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storytellersumayyah · 1 year ago

Text

a softer shade of blue

cw: discussions surrounding gender identity, lightly implied homophobia, negative body image, sex, discomfort around gendered terms, reference to past dubious consent (not between main pairing), tristan fears that wanting "feminine" things will mean something he doesn't want it to mean

spoilers: tristan wants to wear lingerie. he doesn't want it to change anything about who he is, and struggles to reconcile the two wants with each other. it ends happily and doesn't need to mean anything more than what he wants it to mean (which is for him to look pretty.)

Tristan realises he liked to feel pretty at some point in his life he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He’d known he was handsome, but then he’d grown into his features, and he’d observed other people, and he had realised that he wanted to be pretty as well. Beautiful seemed like something out of his reach, and he wasn’t sure he wanted that, but prettiness was easily attainable for him.

But he doesn’t want anything else. He doesn’t want princess to be used as a way of referring to him. He doesn’t want to be someone’s girl, even if it was just a roleplay and nothing more. It made his skin feel tight and uncomfortable. It makes him feel like his body wasn’t his own, which was something he swore he will never feel again.

So he hides the things that made him feel pretty from people he didn’t think would handle the words with delicacy. Like the pearl necklace an ex-girlfriend had brought for him after he’d not stopped staring at the image on his phone. When he’d tried to deny wanting it, she’d frowned and said it was just a necklace. And it was.

He hides the shirts that were slightly too large, and the shorts that cut higher than most.

He hides the make-up.

And then Rafael rashes into his life. And for all the snarky remarks, and all the teasing comments, and all the bickering, they never once comment on his appearance, unless he looked hungover (he wasn’t, which was why it was annoying). Even when Tristan forgot to take his nail polish off before a tutorial, they didn’t say anything. They just looked down at his hands and back up, and then they smiled because he’d been panicking that this was going to go too far.

He thought things might change when they started dating. It was one thing for someone to exist as they were, but it was different when they were so close to you. Or at least, that was how his parents had always made him feel.

But they don’t.

At least, not when he wears jewellery. And then nothing changes when he wore one of his favourite shirts. The one that always slips off his shoulder if he didn’t adjust it constantly.

When he wears make-up, all Rafael does is compliment him.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” they whisper under the cover of night a few days later.

Tristan frowns. “With what?”

“Your beauty.”

Rafael is so calm, and so relaxed about it, that Tristan almost believes it could be that simple. Almost, but not quite.

“It’s not- I don’t want to be anything but who I am.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you think that’s strange? It’s just… something. It’s not really anything.”

“Tristan. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You like being pretty, and that’s all it has to be. If you want it to be something more in the future, that’s fine. And if you don’t, that’s also fine.”

“It meant something for you though.”

Rafael cradles Tristan’s hands in his own. Tristan always likes it when Rafael holds his hands. Theirs are bigger than his, and he likes how small he ends up feeling. Because he’s chosen that delicacy for himself. And if one day, he wanted to feel bigger, if he didn’t want Rafael to overwhelm him in all the best ways, they would step back.

“It did. But that’s because I’m me. You might be different. This isn’t a children’s puzzle where everything fits neatly into its slots.”

“I like the way you describe things,” Tristan confesses. It’s not the priority, but he needs to say it.

Despite the darkness, he sees Rafael’s smile.

“Do you know how to do eyeshadow?” Rafael asks suddenly. In all honesty, Tristan had assumed they’d fallen asleep given the slowness of their breathing.

It feels embarrassing to admit at the age of twenty-six but he shakes his head. “Was never patient enough.”

“I have a palette that will suit your undertones better than mine. I’ll do it for you.”

It is such a simple act, but it does so much for him. He grins and nods. “I’d like that a lot.”

Tristan tells himself that will be enough. To wear his make-up, and his jewellery, and the clothes. There is nothing else he wants, because Rafael always said he was pretty when he made the effort to be so. But they also always call him little prince, always say this is his future husband, and never question why Tristan wanted that and nothing else to be used.

And it is enough.

Until it isn’t.

He’s out shopping with one of his friends. She’d told him he could wait outside if he was uncomfortable going into the lingerie shop, but she needed to go because her anniversary was the next day and she wanted to surprise her girlfriend. He’d frowned and said he didn’t want to stand outside looking creepy, so he’d gone in with her.

She goes to try on a set, and he doesn’t want people to think he was in the queue, so he stays on the shop floor. The designs re stunning. They are meant to make people feel good. And pretty. Maybe, if the person was right, beautiful.

So before he knows what he’s doing, he is picking up a piece of blue lace, rubbing the material between his fingers. Despite its lacy appearance, it feels comfortable. He wonders what he would look like with it on. Probably ridiculous, but maybe not. Maybe he will look like one of the models. Maybe he will look perfect, as he is sure his friend will.

“They have a men’s range, to account for the differences,” she ays from behind him. The items she’d chosen are packed in a discreet bag. It shocks him, how lost in his mind he’s gotten.

“I’m not a girl,” he blurts out.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be a girl,” he continues. He has no idea why. He just didn’t want her thinking it’s something it isn’t.

“I know.”

“If I’m not a girl, and if I don’t want to be a girl, if I still want to be Tristan who gets referred to as little prince and boyfriend and your favourite brother even though you’ve got two, then I shouldn’t want it. I can’t want it. I’m not allowed to want it. It’s different to everything else. It’s more. It’s not- it’s not for me. It’s- I’d be taking it away from someone who had to struggle with all those big feelings and-“

“Shh, shh. Let’s go and sit down somewhere,” she says.

He nods, allowing her to guide him to somewhere quiet.

“Why aren’t you allowed to want it?”

“Because-“ he suddenly pauses. He doesn’t have a reason. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly. When you picked it up, how did you feel? I don’t want to know how you ended up feeling, or how you think you were supposed to feel. I want to know how you felt in those initial moments.”

He thinks about it. “I felt like I would be pretty. Maybe ridiculous, but maybe pretty.”

“What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“Nothing. I just- it’s not a thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a thing. You know that.”

He can’t find the words, and it’s frustrating him. She is just trying to help. It isn’t on her to try and read his mind.

“Is it because this is clothes? Specifically aimed at women?” She asks, gentle and non-judgmental.

He freezes. “I’m not a misogynist.”

Even though she tries her best not to, she starts laughing. “I know.”

But she’s right. Even though the make-up was always advertised on female models, even though the jewellery sometimes came from the women’s section of the shop, it is different. feels felt different to him, even though it’s probably the same to everyone else. The shirts he brought to feel pretty have always come from the men’s section.

“I think it is. Because it’s clothes. Aimed at women,” he says, feeling pathetic.

“You don’t have to do it. But you should not do it because you don’t want to. Not because you’re punishing yourself for wanting it. There’s no heroicness in suffering. There’s just suffering.”

Hearing her say that makes him realise his other fear.

“I don’t want Rafael to look at me differently.”

“But are you doing this for them or for you?”

It is an easy answer. “Both of us. I want to feel pretty in something that’s almost a secret. People can tell when I’m wearing make-up or jewellery. They wouldn’t know if it’s that. But I want him to think I’m beautiful. He’s never called me that before, and that’s because I haven’t wanted him to because it feels too close to something. But I want him to call me beautiful and have it not be anything more than that. And I don’t know if he will.”

Rafael will. Rafael will never go further than Tristan wants. Even if he doesn’t understand why something was so important, he will accept it without question and only ask if he’s unsure. Tristan knows he deserves more credit, but it is the age-old anxiety.

“Then you need to tell him that. Tristan, there’s no deadline on this. You can do as much or as little as you want, and you only need to do it when you’re ready. It will always be there waiting for you.”

He smiles. “I know. Thank you.”

“Of course. Now let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”

He nods, stomach rumbling as if on cue.

She sends him a link that evening.

For whenever you’re ready.

He opens it on his phone. It is designed like the average clothing website, which he appreciates. He still only gets through two rows of three designs before he closes the tab, suddenly too overwhelmed to do any more than that.

If Rafael is aware of his inner turmoil he doesn’t comment. Tristan appreciates the space because it comes from a good place.

Eventually he grows tired of his hesitancy. Rachel, his best and only friend from college, always said she responded to situations that terrified her with five seconds of bravery. Five seconds is nothing, but it is enough to start. And once she started, things weren’t scary anymore. They were just something she was doing.

So he waits till Rafael goes out and he filters by his size and the colour blue. White feels like too much, and he knows how good blue looked on him. Some of the items are still too far out of his comfort zone, so he filters those out as well, in order to make sure he actually places the order.

Confirming the purchase doesn’t make him feel sick as he thought it might have. If anything, it makes him feel relieved. He could want something, and take it, and the world wouldn’t end.

When the parcel arrives, he puts it inside his bed drawer. He isn’t ready to wear it yet, but he doesn’t feel guilty about that.

Sometimes he takes it out and looks at it. Once, when he feels especially brave, he holds it up against himself. But then he sees his reflection in the mirror and he has to put it down. Has to put it away in his drawer, underneath the rest of his clothes. Which are all meant to be worn by him.

Holding it up, he looks stupid. He looks like he is playing dress-up. He isn’t delicate or soft enough. He isn’t Rachel, or his friend. He is calloused hands and hard lines and roughness. He isn’t pretty enough, and he never will be, no matter how badly he wants it.

Rafael inds him sitting on the bedroom floor, tears flowing from his eyes.

“My little prince. Mi corazón. Come back to me whenever you’re ready. Come back, and we’ll make it all better. I swear.”

It is an impossible promise, but he managed to breathe.

“My good boy. He’s so brave,” Rafael says.

Tristan smiles. “Raf.”

“My little prince.”

“You’re perfect.”

“I’m not. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head immediately. “But I want to take care of you. You’ve been running yourself ragged and I need a distraction.”

Rafael has learnt to trust that Tristan will be honest. So they nod, smiling as Tristan leads them to the bathroom and runs them a bath, complete with a hair wash and snacks. And then Rafael looks up at him with loving eyes and a perfect mouth and asks to take him to bed. Tristan nods, needing to feel close.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against Tristan’s stomach.

Tristan whimpers. He isn’t wearing make-up. He’s taken his jewellery off. His clothes have been discarded somewhere- probably in the bathroom. He is sitting in Rafael’s lap, legs trembling and completely overwhelmed. And yet, Rafael thinks he is pretty.

“Was that okay?” They ask, suddenly remembering that they hadn’t really discussed this.

Tristan nods. “Perfect. It was- you were- you can say that. Even now. Promise.”

Rafael nods with a smile, ducking their head slightly to press light kisses to his skin.

Tristan takes the items out of the drawer the day after.

He repeats that for another month.

And then he decides to be brave for another five seconds.

He changes, but he doesn’t look in the mirror. He isn’t ready for that yet.

“Tristan, I’m back!” Rafael yells.

Tristan swallows. Then he covers himself with the blanket, making sure none of what he is wearing was visible. “I’m in the bedroom.”

Rafael immediately enters, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and feet bare. “Well hello there handsome.”

Tristan can’t help but laugh. “I have a surprise. And you can use feminine descriptors, but no feminine nicknames okay? And you can’t laugh. If you don’t like it, you can tell me, but don’t laugh. And it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a thing. It’s not something.”

“I would never laugh at you. I think I might know what you mean, which is why I’m asking this. Do you feel good?”

Tristan thinks about it. He’d been stressed about accidentally seeing his reflection, and what he would do if Rafael decided this was too much, and that had left him with very little time to consider how he was actually feeling.

“I think I do. Yes.”

Rafael nods. “Then that’s all that matters, mi corazón.”

Tristan has heard the words so many times that they were finally starting to sink in. So he takes a deep breath, and he tells himself to be brave. Just for a few seconds. And he unravels the blanket, leaving him in the items that had come so long ago.

Rafael’s breath catches in their throat. “My god, Tristan.”

He blinks, not expecting him to be so enthusiastic. “Do you like it?”

Rafael steps forward, then hesitates. “Of course I love it. You look- you look beautiful. Stunning. Tristan. You’re a piece of art.”

Tristan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. “Do you really mean it?”

“My little prince. When have I ever lied to you?”

Prince. Because that’s what he is. “Never.”

“Exactly. Can I- can I touch you?”

“Please,” Tristan begs. Rafael’s gaze is an overpowering thing. He needs more.

As though he’s been released from chains, Rafael surges forward. But then he kneels down in front of the bed, looking up at Tristan as he lifts a stocking-clad leg to balance on his shoulder, pressing gentle kisses from his ankle upwards. Tristan exhales shakily. Even though it is through the fabric, it is setting his skin on fire.

“You look so delicate. So fragile. I almost- I’m scared I’m going to break you,” Rafael whispers.

He whines. “You won’t. You won’t- you know you won’t so just-“

Rafael shushes him gently. “I know, my little prince. You’re the strongest person I know. But I still want to be careful with you. You’ll give me that won’t you?”

Tristan can never deny Rafael anything. He nods. “Always.”

“Thank you, my beautiful boy,” they say, pressing several kisses to his inner thighs. Tristan squirms, but Rafael places his hands on his hips and pushes down, trapping him against the mattress.

“It’s so soft,” they whisper, in reference to the fabric covering him. It is slightly stained, but Tristan doesn’t want to take it off. Not just yet. It’s why he makes a sound of protest when Rafael goes to tug it down his legs. They immediately let go.

“Don’t stop. Just don’t take it off yet. I don’t mind the feeling,” he says.

Rafael nods, pressing one final kiss to his hip before moving up to kiss his mouth, deep and slow and perfect.

“Did you tie this yourself?” He asks, placing his hand on Tristan’s back, right over the corset ties, in order to raise him slightly.

Tristan nods. “Want you to do it next time.” It’s nice to say there will be a next time. Every other item had felt overwhelming, or too much, but the corset had felt right. And tying it had felt nice, even if it was just so the ribbons weren’t just hanging loose.

“I’d be honoured. Do you want to leave it on?”

He shakes his head. “Want you to take me apart. Feel ready now.”

“Mi corazón. My little prince. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Thank you. For this. For trusting me, always. For everything.”

Rafael undoes the corset ties with such care, and with kisses to every part of exposed skin that Tristan can’t do anything more than close his eyes and let the sensations overwhelm him, in the best way possible.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than when you’ve been spread out underneath me, unable to hide how good I’m making you feel,” Rafael says. And it should’ve been awful, should’ve killed the mood or sounded like a terrible pick-up line, but it doesn’t. It sounds good and honest and true. All the things that Rafael is.

The word beautiful penetrates the haze that Tristan’s mind had become. He goes lax in Rafael’s hold.

He feels good.

He feels the way he had been craving for so long.

And it isn’t because Rafael is encompassing him from every angle, so gentle, like he really does think Tristan is something that could break.

It is because he feels comfortable in his skin. He feels pretty, but he still like himself. He can have what he wants, he can have it mean as much as he wants it to, and he can be happy. He can wear lingerie and still be Rafael’s boyfriend.

But more than that, he can be beautiful. And nothing will change.

It is like Rafael read his mind. “Tristan,” they exhale. “My beautiful, little prince.”

He goes tumbling over the edge, safer than ever before as Rafael never lets go of him.

When he comes around, Rafael is wiping him down, pyjamas already on the bed.

“You scared me a little,” he says.

Tristan rubs his eyes a little. “Sorry.”

Rafael shakes his head. “It’s okay. Wasn’t too much, was it?”

Tristan considers. “Liked it. And it wasn’t. Was good. Thank you. For always being good to me.”

Rafael shifts so he can kiss Tristan’s forehead. It is that, over everything else, that makes Tristan melt into him. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Tristan smiles, bringing his arms up to wrap around their back. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my little prince.”

And in that moment, Tristan knows that nothing he does will ever change that.

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#sumayyah writes #the heartbreaker's handbook #cw sex #tw negative self image #oh my god it's finally here #i switch tenses too much #also for this was called 'the tristan vs gender norms and his own issues only this time he wins woohoo story' for too long #if you know me in real life no you don't #(my friends have been hearing about this for too long)

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