He looks male, although he wasn’t born that way. It’s a
strong face. Square jaw, high, Slavic cheekbones giving warning that English is
not his first language; although he speaks it very well, only occasionally
slipping in words that should be, but
strangely aren’t. Like ‘discomfortable’. He’s had a discomfortable life.

He is tall for a trans guy. And blessed with broad shoulders,
although he still tends to hunch them after years of trying to hide the hated
breasts he bound so tightly he could barely breathe. Getting rid of them was
the best day of his life, once testosterone had lowered his voice and given him
the muscles he’d had to work so hard for before. You’ve never seen someone so
happy with a surgical drain still in place.

His biggest fear is of failing to ‘pass’ as male. That
someone will notice his chest is a little narrow, his hips a little wide, and
decide that they know more about him from that one judgemental glance than he
knows from having lived inside his own head all his life. People can be
stupidly cruel. As if it’s a crime to try to make your outside match your
inside. As if being transgender is something anyone would choose.

His eyes are blue, and so beautiful it’s an effort to never
use the word to him. ‘Gorgeous’ is safe. ‘Handsome’ is better, but you can’t
have ‘handsome’ eyes, can you? His eyes are beautiful.

It would have been his birthday today.