About thirty minutes later, I heard a knock on my door. I still wasn't feeling much better than before, so it took me a bit to get to the door. He was patient, though. He didn't knock again. When I opened the door, I almost let out a squeak of delight. He was much shorter than I thought he'd be. Just this petite person. So cute. He was holding two bags of groceries, and his violin was slung on his back. He bowed to me and I let him in. I noticed he was wearing black leather pants with a silver colored chain coming from the pocket. He took off his boots in the entryway, revealing white socks on small, petite feet. 

Immediately, he ushered me to the couch. "You're sick, you must feel awful, please sit down. I'll cook for you. You must be so hungry." He was never worried that he'd catch my flu, even though I later learned he has asthma. 

He leaned his violin case against the kitchen wall, and set to work. I pointed to where my pots and pans were, and he found other utensils. I watched his back as he quickly worked. Cutting green onions, dicing tofu. Warming dashi and whisking it into the miso paste. In thirty minutes, he was all done and served it to me in my living room like I was something special. 

I asked if he wanted any, and he said he'd already eaten. I know now he declined due to being careful about his medical diet, but he'd wanted nothing more than to partake with me. As I was eating, he took a box of tissues out of one of the canvas grocery bags he'd brought. He set it next to my dish. So thoughtful. I thanked him sincerely. He just bowed slightly and smiled.

I ate quickly. It was honestly delicious. The perfect combination of everything, with a light, delicate taste. 

After this, he practically ordered me to take a nap. "Sleeping helps you heal," he'd said. I graciously accepted. My body was achy. He followed me to my bedroom, and tucked me in like I was a child, even tucking the blankets under my body. I was so comfortable, and my stomach was warm with the soup. I must have fallen asleep almost immediately. 

When I woke up, I found a cold strip on my forehead. He'd done this while I was sleeping? I took it off, and saw it was dark outside. I wondered where he'd went. Did he go home? It kind of felt like a fairy tale. This person had just popped up in my email, then popped up at my door, made me soup and put me to bed, and now he was gone. Like a fairy godmother or something. My heart did a flip flop. It was yearning to have him come back again. He'd been so gentle and kind. There was nothing aggressive about him. He wasn't forward. He seemed to genuinely care. 

And when I opened my bedroom door, what I heard. Oh, what I heard.

A thin, delicate sound was lilting up and down. Quiet, like a birdsong on a breeze. French words that were familiar to me. I almost floated towards them. I heard my dryer start up. What in the world? 

I found him in my small laundry room. He was surprised. He asked if I felt better, and then got nervous. "I know sometimes when people feel sick, chores can get left undone. So... I swept your apartment and I found some laundry, so... I'm sorry. Should I have left?"

The thing is, I was feeling better. A lot better. So I just smiled, and pressed him up against the wall. And I kissed him deeply. When my tongue slipped into his mouth, he let out a high moan and my heart went into hyperdrive. He wrapped his arms around me, and I never wanted him to let me go. 

When we got to the bed, he suddenly got nervous. He stopped me. I thought, oh no, I misread him. But, it turns out it wasn't that. 

It was then that he bowed his head so low, and put his hands on his knees. And he said, "I'm transgender. Please don't think any less of me. I'm sorry to tell you now, when we're...but you have to know. I was born female at birth. I am a transgender man. I have transitioned, but I am letting you know. My parts below might not match what you...um...had in mind. I'm sorry."

I was on the bed now. I gave a sympathetic face. "What in the world are you apologizing for? Why would I think any less of you? You're not different from anyone else." That's all I could think to say. 

He smiled so wide then. Visibly relaxed. He crawled onto the bed. 

And we made, what I can only describe as, love. Just this slow, tender, attentive, lustful thing. I'll never forget the noises he made. Most men I've met don't make much noise during sex. But he was vocal, and he made me... He made me do things I've never done before. His hands clung to my back as I kissed up his neck, his mouth kissed my ear as he gently moaned into it. 

It just felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like I should have been doing this my whole adult life. Where had he been? Where had he been hiding? In our conversation, he'd nervously said he'd been my fan for years. He'd just been there? This whole time? I couldn't believe it. 

Afterwards, he was so much more relaxed. We held each other in our arms. He kissed me a lot. I gave him teasing kisses and he giggled, and I laughed so much. I'd never had anything like that after sex. He was so playful with me. He didn't want to immediately leave, he didn't look at the time, he didn't want to roll over and go to sleep. Instead, we got into a conversation, just staring into each other's eyes, and somewhere along the way he started talking about his band. He told me about his band's name, Lyra, and how it was named after a constellation. He really liked the stories of the stars, he said. I asked him to tell me a story. And he told me a story. And then another story. And another. I just silently listened, watching his handsome face get so passionate, telling me stories. He made me feel so special, holding me like that, telling stories just for me. He noticed an eyelash on my cheek and without skipping a beat, he blew it away and said, "eyelash" and continued with his story. It made me smile, enchanted with him. 

At some point, I fell asleep in his arms. He fell asleep, too. And when I woke up the next morning, he was already awake, but still holding me. We just stared at each other for a few moments. And he smiled, his now familiar little shy smile. "Good morning," he said like a song and kissed me. 

If I said I was completely taken, I'd be making the biggest understatement in the world.

In the end, he stayed over for three days. He cooked every meal for me. We went to the grocery store together and I watched him pick out ingredients so carefully. He took so much joy in cooking for me. Omurice, a Korean dish called gimbap, an Italian dish called chicken Florentine, hayashi rice, and the French dish called chicken fricassee. I was in food heaven. On the third day, he made a cake. It was a gorgeous coffee flavored and chopped walnut cake with homemade raspberry jam. I stood next to him while he cooked and baked, my mouth slightly open in surprise every time. The most beautiful smells filled my whole apartment, and probably the hallway outside of it. I asked him where he learned to cook, and he just said it was something he was interested in, so casually, as he was chopping mushrooms for the hayashi rice.

That afternoon, he had to leave. He had to go to teach a student at their apartment. I wanted to beg him not to leave, but I knew that would be childish of me. Instead, I kissed him deeply and grabbed the collar of his shirt in a small attempt to get him not to leave as he kissed me back just as passionately. 

I saw him to the door, and he kissed me again in the doorway. I asked him to come back. Something inside of me was doing that yearning thing again. He said he'd of course come back, and when did I want to see him again? I just thought, immediately! But I said I'd call him. He kissed me one last time, holding me around the waist, his hand cupping the back of my head. I melted. 

After he left, I just sat on my couch, staring at the wall for a while. Wondering if all that had actually happened. I got up and went to the refrigerator, and discovered the still mostly whole cake that he'd made, carefully wrapped in plastic wrap. I unwrapped a little bit of it, went and got a fork, and took a mouthful. I moaned quietly in the deliciousness. The mixing of the fragrant raspberry and the strong coffee genoise, the crunch of the walnuts, all of it melting together immediately in my mouth. Remembering his hands, his long fingers, gripping the mixing spoon as he'd mixed the cake batter he was making just for me. His hands desperately grabbing at my back as we made love. I closed my eyes, as the sweet raspberry overwhelmed my mouth. 

I blinked my eyes. I was in his hospital room. I realized I'd been staring at the wall in thought. My cheeks were hot. I touched my cheek with my palm. My eyes flitted straight ahead, and I discovered him watching me from his bed. Those same gentle eyes, always checking to see if I was alright. 

"Oh, good evening, my darling," I chuckled, blushing more.

"Good evening. What were you thinking about?" He was smiling so much.

I reached my hand out to him, put my phone on the table behind me. My other hand encapsulated his hand between my own. "About you."

"Me?" Said so innocently, like it was a surprise. 

"Of course." 

"Oh." He made a wiggling movement, one he made when he was too happy. It meant his heart was full of butterflies. I laughed in the joy of it, and he laughed with me. He got a very cute expression on his face, biting his lower lip and looking off to the side, causing his eyes to be big.

"What is it?" I was still smiling so much, I couldn't help myself. 

"Um. I was thinking I wanted to cook something for you."

I sat up straight in my seat, excited. "What do you want to cook for me?"

"Coq au vin. I thought it would be romantic, because it's going to be Valentine's Day soon."

Ohhh. He'd never made that for me before. My mouth filled with water just thinking about it. I swallowed. His eyebrow creased, and my eyes softened at this. 

"Oh, but," he said quietly, "how am I going to cook that... I'm not sure I can stand for that long. I have to watch it cook. Um... I don't know." He looked so disappointed. My hands tightened around his hand. 

"I'll hold you," I tried to assure him. "I'll hold you the whole time. If you think you can manage it." 

He gave a small smile at this. I saw his eyes go glassy for a brief moment, and when he blinked they weren't glassy anymore. I leaned over, and before he could move, we were kissing. He let out a tiny moan, and I was a goner.