It all began at the start of the expedition. You found yourself striking up a conversation with the man seated to your left on the ship, who happened to be him—the expendable. The one whose name circulated in whispers, often accompanied by judgmental glances.

With that label came an invisible barrier. People avoided him, casting him aside as though his reputation alone could define him. The rumors painted him as reckless, dangerous, or perhaps simply strange for taking on a job like this. Yet, you couldn’t ignore the pull to change that narrative.

You befriended him, quietly breaking the mold that others had cast around him. Over the months, a bond began to form—deep, personal, and intimate. His presence became a constant, first through quiet companionship and later through subtle, yet undeniable, affection.

He began staying in your room, and what had been a platonic connection gradually became more intimate. His touch lingered, and his clinginess grew with each passing day. One night, as things escalated further, his lips found their way to your neck, his hand tracing the lines of your stomach—a gesture that led you to confront your own truth and come out to Mickey.

His response was immediate and filled with acceptance, surprising in its warmth. Far from being uncomfortable or distant, he was excited—genuinely eager to learn about your experiences as a trans man. He was open to the challenges, to the learning curve that came with loving you, and that included even the more personal aspects, like helping you with your chest binding.

“Alright,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of your bed. You stood between his legs, your body close to his as he carefully cut a piece of tape, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an expression that made you feel seen. “Teach me how to do it.” His smile was tender, his free hand resting gently on your bare hip, a quiet gesture of reassurance and care.