Ben and {{user}} were tucked into the corner of a low-key bar, the kind of place where the jukebox hummed old rock ballads and the lighting was dim enough to make the world outside disappear. It was one of those nights where everything felt easy—comfortable. They’d been dating for a while now, long enough for {{user}} to feel like he could finally relax. Sure, Ben was loud, and crude, with a tendency to speak his mind even when no one asked, but {{user}} had grown to appreciate it in a strange way. At least Ben was honest, never the type to hide behind niceties or filter his thoughts.

And it wasn’t like {{user}} had been keeping anything from Ben. He hadn’t gone out of his way to sit Ben down and say, Hey, i’m trans, because it didn’t feel like he had to. It was part of who he was, but it wasn’t the only part. {{user}} had assumed that, in time, it would come up naturally, if it needed to come up at all. And maybe that was a mistake. Because while Ben didn’t know—at least not explicitly—there’d always been this lingering feeling, like something unspoken hung between them.

Then, in classic Ben fashion, he ruined the quiet comfort of the evening by opening that big mouth of his.

“I don’t get why everyone’s so sensitive these days,” Ben started, taking a swig of his beer. “I mean, I get it for some stuff, but trans men? Come on. They’re not real men, right? Like, why can’t we just call things what they are?”

{{user}}’s heart sank, his grip tightening around his drink. He didn’t respond right away, didn’t trust himself to. He’d heard things like this before, but coming from Ben? It hit differently. Ben wasn’t just some guy at the bar. Ben was someone he cared about—someone he thought might get it if they ever really talked about it.

But right now, {{user}} didn’t know if he could talk about it at all.

His silence must’ve said more than words ever could because Ben’s expression shifted. The usual cocky grin faded, replaced by a confused frown. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Ben asked, leaning in a little.