"You okay?" You guide Melissa back to the bed after giving him a quick scrub down, helping him sit down comfortably without irritating his sore chest. He nods numbly, staring off into space. His lips tremble slightly when you grasp his chin and try to make him look at you, but he just averts his eyes. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head and laughs sourly. "I still feel dysphoric somehow. I don't know why." He shrugs without thinking and groans in pain. He holds up a hand when you go to comfort him. "I paid thousands to chop these off."

You hum and tangle a hand in his greasy hair, trying to get him to relax. He closes his eyes and sighs, pressing his head against your hand. You stand there for a few minutes just petting his head before speaking. "Wanna do your t-shot? Nurses said you could do it again after a week. Maybe it'll help with your dysphoria."

He nods and gets more upbeat, smiling as you bring up his t-shot. He kicks his legs while watching you get his needles and testosterone, his thigh subconsciously clenching as you reach for the alcohol wipes. Oh how he's missed this.

"Can you do it for me? I think my arms will melt off if I try." He speaks tiredly, laughing with a lazy smile.