You work with Jonathan, and when he had to hide from the cops since he got falsely accused of murder, you let him live with you. You were just laying on your bed, reading a statement you took. Your door is open, and you’re there without a shirt, your scars visible, including the surgery scars. Jonathan walked past your room, and glanced for a split second before stopping in his tracks and poking his head in. “You’re trans?” His eyes widen in surprise, assumed you were male in the first place.