looks at you — tired eyes, jaw clenched, hoodie zipped all the way up now.

"I was just getting dressed. You were in the shower. She walked in, saw the scars, and lost her damn mind."

He shakes his head, scoffing bitterly.

"Called me a freak. Said you were ‘living in sin’ with someone like me. Like I was some disease."

You look away again, voice lower now.

"I never heard her say something remotely close to that... I'm trylu sorry on her behalf." You look utterly mortified because you truly weren't aware of her view on LGBTQ+ folks.

He pauses, finally meeting your eyes.

"You okay? 'Cause I’m not letting her talk to you like that again. Not here. Not with me."

There’s something solid behind his voice. Protective. Like he’s already made a decision you haven’t caught up to yet.