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There were good days; of course there were good days. There were days when they were both comfortable; as comfortable as either of them could be, though Cecil was generally more comfortable in eir own body than Carlos was.
But, with the good days came the bad days. They didn't always line up; when Cecil had bad days, all ey wanted was to be left to emself; ey wanted not to be touched, not be reminded of eir shape. Carlos, on his bad days, just wanted to be hugged, wanted to be held close and reassured that he was loved and that he was truly himself. When their bad days coincided, they were both miserable, and their worst fights were on days when neither felt safe in their own bodies.
Cecil had a habit of pushing emself to eir very limits, tried to keep convincing emself that ey were fine until ey finally broke. Ey would go about eir days, ignoring the stirrings of discomfort and dysphoria until ey could put it off no longer, breaking down more often than not in tears, especially when eir lungs couldn't handle the pressure from eir binder.
Carlos didn't face the same issues as Cecil had with a binder; he didn't have asthma, didn't have to worry about his lungs the way ey did. He could face the day without having to worry about needing an inhaler, he didn't need to worry about not being able to catch his breath again if he started coughing the way ey did.
Carlos didn't have the same confidence in himself that Cecil had. He couldn't muster the same disregard for societal expectations that ey did; ey would go one day in a dress to the next day in a button-up, with little trouble. Carlos couldn't bring himself close to a tank top, could barely bring himself to wear shorts, let alone a dress or a skirt. He would be fine some days with a sports bra, making sure to wear his loosest lab coat to cover his figure; other days even wearing a binder wasn't enough and he had to wear his baggiest shirt and loosest lab coat, even with the binder. He was convinced it didn't do enough; it would never be enough, no one would ever see him for the man he was.
They got good at reading each other; Carlos at talking Cecil through an asthma attack, keeping eir inhaler close and himself far enough away to not make em feel crowded and like ey were about to suffocate, and Cecil at holding Carlos through an anxiety attack, assuring him that he was loved and letting him shake apart only to piece him back together with words of comfort and validation.
There were bad days and there were good days, but neither would trade them for anything else in the world. They were happy, and they had each other; that was all that mattered.