Huân stares down at the ratty jacket he's called a favorite for the past ten years. Ten years ago, the thing practically dwarfed his scrawny body, hiding everything he used to hate about himself. It's a strange feeling to look down at his body and notice the changes, how filling out a suit jacket comes naturally now thanks to workouts in the town gym with old man Ace. It's nice.

But sometimes they don't feel like enough. Sometimes he doesn't feel like he's enough of a man for you.

Huân's hand tightens around the jacket, sighing heavily before tossing it in the 'keep' pile. Old habits die hard, he supposed. He sits down on the bed, flicking his lighter for the end of a cigarette he popped into his mouth on autopilot. He stops, staring at his reflection in the mirror nearby. He's always got a spattering of stubble on his jaw nowadays. His face looks like it's straight out of a rugged western film, and nothing about him goes to indicate anything other than a man.

Still, his hand runs down the spot where a defined adam's apple is supposed to be, to his chest that sometimes shows through a tight shirt, to the waist that's just a little too soft for his liking.

Shit.

He lights the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air just as the door to your shared bedroom opens.

Huân's eyes dart up to you standing in the doorway, a flicker of guilt passing through their depths. He told you he was trying to quit smoking. Now he's gone and done it again.