Work Text:
Today was rough. What you had to deal with at work was, quite frankly, bullshit. People are always initially put off when they learn you’re a mortician. As if working with the dead makes you some sort of weirdo. Preparing bodies for families to receive closure, breathing a little bit of life into them… you honestly think the work you do is beautiful. You like the fact that you’re helping people. At least your boyfriend remains indifferent to your profession. Scratch that. He enjoys it.
You look for your house key and unlock the front door. “Jack? I’m home!” you call out, your echo the only response you receive. It’s not unusual for him to be absent. You often come home late on the days you work, so Jack will do his own thing for a while. He doesn’t kill as frequently as when you started dating. A perk of dating a mortician is easy access to human organs. The dead don’t complain when you harvest their kidneys.
You hang up your belongings and make a beeline to the bathroom, wanting to relax in a bath. While the bathtub fills up, you grab a change of clothes from your room. You undress as the water continues to run. The large mirror you placed in your bathroom suddenly makes you uncomfortable. The individual you prepared today was trans. It’s not the first time you’ve prepared a body belonging to a trans person, but the parents were insistent you prepare their child the ‘right’ way. Despite clearly identifying as another gender, the parents refused to accept anything other than the assigned gender at birth. It upset you greatly, probably more than usual, since it felt so personal. You knew that you would be screaming in the afterlife if you learned that people’s last memory of you was incorrect.
The dead can’t exactly speak up for themselves, and ultimately it’s up to the family how the body is prepared. Your boss made it very clear that you were to follow the parents’ instructions. The next few hours were awful and felt wrong. You had to avoid staring at the face for too long because you were scared you would see yourself lying there.
You’ve had your fair share of struggles. Family members and friends have left you after you came out to them. Some people will say they accept you and then will completely change how they behave around you. It hurts. You learn to acknowledge that those people aren’t worth your time. But it always hurts to be rejected by those you love. Maybe that’s why you haven’t told Jack yet.
You’re not sure about Jack’s sexuality, but he doesn’t seem to have any gender preferences. Plus, you’ve only been dating for a few months. He hasn’t asked, and you never talk about it. You worry about how he will react. Will he leave you? Will there be disappointment and disgust when you finally tell him? You tear your gaze away from the mirror and step into the bathtub, hugging your knees to your chest. The water is shut off, and you stare blankly into the water, watching the waves ripple as the last droplets drip from the faucet. Jack doesn’t seem to be the judgy type, but then again, neither were the people who abandoned you. The reaction you most fear is that he’ll be disgusted because it’s you that’s trans. Some people are fine with the different gender and sexual identities, but it only becomes a problem if it pertains to someone they know. You dislike those kinds of people the most; hypocrites, the whole lot of them.
You splash some water onto your face. Worrying isn’t going to help you. Your fingers are starting to prune, and you decide it’s time to get out of the bath. Unplugging the drain, you exit the bathtub and dry yourself with a towel. You hear the sound of your bedroom window sliding open. Jack has his own key, but he never uses the door like a normal person.
“Are you in the bathroom, dear?” Jack asks. His footsteps shuffle around your room. A funny observation you’ve made is that he purposely makes noise when he walks around the house to let you know where he is. The first couple of times he visited, he nearly gave you a heart attack when he unintentionally snuck up on you.
“I was taking a bath. I’m getting changed now,” you reply, slipping on your pyjamas. When you open the door, you see Jack standing there with his arms open in an invitation for a hug. You smile and walk into his embrace, inhaling the smell of antiseptic and iron that lingers on his clothes after a kill. “You need a shower.” You wrinkle your nose, and he squeezes you tighter.
“I will if there’s any hot water left,” Jack teases. His hands trail down your body and cup your bottom.
“Maybe you need a cold shower instead,” you say, flicking his forehead. Your fingers twang against the plastic. He grunts and slides his mask off, tossing it onto the ground haphazardly. His dark eye sockets stare at you. Being blind is also a major factor in why Jack remains oblivious about your gender identity. He never once questioned your gender identity or your appearance. Instead, Jack comments how he likes the clean, lemon scent that follows you around or likes how nice and cuddly you are. He finds the sound of your voice pleasant, and you make him feel loved. You smile, the right side of your mouth slanting crookedly. “I love you,” you confess,
Jack beams, and the rows of his sharp teeth glimmer in the light. “I love you too, dear. Is everything ok?” His hands go up to your face, and he frowns when he feels you practically frowning beneath his fingers. You grip his hands and place tender kisses on his fingertips.
“Work was awful,” you say. He can’t see your expression, but he can hear how ragged you sound. He kisses the crown of your head, trailing down the side of your face and along your jawline. He doesn’t stop until he feels you squirming and giggling beneath him. He plants a final kiss on your lips and strokes your cheek.
“I’ll clean myself up, and then we can cuddle while watching tv. Let me hold you for the rest of the night,” Jack offers.
You hum and accept his offer. “That sounds nice.” You honestly feel drained and can’t be bothered to do much for the rest of the night.
Jack kisses the side of your head. “Be back soon,” he promises and heads into the bathroom with a change of clothes. You set up Netflicks and settle into bed, fluffing the pillows and tucking in the blankets around you. Jack emerges from the bathroom, drying his damp hair. “So what happened at work?” he asks, combing his fingers through his hair.
“I was preparing a body like usual.” You pause, and Jack notices your hesitation.
“But?” he asks, returning to the bathroom to hang his towel. You pinch the blanket between your fingers and fidget with the fabric.
“But the parents were a nightmare, frankly. Their child is transgender, but they refuse to accept it. I had to prepare the body according to the parents' wishes,” you answer.
Jack comes up to you and kisses your forehead, saying, “You were only doing your job, baby.” He strokes your hair, and you breathe a content sigh. Your shoulders tense when you think back to your shift today.
“But it felt so wrong. Like I was part of some scheme to cover up who this person was,” you confess. As a mortician, you believe it’s your job to speak for the dead and to help them look how they would want to be remembered by their loved ones. Yes, your clients are technically the family members, but there’s something immoral about changing someone’s gender because their parents think their child was ‘mistaken’ about their identity. You clench the blanket and try to even your breathing.
“What about it bothered you?” Jack asks, climbing into bed beside you. He takes your hands into his lap and plays with your fingers.
You smile bitterly, the lump in your throat growing bigger. “That this poor person will never be remembered for who they are but what their parents wanted them to be,” you say. You might be projecting your own experiences a little bit here.
“I can tell this is bugging you more than usual.” Jack’s words make you scoff. He pinches your fingertips, and you squeak. “I’m blind, not stupid.” The grin on his face makes the corners of your lips twitch up.
“It… it made me reflect on my life,” you say.
Jack tilts his head to the side. “Oh?”
You continue talking. “And I remembered how terrible people can be. Then I…. Then I got scared thinking about you.” You lean your body against his. The weight on your shoulders feels so heavy. You don’t think you can keep carrying it any longer.
“I do look frightening, don’t I?” Jack is joking, but you feel outraged nonetheless.
You sit up and bump his shoulder with yours. “Shut up. You know you’re handsome because I remind you almost every day how attractive you are,” you say,
Jack chuckles and kisses your cheek. “Then what’s scary about me? In case you haven’t noticed, dear, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger,” he says.
“That you won’t love me for who I am,” you confess, and you hate how small your voice sounds.
“I don’t understand? I already love you as you are.” Jack sounds so concerned, and you try to stop your tears from falling. You think one of the reasons you felt so scared earlier is because you knew that you would come out to Jack when you got home. Today was a reminder that you can’t continue this relationship until he knows—that is if he doesn’t leave you after.
“No. I-I’m…. I’m transgender. I haven’t exactly been hiding it from you, but I was too much of a coward to tell you outright,” you say. You did it. He knows now. Laughter chokes your throat as the tears finally fall down your face. “Jack, I can’t take another rejection, especially from you. I’ve had people who promised they love me and then pretended I never existed after I came out to them, and I can’t go through that again with you because you mean so much to me. And I know we’ve only dated for a few months, but I am ridiculously in love with you—“ Your rambling is cut off by Jack’s lips. His kiss is gentle, but you can feel the intense affection he’s trying to convey.
“Take a deep breath, baby. Look at me,” Jack says. His hand cups your cheek, brushing away your tears. You turn away, too afraid to look at his face. “Look at me, please?” he begs. Hesitantly, you face him and suck in a breath. He doesn’t have eyes, but the expression on his face…. The dimples from his smile and the soft arch of his eyebrows—it’s different from what you expected. “I still love you. In case it wasn’t obvious, it wasn’t your looks that attracted me.” You stare at him in awe but can’t help poking some fun at him.
“No, it was the fact that I’m a walking free meal ticket for you.” There’s a lilt to your voice, but Jack can’t see the grin on your face.
Jack winces. “I’m not going to lie. I did approach you with selfish intentions,” he admits. His cheeks flush darker, and he clears his throat. “But then I learned how much I like hearing you laugh, feeling you next to me in bed at night, and how content you make me feel. So I stayed. Not because you give me free human organs, and most definitely not because of how you look. You make me so undeniably happy that it scares me. I’m also afraid you’ll reject me. I mean, what sane person would date a serial killer?” His voice cracks near the end, and you’re left speechless.
Vulnerability is not Jack’s strong suit. Hell, he didn’t even tell you much about him until a month ago. Until then, you were under the impression that he was a college student with peculiar interests and eating habits, but who isn’t quirky these days?
“But that doesn’t change how I feel about you,” you say, furrowing your brows.
Jack strokes your cheek absentmindedly and says, “I’m not human either; does that make you love me any less?”
You chuckle in disbelief. “Of course not. I love Jack. Not the serial killer or botched cult summoning,” you say. The confidence in your tone brings a smile to his lips.
“Then, baby, what makes you think I love you any less?” Jack asks, and suddenly, it feels like someone has tipped the world on its axis.
“You promise?” Your voice wobbles, and you choke back a sob.
Jack rests his forehead against yours, and both his hands are on your face now. “How you choose to present yourself to the world has no effect on the love I feel for you. I love you no matter what you are or what you do.” He speaks with such conviction, but you still struggle to believe his words. He understands your silence and continues. “I’ll repeat myself because I know it sounds too good to be true. Transgender or not, I will love you no matter what.”
The weight on your shoulders is gone, and your body sags with relief. The sob that’s been building up in your throat bursts out, and Jack rubs your back as you release all your pent-up feelings. You cry, and Jack stays by your side, whispering words of affirmation to you. When your tears are reduced to sniffles, he hands you a bottle of water from the bedside table. You gratefully take a sip to soothe your raw throat.
Jack leans back into the pillows and opens his arms. “Now come cuddle me,” he says.
You laugh and snuggle into him, resting your head on his chest. The steady, low beat of his heart against your ear brings a sense of comfort. You look up at him and say, “I love you.” Your voice is tooth-achingly sweet, and Jack can’t stop the smile that splits his face. He looks at you fondly and kisses the top of your head.
“I love you too, dear,” Jack says.
“Oh, by the way, I left the kidneys in the fridge for you,” you say with a yawn. Your eyelids feel heavy, especially after all the crying you did.
Jack laughs and says, “Now I love you even more.” You hum and tangle your legs with his. The last thing you remember is Jack turning down the volume of the tv as he adjusts the blankets to cover you better, wishing you sweet dreams.