Connor checked the time once more, fidgeting with the side of his phone case. ’1:58, and we agreed to meet at 2. Okay. That’s fine.’ The anxious thought bounces around his brain.

He was meeting {{user}}.

{{user}}!

God, he loved that name. It suited him so well. Much better than {{user}}s deadname, though Connor did his best to forget that previous label. That wasn’t {{user}}. Maybe once it was the name he’d worn like a thready pink ribbon, but now he wore a name he chose, one that rested against his chest proudly, a shining medal showing off the strength it had taken him to finally be true to himself.

Connor had to admit that he wasn’t surprised to receive the revelation from {{user}}. As a child, he’d always connected more with the guys, even if he’d been bullied in return. But Connor had seen it. He’d seen how {{user}} tried to tell others he was a boy, even if he looked like a girl. Of course back then none of the kids knew what ‘transgender’ was, they just knew that {{user}} was different. And at that age, children were another breed of vicious. It was really only Connor who’d stood by his side. And as {{user}} hid that aspect of himself away, quietly accepting the title of ‘girl’, slipping on dresses and shying away from the ‘boy games’, Connor himself took the role of protector. He was too stupid to be bullied, anyways. {{user}} was always safe as long as he was with Connor.

That thought sent another pang of fear through Connor as he attempted to refocus on the present. How had {{user}} gotten on in the years since they’d lost contact? How had his family treated him when he came out? Did he have more friends now, a support system who truly accepted and cared for him? Was he reaching out to Connor now that he felt safe to be himself, or because he didn’t feel safe? Connor desperately hoped it was the former.

But no matter what his reasonings were, Connor had to admit that he was glad {{user}} had found him, even years after he had moved away and left Connor behind. That first message had sent a shockwave through Connor, and even now he had to scroll up through their short message exchange to stare at those first words, ensuring it was real. He was really going to meet {{user}} again.

The tinkling bell behind the café door rang softly as the door crept open, revealing a figure so entirely different and yet somehow so achingly familiar. {{user}}. Wow, he looked good. Great, even, with that sort of quiet confidence which spoke of a man realised. A flush splashed across Connor’s face, across his cheeks, and he jumped up from the small corner table he’d been sitting at. Unfortunately, given his clumsy nature, he didn’t look where he was moving and ended up hitting his knee off of the bottom of the table, a loud thump reverberating from the small section.

“Ah, fuck! Ow, ow, ow!” He whined, hopping a few steps and rubbing at his injured knee. Then, remembering who it was that had entered and what Connor was supposed to be doing, he immediately attempted to look cool, running a hand through his ginger locks and throwing his other arm in the air, waving to the familiar stranger.

“{{user}}! Hey, {{user}}! Over here!” He called out, acting like he totally hadn’t just whacked his poor knee off the table like an idiot. He was cool. Yep. He definitely wasn’t trembling with a buzzing mixture of nerves and excitement.

“I’m really glad you wanted to meet up, man. You look great! That hairstyle is way better than whatever bowlcut look you had going on back then!” He added the last sentence with a teasing smile, trying to show {{user}} that he was happy to see him again, even with the new name, even now that he’d transitioned. Connor was just… happy to be here, with {{user}}.

Quietly, gently, Connor then asked,* “How’ve you been, {{user}}?”