Page 11 of Fibre and Ink

He didn’t want me, and I shouldn’t want him, and that was that.

To soothe myself, I ran myself through the morning routine and what needed to be done.

Count the alpacas for sure.... And then what?

Aster

I pretended to sleep.

I closed my eyes and willed my breathing to slow.

Mickey started... not snoring exactly, but making a soft snuffling noise on the inhale. It was incredibly cute.

This actually relaxed me which seemed weird, but whatever, I would take any win I could after seeing a shadowy figure outside the farmhouse.

I shuffled slightly closer to him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the gentle heat radiating off his body.

It wasn’t a cold night, but the shock made me shiver. Feeling Mickey’s warmth there, his steadiness, his... it was like his presence had a weight.

This is something I’ve struggled with as a trans guy. I feel like at any moment I could float away...

Any time someone misgenders me, or calls me by my old name, or lumps me into the ‘trans twink bottom’ category without any effort to get to know me... I feel untethered. Ready to disappear into nothingness.

Mickey knew exactly who he was, and everyone around him knew who he was, too.

He was rooted to the earth like a sturdy tree.

I wanted that.

Wanted to be like that.

Wanted to cling to him and let his steadiness calm my swirling thoughts and embrace my truest self.

But he was Harlow’s older brother. He’d always see me as his kid sister’s best friend.

That had to be why he was so comfortable inviting me into his bed like this. In his mind, there was no change of anything happening.

The age gap was too vast. I had to let the crush go, for fuck’s sake.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to empty my mind.

Not necessarily an easy thing for an anxious autistic but hey, that never stopped me trying before.

I thought of my favorite of Tane’s songs and played it inside my head, letting his sweet voice lull me until I finally sank back into sleep.

When I woke up Mickey was already gone, probably doing the early morning farm stuff that had to happen every day.

I stretched, valiantly resisted leaning in to smell his pillow, and took myself right back to my room. I showered and dressed, ready for a new day.

Mickey was just coming back in as I came downstairs.

“I don’t know what you usually do for breakfast,” he said. “Maybe we should do a supply run, later? But for now, there’s bread for toast, homemade granola and oats if you want oatmeal.”

“Granola?” I helped myself to a bowl from the cabinet.

“Mmhm.” He handed me a tall Tupperware of homemade cereal. “I make it every month. Much nicer than the bought stuff and this way I can change up the flavors. This month I focused on dried apricots and ancient grains.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Fancy as hell, dude.”