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Dr Jack Abbot was your biggest advocate. From simple choices to life-altering decisions, he supported and encouraged you. Top surgery was definitely a decision that came under the latter category for you. Yes, it was life-altering and nerve-wracking, but curing a lifetime of dysphoria was worth it. You woke up in the hospital to a pressure on your chest, and a hand in yours.
”Hey, sleepyhead. Welcome back.” Jack says to you softly, his thumb moving steadily back and forth against the back of your hand. You groan in response, your free hand moving to the surgical binder on your chest. “I know, honey, it sucks. But that stays on for 4-6 weeks. Doctor’s orders.”
Jack Abbot was also incredibly stubborn, especially when regarding your health.
”Thought I’d finally got rid of the binder.” You joke sleepily, still groggy from the meds. Jack smiles sympathetically. “I know, I know. But it’s not too much longer. And hey, at least we can go home today.”
Your expression grows relieved. “Thank god.”
Finally, some hours later, you were discharged. Jack helps you to the car, overnight bag slung over his freckled, muscular arm. “Easy, love. Take it easy.” He mumbles gruffly, guiding you into the passenger seat, which was already clad with pillows and a blanket. “Get comfortable, we’ve got around an hour till we’re back.” You hum in response, trying to get some sort of rest. You hadn’t even really digested the fact you’d finally gotten the surgery you’d yearned for since you were thirteen. The sound of driver’s side door opening softly pulls you out of your thoughts, glancing over at Jack with a small smile.
”Someone looks more relaxed.” He observes, returning your smile. “Any pain?” He asks, checking you over with his gaze. You shake your head, but answer with a sigh. “The compression is tight.” Jack nods sympathetically. “It has to be, baby. It’ll be worth it.”
Jack pulls out of the hospital parking lot soon after, hand stroking your leg softly. He checks on you multiple times throughout the drive, almost as constant as the pressure of the binder. However, you do eventually take your mind off it, relaxing into the seat. The medication from the surgery was starting to fully wear off, leaving you more exhausted than before. “Take a nap if you need to, honey.” Jack almost whispered to you, squeezing your leg. “I don’need to.” You mumble, pulling a soft chuckle from his mouth. “Sure you don’t.” He adds, turning the music down. You grumble, unintelligibly.
You wake up as Jack pulls into the garage of his house. It’s a very nice place, one that shows his workaholic tendencies.
”Not tired, huh?” Jack wears a smug, amused smile on his face as he glanced at your yawning expression. “Shut up.” You grumble tiredly, wiping your eyes. The car is shut off, and Jack quickly helps you to your feet, your arm around his shoulders. The walk is long and draining, and definitely didn’t go without your protests. “I want a snack.” You complain. “Let’s worry about one thing at a time, sweetheart.” He responds, guiding you to the couch. You flop down, sinking into the cushions.
“Alright, that’s comfortable enough?” Jack asks, fluffing the pillows behind you. He’s hovering over you with worry in his eyes. “Yes, Jack, I’m fine. I just need to sleep and recover.” You sigh, amused at his pampering.
“Any more pain meds?” He continues.
”Jack!” You laugh, almost incredulously. Jack returns the laugh at his own pestering. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry, love. I just worry.”
Six weeks after your top surgery, you could finally permanently remove the compression binder. “Arms up higher, honey, I need to cut it and I don’t want to nick you.” Jack murmurs, trying to remove the fabric from your chest. You listen to his request, putting them as high as you could without straining anything. The snip of the scissors sounds in the otherwise quiet of Jack’s living room, until the pressure on your chest finally loosens.
”Feel alright?” He looks at your expression through the mirror, trying to sense any discomfort or anxiety from you. There was none, as you smiled at him. “Please hurry up and fully take it off, Jack.” You request, buzzing with anticipation.
Jack laughs at your response, slowly peeling the binder off to reveal your new chest, now flat with two lateral scars on either pec. You don’t even know how to react at first, your heart racing as your hand reaches up to feel the new sensation. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both.
“Wow.” You whisper softly, almost in awe, the euphoria overwhelming. Jack comes up behind you, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. The tears brewing in his eyes threaten to fall mirror yours. “You look incredible, love. Like I’m seeing you for the first time. The real you.” He chokes out.
”Don’t be getting emotional on me, old man.” You joke, chuckling as a tear rolls down your cheek. “I could say the same to you.” He replies, kissing your neck softly. His hands move to stroke over the scars on your chest intimately, as if he was transferring all the love he had into them. “How do you feel?” He asks.
“Really fucking happy.” You reply, more tears falling. A delicate hand moves to softly wipe your salty tears away. “As long as they’re happy tears, cry away, sweetheart. I’m so happy for you.” Jack murmurs, hugging you tighter with the other arm.
That night, and for many nights to come, Jack would explore your new body with gentle hands, worshipping it with his touch. He could sense the positive impact it had on your confidence, your mood and even your comfortability around him. He was finally getting to know the real you after all this time, one not hidden behind a wall of gender dysphoria. And he loved the new you even more than he knew it possible.