Sunday, December 21st 2014

Jack shut the front door as quietly as he could, the cool night air still clinging to his skin. The house was dark, save for the dim glow of the kitchen light left on, and the faint hum of the fridge filled the silence. He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion settling in after a long night.

The match had been brutal. A hard-fought draw, the kind that left you sore in places you didn't realize you had muscles. Afterward, the lads had dragged him to the campus bar for a few pints, and though he hadn't gone too hard, he still felt the pleasant buzz in his veins.

Millie wasn't home. That was a small mercy. He hadn't spoken to her since the fight. He wasn't sure if she was avoiding him, or if she just had better places to be. Probably both.

But Ciarán was.

Jack stopped mid-step when he saw him, sitting cross-legged on the couch in the sitting room, wiping himself clean of drag. No wig, no lashes, and almost no elaborate makeup left. Almost just Ciarán.

It was the first time they had been in the same room since that night.

'Hey,' Ciarán said, voice softer than Jack expected. Jack hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had half a mind to just go straight to his room, but something about Ciarán's expression made him pause. 'I actually wanted to talk to you,' Ciarán continued before Jack could respond. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. 'I thought Millie was out of order, and I should have said something then, but I didn't. And I know we got off to a bad start, but basically I'm sorry like.'

Jack wasn't sure what to say to that. And for a moment he said nothing, although he was grateful for the alcohol in his system. It made this interaction feel less awkward, albeit only somewhat. 'It's OK,' he uttered eventually, 'thank you.'

Ciarán gave him a knowing look. 'Era, it's not OK. But I didn't want you to think that just because she was being an arsehole, that I agreed with her, like. I don't. You didn't deserve that. And I know she regrets what she said too.'

Jack exhaled slowly, nodding. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that until now. 'Thanks,' he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

'I don't know what you're going through. But whatever it is, you'll be OK. And if you ever do want to talk, I am here.'

Jack was confused. For the last few months, Ciarán had been very short with him; rude even. And Jack hadn't exactly been overly polite back. Ever since he had moved in, and they had had their fight, things were very awkward between them. But Millie had done well as the middleman to diffuse tension - until they had had their fight. Now being home was awful.

'Thanks Ciarán,' he said, 'really.'

'So... where were you tonight?'

Jack shrugged. 'Football. Then had a few drinks with the lads after.'

'Spice bag?' Ciarán asked, gesturing toward the brown paper bag in Jack's hand.

Jack nodded. 'Yeah. You want some?'

'I just inhaled a tub of ice cream, but sure, go on so bai.'

Jack tossed it onto the coffee table, and sank into the armchair opposite Ciarán. They ate in silence for a moment, the warmth of the food settling in his stomach. Outside, the usual weekend chaos of Dublin hummed on—shouts from drunk lads fighting over taxis, the occasional car horn, the distant thump of music.

'How did you get on tonight?' asked Jack, noticing the remnants of makeup still on his housemate's face.

'Tonight was rough,' Ciarán said eventually, rubbing at his bare face. 'I need to get a different glue for my lashes. This cheap shit's ripping my skin off.'

'Jesus,' Jack muttered. 'I dunno how you do all that. The heels, the corset yoke, the—' he gestured vaguely—'everything?'

Ciarán smiled, but there was something more in it. 'It's worth it though. Drag changed my life. It helped me finally accept who I was.'

Jack frowned slightly. 'Surely dressing up as someone else makes that harder? Like, wouldn't it be more of a mask?'

Ciarán shook his head. 'Suzie isn't a mask, bai. She's who I am, who I always was. Ciarán, the Ciarán before I found drag, was the mask. I was just playing along like, trying to be someone I wasn't. Suzie let me see that who I am isn't something to be ashamed of.'

Jack nodded slowly. He could see the truth in it, but he didn't know how to relate. If Ciarán really had ever struggled with his identity, he had embraced it in a way Jack couldn't imagine doing for himself.

'So... Suzie's not just a stage thing then?' Jack asked after a beat, poking absently at the leftover chips in the spice bag. 'Like, she's not just the performance side of you?'

Ciarán shook his head. 'No. Suzie helped me realise who I really was. It's kind of like... putting on drag let me turn the volume up on the parts of myself I used to try and mute. And eventually, I realised those were the best parts of me.'

Jack considered that for a moment. 'But what about before all that? Before you even got into drag? Did you always know?'

Ciarán's brow quivered slightly, like he was clocking where the question was coming from, but he didn't call it out. Instead, he leaned back against the couch and took another spoonful of ice cream. 'Era, I knew. But knowing and accepting are two very different things. I think I fought it for a while, at least internally. But there's only so long you can keep up an act before it eats you alive.'

Jack swallowed. That, he understood. 'And what about your family? You said before that your mam always knew?' He tried to keep the question casual, but his voice felt tight in his throat.

Ciarán smiled wryly. 'Oh, ya. I swear she was waiting for me to come out just so she could throw a party. She had the rainbow bunting up before I even finished the sentence.'

Jack snorted. 'Must've been nice.'

'She's some girl,' Ciarán admitted, then studied Jack for a second before adding, 'But I get that not everyone has that, like.' Jack didn't respond. Ciarán didn't press. Instead, he set the spicebag aside, stretching his legs out across the couch. 'So, what about you?'

Jack stiffened slightly. 'What about me?'

'Have you ever questioned it?'

And just like that, in an instant the room felt too warm. 'I—' Jack hesitated, glancing toward the window like he was expecting an escape route to magically appear. 'I don't know.'

Ciarán tilted his head. 'You don't know? Or you don't want to know?'

Jack bristled, reaching for his water just for something to do with his hands. 'Jesus, you sound like my therapist.'

Ciarán smirked. 'A therapist? Go you, girl! I'd say your therapist is onto something there alright.'

Jack let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. 'I dunno. I try not to think about it that much.'

Ciarán arched an eyebrow. 'You did kiss me, bai. Or do you try not to think about that too?'

'I was drunk,' Jack said.

'Well what about Paul?'

'I don't want to talk about this,' he muttered, standing up.

'Jack, I'm not trying to push you into anything,' Ciarán said carefully, watching him. 'I just—'

'Just what?' Jack snapped, suddenly defensive. 'You think because you've got your life figured out, you get to tell me what mine is?'

Ciarán held up his hands. 'I never said that, girl.'

'No, but you're implying it, aren't you?' Jack's pulse was racing now. He could feel himself closing off, feel that familiar urge to run creeping in. 'Not everyone has it as easy as you did. Not everyone wants to put a fucking dress on and make a show of themselves. And I'm not a girl! Stop calling me a girl.'

Ciarán's expression flickered, like he'd been slapped. Jack immediately regretted the words, but they were already out.

A beat of silence passed.

'Well okay then,' Ciarán said, voice quieter now. 'Maybe I overstepped, if I did I'm sorry.'

'I'm going to bed. Goodnight,' he muttered, before Ciarán could say anything else. And just like that, he walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him before he could let himself break.