Santa's Secret Transfic Anthology Vol. 2 / Everyday Sweets #2 (Chapter 3)

The Sable and the Statue

by rooibos_chai

Chapter 3

From that point on, things kind of became a blur. I always had a tendency to tunnel-vision when I got seriously sucked into a project, like all of my nervous anxiety suddenly got funneled into an absolute fixation on what I was doing. But this… this was more all-encompassing than ever before.

I started with sketches again, but this time I drew furiously. They kept coming, every possible option, every possible angle and form and pose. Rather than nothing being right, everything was at least close but not quite. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than perfect. I’d spend an hour on a sketch, feel like I had finally captured it, and then in bed that night I would see her in my dreams, more distinctly than ever, and realize I could do better.

I didn’t see much of Jackson. When I had made my decision, I texted him to explain that I had a new idea, but that I needed some space to figure things out and I didn’t want him to see it until it was complete. He had been more than understanding. In fact, he had texted back “totally!! w/evr u need!!” and then followed it up with “no matter hwo it turns out i love u” which had left me completely distracted and feeling weird for the whole rest of the day, even if I knew that he just meant that in a friendly bro sort of way.

In fact, it was when sort of distractedly daydreaming about Jackson that I came up with the last piece of my project that had been missing. I had been dithering about what pose I should choose for her, nothing feeling good enough, when I thought of something… ambitious. Beyond ambitious. I’m talking really, completely foolish, something that I wasn’t even certain I could ever pull it off. But it stuck in my head so strongly that I had no choice but to go with it. I slipped a note under Professor Tveit’s office door that evening, consisting of several lines of profuse apologies and then an awkward request for some additional supplies. And then two days later, when I showed up in the workspace, everything I needed was there.

So I started. When I did finally put hammer to chisel, the stone that had previously been hard and brittle suddenly seemed happy to cooperate, eagerly yielding to my tools. As I chiseled and chipped and filed, it was more like I was simply revealing something hidden inside the stone all along. More and more of the shape of the girl became defined, and in turn I felt more and more happy and excited. This was it. I was too busy to think of consequences, and instead I luxuriated in the rush of creation. It was practically addicting--I would come in early in the morning, and then work all day in a fugue state, until I finally tore myself away to go home and fall asleep, dreaming of when I could go back and do even more.

It probably wasn’t the healthiest few weeks of my life, though. It was awfully hard to remember to eat, for one--though, every now and again, I’d hear a soft knock on the door, and go to look, and find a takeout container with chicken strips from the cafeteria or something, just sitting on the floor in front of the door. I figured that had to be Jackson’s doing. Even when giving me space, he couldn’t help but be adorably kind and thoughtful.

And that kind of care was really appreciated. I must have been missing more meals than I expected, because it seemed like I was losing weight. One morning, a week or two after I had started carving the statue itself, getting it down from its original height to the much smaller figure that I wanted, I woke up and went to throw on some clothes for the day, and my pants slipped right off. The shirt was way too big, too--I must have not been paying attention, and accidentally messed up the settings when washing them or something and they both had gotten stretched out? That was a thing that happened, right?

I had to dig through the clothes in my closet to find something that would work, and eventually I found some shorts with a waistband I could cinch really tight and some old shirts that were practically aprons. But… well, hey, an apron wasn’t too bad when I was busy with art. I’d worry about whatever had happened to my clothes later.

Instead I needed to focus on getting every last detail perfect, from the curls of not-too-long-but-girlishly-cute hair to the exact curve of those full lips, all the way down to each and every delicate finger on those stone hands. It was a funny thing, too: I was having a much easier time than usual with the tiny details. Usually I felt like my own ungainly body would never fail to get in the way somehow--the worst project I ever submitted for any art class was in a unit on miniatures where it felt like my big stupid hands were too clumsy to do what I wanted them to. But now, for whatever reason, it was no problem. I felt practically nimble as I finalized all of the tiny--but extremely vital--touches.

Before I knew it, the first part was done, and then I had to get to the equally challenging work of the second part, using the extra material that Professor Tveit had supplied me, as well as some rigging work that used pulleys and rope to hold certain things into place while I did my best to use earth magic to finalize my vision. That took a few more weeks too, and even though it wasn’t quite as magical-feeling as it had been seeing the first stage come together, I was riding high on my passion, feeling happier and more energetic than I had in years.

In fact, one day when I was on my way to the studio to work, I walked past Snow in the lobby, and then doubled back to talk with her. I still felt a little bit bad about being rude when we first met, and I decided then and there to apologize to her about it--which was a big deal for me, given that I typically dealt with my past mistakes by obsessing over them in my head but strenuously avoiding confronting them in real life. But I was in such a good mood that I had the strength to walk right up and say hi. I must have still been more nervous than I thought, though, because my voice came out higher-pitched than I expected--or maybe that was because with sequestering myself in the studio all day, I wasn’t talking to anyone, and my voice was rusty as a result.

Even so, it didn't even bother me when Snow didn't recognize me at first; normally that would have sent me into a spiral of anxiety and self loathing about how forgettable I was, but instead I just calmed myself down and reintroduced myself. And once I said that I was Jackson's friend, her eyes suddenly lit up really big and she was all smiles. She gave me her phone number and made me promise to text her and go get coffee "when all this was done"--though that was sort of confusing, since I didn't think she even knew about the project I was working on. She seemed very nice and genuine, though. The kind of person I could be friends with... if I could get past the prickles of jealousy I still felt around her.

But rather than dwelling on it, I simply let it go. I still had work to do: work that made me happy and made me feel fulfilled and worthwhile. And it was easy. This felt like a piece that I had been wanting to make for years. I had just held myself back from it until now, when it all came flowing out of me in one rush of creativity. 

And… well, it felt like that because it was exactly that. That was the truth. I wasn’t stupid and I wasn’t deluding myself: I knew exactly what this sculpture said to anyone who saw it. I knew precisely why I had never previously allowed myself to think about this sort of thing. And, with a bittersweet twinge in my heart, I recognized that it was an impossible fantasy. My ideal self and my ideal future wouldn’t come to pass in real life--which made it feel even more vital for me to at least see it through in stone. In a medium I could control and shape, I could pour out all of my hopeless wishes and hopefully maybe even purge myself of them.

Of course, another part of me realized that these weren’t the kind of desires that I could just satisfy and leave behind. I knew the longing would only continue to grow, and that each step towards recognizing and validating how I felt would only make me feel those things harder. But before I had to confront and deal with that, I had to complete my vision.

And then, one day, I did.

---

I paced back and forth in the lobby of the Arts building, wringing my hands in nervous agitation. Of course--of course--Jackson was going to be the first one to see the complete statue. I fought in my head over whether he would be the only one to see it. The completed work felt awfully personal and awfully revealing, and… even kind of shamefully indulgent? Maybe this whole thing was a mistake, and I could apologize to Professor Tveit and go right back to being a worthless dropout. In some ways that seemed way better than owning up to what I had actually created… and what that said about me.

But I had to show it to Jackson first. I owed him that much, for-- for all the things he had done for me, for the constant support he had always given me, for the sheer unimaginable kindness he had shown in being my friend. He had to see this statue, and finally understand who I really was and what I really wanted.

Even if that’d change everything forever. Even if he no longer wanted to be my friend after that.

I felt like I was going to throw up. Maybe the creative hyperfixation of the statue had distracted my anxiety for a bit, but now that I was finished, everything was back in full force. My heart was racing as my brain went round and round in circles even faster than my pacing feet could take me. It all just felt so overwhelming. I couldn’t help but think through one worst-case scenario after another, all of the millions of different ways that Jackson could react and how all of them would involve rejecting me, and…

But then, there he was, walking in the front door.

Oddly enough, even though you’d expect that him finally showing up would make things worse, it didn’t. Instead, I felt a measure of calm at the sight of those familiar cute ears. I watched as he went out of his way to hold the door open for someone carrying a stack of books out, and then how he looked around the lobby, his face hopeful and curious. I let out a breath, my heart rate slowing down again. As scared as I was, Jackson was my best and truest friend, and just getting to see him immediately helped me feel more normal.

…Except for some reason, he didn’t seem to see me. He was still looking around the lobby, his eyes skating right over me, and then he walked over to stand against the wall, pulling his phone out of his pocket. I watched as he typed something out, and then jumped as my own phone buzzed in my pocket. When I pulled it out, I read “im out in front wnever ur ready!!”

What the heck?

I walked over to him, feeling the slightest bit annoyed for some reason. “Jackson?”

His head jerked up, his blue eyes wide with surprise. “Yeah? Uh? Can I help y--” He blinked, and then his eyes trailed down me and up again. “Wait. Smudge?”

“Yeah?” I said, my hands on my hips. “Why are you being so weird?”

A second time his eyes ran over me, looking me up and down, and then a third. He blinked again, hard, as if he was having trouble trusting his eyes. Meanwhile, I felt a blush growing, uncertain at the sudden attention. What was his deal, anyways?

“Wow,” he said.

Wow? Wow?

“Look,” I said, clearing my throat because once again it felt like my voice sounded weird to my own ears. I felt the blush only growing, and I looked away, frowning hard. “Are you going to come see the project or not?”

“Oh! Yeah! Totally!”

And yet, as we walked down the halls headed to the studio, I noticed that he kept sneaking glances at me when I wasn’t looking. I wasn’t sure what to make of that--and I hoped that I hadn’t been running myself even more ragged than I had thought. I pushed some hair out of my face. Maybe that was it? Maybe I needed a haircut, and that caught him off guard? Hm.

The puzzle would remain unsolved for now, though. As we got into the studio, I took my place at the side of the sheet I had draped over the sculpture. A big reveal was important--or at least it was one more way to postpone the inevitable just a bit more.

I cleared my throat, my nerves vibrating wildly. “Alright, so…”

Jackson wasn’t even looking at the covered statue. He just kept staring at me with this weird intensity that made me feel even more thrown off. Normally, he really had the feel of a big, goofy dog, eager to play, but now, it was like some part of a deeper ancestry had reared its head, and a wolf was looking out at me through those eyes. And me? I was just a small fuzzy creature who had accidentally wandered in sight of a much larger predator, with my every instinct screaming to freeze in place.

“S-so… I’m going to show you the statue, but, um...” All of my prepared remarks slipped right out of my head as he smiled at me, still just as intensely than before. Jeez, I was sweating now, too. “Um, the thing is, I just want you to understand that, um. That it’s art, you know, and…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say! To not take things too seriously? That seemed wrong, when I certainly meant it seriously. I gulped. “And art is sometimes about possibilities and imagination, and…”

“Smudge,” Jackson said softly. For a moment, he shifted out of that intense gaze, and looked at me with the comforting warmth and familiarity that I was used to. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. I really do. And I support you, one hundred percent. You’re my dearest friend, and--”

“W-wait!” I said. “There’s something you don’t know. You won’t understand until you see the statue.”

He tilted his head. “What? No, I’m pretty certain I already get it…” 

I looked up at him, my eyes pleading, and he trailed off.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s see it.”

With one last deep breath, I steeled myself for the big reveal. I screwed my eyes shut, and then with one quick motion I pulled the sheet off, revealing the stone underneath. I kept my eyes shut, my knuckles white from clutching the cloth so hard that they would stop shaking.

For an eternity, I waited.

“Wow,” I heard Jackson breathe out.

Tentatively, I opened one eye, peeking at Jackson, who stepped forward to look closer at the statue.

I had spent so much time going over every last detail that it felt all too familiar to me, but as Jackson walked around the sculpture, it was like I could see it anew in his eyes. And it was beautiful.

I had used curving lines for the feminine figure in the smooth pink stone, the depiction of… well, of the body that I wished I had: still recognizably my own, with my lanky proportions, but sized much smaller, and making much sense with the additional curves of hips and small breasts. Her arms were wrapped tight against herself, and she stood comfortably, the viewer’s eyes naturally drawn in an elegant line from her slender feet all the way up to her arched neck. Her face was detailed, eyes closed and lips curling into a content smile, and her whole head was tilted back and up, looking expectantly, to…

To the other part of the statue. The center was my self-portrait, of sorts, but the realization that had seized me early on was that my idealized future self couldn’t be alone. And so, the girl of smooth pink stone was embraced by a second statue: standing behind the girl was a male form in rougher grey soapstone. Far bigger than the girl, his arms reached down and around to envelop her in a safe and secure grasp, and his head tilted down to face her own, another smile on those lips to match hers, scarce inches away. 

And, of course, his triangular ears made who I was thinking of for that second statue quite clear.

The statues of Jackson and myself were intertwined in a way that depicted a kind of intimacy so raw that I felt that my flesh and blood face had to be glowing bright red. It wasn’t every day that you showed your best friend a statue of himself and girl-you on the verge of kissing. 

“Wow,” Jackson said again. “Just… wow.” He reached out, gently brushing his fingertips across the cheek of the girl, and I jumped, my nervous and overstressed brain somehow interpreting it as if he was doing that to me directly. “Yeah,” he continued. “You were right. I didn’t quite expect this.” His eyes trailed down the lines of the statue, taking in the arms wrapped solidly around the smaller figure. “How did you even do this? It’s like they’re practically one statue, but it’s two types of stone.”

“Y-yeah,” I said. “I used the material you provided for the first statue, and then assembled the second in pieces, using a bit of earth magic to join them together around the first.”

“You, um…” he traced his fingers down the bicep of the outer statue. “You certainly made me look really good.”

I chewed on my lip. Yeah, of course he understood that it was him. It would be too convenient to have that slip past him somehow. I looked up at the broad shoulders and solid, comforting stone of his statue. “That’s just how you look,” I said. “At least to me, anyways.” I shut my eyes, gathering my courage. “But, uh… you’re probably wondering who the girl is.”

“Not really,” he said casually. “I mean, that’s obviously you.”

My blood froze in place. “Wh-what?” 

I jerked my head to look up at him, but he seemed perplexed.

“I mean, isn’t it? It looks like you.”

“What?” I repeated, the word coming out like a squawk. I stared at the statue again, making sure it hadn’t transformed into some kind of ugly lanky boy-thing when I wasn’t looking. But no, it just looked like the girl in my dreams. “No, it doesn’t!”

Jackson frowned. “Yeah, it totally does. Honestly, this whole statue worked way better than I expected it to. Or maybe I just underestimated how pretty you were on the inside or something.”

“Jackson, what are you talking about?” I said, my voice growing desperate.

He looked back at me, totally confused. “You know. The way the statue changed your body as you sculpted it?”

“The what did what?”

“You noticed that, right?” Now he finally sounded alarmed. “Smudge. You had to notice it. Right?”

My hands flew up to my face. “What?!”

“Come on, you had to have seen yourself in a mirror at some point! You look entirely different! I barely recognized you at first!”

“I don’t look at mirrors!” I cried out. “Who looks in mirrors?!”

“Um, everyone? Mirrors are everywhere, like in every public restroom. You’d have to be trying awfully hard to avoid looking into one, and why would anyone-- oh.”

“What?”

Jackson shook his head. “Well, but you had to have noticed. You’re like a foot shorter than you used to be.”

“No, I’m not!” I insisted, drawing myself up to my full height.

He blinked at me. “There’s a stepladder, like, right over there that I’m sure you had to use when finishing the statue.”

I glared at the offending stepladder. “I mean, maybe I used that for some parts, but I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention. But… that’s only because I made the statue a bit larger than life. That’s all.” I looked over at Jackson, standing right next to the statue that was precisely his same height.

Then he took a step towards me, and I suddenly realized that I was looking up at him. I was at eye-level with the smaller statue, not the bigger one, even though I was taller than Jackson. Or, well, I was supposed to be taller than Jackson, except now he was coming even closer, and leaning over me and.. and he really was much bigger than me, wasn’t he?

“D-do I really look like the statue now?” I breathed out, feeling a bit weak at the knees.

“Yeah,” he said. “You do. I’m so sorry. I really thought you would have noticed--that you had noticed.”

My head was spinning. Nothing seemed to make sense--and not in the normal way where I knew I was panicking and that if I calmed down, things would sort themselves out. This was genuinely baffling. What had happened? “How?” I finally choked out. “Why?”

He hesitated, looking down at me, and then back to the statue. And then he nodded to himself.

“Hey, do you remember in our junior year of high school when you came over for my birthday and spent the whole night? The two of us set up sleeping bags in the basement, and stayed up all night watching old movies.”

I froze, staring up at him in panic. Of course I did. That was… that was the night…

“The night when I kissed you,” he continued, saying my thoughts out loud. “I kissed you, but then you told me to stop. You told me--”

“It wasn’t right,” I choked out. “Maybe if I was a girl it could be, and maybe… maybe sometimes I wished that was the case, but… No. It was just wrong. We couldn’t. We can’t.”

His voice in response was gentle. “Yeah. At the time I didn’t understand. What about that kiss could possibly be wrong? I didn’t know if I was gay or straight or if it even mattered, but I was certain that I could be whatever you needed. Shouldn’t that be enough? But no. It took me a while to realize the truth: it wasn’t about me at all.”

I didn’t understand. I didn’t know how to deal with that night and that kiss--not then, and not now, either. In the immediate aftermath, I had freaked out so much. I had created distance, convinced that I was tricking Jackson, or luring him into something he didn’t want. I knew, knew that there was no way he could really mean it, and that even if he did, it was still wrong. It took us a long time to tentatively rebuild our friendship, because I was convinced that he would be better off without me in his life, and it was only his insistence to the contrary that had kept us together. After that, we had an unspoken rule not to bring it up again, in order for things to be okay. …But then, hadn’t I basically broken that rule myself, with this stupid statue? Was this, like everything else, ultimately my fault?

But Jackson’s smile cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Then I figured it out,” he said, sounding calm and assured. “And when I did, everything made sense. It was all so simple.”

I stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“You wanted to be a girl. I wanted you to be happy. So I’d just help you do that.”

“I-- I didn’t want--” the words came stuttering out, but I couldn’t even finish the denial. Of course I wanted to be a girl! But it wasn’t possible, so…

“I mean, yes,” he said, seemingly reading my mind, “Your parents would never allow you to transition, particularly not through any slower official channels. But I was convinced that I could still find a way to help you. I knew I could figure out something so that even if they objected, they couldn’t do anything about it. And it had to be fast, and complete enough that not even your anxieties and self-doubt could keep you from going through with it.”

“...Magic,” I whispered, it suddenly seeming obvious.

“Transformative magic,” he said, nodding. “I threw myself into studying the subject after that point, utterly determined that I could find an answer.” He frowned. ”Also, for what it is worth, it’s completely ridiculous that transformative magic is entirely understudied when it comes to relieving dysphoria. I blame a lack of interdisciplinary connections between the medical and magical establishments and not enough interest in trans issues, but I’ve managed to cobble together some research funding, and… well, I’m hopeful I can turn this work into a master’s thesis and maybe wind up with something that can help people.”

“Through… statues?”

“The statue is one medium, but the enchantment is more flexible. Using shifting magic alongside a work of creative self-definition, it should allow for people to be able to realize their true selves in physical form.” His eyes practically sparkled as he looked at me. “Like you.”

My head still felt like it was spinning. “But… Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was scared that if I did, it’d only cause you to panic,” he said softly. “And besides. I was certain that you would realize what was happening along the way, and then you could take things as fast or as slow as you wanted.”

He wasn’t wrong. I was more than prone to anxious panic, and if he had told me at the start of all this that he would help me be a girl, I think I might have just self-combusted. But…

“Everything else about the project is true though too,” he hastily added. “In fact, Professor Tveit came to me first. I’m not sure how she tracked me down, but she was trying to get me to convince you to come back to school and finish your degree, right when I was close enough to a breakthrough that I had the opportunity I needed, and… Well, I guess it worked out alright in the end, didn’t it?”

He looked so happy and hopeful looking down at me. I’m sure his tail was wagging too, though I didn’t want to look away from those blue eyes to check. He really was wonderful, wasn’t he? Of course I trusted him to take care of me, to be acting in my best interest as he navigated my own hangups and anxiety to lead me through to where I needed to be.

I just wished I felt like I deserved any of it.

And that was it, wasn’t it? My gaze dropped to the floor. Something still rebelled in me, something dark and twisted that insisted this was too good to be true, that despite everything that Jackson had said, I still didn’t deserve this. How could I? Jackson should be with someone better than me. He should get to be with a real girl, someone who--

“No,” Jackson said sharply, and I felt his hands grasping my own. “Smudge, look at me. I know what you’re doing. You’re finding ways to doubt yourself and put yourself down. And I am not having it, not tonight.”

“I just don’t understand,” I said, hating the petulance in my voice. “Why would you do all this? For me? Sure, okay, maybe one time when we were kids you took pity on your weird friend and decided to kiss him, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

He was silent for a moment. “Her,” he finally said.

“What?”

“When I decided to kiss her. And it wasn’t out of pity. Is that what you really think?”

Something fluttered in my chest at his insistence on the pronoun. “W-well, yeah.”

“Oh my god,” he said, sounding exasperated. “You really don’t get it. I don’t pity you. I’m in love with you!”

My mouth fell open, and then I forced myself to close it again. I was searching for any words in response to that, and none came.

Jackson??

With… me??

“Do you remember in high school, when my mother died?” he asked, his voice serious.

I blinked up at him in confusion, feeling whiplash. “Y-yes?”

“I missed a whole day of classes.” His voice was steady, but I could hear the emotion in his words. “Despite my dad trying literally everything to get me to go, I just didn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine a world without her in it, you know?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.” Forgetting myself, I reached up to rest my hand against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating beneath my touch.

He smiled at me sadly. “You had spent all day taking notes for me and collecting my assignments, and then as soon as school was out, you came over. And do you know what you did?”

Of course I did. I remembered everything about that day.

“You climbed into bed with me. You didn’t say a word, you just wrapped your arms around me and held me as I cried. You were the only one who actually knew what I needed. When I was done, when I had gotten everything out, I realized that even though I had lost her, I wasn’t alone. I wouldn’t be as long as you were around. That’s when I realized I loved you--that I had always loved you.”

“Jackson…” I whispered, not really sure what to say to that. Not even sure what I wanted to say.

“I know you have a hard time believing good things about yourself, and I know you struggle with your fears about not deserving things. But I need you to know that I think you’re beautiful, and there’s nothing you can do that will make me stop feeling the way I feel about you.”

I could feel tears brimming in my eyes, but before I could hastily wipe them away, Jackson was doing so for me. He was so big now in comparison to me, but where I had always felt ungainly and uncomfortable, he was so gentle and sure when he brushed his thumbs across my cheeks.

I swallowed, feeling like a string stretched so tight that I wasn’t sure if I was going to snap or… or if Jackson would touch me again and I’d make music. I could hardly bear to think about it. I tried to distract myself. 

“Do I really look like the statue?” I asked, in a small voice.

The smile that stretched across Jackson’s face was the kind that always made me feel warm and happy inside. But then it shifted, slightly, and he looked down at me with something unfamiliar. Something that made me shiver--but not in a bad way?

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping into something close to a growl. “Except…”

“Ex-except?”

“Except the statue has a different pose. One we could try out if you’d like…?”

My breath caught, my brain overloaded with thoughts. I mean, yes. I would like. I would like very very much. But… My nervousness got the better of me and more stupid words kept spilling out of my mouth.

“Oh, wow! I-- I wish I had a mirror in here! Gosh, and after I just said I didn’t like mirrors, here I am asking for one. Ha ha. M-maybe I could go to the bathroom, and-- wait, would I go to the girls’ bathroom or the boys’? I wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I’m just, you know, curious, um…”

Jackson let out a quick huff of exasperation. And then, before I could ramble myself right out of the room and away from all of these terrifying feelings and confessions, he took matters into his own hands.

More specifically, he took me into his own hands. He reached down, and then as if it was nothing at all, he hefted me up, holding me close. I let out a frankly embarrassing ‘Eep!’ but then all my shocked brain could process was that I fit really well in his arms. I guess I must have been pretty light, too. He easily walked across the room, and then shifted his grip so that he held me in just one arm--...wow--and used the other to…

With a clatter, he swept the tools off of the workbench at the back of the room. And then I was sitting on the table, legs dangling over the side. I found myself leaning forward, acutely missing the closeness that we had just shared, only to find that he was still right there. In fact, he moved in even closer, and we wound up right up against each other again, his hands holding onto my waist to keep me in place, and my legs on either side of his suddenly so-close body.

Sitting on the table like this, our height difference was much less. He was still taller than me, but… in a way that I only had to tilt my head up a little bit to… to…

“Hey there,” Jackson said again, in the same growl as before that made my heart go all stuttery. “So I know you wanted a mirror, but then I got a better idea.”

“Y-yeah?” I squeaked.

“I don’t want you to get all nervous and confused, so instead, I’m just going to tell you how you look. No mirror necessary. Do you trust me?”

“Completely,” I breathed out.

He smiled again, showing more teeth than usual. “Good. Then, let’s see, where should we start?”

One of his hands left my side, trailing its way up my body until it found its way into my hair. Gently using his fingers to ruffle through my hair, he reached up right behind my ears, to that place where he’d always give me a scratch to calm me down. But now, my heart started racing even faster.

“Your hair is so soft now,” he said. “It was soft before--it always has been--but now it’s really something else. I sort of thought you would want it to be longer than this, but now that I see you, it’s really perfect. Kind of fluffy and messy, but in an intentional way. The way that makes me want to mess it up even more.”

I made another noise at the back of my throat at that, and Jackson’s grin deepened. His hand left my hair, tracing its way down my jaw to cup my cheek.

“Your face has always been pretty--I know you won’t believe me, and I know you’ve complained about your chin being too pointy or your face too wide, but… Well, all of your worries are definitely resolved now. You still have a heart-shaped face, but your features are so much softer now, and it really makes me want to…”

With a grin, he suddenly lightly poked one of my cheeks, getting yet another “Eeep!” from me.

“Yeah, your cheeks are soft and squishable, and your nose has this incredibly cute little up-turn at the end. And your eyebrows are striking--not in a euphemistic way or anything, but just because they’re sharp and thin. They just make you look really elegant and focused. And of course they go well with your eyes…”

He cradled my face again, and drew even closer. I held my breath as he looked me directly in the eyes, something flickering in his own. 

“Your eyes are so beautiful… Your eyelashes are longer now, and somehow I think your eyes might be a little bigger than before, but everything else? Hasn’t changed much. And I’m glad. They’re a beautiful deep brown color that I’ve always loved, and I’m so glad they’re just like they were before, because when I look into your eyes, I see you. I can see the girl you’ve always been.”

Nervously, I licked my lips, trying to take a shaky breath, but when I did, I saw his eyes flicker down at the motion. Then he pulled back slightly, and I found myself leaning forward, unwilling to let the moment end.

“And finally,” he said. “Your lips. But there… hmm…”

“Wh-what? Is there something wrong with my lips?”

Jackson grinned. “No, not that I can see. But the thing is… If I’m really going to be accurate in describing them, I think I’m going to have to feel them. Is that okay?”

“You can do anything you want to me,” I whispered, meaning it more than I had ever meant anything in my whole life.

And then he leaned down, and ever-so-slowly, our lips met. Any thought of what my lips were like flew out of my head, because suddenly all I cared about were his. He was so gentle, but then as I kissed him back, he did the same, meeting my sudden desire with his own.

The first time Jackson had kissed me, all those years ago, it was just a clumsy peck among nervous teenagers. Even then, it had been all I could think about for years, despite all my efforts to seal that moment into a box and bury it deep down inside me. Now, though… this kiss? It blew that one away. I immediately knew: there would be no box big enough to contain these feelings, and no place that I could bury it where they wouldn’t burst right out again.

When Jackson finally pulled back, I was shaking, so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t tell if I was going to pass out or burst into tears or simply spontaneously combust. 

Suddenly, he noticed how much I was shivering and he pulled back a little further, giving me some space. “Smudge? Hey? Are you okay?” The intensity drained out of his gaze and his blue eyes widened with concern. Immediately, he was right back to the friend I had always depended on: the cheerful, ever-supportive puppy-dog that I knew and loved.

“I’m good, I… just… I need…”

He moved to pull away even more, but then I realized what I needed. I locked my legs behind his body, pulling him close again, and then wrapped my arms around him, letting out a shuddering breath into the warmth of his chest. As soon as he realized what I was doing, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me too, and we held each other close as my breaths grew less jerky and returned to normal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That was too much. I just, um, kind of got carried away. When I look at you now, with how small and adorable you are, it just makes me… um.”

“It makes you what?” I mumbled into his chest, glad that he couldn’t see my bright red face.

“It makes me want to pin you down and, um… do things.”

It made my stomach do a flip to realize that someone--no, that Jackson--found me attractive. That he found me so irresistible that he had trouble holding back… it was utterly inconceivable. But yet, when he had talked about how he saw me, I could tell he was telling the truth. And more than that: he made me believe it too, with how completely direct and honest he was.

“I just got overwhelmed,” I murmured back.

“It’s because I’m forcing all of this on you. Oh, gosh. And… and I’ve said everything about how I feel but haven’t taken your feelings into consideration at all--I mean, you’re beautiful now, and I’ve always been just a friend, and do you even like guys? I don’t know. Oh, Smudge, I’m so sorry…”

I pulled back, feeling his nervous heartbeat speed up as he rambled, and looked up at him. “Jackson,” I said quietly, and he trailed off, looking down at me with wide eyes and a pitiful grimace. 

He gulped.

“Jackson, I love you too.”

Getting to watch his face transform from worried dismay to a blindingly bright smile was a reward in and of itself. I felt my own lips turning up, too. If all I accomplished in my entire existence was to make Jackson smile like that, it would be a life well lived.

“I, um… I even want you to… to do stuff to me, too,” I mumbled, growing increasingly blushy as I went. “I just get overwhelmed easily, so… we might have to take it really really slow. Is that… is that okay?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And we don’t even have to--”

“No,” I said, surprising myself with how firm the word came out. “No, I want to. I really really want to. Just… slow.”

He nodded, and I could see so much in his gaze: the same intense desire as before, but also caution, and then, more than anything else, love. I knew I could trust him. I knew Jackson would never hurt me. …Well, maybe unless I wanted him to, just a little bit. I shivered again. We’d find ways to make things work, figure out what worked for us and what didn’t. We had all the time in the world. 

The more I internalized that, the more I was kind to myself and trusting of Jackson, the more I realized that I was eager to start.

“Is it okay if I kiss you again?” Jackson asked softly.

And I guess I wasn’t the only one.

 

Ingredients for a good Rooibos Chai:
1 fresh egg, ready to be cracked
1 part comedic misunderstandings, as spice
1 part sappy romance, to sweeten

Stir vigorously and simmer over a low heat.

For more, check out her Scribblehub and Patreon! 

— rooibos_chai

 

Santa's Secret Transfic Anthology Vol. 2 / Everyday Sweets #2 (Chapter 3)

Follow to catch The Sable and the Statue (Epilogue) on May 23rd

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