Work Text:
“Another one?”
You didn’t bother to answer. The cool surface of your phone chilled your fingertips as much as the words and cheers poured out from your earbud, the other dangling sadly from your head. The words from the video playing left your stomach feeling hollow, an icy numbness tingling through you.
A soft sigh. Warm fingers pulled the slack cord from your ear, and you peered up at the concerned face looking down at you. Cove’s brows wrinkled with the force of his frown, his eyes glancing at your phone before grimacing. “You should stop listening to this.”
You gave no argument as he set your phone aside, watching as he closed the app and blinked the screen off. It sat dark and unassuming, and his weight pressed comfortingly against your side. His arms wrapped around you, and you couldn’t help but take meager comfort in the gesture. Your face found itself smushed against his chest, your cheek finding his collarbone as you practically crawled into his skin. Cove sat with you, comforting circles rubbed into your back.
It wasn’t uncommon for Cove to need to comfort you like this. It was becoming less of a rarity that the state of the world got to you and more of an uncommon but unbearably present event. You had rarely thought about your place in the world growing up before; as a trans kid, your parents were good about being affirming. School wasn’t a problem for you after the initial hurdle of coming out to your teachers, and you’d always had Cove and your family when you felt anxious about it. You had never had to feel the true brunt of transphobia beyond some mean comments from a rude boy from another grade, and even then, you knew to inform an adult fast enough it was never a problem again.
But now you were an adult; an adult that knew. You knew why you’d gotten strange looks as a gender nonconforming child, why you still got stares when you weren’t perfectly masculine. You knew what the random guy walking down the street thought about those ‘transgenders’ and you knew what plenty of people on social media thought. You knew what the lawmakers thought. It was terrifying. And now you’d seen another video advocating for your erasure after a bad day, and you couldn’t help the terror and nausea rising up in your stomach.
“It’s going to be alright,” Cove murmured into your hair, his presence as sturdy as always. You could always lean on Cove. You hummed noncommittally, burying your face against him more firmly. Your cheek squished uncomfortably, but you didn’t mind. It reminded you that this was real and you were present. Your husband gently carded a hand through your hair, giving you the space to speak if you wanted. You did.
“I hope so,” you replied softly. “I really do. It’s just… scary. What am I supposed to do? How can people think like this? The world is getting to a scary place and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m not even a person to these people, just- a problem. A flaw in this ‘great country’ they’ve got going on, or something horrible like that. My entire existence is just some great issue when I’m just trying to get by and be happy and live a normal life. I’m just a guy, what am I supposed to do about this?”
It was hard to admit, and your voice choked as you spoke your worries. The words came easily enough after you started, your fear and frustration and anger and all of the mixed up stress spilling out with it. Tears sprung to your eyes as you spoke, and you couldn’t help the bite that slipped into your words.
Cove held you tighter at that, almost bone-crushing. Like if he held you close enough, you could finally feel safe. It didn’t work like that, but it was comforting all the same. He was quiet for a while, letting your fear-soaked words settle into the air as he cradled you. He smelled like the shampoo he used, and like chlorine- he had set time aside today to clean his fish tanks, you remembered. It was soothing to catalog that, to feel the softness of his well worn t-shirt against your face and the pressure of his hold on you. Here, in the warmth of his arms, all of your fear could be shared. You weren’t alone. It was stabilizing, even as your tears wet the front of his shirt.
“I don’t know,” he admits with a heavy sigh, his breath tickling the top of your head. “But you’re not alone. We’re a team, remember? So, no matter what happens, I’m here with you. You’re never alone.”
You accepted his words with your own squeeze, your hold on him equally as bone-crushing; you were in this mess together. Your fear was his, and as much as the guilt tried to gnaw at you for it, you were overwhelmingly grateful for his support. When you needed someone to lean on, Cove was it. In the space of your apartment, curled together in a desperate mess of limbs and anxiety chewing at you, he was there.
“We’re just us, but we’re here. You’re still here. Nothing they do can take that away.”
You were. You were there with your husband, in the home you had made together. No matter the state of the world, you were in it. And you were not alone.
It was enough to make you cry again, hiccuping breaths that felt overbearingly hot against Cove’s shirt. He kept rubbing your back, gently murmuring affirmations and holding you like something precious. Something loved.
Eventually you ran out of tears, though your breathing still gasped and heaved as you steadied yourself against Cove. Finally, you pulled apart to look at him, your face blotchy and red. He still looked at you with absolute love and concern, though he smiled a wobbly smile himself. He had also been crying. It made you hiccup out a laugh, breathless and tearful despite everything.
Cove laughed too, equally as watery and shaky. You held onto him as you shared the moment, soaking up the lightening tensions of a good cry. There was lines of worry still etched onto his face, in the wobbly way he smiled and the puffiness around his eyes.
Maybe there was no real solution. You were just you and Cove was just Cove. But that had to count for something, didn’t it? That you were real. The world could be hard and cruel, and maybe there was no real way to force the change yourself.
But existence is resistance, sometimes. And in the comfort of your home, picking yourself up together, hand in hand, that was enough for now.
You had his back and he had yours. That’s how it was and how it always would be.
The fear hadn’t gone away, it would remain and some day you’d find yourself back in this pit. But for now, you breathed an easier breath, knowing that you were not in this alone. And you knew that the next time you’d know it, too.
Cove would remind you, if not.