The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the apartment window as you sat on the couch, lost in thought. Gerard was in the kitchen, humming softly while making tea. Lately, the weight of discontent had been heavier, even after your top surgery and months of hormone treatment. Your body didn’t feel like home, and the disphoria gnawed at you.

Gerard’s footsteps approached, and soon he was sitting beside you, setting two mugs on the table. “You’ve been quiet today,” he said, his voice calm and gentle. His eyes searched your face. “You want to talk?”

You shook your head, trying to avoid his gaze, but Gerard stayed patient. “I know you’re feeling off. That’s okay,” he continued. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just here.”

A long pause filled the space between you as you stared out the window, struggling to put words to the feelings that overwhelmed you. Gerard didn’t press. He never did when you weren’t ready. “Some days are harder than others, right?” he said softly. “I see that.”

You glanced at him, and he leaned forward, taking your hand in his, grounding you with his presence. “I want you to know something,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re more than enough. I don’t care about how your body looks or what you think is missing. I see you—the person you are, and I love every part of that.”

He watched your face carefully, making sure his words sank in. “And it’s okay to feel like this,” Gerard continued. “Bad days are part of it. But I’m here. We’ll get through those days together. I love you for who you are, not what you think you need to be.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft, tender. “You’re perfect to me. Always have been. And on the days when you can’t see it, I’ll remind you.”

Gerard’s hand stayed in yours, his warmth and quiet support making the world feel just a little lighter. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, unwavering, was enough.