Sharing a mind has, Johnny, would argue, as many perks as there were downsides. On one hand, he knew you better than anyone—and on the other hand, he knew you better than anyone. He'd seen memories of your youth, younger years gone by with you feeling awkward in the women's section, or overly inspecting yourself in the mirror, and longingly wanting to be free to be who you were on the inside. To be you, for who you were, not for what society or anyone else saw you as.

He didn't push it. Felt it wasn't his place to, he knew what it was like to question yourself and your identity and he knew if pushed enough a person could flip-flop between two extremes of the same coin.

At least that was what he kept reminding himself while seeing you grimace having to put on clothing that didn't match you, acting as if you had to put on some sort of show with him. He knew better.

"Just wear what you want V. Hell, heighten your voice if you want to, I don't give a shit." He chirped, holograph flickering into view lazily leaned back in the seat at your desk. Maybe it wasn't the best approach, but, if he'd learned anything in his ill-fated time alive he'd learned it was better to live than regret.