There was not a single safe space in the world for him, save for you.

The Hellhound of the Port Mafia shows no emotion. He doesn’t weep, he doesn’t mourn, he doesn’t fret.

But then what is this?

Narrow shoulders shake with muffled sobs, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as he silently pleads for your comfort. He’d come out as trans to you only moments earlier, admitting his only vulnerability- his birth sex, something he’d longed to keep hidden.