It belatedly occurred to me that I've never really gone into Jean-Luc's issue. So here it is. As usual, proceed with some caution if you have triggers. I will probably do hopeful things for him later in the fic, but I need to establish the core problem first.
Jean-Luc: 19
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail.
Pretty.
Oh how Jean-Luc hated that word. Despised it. Loathed it. He'd been called it all his life, and it had never ceased to evoke an instantaneous, painful, gut rejection of it. Jean-Luc had been called it ever since he was a child, but in recent years his relationship to it had soured especially bad.
It wasn't so much that he minded being beautiful. And there was no getting around the fact that he – objectively – was incredibly beautiful. Jean-Luc had inherited the best his parents had to offer in the genetic department. He didn't even necessarily mind sometimes being mistaken for a girl. Gender presentation and the disparity in his wasn't really a concern of his. His mother had dressed him however she had pleased when he was young, and even as a teenager he found feminine clothes very comfortable. Jean-Luc loved sundresses, in fact. But he couldn't go out in them. Not in a long time.
What he really, well and truly despised, was how he was viewed by other people. Or rather, what they felt entitled to from him, merely because he was "pretty." Such a shame, they would say. Such looks are wasted on a man. Like he'd had any say in the matter. People felt that they had the right to catcall him on the streets, or treat him as stupid or vapid. Or when they hit on him – man or woman. It was in the looks he was given sometimes. It made his skin crawl.
Worst of all was when they decided they were entitled to touch him.
In many people's eyes, being beautiful voided his right to consent. Voided his right to bodily autonomy, to decide who and when and how he wanted to interact with others. There were moments in his past relegated to blank spaces and tucked behind walls thanks to this. Bits and pieces of happenings that were largely lost to him.
It had made him skittish around others. Reluctant to reach out and form new relationships. Even around his family, sometimes. Everyone but Lacey. Lacey was his… anchoring point in the world. Lacey had saved his life more times and in more ways than he could count. He owed her more than he could ever repay her. His birthday-twin. His other half in all the ways that mattered.
Pretty.
And then there was the simple fact that... it hurt Lacey. He could see it in her eyes, every time he was called pretty and she was passed over for the compliment. She, like him, was under no illusions about her physical appearance. But she had never been called pretty in her life. Not outside of her family, and Jean-Luc, anyway. Compliments from him and her parents were poisonous to her, tainted by their own love for her. Not genuine. Not to be trusted. It had been the source of many arguments between them growing up. It cut her every time and he was equally powerless and clueless about how to repair the damage. To himself or to her.
Pretty. How laughable. He was so cut up and damaged inside, such a fractured mess of anger and self-hatred and pain and fear, it could hardly be called anything beautiful.
Pretty.
Jean-Luc so hated that word. With every fiber of his being.