[ miles goes absolutely still, and that flat look on his face goes entirely cold, closed off. there's nothing he could say to that that would convince her otherwise, that wouldn't come off as defensive or petty or ashamed. he's been here before, he knows that. he ought to just drop it and leave it be. ought to.

when he finally does speak, moments later, his voice is low and quiet and just as cold as his face, betraying none of the hurt. he's too angry to raise his voice. ]

You'd be astonished to discover that there are people out there who don't judge based purely on the shape of your body. And I wouldn't lower myself to sleep with a woman who only targeted me because she thought I'd beg for any scraps I could get.

[ he remembers that night on beta colony when he was fifteen, the girl who had taken him aside to a room at that party, who had seen his body as a curiosity and nothing more, who had abruptly left him there, shirt pushed up and trousers tugged down over his hips when she saw that his genitals were about the only normal-looking thing about him. he remembers how he'd felt that night and the nights after, the crushing panic and the weight of his own self-loathing sufficating, the grip on the knife in his hand before bothari wrested it away from him, before he could do anything truly stupid. ten years ago now, and it still leaves a bitter taste like bile in the back of his throat.

miles' gray eyes are still like ice chips, but he smiles acidly. ]

So I guess you'll never know, will you?