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It was a special thing, to have one’s reflection in harmony with who they were.
Being recognized for who he was brought him a euphoria like nothing else he had ever experienced. You see me, he thought, and it made him so happy he wanted to laugh out loud.
“This is pretending.” Oliver gestured to his day dress, his long, tied-back hair. “This isn’t me. Do you want to know where I see myself in five years? I see myself. I won’t pretend like this forever. I would rather die.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just concerned about your future.” “Try being concerned about me instead,” Oliver snapped. “I won’t submit myself to a life that would make me absolutely miserable, and you shouldn’t want me to.”
The two laughed, and the ease of their joy should have made him happy—and it did. But it also hit him in the stomach with an ugly pang. Because the truth was, he wanted that easy camaraderie. He wanted to be able to court someone without fearing how they might react if they knew the full truth about him. He wanted an openness with someone without fear, without worry. He wanted that ease, but it all seemed impossible. What were the odds, truly, that he would ever find someone who knew how to love someone like him?
“I know you didn’t tell me perhaps the way you’d imagined, but I’m so glad to know you, son. No matter what, I will always fight for you.”

