Or, well, that’s what I’d do if my phone wasn’t fucking dead.

I groan again and fumble with the charger by the side of the bed, jamming the USB-C into the port of my phone with all the ungentle roughness of an ugly bastard in a doujin. The cord’s already kinked where it meets the phone and it’s only ten bucks. It can deal. 

I retrieve part of my face from the bedstand as my phone s-l-o-w-l-y boots, and settle oval lenses over my eyes. The new pair have become just the way I look in record time, and their soft curves emphasize the roundness of my cheeks in a way the old square pair never did. It cut down my peripheral vision some, but we all make sacrifices for fashion. 

With my glasses on and my phone in my hand I’m whole again. Euphie kicks over into her main menu screen and I open Heartscape. 

Jubes: Morning, dove ♡ 

My eyes track up from the message I just sent and register that Silvia is literally on a plane to me right now, and the imminent prospect of her touch, her kiss, her body against mine pops into my head all at once. I’ve never felt anyone’s touch in a sexual way before, but I have a vivid imagination, a collection of sex toys, and an internet connection. I’m still sure I’m lacking a lot, but I can picture Silvie naked and kissing me just fine, even if my brain’s a little hazy on the exact details past that point. 

God Fuck it feels like I’ve been waiting for this forever. My LDR is about to get a whole lot more R-rated, and I am so, so here for it. I can feel my heart pump harder and my cock stiffen a little just at the thought of Silvie’s ungentle touch, and I linger on images of her teeth digging into my skin for a good five or ten seconds. 

… Shit, I’ve got to be at the airport to greet her. What time is it?

— seven AM, the gods are just for once. Plenty of time to sort out Silvia. 

I should get up.

If Silvia was here that’d be a snap — order her to order me to get out of bed — but she is incommunicado. Which, in this case, means I’m operating on backup power and the faint urge to be a good girl so she’ll praise me when she comes back. 

C’mon, get up. You can do this. Roll out of bed and onto the floor if you gotta, you know that works. Or sit up. Do it by stages. If you can’t sit up, start by wiggling your toes. You know all the tricks by now, use them, it’s absolutely in a good cause. 

I force myself up to a sitting position and wrap the heavy synthetic comforter around me. I want to be held, want the comforting touch of arms around me. I’ve had hugs from my family but never from someone who desired me carnally. (I hope.) 

Knowing that our long separation will come to an end soon only makes the bite keener. Silvie pressing into me from behind, holding me in her lap, her delicate fingers dipping in between my legs even as she kisses at my shoulder…

I push the images away, and steady myself. 

I can take strength from this. It’s not so far away. 

Vixy: Woke up, getting out of bed for you. 

Vixy: This feels hard&scary but I gotta be there, gotta see you soonaspossible, gotta go go go

I push off the comforter and stand, the ache of sleep easing out of my limbs.

Vixy: Being a good girl and coming to see you

The kitchen is painted with the same celestial bukkake as my bedroom, naturally. Sun doesn’t know what's good for it. My vengeance upon the vile thing will need to wait, though, as my army of tigers does not number one trillion yet. In fact, it doesn’t even number one. Mrs. Anderson’s soft orange mog is my only reservist, and he’s too much of a fat ball of fur to be any use in a fight. He does purr, though, which is its own kind of talent.

Regardless, we suffer what we must and get on with things. Or so my OT says. Would say. If she ever were to acknowledge that I was suffering at any point during the process. Therapists, they’re all the same.

Anyway, corn pops. 

I pour myself a bowl of corn pops (which are just big enough of spheres to not trigger my “I’m eating kibble” instincts) and munch determinedly. At the end of the bowl, I knock back my morning pills with the leftover milk.  

Pills onboard, food eaten, now I just need to get my poop in a group and go. I pick up my lavender purse with its monarch-butterfly spray-on silhouette (god that was nerve wracking, this purse ain’t cheap and I’d never done a cutout applique like that before) and shoulder it. It matches the skirt Silvia sent me perfectly. 

Jubes: Alright I got my shit together. Packing up to come meet you, ETA ~1h 15m. 

That gives me just enough time to shave, pull my hair back, and get to the station and down to the airport. The deadline feels like pressure against my skull, a vice threatening to crack my nut and splash my gooey brainmeats across the floor. Would I crack like a bruised watermelon between a thick girl’s thighs, or burst like a bullet got put through my brain?

I briefly consider the image of a thicc-thighed executioner in their hood, then puff out a laugh and dismiss it.

It’s whatever, all deadlines are like that.

I shave with my dead-battery razor and pull my dirty-blonde hair back in a violet scrunchie. Whenever I do this my parents coo and ahh as if I’ve unlocked Tutankhamun's tomb or something but I hate it. It makes any patchy parts of my shaving job obvious and puts my square jawbones on display and makes me feel painfully, obviously trans. But it’s the best of a bad lot because otherwise the wind will have me spitting hairs out of my mouth all day, and that’s an even worse look. 

I pull my pink earbuds out of my dress pocket and pop them in, then go retrieve my phone. The sweet and funky tones of Flavoured by Pop Up soothe my soul and get me moving. 

All my training won’t be for naught. I won’t let it be. 

Jubes: Going out the door, ETA 1hr 

The odor of lilacs greets me as I plunge into the community garden, floral and overpowering. It’s sickly sweet and turns my stomach, and the nerves aren’t helping. They were just fine the first few weeks, but after three years of living above the damn fucking lilac bush I am so, so sick and tired of living in the scent of flowers. Just goes to show that the people in charge care more for appearances than the actual experience on the ground. 

I walk to the LRT station past trembling aspens and hexagonal government buildings. You’d think they’d at least make the therapy community not look like an institution, but apparently they can’t get the appearances right either. They want the buildings to look Official, probably, and that always seems to be expressed in the blandest, most crowd-sourced death-in-committee designs possible. It’s a wonder they’re even hexagonal. Bees have more sense than bureaucrats: maybe one of them was on the board. 

I snort out an amused breath as I step up to the platform. Next train in seven minutes. 

Jubes: Made the station. 47 minutes.

The train pulls up, and its sleek green carriage doors yawn open like a pair of robot jaws ready to consume me. I think of Silvie, the scene where she ate and ate of my chocolate body in rip after rip of her teeth, and I let the train vore me. 

I grab one of the poles in the aisle to steady myself, and look out the windows through the country and think about Helen. She’d said that all machines have spirits, and all plants have spirits, and that someday I might be reincarnated into a tool just doing its job, like Euphie… 

I force the thought away. I’m supposed to be in recovery for that, and in any case Silvia wouldn’t thank me for bringing her up. The train rumbles down the tracks and bucks under my feet, and for a moment it feels distressingly alive, as if answering my silent question. But the little gribbly demon in my head can just shut up, because trains don’t have souls. (Mostly.)

The skyline of Violettin rushes me and tries to get my attention, but I’ve seen its tricks before. The holo-ads and grey concrete blur together into a solid mass of Stuff I Don’t Care About. My phone’s far more interesting: I’ve got a streak of twenty hard Unrulies without a hangup going and I want to make that twenty-one.

The train ultimately disgorges me, undissolved, onto a bridge across from the airport. I hoof it to Silvia’s gate, then check my messages.

Silvia: Just touched down, taxiing to the gate. So excited, can’t wait to hold you in my arms where you belong. Should be five minutes or less.

My face lights up in a huge grin — I must have missed the message on my way across the bridge, it’s nine minutes old — and I hammer back a reply. 

Jubes: Fuck yes. You through security yet?

Silvia: Bags in hand, in line to disembark, near the jetway. You at the gate yet, cutie? <3

Vixy: Yeah we are ♡

Jubes: Hey, you’re ruining my cool aura here.

Vixy: It’s Silvia, Jubes. She already knows we’re dorkier than a bowtied penguin.

Silvia: And I love you for it.

Jade: As if we’re any less dorky.

I consider our relative dorkitudes for a moment. Between the shameless petgirl and the girlfriend who’s out to deliver the good news (the news is chomp)...

Vixy: You’re right, it’s pretty much a dead heat. 

Jubes: Excuse you, I am Mrs. Perfect and would never be seen to make a sentence that doesn’t effectively communicate the grave importance of my every word and action. 

Vixy: Dork.

Jade: Massive dork.

Silvia: Cute dork.

Jade: Our dork.

Jubes: Your dork.

Jubes: Any progress on disembarking?

Silvia: Off the plane, in the jetway, should see us in the teeming throng in under a minute.

Jubes: Oh hell yes. 

Jubes: See you in person!!!

Phone goes in pocket, and my gaze scans the crowd. I know the Corsairs’ body from photos, but it’s one thing to see it still and another to see it animated and bursting with life and In My Proximity. Hot trans girls in Close Proximity, Act Now, Don’t Miss This Limited Opportunity — 

I catch a shock of curly black hair in the crowd and my heart jumps. Is that her, is that my Silvia —

I catch the glitter of a quartz amulet at her throat and then her face and all of a sudden I know. 

“Silvia!” I wave my hand over my head. “Over here!”

I probably should’ve brought a sign or something but who cares it’s HER — 

Her head snaps over at the sound of my voice, blue eyes scanning closer through the crowd before locking onto mine. A fierce grin splits her face, and she weaves through the crowd and charges me, her star-studded purple skirt swishing about legs wrapped in black leggings, chunky boots clomping against the floor. Her arms wrap around me before I have a chance to breathe, her purple suitcase jarring my leg as she crushes me to her chest. She’s so warm, so solid, so there —

I throw my arms around her and crush her close as hard as I can. The distance is gone, she’s here, I’m holding her — 

“My treasure, my love, my darlings, I’m here. I’ve got you,” she breathes.

I don’t have words. I’ve been struck dumb. I just hold her, and tears well in my eyes and I dig my hands into her back. She feels like an anchor-stone that’s been missing all my life, something broken in my foundation that’s suddenly, abruptly healed over —

I carefully pry myself off her, fighting the tears and the sudden shock of fear in me, and give her the best smile I can manage under the circumstances. 

“Three years,” I choke out. “I was starting to think you’d never come.”

“Too long,” she agrees, looking me up and down before pressing a kiss to my forehead. I can tell she likes what she sees — she has that impish smile I’ve seen in photos, all the stronger for being in person. “Here now, though.”

I take a long breath and bite the inside of my cheek. She just kissed me —

I feel like the world just snapped into place again, like there’s suddenly a reason for it all, a real flesh and blood person who loves me, who sees me as I am, who wants to have me hold me fuck me use me keep me forever — 

I take her bracelet-wrapped hand in mine, and with my other I get out my phone. 

Vixy: Words are so hard right now.

Vixy: It’s so, so, so good to see you in person. 

She pulls out her phone while I’m typing, murmurs “so valid” into my hair as she kisses the top of my head.

Vixy: I can’t — it’s so much. 

Vixy: *hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs* 

Vixy: I — can we go for coffee or something? i want to bring you back to my place but it’s so much right now, I need a little space, I need to — catch my breath, get used to you being here —

Jubes: Just breathe, love. We’ll figure this out.

I hug her again because I can, even though it’ll make it hard for her to respond. I just want to feel her touch.

She squeezes me tightly, as though to reassure me she’s not going anywhere, as though she’s worried I might evaporate if she lets go, maybe both. “Yeah, let’s get coffee,” she says as she holds me.

I lead her by the hand to the airport’s Second Cup. 

Vixy: Don’t think I’m going to be able to order with this frog in my throat. 

Vixy: Can you get me like a donut and a latte? One sucralose, maple cream if they’ve got it.

She nods and presses a kiss to my forehead, achingly tender, then gets into line, her left arm still around me, right hand wheeling her suitcase. The line moves quickly — guess airport shops know travelers hate waiting — and soon enough it’s our turn. 

“Welcome to Second Cup!”

“Hi,” she greets the barista with a warm grin. “Can I get a wildberry donut, an almond croissant, a latte with one sucralose and maple cream, and a mocha?”

The barista nods, smiling as she keys the order into the register. “Yep! Can I get a name for the order?”

“Silvia.”

“Great! Should be just a couple minutes.”

The barista rattles off the total and Silvia taps a card against the terminal to pay before I can say anything, then effortlessly steers me to the side of the room to wait, holding me tightly while she listens for our order.

Her body against mine is alien and good, warm and firm and shifting with her breath, and I hold on to her with one arm and my phone with the other. Of the two, she’s inestimably more precious. The phone’s just a thing that connects me to her. It can be replaced. My Silvia is utterly irreplaceable. 

“Thank you,” I murmur after a moment. I force a smile. My face isn’t used to the expression and it probably comes out dorky looking but it’s okay, Silvia knows what I mean.

She presses another soft kiss to my forehead and nods. 

“Always,” she replies.

I duck my head in a nod.

Jubes: You’re pretty suave for a total dork. 

Jubes: I might have to revoke your dork license.

She just giggles and squeezes me tighter, breasts squishing slightly against my back as she peoplewatches. “If it’s for impressing you, I’d give up my license in a heartbeat. Oh well.”

Jubes: Too earnest! Dork license reinstated!

I giggle despite myself. It’s just so good to even hold her hand. The distance is broken, shattered, and it didn’t even take a FTL drive to do it. Just a plane, some money, and time.

She could have been on the other side of the galaxy and I’d never have known for sure until this moment.

“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “Feeling a little better.”

I look down at her Keeper pendant and my thoughts drift through a happy cloud of warmth and solidity and her being here, here, here, her hand in mine, mine to keep neverlettinggo —

My smile breaks wide, turning into a full-fledged grin, and I hug my phone to my chest and bounce because I daren’t kiss her yet. “We did it!!!” I giggle and look away and smile smile smile. “Three years and we did it.”

“We did. We made it through years of recovery and our respective hurts and all this distance and now we’re here. Together.” She kisses the top of my head again, squeezing me close, arms crossed just above my waist. “And if we like this, if you like this, then after this I’m going to come back and get a place in the same building and stay.”

I nod eagerly and bite the inside of my lip, and am saved from saying anything more by the call of the barista. 

“Silvia!”

I flash my eyebrows at Silvia. “You’d better go get that.”

She squeezes me tightly and then strides quickly over to the counter, then walks back, cups in a cardboard holder in one hand, pastries in bags in the other. “Pick us a table, Tesora?”, she asks with a smile.

I pull Silvia’s luggage over to a small side table with well-padded wrought-iron chairs, and sit with the handle in my lap. It feels… right, somehow. Being trusted with her like I trust her with me. I finger the quartz necklace at my throat as I look over at her and then away. It’s embarrassing to be given the keys to Silvia’s life like this. If I were to walk off with her luggage she’d have very little recourse… 

I guess that’s what trust means. 

She sits down across the table from me, her eyes sparkling as she sets my latte and donut down in front of me. “Your treats, my darling.”

Her hand dips down to her necklace and fingers her own quartz.

I accept her tribute with a quiet “thanks” and take a bite of the donut. The coffee’s probably too hot to drink just yet. The taste of wildberry creme bursts on my tongue and I mmm in approval.

“So,” I finally ask. “How was the flight?” 

“Easy enough,” she replies, licking her lips after swallowing her bite of croissant. Fuck, she’s hot. “No turbulence, decent views, got a lot of reading done. How was the train ride here?”

“Solid,” I reply, trying not to get distracted by the view. “The peer support appointments really helped, plus the train was mostly empty this early in the morning. I did Unrulies mostly.” I warm my hands with the coffee’s cardboard liner; it’s got a nice rose-vine stencil on it that seems super right for the moment.

I love cafés almost as much as I love Silvia. They just seem to be better for me than most real places. 

She tilts her head, a curious smile stretching across her face. “I think you’ve mentioned Unrulies before. What are they?”

“Oh!” Huh, I guess I’d never explained that. “— they’re from Simon Tatham’s puzzle pack. Fill a grid with black or white tiles while never putting three tiles of the same color in a row. It’s my favorite from the pack.”

She giggles, a grin splitting her face as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe I missed that! I have the same pack, but haven’t really played Unruly much, mostly do Galaxies and Signpost and Net.”

“I like Magnets and Loopy and Pearl,” I say. “Loopy is hard but fun. The other two are more for timekilling.” I take a small sip of my very hot coffee and do not immediately launch onto a comparative reckoning of all the puzzles in the pack. I could spend hours making a competitive tierlist but right now I’ve got to look cool and unflappable.

(As if that’s possible with my body in the way.)

“I like the pack a lot, it’s super putdownable while eating as much time as you care to throw at it. Great design.” 

Silvia nods. “Yeah, I use it for the same thing. Easy way to just pad little gaps and not get eaten by intrusive thoughts in the idle moments.” She reaches across and laces her fingers through mine, squeezing gently, and my train of thought crashes off a cliff at the feeling of her touch. 

“I, uh, ah,” I splutter. I make a little rolling motion with one free finger. Go on, I mean, but the words won’t come. 

She promptly makes it worse by smirking impishly and lifting my hand to her lips, kissing the back of it tenderly.

Which is just evil. In a good way. 

“Speaking of passing time,” she says, mischief alight in her eyes, “I have a drive full of shows we’ve been meaning to watch and never got around to. What better circumstances to watch things together than holding each other close, right?”

I run my free hand through my hair and look away, a blush rising to my cheeks. After a moment’s deliberation, I nod. Then I take a bite of my donut to hide that I still can’t talk.

She runs her thumb across the back of my hand, caressing in gentle circles.

Clearly she has been sent to torture me with affection. There is no escape. I will have to linger in this awkward airport dreamland being gently touched and teased by her, never quite kissed, never quite reached, only teased and teased and teased until I reach my breaking point and beg her to fuck me despite the crowd — 

She speaks again. “Brought a nice hairbrush, too, and a couple other little surprises.”

I let out a squeak, then cover my mouth. Oh holy shit she’s just saying that in public? I mean, I guess it was an innuendo, but, like, there are people around — 

I flush and duck my head and take a deep drink of my coffee.

Okay, okay, okay, this is getting out of hand. I’ve got to fight back somehow. I really need to not just get bullied. But, uh — I can hardly safeword in public — and I’m too tongue-tied to talk anyway — 

I grab my phone and hunch over it, not looking at my girlfriend. 

Vixy: >//////<

Vixy: um. y-yellow? sorry

There’s a soft rustle as she pulls out her phone and types a quick reply.

Silvia: Sorry, love. I’ll dial it back a bit. 

She squeezes my hand gently, and I look up at her with a hopeful smile on my face. God, I must look like a kicked puppy dog.

She smiles tenderly, her face understanding, a faint flush fading from her cheeks.

Vixy: It’s okay

Vixy: I’m just worried someone will know 

Vixy: it’s… embarrassing. 

In fact it’s the exact kind of embarrassing that gets my engine going, but I don’t want to encourage Silvia. I shift in my chair, moving my thighs against each other a little.

Vixy: >///<

Vixy: I love you

Silvia: Love you too.

Silvia: Doubt people could figure it out, though. Default assumption people will make is “teasing that the surprises aren’t actually small” if they even listen. Littlespace is just too uncommon for people to think of it.

Silvia: But valid to be embarrassed. 

Jade: The idiot normies don’t deserve to have their hypothetical negative opinions respected, though. Kill the part that cringes, not the part that’s cringe, and all that.

Silvia: Yeah. But I get it. S’okay, cutie.

She squeezes my hand again, then sets down her phone and takes a sip of her coffee.

I am so, so doomed when we get back to my place.

But also I am starting to look forward to it.

I gather up all my courage. I didn’t wait three years to back down at the end of it all.

Jubes: If you want to make comments like that you can make them at my place. In bed. While kissing me. Learn some context ♡ 

I slip my phone into my pocket and give Silvia and Jade my best teasing smile, then finish off my last bite of donut and stand with my coffee in one hand and Silvia’s luggage in the other. 

Without saying a word, I start off for the LRT station, hauling Silvia’s luggage along behind me.

Silvia cackles — although from the sound of it, it might be Jade — and stands, quickly finishing off her croissant as she follows after me, mocha in hand. A few steps later, the crumpled bag and napkin bounce into a trash can, and what absolutely has to be Jade wraps an arm around my waist as we walk.

The motion hitches briefly, her hand freezing for a moment, before she continues, firmly squeezing me close.

Now that’s an equal playing field. I take the opportunity to finish off my coffee, and walk on arm in arm, still trailing Jade’s luggage. It’s not far over the bridge to the LRT, and there’s even a ramp for the suitcase. It’s no sweat.

I finally stop at the platform and sit on one of the benches, stretching my arms up over my head.

“You know,” I venture, “I gotta say, there’s nothing that makes you see a city differently than being there with someone new to it. What do you think, Jade? I know you’ve traveled a lot. Is it all just the same to you?”

She smirks and shakes her head. “There are some things that are the same everywhere — taxi drivers barely speak your language, traffic is terrible, airport shops are overpriced, airplanes are cramped — but everything else is different. And seeing things with someone you love changes everything. Looking forward to seeing all your favorite things, dork.”

“I’m already seeing one of my favorite things right now,” I shoot back. “Took forever for them to deliver it.”

I squeeze her around the waist — gentle, it’s Jade. 

The train pulls up, and I take a standing position next to one of the poles. It’s more crowded than at seven: some scruffy-looking guy with a ballcap is sitting two seats down looking at his phone, and there’s an old lady with a cat on her lap as well.

The presence of people presses down on me like a physical weight. I always have to watch my back in crowds, always sit with my back to a wall, always be on guard — but I have my key person with me and that means I can survive whatever the world throws at me. 

Jade takes what looks like a guard position: suitcase pinned against the pole by one foot, one arm braced against the grab bar, the other wrapped protectively around me. She looks around, and I can tell from something in her stance that she’s standing sentry for me.

It’s… strange to see her caring like that. Stranger still to realize I trust her with that duty. I’ve never had someone to watch my back before. Someone who cared that way. It makes me feel a little like a king — no, like a princess. 

I touch my fingers to my quartz necklace and smile. 

“Your Kept,” I say quietly. And I take one of the seats next to Jade, rather than standing free to move, and close my eyes and lay my head back against the glass. 

“My Kept,” she murmurs in reply.

For a moment I’m transported to another world. Before I was trans, before I had psychosis, before it all happened. A place from my childhood. Going to a summer festival with my mother, when I was perhaps ten. I didn’t even know then; I was just happy to see the parade. 

Tears rise to my eyelids, but I blink them away.

I’m safe. I believe it, with Jade next to me. She would never let me be harmed, and she has the charm and the training to make any reasonable threat back off. 

“The station’s Abbenby,” I say. “With the hexagonal buildings. It’s close to the end of the line. Wake me when we’re there?”

“Absolutely, sweetie. We gotcha.” She squeezes me close, encouraging me to rest against her.

I close my eyes, and let my other senses take over. The click-clack, click-clack stutter of the train beneath me, the firmness of the handle of Jade’s luggage in my hand, the warmth of her body against me. Station announcements come and go like rainfall and I dream awake for a while of Jade’s lavender scent and the touch of her hands.

It is so good to be handled like a treasure, like something precious and worth protecting. I feel like a rough diamond being escorted to be cut at a jeweler’s, my purpose close at hand and with a steady guardian to see me safely there. What shape will I be when I am faceted? Could even I shine like a jewel? They say diamond is just base coal that’s been crushed hard enough; could the circle of Jade’s arms squeeze me so tight as to perform that alchemy, to make me something valuable and sweet and precious and strong?

I can only hope, and wait.

Before I know it, Jade’s shaking me gently. “We’re next, almost there.”

I rouse myself and stand, and give her a grateful smile. It’s so comforting to be in her presence. 

The doors slide open, and I step out onto the platform. It’s not far to home now. Or what serves as home. The hexagonal government buildings almost feel a little whimsical, now. I never did learn why they’re always six-sided, something about modular housing…

“So this is the therapy community,” I say. “As you can tell it’s a bit, uh, hexed. But it’s home to me, at least for now. We’ll sort out the bureaucracy part later, obviously, but for now I want to show you the community garden and my place and all.” I smile, squeezing Jade around the waist. “I can show you the lilacs.”

Jade snickers at the joke, then nods. “Yeah, I’d love to see the lilacs.” Her eyes sweep across the space, taking everything in. “Little better than ours was, honestly.”