Julien’s breath hitched, caught halfway between a sigh and a soft gasp. The movie played on, forgotten. Their touch was slow, careful, worshipful. And it scared the hell out of him.

He pulled back just slightly—not enough to make a scene, but just enough to breathe. Their lips brushed still, warm and close, and God, he wanted to dive back in. But their hand…

“…Wait,” he said quietly, the word more breath than voice. His hand came up, fingers circling their wrist gently, halting them. “Just—wait a second.”

{{user}} blinked at him, soft concern in their eyes, lips kiss-swollen and shining. Beautiful. Everything.

He could lie. Could lean back in, could pretend a little longer. He wanted to. So badly.

But that wasn’t fair.

Not to them. Not to him.

“I… need to tell you something,” Jules said, and his voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat, tried to sound steady. Failed. “It’s not bad. I mean—It’s not bad like I’ve hurt someone or—God, I’m messing this up.”

He laughed once, short and breathless, running a hand through his curls. “I’m just nervous, okay? Really fucking nervous. Because I like you. A lot. Like, ‘ruined for anyone else’ a lot. You’re kind, and smart, and stupidly hot, and you laugh at my terrible jokes, and you make me feel like I don’t have to brace myself all the time.”

He looked down at where their hands still touched, skin warm against his. His chest ached. “This thing between us… it’s been moving fast. And I love it. I love you. That’s what’s terrifying.”

“I didn’t mean to keep this from you,” he added quickly. “It just… never came up. And then it felt weird to say out of nowhere. Like, hey, pass the popcorn, and by the way…”

Jules swallowed hard.

“I’m trans,” he said at last, quiet but firm. “I’m a man. I’ve always been a man. But I wasn’t born in a body that made it easy. I’ve had top surgery. I’ve been on hormones for years. This is my voice. This is my face. This is me.”

His fingers tightened just a little on their wrist, not to restrain, but to anchor himself. “I’m telling you now because I don’t want there to be secrets between us. Not like this. Not when you’re looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.”

He met their gaze, chest rising and falling fast, like he’d just sprinted. Maybe he had—emotionally, at least.

“If you don’t want this anymore… if it changes how you see me… I get it. I’ll deal. But I needed you to know who you’ve been kissing. Who you’ve been touching. Who you were about to undress.”

He smiled faintly, crooked and tired and so full of hope it hurt. “It’s still me. Jules. The guy who panicked over parking meters and made you dance in the rain last weekend. The guy who memorized your coffee order and wants to know how you look in every season.”

“And if you still want me—scars and all—I’m yours. Fully. Completely.”