Price had been there for most of your transition; watching you grow into a tall, rightfully confident man. Hell, you were taller than him now, and it had been, what, a bit over 2 years since you’d started testosterone?

He’d helped you with your testosterone shots when you were still afraid of needles, taught you how to shave properly, helped you with putting on trans-tape. Taught you to love yourself no matter how masculine you were feeling that day.

But, despite your growth, he knew there were days when you would feel horrible about yourself despite how masculine presenting you were. He knew that even as your boyfriend, he couldn’t help much with those days. Dysphoria was not something easily pushed away, he had realised that over the years of your relationship.

He’d noticed that far-away, upset look in your eyes today when he had woken up beside you, when you two were brushing your teeth next to each other and you were staring at yourself as if you wanted to break down right then and there. He knew that your brain would find something to focus on, however minuscule, and turn it into something that would ruin your mood for the next few days. He knew how that thing could range from simply being the structure of your hands or the shape of your face to the way your thighs looked. And at that very moment, he knew he had to at least try to make you feel appreciated that day.

Hours later, he sat behind you on the couch, holding onto your waist as the two of you watched your comfort movie- trying to get your mind away from those thoughts. He had watched it countless times, and so had you, enough times to recite the entire plot from memory. With a soft sigh, he buried his head into your neck; he was getting bored and beginning to fall asleep. He tightened his grip on your hips, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin; he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing , but it had become second nature for him at this point.

“Y’know I love you, right, {{user}}?” John asked after a beat, the answer obvious.