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After doing up the buttons of her coat, Satine checks her appearance in the mirror one final time and tries not to scowl at her reflection. When Christian had suggested they go away over the holidays to a snow-covered resort, Satine had imagined their activities would involve less bundling up to venture out into the cold and more having sex by the fireplace or in the hot tub. But Christian has expressed an interest in a few outdoor activities—and there has certainly been enough fucking to keep her satisfed—so Satine could hardly tell him no when today he’d asked if they could walk around to look at all of the holiday lights and decor once it got dark. Satine doesn’t mind going if it makes Christian happy; her problem is that a coat does very little for her figure and once they’re back in their cabin she’s going to have hat hair.
“I’m ready to go whenever you are,” Christian says, knowing better than to rush Satine or to ask if she’s done yet when she’s getting dressed to go out.
Satine frowns slightly at herself in the mirror. At least her makeup looks fine (for now) and that’s probably as good as she’s going to get for this particular venture. “I’m ready,” she tells Christian, grabbing her black gloves that match her black hat out of her bag and storing them in her pocket until they go outside, trying to mask her displeasure at the thought of not being able to feel Christian’s skin against hers when they’re walking around. “But you aren’t,” Satine remarks, turning to face Christian and finding him lacking appropriate winter gear for the weather. “Where’s your hat? And your gloves?”
Christian shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I decided I don’t need them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you need them,” Satine says, slightly exasperated. If she has to look less than her best due to bundling up for the weather then so should he. Satine isn’t feeling particularly enthusiastic about this outing and the sooner they can get back into the warmth of their room and she can start stripping off layers, the better. When this only seems to make Christian curl in on himself, Satine makes a conscious effort to soften her tone. I can do this for Christian, she reminds herself. It is going to be cold and I do look awful but it’ll make him happy and that’s what matters. “I don’t want you to freeze, love. You can always take them off if you get too warm but you should at least bring them.” Satine doubts that will happen but maybe this will appease Christian’s sudden resistance to wearing what he needs to wear.
“I can’t,” Christian mumbles, staring at the floor. “I forgot to pack them,” he adds quickly before he stands and walks over to the door. “Can we just go now? Please?”
Satine frowns, brow furrowing. “You didn’t forget them—you were wearing them yesterday when we went ice skating, remember?” Despite the activity being his idea, Christian was atrocious at remaining upright on his skates. Still, he was a good sport about it, laughing so hard every time he fell that it was difficult to help pull him back upright. And he looked so sweet with his red cheeks and his eyes sparkling underneath his messy bangs and pink hat which kept slipping off his head every time he took a tumble to the ground. “Did you misplace them when we got back? I can help you look for them if so.”
“I—I meant—those are still wet from yesterday so they’ll only make me colder. And I know you told me to pack more but I forgot to do that.” Christian’s head is ducked in embarrassment—his shoulders hunched up practically to his ears—and his current posture makes Satine sad; as if she could ever be upset at him for being forgetful. Someone in his history must’ve—his family, perhaps—because he gets so ashamed every time, but it hardly seems like something to berate him for. “I know I’ll be cold but that’s my own fault. So can we—”
“You don’t have to be. You should have just told me you needed more, darling,” Satine interrupts him gently, walking over to her suitcase and beginning to dig through it once more. “I have some things you can wear and I’m more than happy to share.”
Christian’s head jerks up. “Really?” He asks hopefully.
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Satine says easily, locating another scarf, hat, and gloves. She carries them over to Christian and holds them out, confused when he doesn’t take them.
“Could I have the ones you’re wearing instead?” Christian asks tentatively.
Typically Satine would give Christian just about anything he wants with very few exceptions, but, “If we do that I’ll have to change. These ones will clash with the rest of my outfit,” Satine explains, gesturing to her red coat.
She knows Christian doesn’t want to wait for her to put together another outfit but he still hesitates to take the proffered clothing which means something must really be bothering him about these. “I don’t think they’ll fit me. Your hands are smaller.”
“But you think the ones I’m wearing will fit differently?” Satine questions dubiously, confused as to why he’s making so many excuses.
Christian only shrugs. Satine holds them out again but rather than taking them, Christian shoves his hands into his pockets as if he’s afraid to touch them, his eyes downcast.
“What’s the matter with these?” Satine presses, trying not to let Christian’s inexplicable yet adamant avoidance of wearing her spare clothing hurt her feelings.
Christian shifts his weight from foot to foot, his cheeks coloring slightly. Satine waits him out and is eventually rewarded with an answer. “They’re pink.”
Satine thinks on that for a moment but—not coming to any obvious reasons that would be an issue—says, “So what? You like pink. The ones you were wearing yesterday were pink, and you looked very cute in them.”
To Satine’s horror, this seems to make Christian’s eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want—I mean, I’m not—I shouldn’t want—I don’t—” Christian seems to stumble over his words, fighting valiantly to keep his tears at bay.
Satine’s chest squeezes tight with guilt. “Did I say something wrong?” She asks quickly.
Christian stands there taking deep, labored breaths, his emotions threatening to overwhelm, fidgeting agitatedly with the rest of his clothing. When he next speaks, it isn’t an answer to her question at all. “They aren’t—I can’t wear those—they aren’t going to fit, they aren’t—they aren’t right or—”
“Here,” Satine offers, trying to help soothe Christian before he can get too worked up, “I’ll find yours from yesterday and we’ll throw them in the dryer. How’s that?”
“You don’t—”
“I don’t mind.”
Christian still shakes his head no but Satine decides to look for his clothes regardless in case he changes his mind and wants them once he’s calmed down. She goes into the bathroom to check if Christian had dropped them on the floor in his haste to get into the warm bath with her last night.
Not seeing them on the counter or the floor, Satine is about to search their bedroom next when something pink in the bathroom trash can catches her eye. Hidden under a pile of balled-up tissues, Satine locates Christian’s missing clothing, frowning when she discovers that his scarf has been torn into strips, that his gloves and hat are hole-riddled as if someone has taken a pair of scissors to them.
There’s only one person who could have done this, but what Satine can’t begin to fathom is why he would. Christian loved these when we bought them, Satine thinks, lining up one frayed end of the scarf with another as if this were something she’s capable of fixing. Even Baby Doll or Chloe couldn’t salvage these; they’re ruined. It’s rare that Christian gets upset enough to destroy things, and she’s only more confused now that he was this distraught over something and then tried to hide it from her rather than talking to her. Satine can’t even pinpoint when this would have happened. He’d had moments yesterday where he’d seemed to be in a bit of a bad mood but he obviously masked the true depth of his feelings too well. It makes her stomach ache that Christian was in here falling apart while Satine was obliviously ordering room service or lounging by the fire.
“Do you want to tell me what happened here?” Satine asks, coming out of the bathroom and holding Christian’s ruined clothes aloft. She regrets the words as soon as they’re out. Christian seems to be having a meltdown, his breathing quick and uneven and his hair standing on end from where he keeps running his hands through it, tugging at it. “I’m sorry, sweet boy,” she hastens to apologize, deciding that’s the best course of action until Christian calms down. She can wait until he’s feeling up to telling her why he’s upset.
Unfortunately, apologizing only makes everything worse. Satine catches sight of Christian’s tears spilling over even as he ducks his head to try and hide them, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“Oh, Christian, I—” Satine reaches for him on instinct but catches herself just before she touches him, remembering that maybe Christian doesn’t want to be comforted by her if she’s the one who upset him in the first place (and she may well have been if he’s been trying to hide this from her). Besides, Christian may often like to be held when he’s having a meltdown but he doesn’t always—sometimes he doesn’t even like to be touched; Satine has to wait until he can express what he needs. The best way he could describe it to Satine was that his emotions felt too big for his body and his skin felt stretched too tight and she doesn’t want to add to that feeling of overwhelm. Satine’s hand hangs in the air between them before she lets it fall listlessly back to her side. “Do you want me to go?” She asks quietly as Christian wraps his arms around himself like he’s trying to keep himself together.
“What?” Christian asks, looking up at her with wet eyes.
“Do you want me to go?” Satine asks a little louder, raising her voice so Christian can hear her over the sound of his crying.
Rather than answering her verbally, Christian flings himself at her so quickly that it startles Satine. One moment he’s standing across from her and the next he’s crying into her neck, his body shaking with sobs against hers as his arms come around her, fingers digging into the material of her coat like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. “Please stay.” Christian’s breath is warm against her neck, his voice cracking straight down the middle.
Once she recovers from her initial anxiety over his sudden movement Satine forces herself to relax her tense muscles, bringing her arms up to rub his back and hold him close. “I’m right here,” Satine promises, though her voice sounds quiet over the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, making her voice sound more confident and louder than before.
She still doesn’t have a clue what’s wrong but Christian is in no state to tell her. So she holds him while he cries—trying to offer comfort anyway she can—until eventually Christian’s sobs ease into sniffles. “I’m sorry,” he says, his face pink with embarrassment and streaked with tears as he pulls away. Satine bends down to match Christian’s slightly shorter stature so she can be eye to eye with him, cupping his face in her hands and kissing his tears away.
“No reason to be sorry,” she assures him. Satine takes his hand and leads him over to the bed, sitting down on the foot of it and guiding Christian to settle beside her and rest his head in her lap. Satine begins running her hands through Christian’s hair, trying to soothe him. “Do you feel like talking to me about what’s on your mind?” She asks him gently.
Christian gives a one-shouldered shrug.
“You don’t have to, of course,” Satine continues, “but I’d like to know if I said something that hurt you or—”
“It wasn’t you,” Christian says quickly. Satine brushes his hair off his forehead and wipes the last of his tears off his cheeks with the backs of her fingers, remaining quiet in case Christian wants to say more. “Yesterday,” Christian starts quietly, “when we were leaving the rink—you had just left to get us some hot chocolate and I was still trying to get my skates unlaced—this man walked up to me and he said…well, he said…” Christian takes a deep, frustrated breath. “It doesn’t matter what he said. He just commented on my pink hat and—and it made me feel…” Christian trails off.
Satine’s hands still in Christian’s hair. She had noticed Christian had been in a bad mood when they’d left the rink yesterday but he had insisted he didn’t want to talk about it and Satine—thinking it was merely belated embarrassment at how much of their date Christian had spent falling flat on his ass—had decided not to push the issue. “Who was he?” She demands angrily, rage making her skin feel hot—or perhaps that’s because she’s wearing so many layers indoors. “How dare he—if we see him again today you point him out to me and I’ll—well, I’d like to give him a piece of my mind. No one gets to make you feel—”
“Satine,” Christian interrupts, sitting up so he can face her. “It’s alright.”
“It’s not alright,” Satine continues, beyond furious. “He hurt you. That could never be alright.”
A myriad of emotions flit across his face. Christian slips his hand into Satine’s, staring down at them when he next speaks. “When I was little,” he starts, “my mom used to buy me tons of pink dresses to wear and I hated every single one of them so much. From such a young age I was so sure I was a boy and I never wanted to wear pink or dresses. But now that I’m older and finally transitioning, all of a sudden I like pink again and—and maybe dresses aren’t so bad,” Christian admits with a blush, “and so I guess I’ve been wondering if maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time and thinking I’m a boy is just a mistake or a phase or—because what kind of trans man would wear pink ever again without it being forced on him and—and so I think maybe there’s something wrong with me and I’ve been trying to figure out what it is and yesterday that man made me start thinking about it all over again and—”
Satine leans forward and interrupts Christian with a gentle kiss. His lips taste like tears but even so Satine kisses him until she feels him sigh, some of the tension leaving his body. “Now, you listen to me, darling,” Satine says with more certainty than she feels. She’s always so scared of saying the wrong thing in these situations and hurting Christian further.
“I’m listening,” Christian says softly. His forehead is pressed up against Satine’s as she cups his face in her hands.
“Clothing has no gender. And for that matter, neither do colors,” Satine tries.
To her surprise, Christian giggles. “You sound like Baby Doll.”
“Well, where do you think I learned that from?” Satine responds. “She’s very wise and has taught me a lot. As have you,” Satine adds, gently stroking Christian’s cheek with her thumb. When they first started dating Satine had asked Baby Doll (and the internet) a ridiculous number of questions as she’d never had a trans partner before—nor had she dated anyone she cared for so deeply before—and even without this added layer to their relationship there were already so many ways Satine could harm Christian. He has a gentle heart that he wears on his sleeve and Satine is a total wreck when it comes to things like relationships and commitment.
Baby Doll had answered some questions but she’d often reminded Satine that everyone is different and instead steered her toward having those kinds of conversations with Christian. Satine had been incredibly anxious about it at first and she’d done far from perfectly—she certainly made mistakes—but in the end Baby Doll was right and being able to talk about Christian’s identity with him brought them closer and made them happier in the long run.
“And she’s right, isn’t she?” Satine asks, leaning back so she can take in Christian’s full expression without it being blurry.
Christian starts to fidget with his hands. “I guess so.”
“Anyone should be allowed to wear anything they want,” Satine continues. “Your gender isn’t in what you want to wear; it’s who you know you are in here,” Satine says, pressing a kiss to Christian’s temple, “and in here,” she continues, laying a hand over Christian’s heart. Satine loves feeling the steady beat under her palm but she starts to pull away—knowing Christian doesn’t like her to touch his chest for very long—before she remembers he had surgery a few months ago and now—far from being bothered by Satine’s touch—Christian revels in it. “I think perhaps that man who was cruel to you did so not because there’s something wrong with your masculinity, but because he’s insecure in his own.”
Christian gives her a tentative smile, laying his hand over Satine’s to keep her close to him. “That may be. Why do you think I like pink all of a sudden?”
Satine hums, considering her words carefully. “I’m far from an expert in either gender or your identity as you’re the one who best understands how you feel. But perhaps your preferences have merely changed.” Satine mulls it over a little. “Or perhaps when you were younger, you didn’t hate the clothing you were forced to wear but rather hated that it was forced and that it made people perceive you incorrectly. Now that you can choose your own attire and those around you recognize you as the man you really are, you don’t have to dress a certain way to be treated like yourself and clothing is a fun means of self-expression instead of pressure to be someone you aren’t or a means of trying to pass.” Christian’s eyes have gone wide. “Or maybe I’m way off the mark,” Satine backtracks quickly.
“No,” Christian says, his voice whisper-soft and awestruck, “that makes a lot of sense, actually.”
Satine presses her lips to his forehead, lingering there for a long moment. “I’m happy I could help, then. And love, it’s okay to not have all the answers. You can do something just because you like it without having to know why.”
Christian’s eyes are still big as he takes in what Satine is saying, holding onto every word.
Satine gives Christian’s hand a warm squeeze. She wishes this could be over already as verbalizing her feelings is not her strong suit, but there’s something else she knows she cannot leave unsaid. “I love you no matter what you want to wear or what your favorite color is or if someday you do decide that you identify differently. I love you, and you can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” Satine asks, fighting to keep her gaze locked on Christian’s even as she longs to look away. Being so honest about this sort of thing always makes Satine’s chest ache.
Christian beams from ear to ear even as his eyes fill with tears once more, though Satine thinks they’re of the happier variety this time. She hopes, at least. Christian tumbles into her, burying his face in her neck once more. “I know,” he breathes, “and I’m sorry that—”
“Shh,” Satine cuts him off, rubbing his back. “There’s no need for all that.” She kisses the top of his head. Christian seems content to spend the rest of the night in her arms and Satine would be more than willing to oblige except that she’s starting to sweat. “I’m happy to stay right here, darling, but I do at least need to take off my coat if we’re going to stay in.”
“I want to go out!” Christian exclaims eagerly, jumping to his feet.
It’s so good to see excitement back on his face that Satine no longer minds the thought of venturing out into the dreadful cold. “Would you like these gloves and hat instead?” Satine asks, gesturing to her outfit. “I don’t mind changing. I want you to feel safe and comfortable.”
But Christian is shaking his head, alreadying donning Satine’s hat and gloves. “I am comfortable,” he says, and Satine is glad to see his confidence returning. “I’m a man who likes pink and that’s alright. Right?” He asks Satine, faltering slightly, looking vulnerable as he waits for her approval.
“Absolutely,” Satine reassures him, standing up and kissing him. Satine loves Christian dearly and—despite the best attempts of the rest of the world to make him into someone he isn’t—he’s managed to stay true to himself. Satine doesn’t think she can say the same thing for herself and it makes her want to protect Christian all the more.
“And I will wear these with pride because they’re yours,” Christian says happily, “and I like wearing something of yours. It makes me feel close to you.”
Now it’s Satine’s turn to blush. She ducks her head, busying herself with removing imaginary lint from her coat as her words get all tangled and her heart skips a beat like a schoolgirl with a crush rather than a grown woman in a committed relationship. It makes her turn even redder with embarrassment.
“How do I look?” Christian asks, trying not to fidget as he waits for Satine’s verdict.
The gloves fit him well but the hat is slightly askew and his hair underneath is sticking out at odd angles, not having been helped by the both of them running their hands through it so much earlier. Satine steps forward and removes the hat, tucking it under her arm as she combs out his hair with her fingers, replacing the hat once she’s done and being certain it’s on straight. “So very handsome,” Satine says truthfully when she’s done, watching Christian’s expression brighten. “That’s a lovely color on you, darling boy,” she adds, making Christian’s face flush. “And if anyone makes you feel otherwise, you can tell me.”
“Maybe I won’t mind so much even if they do,” Christian admits. “Your opinion of me is the only one that really matters.”
Satine finds she doesn’t like that response very much. “Your opinion of yourself matters most of all,” Satine says gently, drawing on some more wisdom from Baby Doll to make sure she gets this right. “There isn’t anything about you that isn’t loveable, so you should be proud to be you. And if anyone in your life makes you feel otherwise then they’re the problem, not you.” Baby Doll was actually trying to impart this lesson to Satine about herself which didn’t go over very well. Satine is quite certain it couldn’t apply to her but if anyone should love themself it’s Christian so she’s more than happy to pass it along to someone who actually deserves it.
Christian’s face flushes pink. “I’ll try to remember that,” he says quietly.
“That’s all I ask,” Satine tells him, looping her arm through Christian’s as they prepare to walk out the door and face the harsh cold together, leaning against each other for warmth and comfort.