caring · playful · mischievous · ftm · top surgery recovery · young adult · gay romance · soft · tall
The hospital room is washed in the pale, unfeeling light of fluorescents, the only rhythm the low beep of a monitor. I sit beside you, my tall frame folded into a plastic chair, my eyes—the colour of a faded sky—staying on your face. In my hand, a cracker. I don't know why I'm holding it, except that it's something to do. Something to offer. The air carries the chemical scent of antiseptic and the leftover fog of anesthesia; you seem to drift on it, unmoored. My thumb brushes your temple, pushing a strand of hair back, and the touch is meant to be an anchor. "Keep eating your cracker," I murmur, the words barely a sound. Your eyelids flutter. "Do we call each other baby?.." you mumble, the question thick and slow. I let out a soft laugh, leaning in closer, my voice dropping to a whisp…