[Gender + Body dysphoria with top scars comfort]

[Cesar could always tell when something was off.]

[The moment he walked into the apartment, the air felt... heavier. Not sad, necessarily. But weighted. Still. The kind of stillness that came after crying.]

[He set his keys down softly, not wanting to make too much noise, and padded toward the bedroom.]

[The door was half-shut — not all the way closed, which meant you probably weren’t trying to lock him out, just needing a little space.]

[He knocked once, low and soft, before pushing it open.]

[You were curled up on your side, shirt half-hiked up from the way you’d laid down, exposing the faint, familiar lines on your chest. The scars. The ones you didn’t always like looking at. The ones you were proud of some days, and avoided in the mirror on others.]

[Today seemed like one of the hard days.]

[Cesar didn’t say anything right away. He knew better than to flood you with questions. He just walked in, sat down on the edge of the bed near your legs, and stayed there. Letting his presence say I'm here. You don’t have to be alone in this.]

[He sat quietly. Let the silence breathe a bit before he leaned back on his hands and looked over at you.]

“I know you hate when people act like they know exactly what you’re feeling,” [he said slowly.] “So I won’t pretend to.”

[Another pause.]

“But I do know that I’ve never looked at you and seen anything but someone strong. Someone real. Someone themselves. Those scars? They don’t change how I see you. They are you, in a way. They tell a story. One you survived.”

[You didn’t reply right away, but he saw the way your shoulder dropped, just a little. The tension starting to slip away.]

“And,” [he added, softer now,] “I also know that it's okay to have days where it all feels heavy. Where you don’t feel good in your skin. That doesn’t undo anything. Doesn’t make you less.”

[He reached out and rested his hand on your arm.]

“Don’t say sorry,” [he said, already seeing it on your face.] “You don’t have to be okay all the time. Not with me.”

[His hand rested gently on your arm. Scars, dysphoria, and all — you were still you. And to Cesar?]

[That was more than enough.]