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...It’s the middle of the day and almost nothing spectacular is happening. Pedro’s stretched across the couch with a book in his hand, holding up in the air since his boredom overtook his interest in the reading material.
You have been shuffling behind him, behind the couch, for at least 20 minutes.
There are enough things around you to look busy, from checking your phone to folding the pile of laundry you’ve been looking at for what felt like hours.
You can just… go up to him, right? Sit next to Pedro… and talk?
Maybe you won’t talk, maybe not. Maybe you could just sit down, he’d put an arm around you as he usually did and all your fears would melt away. You could watch some TV.
Pedro loves you, he does. You know he does, but there’s something about rescinding into your own mind for long enough that can nearly convince you otherwise.
Eventually you just… go up to him. Heavy hearted, maybe, but his proximity lets you breathe a little more. As does his smile.
Almost as soon as you’re in his eyesight his book falls to the floor. Not very graciously, but it lands flat on the rug and then his hand reaches out to you.
“Hey, hon.” It’s accompanied with his sweetest, most familiar smile. That bright smile that makes you keen into him no matter what time of day it is, no matter how you feel. And the way his fingertips dance along your arm make you warm up just a little more.
“Mm. Mind if I sit?” You ask him sweetly, but not with as much of a smile as usual. He doesn’t really notice for his own happiness to be with you in his arms.
“You can sit anywhere you like.” He’s still grinning, tugging on your wrist ever so slightly to match his flirty quip. Those same actions that have you falling into his arms every day, all the time.
He shuffles into a sitting position when he sees you gunning for the other end of the couch.
“Um… c-can we talk?” You try to look at him when you talk, you really do, but even without any tears your vision feels unfocused, and your eyes can barely find their way to his t-shirt.
“What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up properly almost immediately, leaning close to you and holding a hand out, but not quite touching. There’s definitely panic in his eye, not quite urgent but atleast a begging, softening, loving look in his eye- and it’s everything about him you already love.
“I just, erm, I-I wanted to talk.” The words do not come to you as easily as you thought they would- they dry up in your throat and your whole self feels shaky as you try to find whatever it is you wanted to say. Needed to say, the right way to say it.
With your breaths, the way you won’t make eye contact, Pedro’s body practically seizes up with whatever it could be.
He would never, ever want to assume the worst in you, but he feels so rejected from your presence that he almost starts to think you’ve cheated on him. But you wouldn’t, right? Everything he knows about you says that you’d never do such a thing, and he can’t even really think of a time you’ve left the house recently that he didn’t know the reason for.
Would you… would you break up with him? H-he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong recently, can’t think of anything even feeling off between you in the past few days. Few weeks. Few… ever.
“C-can I hug you?” He asks after a moment, his heart beating a little out of rhythm from how much you seem to be hiding your body from him. Both your hands between your legs, head slightly down.
You lift your eyes to see him, only a little, and the sight of his worrying eyes while you’re feeling so exposed could almost make you burst out crying.
“Um, yeah.” You pause, still looking at him. “Please.”
His arms wrap around you instantly, his own body moving into you rather than pulling you into him- just.. comforting you where you are.
There’s a familiarity to how his arm wraps around the back of you, the other hand reaching down to hold your own, his head nuzzling into your shoulder from the side.
When his hand reaches your own, you can’t help but grip it tightly and let out a deep breath. Pedro loves you, and you love him. You love each other. You understand each other.
You don’t make an effort to say anything for a few moments, just thinking silently and revelling in his embrace, just as he does to you.
“I love you, P. So much.” You whisper, volume raising ever so slightly as the words tumble out.
“Yeah?” He says in his own quiet voice. “So- you’re not about to break up with me?”
The smallest hint of amusement is barely heard, and you make a noise to signal a no.
“Don’t wanna lose you. Ever.” You mumble, and your heart can’t help but flutter as you say it despite the tension of your current state.
Pedro’s heartbeat just about starts to fall again, and he can’t help but grip you tighter and kiss your cheek in reassurance.
“You can tell me anything. Anything at all. I love you.”
You hum at his words, relaxing into his arms more and more each second. He’s perfect, you love him. It’s just you and him. Partners.
“Y-you, erm…” You pause still, even if the words are right there. You have them, you just… realise that once you’ve said them, they’re real. “Y’know how everyone is born either a girl or a boy? A-and not everyone wants to stick to that?”
His grip tightens around you again, and he places the most delicate of kisses on your shoulder.
“Yeah, I do.”
You let out another deep breath.
“I think about it. All the time. I can barely stop thinking about it. It just feels so-” You pause, it’s not right. “I started having dreams about being non-binary. N-not just a girl, or a boy, just sort of… neutral. And it made me feel so happy.”
You clutch onto Pedro’s hands, just wanting to stay in that moment for just a second longer because- yes, that’s what I want to be. I’m going to be that person.
“Hm.” There’s only one small noise, a hum, as Pedro buries his head in your neck for just a second longer as if he’s sniffing you. “Okay, baby. Thank you for telling me.”
And he pulls away, only very slightly, his heart itching to hold your face in his hands as he looks at the person he loves. To kiss you once more, knowing that there’s some weight off your shoulders that’s been holding you down for however long. That something, something that seems so easy for him to change in his mind about you, might make you infinitely more comfortable in yourself. Every day.
And that’s what he does, slipping one hand just under your chin to lift your head to face him, letting your eyes meet his again, even if yours still look a little hesitant. Your eyes still full of endless love.
“Is that okay?” You can’t help but ask, even if he’s smiling at you with his softer smile, the smile you see in the mornings when he just wakes up. Maybe your favourite smile of all.
“Is it okay?” He repeats incredulously, but careful not to laugh at your words. “Of course it’s okay, the most okay thing in the world. All I want is for you to be happy. To be… you .”
He finishes with a cheesy look, and you just nod at him in a gracious thanks for lack of words you have for him. All you can feel is adoration.
And then his other hand comes up to your face so he can pull you in for a kiss.
Any kiss with Pedro could make you fall apart, but this one felt so particularly soft you whined into it instantly. He was always so soft .
After the kiss you lean into him, falling back on the couch into a warm, comforting hug. It’s perfect. This time your head buries itself in his neck, his hand on your hand, the other on your waist.
“Mm. I love you.” You mumble happily, kissing gently on his neck. Just a peck.
“I love you.” He repeats back, grinning up to the ceiling. “I’m sure that was hard for you to say, but I don’t want you to ever worry about telling me something like that ever again. It would never change how I see you.”
You whisper an okay to him, just as he speaks again. “I mean, um, except for how I see you… gender-wise?”
The question in his words makes you laugh slightly, and then you lift yourself up to kiss him on the nose. “You’re perfect. I love you.”
And then you drop yourself back into his shoulder before he can kiss you properly.
“Would you just like to use they and them pronouns now?” He asks after a moment of embracing, the words softly spoken in the air. Like the conversation is so easy.
As it should be, you remind yourself, and it makes you infinitely more comfortable.
“Um… I-I was actually thinking I would like any of them. They, she, he, I think I’d like them all. Just maybe not ‘she’ all of the time?” He nods, and then verbalises his agreement when he realises you can’t see him properly.
“A-are there times I should use each of them? Like on different days or-“
“No. More like… just whenever. Use all of them, even in the same sentence if you like. It’s more that the words don’t matter to me, rather liking a particular one.” He hums again, taking on your words generously when he senses hesitance in your voice.
(He makes a mental note to try and find some books on gender, something that’ll help him understand more and as much as he can.)
“Got any more questions? I don’t mind answering them, makes me feel a little better, actually. To say it, to share it with you.” Then he twists his head slightly to kiss you on the cheek, a kiss that makes you blush brightly like a teenager and their boyfriend.
“What about ‘girlfriend’?” He asks, quietly still like you’re sharing a secret conversation, even if you’re the only two people in the apartment.
“Hm, no. Maybe something neutral like ‘partner’. I didn’t really like ‘girlfriend’ anyway, feels a little…”
“Unserious?” He finishes for you, and you agree with a quick snuggle into him.
There’s another word that comes to Pedro’s mind, fiancé , but now is most definitely not time for a proposal.
…Maybe in a few weeks. So you’re comfortable and he’s not infringing on your moment. The ring’s already in his cabinet, anyway.
“Terms of endearment?”
“I think I’d be devastated if you ever stopped calling me sweet things.” You hum, and he chuckles sweetly.
“Y’know, I really like it when you call me handsome. Makes me feel like a little kid getting his photo taken.”
“You gonna call me handsome, P?” You say after a giggle, running a hand across his chest over his shirt.
“If you’d like it.” His voice is teasing, dripping with it, as a hand tightens on your hip.
You hide your face away from him. “...Maybe.”
“Okay, guapo .”