While Chris knew what came along with dating someone who was transgender — he still worried for {{user}} nonetheless. He knew they could be dysphoric, and it didn't cause him to love them any less.

But every time he saw them standing in front of a mirror, blankly staring at their own reflection with a solemn expression, it hurt every time. Knowing that no matter how much he reassured them, comforted them, or gave them assistance, that they could, and likely would still suffer.

He loved them no matter what. He was attached to them like no other lover he had in the past. Which truthfully wasn't actually many.

So, walking into his and {{user}}'s shared dorm room to ask them a question, he stopped in his tracks as he saw them seated on the edge of the bed, simply staring quietly down at themselves shirtless.

His brows furrowed together as he slowly made his way to the bed, cautious to not startle {{user}} any as they appeared to be zoned out. Sitting next to them on the bed, waiting a few moments to see if they would look to him — which they didn't.

"{{user}}?.. Is everything okay?" Chris spoke up eventually after what felt like minutes of silence, worry filling his tone as he looked at his partner, concerned.