Page 3 of Stars Like Confetti

“Thank you.” Theo tugged at the hem of my shirt. “May I? That’s covered in snot.”

I giggled in response and raised my arms. Theo slipped the garment over my head and tossed it to the floor. When they went back to push my jeans off, however, they paused. The color drained from their face, their eyes flared and their jaw hit the floor.

I noticed them staring at my chest, just below my ribcage—and panic sparked in my belly.

It was the scars. It was always the scars. It was like people didn’t realize the scope of the whole trans thing until they saw the two faint pink scars beneath my nipples. The cold drew goosebumps over my skin, or maybe that was the startling realization that Theo was about to bolt out of this room and never speak to me again.

I reached for the clean clothes on the changing table. “You don’t have to do this,” I muttered. “I can manage myself.”

“No! I—Shea, it’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

Theo’s eyes darted down again. They swallowed hard, then took a step away from me.

Curling their hand around the hem of their shirt, they raised over their chest…

And my heart exploded.

Chapter Two

Theo

My hand trembled, clenching onto the hem of my shirt so tight that my knuckles whitened. Shea’s eyes dropped to my stomach, and a soft gasp burst out of him. Blue eyes filled with tears, attention flickering between my chest and my face. The longer that passed without him saying something, the more I wanted to turn and run.

I was familiar with Littles, even more with those who regressed to a point where they had accidents. It was part of the job, and I wasn’t bothered by Shea’s gender of all things. It didn’t bother me that he might have needed my help. What did bother me, was the fact that he thought his top surgery scars were what had me freaking the fuck out.

No, it had nothing to do with the scars, or the soft, light smattering of hair on his chest. Below those faint pink lines, above the trail of fuzz that led down to his belly button, was something I hadn’t seen in a very long time—and that I thought I’d never see again.

It was a small tattoo, no bigger than the palm of my hand. Calling it a tattoo was generous, because it had been done in someone’s basement with a homemade tattoo gun.

So had mine.

The chunky lines were blown and faded, but the image was clear. A headstone with the words, “See You.”

Mine was near identical, but said, “In Hell.”

Heat built behind my eyes just as Shea let tears crawl down his cheeks. I let out a shuddering breath and let my shirt fall. Shea’s mouth opened and shut, floundering for something—anything to say.

When he’d entered the building, something familiar tugged at my chest, but I never in a million years would have imagined that he would be…

“Hi,” I whispered, resisting the overwhelming urge to haul him into my arms and never let him go again.

“Hi,” he echoed.

And for a moment, we just stood there, taking in each other for the first time in a decade. The last time I’d seen him, we’d been teenagers—and both of us pre-transition.

While my parents were more than accepting of their daughter no longer being a daughter, Shea wasn’t so lucky. Even before we were both out as transgender, all we ever heard was how we were sinners, and how we would spend eternity in Hell for what we were doing.

The tattoos happened the night before his parents hauled him to another state, far away from “temptation.”

I’d scoured social media for months after, called and texted relentlessly. He’d just… vanished.

I was heartbroken.

I began my physical transition soon after and while I did date and play at kink clubs periodically, I never forgot Shea. He’d been my everything, and no one else ever measured up.

Blinking away my blurry vision, I remembered that Shea was still wet and needed clean clothes. “Um… I understand if you’d rather have some privacy,” I said, throat tight.