Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 213: The outpour (1)

Chapter 213: The outpour (1)

I’m not a real boy.

Well, that hadn’t been in the bucket list of the words he had expected to hear from Sky.

Not that he had a bucket list per se.

Or maybe he did in his head.

But what the hell does that even mean.

He looked him up and down.

"I wasn’t... developing like other boys." Sky cleared his throat, clarifying.

"I... I was put on testosterone. Shots." He emphasized the last word, a hint of resentment coloring his tone. "So, yeah. This..." He gestured again, this time with more deliberate self-deprecation.

"This ’perfect guy’ you see? It’s... it’s partly manufactured. It’s the shots. It’s not... really me."

Oh.

Ohhhhhh.

Chris’s mind raced, processing Sky’s words as they echoed in the quiet room. He was still grappling with the gravity of what Sky had just revealed. The weight of it sat heavy on his chest, but the look in Sky’s eyes—vulnerable, pleading—kept him rooted in place. Chris stared at him, intently, as if trying to peel back the layers and truly understand what this all meant.

He wasn’t even sure the right question to ask.

Did this mean...

Sky looked away first, unable to hold Chris’s gaze. His voice broke the silence with a raw edge. "You hate me," he choked out, the words laced with a desperate certainty that twisted Chris’s gut.

"No!" Chris said fiercely, his hand instinctively shooting out to grip Sky’s wrist, anchoring him. "Don’t say that. Don’t even think it." He pulled Sky gently back down, his thumb stroking the back of Sky’s hand, a silent offering of comfort. "I’m just... thinking."

Sky didn’t resist, but the tension in his body was evident. His eyes were clouded with doubt, as if he didn’t believe what Chris was saying. Chris opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. He stumbled over his words, trying to make sense of his own confusion.

"Help me understand then," Chris pleaded, his voice rough with emotion. "Tell me why this... this version of you, the one I see, isn’t real to you."

Sky hesitated. His lips parted, but nothing came out immediately. Finally, he shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I don’t know," he said quietly, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the uncertainty.

Chris looked at him, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of it all. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but firm. "But this is you, Sky. You. You’re perfect now. What bothers you so much?" His words held sincerity, but there was a hint of frustration behind them too. He didn’t understand why Sky couldn’t just accept who he was now.

Of course he wanted to ask Sky questions. To understand what he truly meant. But he wasn’t sure what to ask. How to ask. Especially when it looked like this was something Sky didn’t want to talk about.

Sky’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke, the words weighted with a deep sadness. "You don’t understand," he said softly, looking down at his hands like they were something foreign, something unrecognizable. "I don’t feel like this... is me." He motioned vaguely to himself, his face clouded with frustration. "It’s like everything about me has been forced. I’ve never felt... right. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin. I like it. But... I also hate it."

Chris had thought he could easily understand Sky. Whatever kept him on edge. Whatever made him... Sky.

But this? This was a revelation so raw, so painful that it shattered everything he thought he knew. He watched Sky, his entire being trembling with the weight of his confession, and the sight of it left Chris breathless.

Sky’s voice was barely more than a rasp when he continued. "At puberty," he continued, his voice strained with emotion, "I watched my friends—my friends—grow into themselves. Their voices deepened, their shoulders broadened. Everything about them screamed ’man.’" Sky let out a bitter laugh, but it was hollow, filled with years of built-up resentment. "But what happened to me? I barely developed anything... also... down there." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, looking like he was forcing the words out, like they burned his throat. "And then, instead of growing, I started getting sprouts... fucking boobs!" Sky laughed then, but it was a hollow sound, void of any humor.

Chris felt a lump rise in his throat and he unconsciously looked at Sky’s chest.

Flat.

What the hell happened to him?

With him?

He didn’t know what to say—what could he say to make this better? The tears were already falling down Sky’s face, the pain of years and years of struggle pouring out in front of him.

"Maybe my mom was supposed to have twin girls, not a boy and a girl," he said bitterly, swiping at his eyes as he struggled to keep himself together.

Chris watched him—watched the pain etched into his face, the years of suffering that Sky had kept hidden away. It was all too much, too overwhelming for Sky, and Chris felt the weight of it all pressing down on his chest. He didn’t know how to help. He didn’t know how to fix it. He let him be. Let him talk.

Sky’s voice wavered, growing softer and more fragile with each word, his shoulders trembling as if the weight of his emotions was too much to carry. "I’ve lived with this insecurity for so long," he whispered, his eyes downcast, his hands clutching at his shirt as if trying to hold himself together. "Every time I look in the mirror, I feel like I’m not... I’m not right. Like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit." His voice cracked, and he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, the rawness in his gesture breaking Chris’s heart.

"And now," Sky’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at his body, his hands gesturing to himself, "now I’ve got this body—this ’man’s body yeah?" he said, the words sharp and brittle. "I want to love it. I should be happy. I like it. But..." His voice faltered, a shudder running through him. "Something in my head keeps telling me that it’s not real. It’s just... it’s just chemicals, it’s just shots. The voice never leaves. They said it would get better. Something about side effects of the medications. Of everything. But it... it never goes away. And it... it makes..." He stopped, choking on a sob as his eyes lifted to meet Chris’s. "It makes me... depressed."

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