We ended up brewing spiced tea to enjoy alongside the muffins. Our conversation somehow wound down to just me telling you about my life on the streets and between homeless shelters.

You were a wonderfully keen listener, never once interrupting, never once making snide statements, or asking offhanded questions. You didn't comment on my inability to get a job, didn't ask me to try harder, or acquire more skills, or 'hustle'. Didn't pry into my accident, nor reprimand me for my drug addiction, or for all the things I did which got me kicked out of shelters. You simply listened – sitting with your legs pulled to your chest, dark eyes steadily burning into mine, forehead creased in concern or concentration... it was likely both, knowing you as well as I did.

When I reached the part where I met you, you sat up straight. "My life took a sharp turn for better. I never expected to have a friend, a carer... not in this world full of people who see right through people like me. I am, at best, a part of the cement and asphalt, and at worst, a despicable fly inside their house." Once I started, it was as if a dam broke inside me. Everything poured out. Unrestrained. Unstoppable. "But you... you saw me—truly saw me. I suddenly had someone to talk to, someone to joke around with. I had guaranteed meals every day. And now, I have a roof over my head and a warm, safe place to sleep each night..."

Breathless, I desisted, shakily drawing in a lungful of air. A heavy hush blanketed us – uncomfortable, almost asphyxiating. I worried that I creeped you out, that I unloaded too much too soon. I worried about so many things.

You luminous, unbreaking stare had me squirming. Averting my gaze, I focused on my lap and my bouncing knee. My stubs ached; I'd worn the crutches too long. I needed to take them off, not just because of the pain, but also because I needed to do anything besides fidget and fret. I undid the braces around my upper calves and lower thighs and pulled my stubs out of their platform-like holders. A relieved exhale pushed out of me as the pressure where the remnants of my legs bore my weight was lifted. A blueness was already marking the bottom of my right stub.

"Viktor!" you shrieked, making me jump. "What happened there? Did you hurt yourself while baking? The kitchen is cumbersome—you should've waited—"

"It's nothing," I hurriedly interjected, "it's... um, so you see, the muscles around here keep changing in shape over time. The braces don't fit as perfectly anymore, so they poke and dig. I'm supposed to see a prosthetist and get a refitting done every six months, but... uhh, I can't afford it."

You were chewing on your bottom lip until you said, "I'm sorry."

I did my best to console you. "It's fine, really... I'm used to it by now. At this point, it's just a minor inconvenience."

Bending closer to my legs, you studied the bruise. "That looks awfully painful," you murmured, sitting back. "How long have you been dealing with it?"

"Nearly a year."

Sucking in your lip once more, you sighed. A nervous hand smoothed the wrinkles on your brows. Your lips parted, to say something maybe, but you stayed silent, pondering the dregs in your teacup. I was aware you were worrying and that made me feel bad. However, I decided against saying anything else, knowing that a self-deprecating joke or a nonchalance about my pain were more likely to make it worse.

In the end, quiet and unsure, you asked, "is there really nobody in your family who'll help you out?"

My breath trembled when I sighed. I stared at my diffused reflection in my tea, eyes stinging as Mum's radiant face flashed in my memory. Carefully stringing the right words together, I slowly started, "I was an orphan adopted by a rich family, Solé. The man who was supposed to be my father resented me because to him I was a testament of his impotence. And my mother..." A knot rose in my throat and a cruel fist tightened around my heart. Shaking my head, I steeled myself. "She's not here anymore. And I'm not going to ask Father for anything, even if it was to save my life."

Clement warmth swathed my hand; you'd put your hand over mine. I loosened my grip on the sofa's edge, letting your fingers slide between my own.

"I understand," you said, your voice lighter, huskier... brittle, in a way. Swallowing, you continued, "when I came out as non-binary to my family, they dismissed it as a phase. But I was adamant about being recognized and respected as I was... they retaliated by burning all my clothes and shoes that they gendered as masculine, or 'for boys' only. I was adamant still. And so were they... everything they did worsened my gender dysphoria—I—I felt like I was trapped in this body that wasn't mine."

Your shoulders quavered, your voice cracked, and a lone tear slipped free, trailing over the gentle swell of your cheek. I squeezed your fingers, desperate to keep you from crumbling. Softly, I said, "I'm sorry..."

Returning the squeeze, you took a shuddering inhale. "When I turned eighteen, they told me they'd promised me to my third cousin in marriage. They also said that I needed to learn how to be a proper woman before the engagement." I heard your breath snag, and at that moment, I wanted to hold all of you, not merely your fingers. You freed your lip from under your teeth, swallowing again. "I wasn't gonna stick around to find out how they planned on teaching me that lesson. I packed the bare essentials, stole my father's money, my mother's jewelry, and I ran away... put an ocean between myself and my family. It was hard... surviving in a strange, new land with close to nothing..."

Learning where your empathy and altruism stemmed from skewered me right through. Your tears trickled to your chin and fell, seeping into your tee in a dark patch. A strong urge to wrap my arms around you and promise you that you'd never have to deal with all those things so long as I was alive and by you grew in me. I knew we still had boundaries though and I didn't want to fuck shit up by invading your personal space, so instead, I reminded, "you made it." You lifted your gaze to me, and I grinned. "Here you are, safe and sound, living by your own terms... you made it, Solé."

Features blooming into a smile, you brightened like dawn transforming to daytime. You bumped your shoulder against me, saying, "so did you."

My smile broadened, my heart performed a happy little jig. "And I'm insanely glad that I met you down this line."

You wiped your tears on your sleeve. "Likewise, Viktor. Likewise..."

There was no doubt in my mind then, that you found as much solace in me as I did in you. We sat in silence for hours, our fingers intertwined just like our lonely souls were. 

◈