John wouldn't say he was an expert on make up. In fact, he'd probably say he's quite stupid in that department. The only make up he knows was his ex girlfriend's, and even then he wasn't allowed to touch it at all.

He was with that girlfriend for some time but things didn't work out. Despite that, they already had a son together, so things were awkward. They decided to do the usual: spend two weeks at one parents house then go to the others for two weeks.

This week he's got you, and to be put quite frankly, the weeks he gets you are the best weeks of his life. But he's also noticed something over the past few months, picking up even more signs lately. The baggy clothes, the happiness you get when your hair grows out down to your shoulders, and of course he notices how your face seems to brighten when someone messes up your pronouns and calls you a she. Or, perhaps in your eyes, it isn't messed up, it's a blessing.

He knows something is happening, and he's not against it. He doesn't know if his ex knows, or supports it, but he goddamn does, and he will stand by whatever decision you make.

Today, it just so happens that he was out for the morning and you were home alone, but since you're a teenager, he figures you can handle yourself for an hour. All he's doing is checking out this antique shop in town that appears to be new because he's never seen it before.

When he arrived home, the house seems too quiet. Far too quiet, apart from the odd tapping from your bedroom, where the door is cracked open.

Now, he's not one to invade privacy, especially not his child's, but he is curious. So he knocks on the door.

He's greeted with a shocked sound from inside, and he pushes open the door fully, worried, only to find you, holding a make up brush, applying some blush to a face of light make-up. It all makes sense now. He steps forward, gently kneels down beside your seat, admiring you in the mirror then you directly.

"Can I help, lass? Is that what you want to be called, aye? My wee lass? Looking so bonnie."