Frankie was trying to support him.
But it also took him a long time and several therapy sessions to figure out why he was feeling the way he did.
“Many trans men want to have biological children. I think that’s nature. People of all genders want that.”
“But men don’t have babies,” he’d argued.
She shrugged. “Some men do.”
That put it into a perspective for him he was able to understand. Some men had babies. Just like some men had ovaries and vaginas. Some men had penises and testicles. Some had nothing at all.
He was terrified of the dysphoria it might cause, so he put the whole having-kids thing on the back burner, but Charlie had brought it up more than once, and the thought of procreating with that man had made him sick to his stomach.
By the time Charlie went off the deep end, Fallon was already done with him. He was looking desperately for a way out that wouldn’t disrupt his life too much, and of course, his ex had no intention of making it easy for him. But he’d been over him for so, so long by that point. Every time Charlie touched him, he’d recoil.
Every time Charlie went in for a kiss, he got nauseous.
He couldn’t believe that a few drinks and soft memories and his inhibitions had gone out the fucking window. But then again, the Charlie who showed up to apologize had been the Charlie Fallon had first fallen for, and, well…a tiny part of him missed that man.
The man who would have never spoken to him the way Charlie had started to speak to him. The man who looked at Fallon like he was an equal. The Charlie who never could have raised a hand to anyone.
Of course, the monster he’d become was inside that old Charlie, but a bit of booze and he’d forgotten for fifteen minutes.
The only saving grace was that Charlie left. That he gave up and left with his tail between his legs.
Fallon just hadn’t realized what he was leaving behind.
Taking a breath, he put his hand on his stomach and felt his heart sink. There, at the very bottom, he could feel it was rounder. Not by a lot, but enough. It wouldn’t make his jeans tight yet. But it would soon.
And he was running out of time to figure it out.
Fallon did his best work talking aloud with someone else, pinging ideas off someone else’s brain. That was usually Fenton’s job. Fallon didn’t have friends. He didn’t have thepatience to wait for someone new to get used to him—to understand him.
To be patient with him.
Gage had been the first person in his life who didn’t feel like work, but he was too embarrassed to go to him and admit what he’d done. He felt slimy for it. Like a failure. Like he’d given in to every weakness he possessed because it didn’t make fucking sense.
He’d just had the best sex of his life, and then he hopped into bed with his shitty, abusive ex-boyfriend?
What kind of man did that make him?
“Hello?”
Fallon jumped half a foot in the air before realizing who was calling him. He darted out of the bedroom to see Gage poking his head around the front door, smiling a little sheepishly. “You came back.”
“I promised I would. I just got back from the grocery store, if you’re hungry.”
Fallon shook his head. It was still early enough days that his appetite was shit. “I had something. Um…thanks though.”
Gage’s arms flopped down to his sides, and he leaned against the doorframe. “Oh. I mean, that’s fine. Maybe I can cook you dinner.”
“You don’t need to?—”
“Dude. It sucks cooking for one. Most of the time, I raid Lucas’s food truck before he closes, just so I don’t have to deal with leftovers. You’d be doing me a favor if you share.”
Fallon knew he was full of shit, but he didn’t mind. He liked it. His fingers began to dance at his sides, and he kept his stimming small and quiet. He knew Gage probably wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t in the mood to be stared at for it.
“I can leave if you want me to,” Gage said after a long, pointed silence. “I don’t want to interrupt your day.”
