Across every web forum I looked, every article I found, and every chat server I spoke to, the answer was unanimous:

Coming out was terrifying.

Having Mom on my side, having her there to explain so much and offer me resources, had been so amazing. But she alone couldn’t be my entire world. For months I had been content to be her daughter, but with each passing day I chafed more and more at the idea of only her knowing who I was.

Not only was staying closeted (a fun term, even if I hated the context) awful emotionally, as I had to deal with people still referring to me as ‘he’ and ‘son’, but it was also awful physically. There were quite a few methods of transitioning, but for dragons only magic could reliably be used for it. Certainly with time medical science could concoct the right hormonal treatments to assist in a dragon’s transition, but there was no pressure to do so when magic was right there.

But I couldn’t use magic to transition until after I was at least out to my immediate circle. Mom said it was best to be safe and make sure Ian knew and didn’t react harshly before doing anything more permanent, because she didn’t want me vulnerable in case of the extremely rare circumstance where he wasn’t accepting. At least with Baba and Papa I knew they’d accept me, according to Mom they accepted her when she came out over two centuries earlier.

And, honestly, the idea of Ian of all people not being accepting of me was laughable—even if he had been avoiding me these past few months, I knew he was a good person at heart. 

Speaking of, the holidays had provided a bit of a blessing. By the time Thanksgiving came around Ian had stopped taking those extra shifts at work. Selflessly, I loved that Ian could finally rest after pushing his body through heavy work weeks for months and months on end. Selfishly, my heart soared at being able to see him more often again. 

We were even gaming together once again, even if I felt like I should have confronted him for avoiding me for so long. I wanted to, but the revelation of who I was held a much higher place in my mind.

I was still thinking of what to say to Ian by the time the week of Christmas hit us like a freight train. My workplace offered all employees several days off to rest and spend time with family, and Ian’s at least gave Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. It meant both of us got to spend our day together.

And Christmas Eve was a fun start. We both had forgotten to set up the tree, so the morning was a frantic (and stressful) job of quickly grabbing it from the frozen cold storage room, dragging it through the ice, and readjusting the room to have a place for the tree to sit. 

It was far less exhausting work this year, what with Ian now also able to safely lift hundreds of pounds. Even if I despised the immense strength my body gave me, I had to admit that it had perks.

By the time the late afternoon came around, we had the tree put together, decorated, and standing over two nicely wrapped boxes. One was a small thing, plain red with a green bow on top. Whatever it was was Ian’s gift to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it could have been. Sitting beside it was a far larger box, wrapped in Toy Story wrapping paper (Ian’s favorite movie, a fact that I was proud of remembering).

I shook with pride at what was contained within. Ian was a dragon, and with that came a desire to build a hoard of some kind. For most of the year we had no idea what it was, but I realized by October something very odd: He had purchased a lot of movies in only a few months. Physical copies only, but the kind didn’t matter. DVDs, Blue Ray discs, and even a few VHS tapes were all set up in a newly organized movie shelf. It was obvious that this was his hoard, and I had the perfect gifts for it.

But Christmas morning was a distressingly long time away, far more important was the rest of the night before. Ian and I sat on the couch like usual, though this time we were watching a show he said was his favorite: Star Trek: The Next Generation.

I was trying to enjoy the episode in front of me, but I had a few gripes with the show that shone through pretty clearly in many of the episodes. For one thing, the protagonists were all human or human passing, with one human even given loads of prosthetics to make him look more like an alien. It felt like it was written by someone who grew up before magic was widespread, who couldn’t imagine incorporating the ‘fantastic’ with their science fiction universe.

According to Ian it got much more open after the first season, but this episode was feeling like an incredible letdown to me. “So the android doesn’t feel emotions, right?”

Ian, whose head had been in his hands for much of this episode, nodded.

“Why did he of all people have sex with Tasha? It feels so outlandish. Not to mention the questions about consent in that state.” This was one of my many complaints about the episode so far, but I needed to bring it up.

Ian was quick to pause after that, before turning his full attention to me. “Listen, this maybe wasn’t the best episode. Or, honestly, season.” He admitted, which didn’t change anything. I still had so many questions. 

“Hey, Ian?” 

“Yeah, Ollie?” 

“I think you might just be a nerd with bad taste. I’m sorry to say it’s terminal,” I poked him multiple times in the side, taking great joy in seeing him jump as I poked a sensitive spot in the side.

He mocked offense, even held his hand to his chest to make a point. “How could you say such a thing? And besides, if I have bad taste what does that say about me being friends with you?”

He had me there. I glared for a moment before an answer came to me. “Simple. Broken clocks are right twice a day. You’re still a huge nerd, and I’m judging the heck out of your love of Star Treks.”

“Trek.”

“That only proves my point.”

“It’s a popular show!” If I didn’t know him better I might have thought from his tone that he was actually offended.

It was only an excuse to continue. “I don’t see how, it entirely lacks dragons. And queer people for that matter. Or queer dragons.”

“Is that what you’re a fan of? Movies with queer dragons?”

“Is that a question?” 

“Fine, what’s the best movie starring a queer dragon? And don’t say—“

“—Mulan.” I cut in without waiting for him to finish.

He raised an eyebrow. “Mulan. Mulan by corporate nightmare Disney. That Mulan?”

“I stand by my point. Mushu is queer as all get out, even if it’s not explicit.” At this point I was just sticking to these guns to annoy him, but I could tell by the growing grin on his face that he was at least enjoying me being The Worst.

In the end, I won out. Ian shook his head and stood up, before moving to switch DVDs. “Fine. I fundamentally disagree with your assertion, but we’ll watch Mulan and I’ll just prove myself right.”

“So wait, to win an argument you’re going to…play one of my favorite movies?”

“Should I not?”

“No, no! I’m more than happy to. Just…” I trailed off, trying to think of what to say.

“Just what?”

“Just remind me to annoy you more often, it works out well for me.”

It was Ian’s turn to assault me with pokes of his own, and I was cackling like a desperate madwoman as his attack continued. It was not fair, I was terribly ticklish, it was one of my greatest weaknesses. “This—” Another wave hit me, forcing me to throw my head back in desperate giggles. “Isn’t fair!” 

Ian only stopped when I lost control so much that I let out a tiny jet of flame. By the time he was finished, I was exhausted and leaned up against him. He was so warm.

“You comfy?” He asked as he leaned his head into mine.

“Getting cozy,” I explained simply as the movie began to play. It was his fault for being the hottest thing on the planet. Warmest. Whatever.

His hand reached around me slowly, tentatively, but I grew tired of the waiting and just pulled his hand into my shoulder. It was much nicer there, it helped to ground me and make safety feel closer at hand.

It was so comfortable, in fact, that it was hard not to just drift off to sleep. So my brain and body agreed: This was exactly what we were going to do.

I didn’t hear or feel Ian get up a few hours later, as the end credits of the movie began to roll. Nor did I notice the thick and wonderfully soft blanket cover me up. Finally, only the tiniest sliver of my consciousness registered Ian leaning over me, and gently whispering “Merry Christmas, Ollie,” right as the clock struck midnight.