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"But it's different…"

"What's different?"

"We're cooking and gonna watch a movie," she said, her eyes widening.

"Okay…" I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. "I'll bail. I'm already planning to chill with Nikita—"

"No, you should stay—"

"On your date?" I scoffed. "Tati…c'mon. What's going on?"

"This is going to sound shallow or fucked up, but I don't want to mess things up, Jags." Seriousness suddenly wrapped around her.

"Okay…tell me." My heart sank and I sat up straighter.

She drew in a slow breath, her eyes lingering in her lap for a moment. "I've never been with a trans guy. What if I mess shit up?"

"How can you mess it up?" Once I realized the nature of her worries, calmness settled around me. This I could help with. At least I thought so anyway.

"I just…want to do right by him. I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable or not give him what he needs…"

"Listen, Tati." I scooted closer to her. "Wyatt knows what he needs, and he'll tell you. You gotta trust that. His body, his mind, and heart—he knows what's up. Trust him and trust yourself."

"I don't want to hurt him or be insensitive, you know?" Distress painted her features and her eyes shimmered with the mist of tears.

"You won't be." I smiled while taking both of her nervous hands in mine. "You care about him, and you have for a long time. If you're scared or worried, talk to him. He's a talker and a communicator. Talk to him and don't feel pressured to do anything. There's no timeline for life or relationships."

"Yeah." She sniffled and wiped her cheek on her shoulder. "True."

"Relax. If you want me to stay for a while I will."

"Where will you go after?"

"Nikita and I are going to Thiago's. He's hosting a game night."

"What about Frankie?"

"She's going to Jordan's then Wildrose like usual."

"Okay." She sniffled and drew in a deep breath. "Panic over. Sorry."

"Don't apologize for being sensitive. Cool?" I nudged her chin with my knuckle, and she nodded before pulling me into a hug.

"Cool." She chuckled and squeezed me tight. "Thanks."

"Of course."

We parted ways at that point, and Tatiana returned to her painting. I watched for a while as her brush strokes brought layers to the canvas. The sound, the smell, and the calmness she embodied made my mouth water in a way. I craved the conviction of my work, and the melancholic hiss of the can that brought my emotions to life. I thought about it, and reduced to pacing as I considered returning to Frankie's to mark up her second wall.

"You could try a canvas, you know," Tatiana said, seemingly out of nowhere. "I see that look on your face."

"Walls are more fun…"

"Get a wall-size canvas. Or take commissions, Jags. C'mon. How many people have made you offers over the years?"

I shrugged then returned to pacing.

Eventually, work thoughts returned to the surface and the cold case that hadn't moved much since the interview with one of the now-adult victims. The Millers hadn't contacted me and so I figured they were just as icy as the police.