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Neil Josten loves his wife. It is a universal truth.
They've been named as Cutest Couple in nearly every gossip magazine who makes listicles of celebrity couples when there are a million more pertinent things to talk about. Neil and Amy Josten are “gorgeous, inspiring, fit, edible, inseparable” and many more adjectives that Neil thinks shouldn’t apply to people. In the spare bed room of their apartment, there’s a collage stuck on the wall with clear tape of every time they’ve been mentioned as a couple in the tabloids. They both think its unbearably stupid, yet, every time they’re out Amy ends up tossing another magazine with their pictures splashed across it into the cart with a snort.
Neil thinks its stupid he’s considered the pinnacle of husbandhood for treating his wife with basic respect. He gets a hundred tweets a day along the lines of “I just want to be loved the way Neil loves Amy” when he just loves and respects her, and knows she’s a million times out of his league. His chest is marred with scars of a rough childhood, he’s short, crass, and a bit of a trouble maker; while she’s all long blonde hair and pale skin with sharp amber eyes and eye catching sleeves of tattoos hiding a history of survival. He doesn’t dwell on it, they love each other that's all that matters.
Which is why he’s so startled to find Amy crying in their spare bedroom, clutching a picture of them at the Met Gala three years ago, dressed to the nines and smiling softly at each other. Amy never cries.
“Ames, babe, are you okay?” Neil asks. Andrew can tell he’s worried, his voice is all high and hesitant. Fuck.
He wipes his eyes quickly, as if Neil hasn’t already noticed the tears by now. He looks down at the picture of herself. Himself. He grinds his teeth together, he he he, he doesn’t have to be cruel to himself. He knows he looks beautiful in the picture he’s crushing between his fingers, he had felt beautiful that night. The green dress had fit like a glove with floating layers of flowers and butterflies surrounding him. He somewhat wishes it was as simple as then that he could go about his life without feeling like his own body was betraying him.
“Ames?”
Andrew clears his throat. “We need to talk,” he says, turning to face Neil. Once, he would have easily said his husband; but Neil wasn’t his husband, he was her husband. He married Amy on that beach in California with their friends and tolerable foster family members years ago, Amy in the floating little white dress being the happiest she had ever been.
He sees the dart of fear go through Neil but he nods. He drops onto the edge of the desk, tucking his feet under his thighs. He looks at Andrew earnestly, and Andrew can’t help but think he’s looking at Amy.
Andrew knows Neil thinks this is him finally saying they should divorce. Neil, surprisingly, had been the one hesitant about marriage when they tied the knot at eighteen and nineteen, fresh out of foster care. Andrew had proposed, in the loosest terms: they had been eating ice cream on the pier, their relationship still figuring out how to be romantic after years of being platonic, and announced they should get married so they could never be separated. Neil had worried Andrew -Amy- would come to regret it later, when they were mature. A lot has changed for Andrew since then, for both of them really, but through everything Andrew has loved Neil. He loves Neil so much it baffles him. He was never supposed to love anyone.
“Ames?” Neil asks once more.
Andrew wonders how long he’s been staring into space. He slips his hand under his t-shirt, running his finger across taut abs from years of exy and the gym. “I want you to stop calling me that.”
Neil blinks. “Okay?”
“Great,” he snaps.
Neil worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Amy, what’s all this about?”
Andrew takes a deep breath. He is a guy, his name is Andrew, he gets to have this. “I want to start going by he,” he takes a deep breath ,“and him. I am a man; I am not a girl, I am not Amy.”
Neil does not stand up and storm out of the room, or throw the cup of pens six inches to his left, or start yelling and cursing. He just stares, contemplatively, a little crease between his eyebrows. “Have you...picked a new name?”
Now, Andrew blinks. “Andrew. Andrew Doe.”
Neil frowns at that. He stands up, unfolding to his full 5’3” height, and crosses his arms. “Do you want me to leave?” He looks so confused, Andrew’s heart clenches. He wonders if this is as hard for Neil as it is for him.
“What? No!” Andrew blurts, his eyebrows shooting up. He absolutely does not want Neil to go. His ponytail brushes the back of his neck at the movement and feels a burst of white hot frustration and discomfort. He grabs his hair and twists it into a messy bun.
“But you hate Doe, you hated being called that,” Neil points out. He uncrosses and recrosses his arms. “Your name is Josten.”
Andrew blows out a breath and shrugs. “You’re gonna leave anyways, and without you I don’t have any other name.”
Neil scoffs. He covers his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, sorry. What I mean is: I’m not going anywhere. You are Andrew Josten, my husband. Till death do us part, remember? No returns, no take backs.”
Andrew remembers making those promises to each other on the pier when they got engaged. He thinks he might start crying again. He doesn’t cry. He hasn’t cried since he was a child, since before he knew Neil. “Yeah, yeah I know. But…” he trails off and waves his hands around.
Neil waits.
Andrew sighs.
They’ve always had their half-fights and conversations like this. Sighing and waiting until they figured out how to be functional human beings and communicate.
“I’m not going to be a girl, not the girl you married, never again.”
Neil keeps waiting.
“I’m a man now.”
Neil nods. “This is going to make you happy? Bring you back?”
Andrew scowls, what does that even mean? He asks as much.
“I know you’ve been having more bad days, been feeling off more, these last… two years?” Andrew nods. “Right, these last two years. I just couldn’t figure out what it was. But you figured it out. You’re a guy, so we’re gonna fix this, and then you’ll feel better, be you again, that’s all that matters.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Fix this?”
Neil nods, he’s got that look in his eye. He has an idea and he’s going to follow it. Fix it, though?
“Mhm.” Neil starts pacing up and down the room, parallel to the collage of all their magazine pictures. “I mean I don’t know a lot about this stuff but a haircut, new clothes, hormones maybe, that stuff.”
Andrew’s eyes well and the tears spill over.
Neil looks like he stepped on a puppy. “Oh hey, Am-Andrew, I’m sorry. Can I touch you?”
Andrew nods. Neil comes over and envelopes him in a tight hug. Andrew’s head falls into the crook of Neil's neck, his hands draping around his waist.
“I love you,” Neil whispers, “I love you. I always told you I don’t swing, but that’s not true, I swing for you. This is who you are and I love it.”
“Our entire life is going to change,” Andrew whispers into Neil’s skin.
Neil shrugs. “Oh well, I’ll still have you and the cats. If they fire you, I’ll quit. We’ll live off our money and be recluses.”
Andrew laughs waterily. He pulls Neil tighter to his chest, ignoring the pang in his chest as he feels his breasts against Neil’s chest. All that matters in that moment is Neil, that Neil loves him.
“Do you want me to pick up ziti from your favorite Italian place?” Neil asks softly.
Andrew makes a sound that sounds vaguely like a sob. “Yes,” he says shakily.
Andrew is sleeping in their bed, wearing a pair of Neil’s boxers and a black t-shirt. Neil can’t sleep, he tried, but it evaded him.
He sits with his back against the headboard, the cats in his lap, in the darkness, studying Andrew. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, everything was knotted in his chest, as per usual, but in a more present way.
He knows, innately, that he still loves Andrew. No, not still, just loves. He knew it would be difficult, he knew that he would slip up (he called Andrew ‘Amy’ once during dinner and felt so bad he apologized thirty times, which only made everyone more frustrated), but that it was worth it. He knows Andrew is the same person he married, just a truer version. And that’s all that matters.
Andrew rolls over and Neil stares, taking advantage of him being asleep to stare without snarky comments. It was strange, connecting the face that was so familiarly Amy to Andrew, but Neil knew he would figure it out, get over it. He loves Andrew, that’s all that matters.
Neil wakes up with Andrew wrapped around him like a koala, staring at him owlishly.
“Morning love,” Andrew says.
For a second Neil almost doesn’t remember. It’s like every other morning when Amy would say the same thing, look at Neil the same way. But he does remember, that’s his husband.
“Morning husband,” Neil says. Usually he would say, morning darling, but it doesn’t feel like a fit anymore. Andrew beams, truly beams, at Neil when he says that, and it's all worth it. Neil Josten loves his husband. It is a universal truth.