Jon asking sooo quietly if Elias can call him his son again. Still not admitting that he’s not a girl that he’s never wanted to be a girl that the idea of being a man appeals to him so so much. This little fantasy he can only indulge here, in his fathers arms. Indulging in the idea of being his son. Of being like him. The thought makes him ache.
Tripping over himself to justify, that it’s just a fun fantasy, it’s nothing more than that. Elias putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing firmly. “You don’t have to explain. I already know.”
His eyes look through him. He looks like he knows something he doesn’t. It’s terrifying. It’s reassuring.
Elias tells him he’d make a beautiful boy. That he’s so handsome. That he’s the best son any man could ask for. Jon shakes and whimpers and wants so terribly he can hardly stand it. Drowning in the warmth of being his son. Of being his good boy.
He wants it so bad. And it’s getting harder and harder to say it’s just a fantasy. He thinks he already knows it’s not. He can’t say it. He’s praying Elias doesn’t make him say it. It might break him.