Vincent sets up his "challenge" for next Friday, after confirming Edwin is free. They meet up at the Groenplaats and need to walk for a few minutes to their destination. It's the same bar where the meet-up for the walk was, Que Pasa. There's loud music and dusky-bright lights this time, and people are sitting at tables outside, despite the chilly temperatures. Still, Edwin's been here before, so it can't be that bad. As if reading his thoughts, Vincent smirks at him before opening the door.

Que Pasa is smaller than Bonaparte and that's even more obvious with the crowd of people they need to press through to get to the bar. They order a beer and Edwin is thankful for the glass in his hand to feel less awkward standing around.

Vincent nods to the left of the bar. "Come on, let's get more to the front so you can see. The show will start soon."

"The show?"

"I'm not just gonna have a drink with you and give you a lecture, honey." Vincent laughs. "I want to have some fun too. If you want the lecture, you should come when I'm actually giving a lecture. I'm not going out of my way for that, not even for a guy as earnestly charming as you." He winks.

Edwin is never in the shade for long in any conversation with Vincent. The sun burns. He feels the sweat already cooling in his neck, his armpits. "I can do that."

"Yeah?" Vincent smiles and pulls an eyebrow up. "I can send you the next few dates."

"I can learn," Edwin says. Why is he volunteering to spend even more time with Vincent? Stubbornness, maybe. "Don't look so surprised."

"It's pleasant surprise, sweetheart. That's a good thing. You're very willing to learn and change."

Edwin glances away from Vincent's piercing gaze. "I even looked up about Aids and non-binary ... agender," he mumbles.

That brings out more than the smile and eyebrows. "You did? Damn, darling, if you keep going like this, I'm gonna have to turn it up a notch."

"I was just thinking after the walk," Edwin says. "I asked my friends about Aids and they told ... Their stories ... I can't believe that all those terrible things happened and I was just ..."

"Those are your gay friends?" Vincent sounds oddly gentle.

"Yeah. I play basketball with them. They're like me. Older. But they always knew they were gay. Or bisexual. And one of them is ... has the agender thing, but he has a beard too and that's not like Kim, so I looked it up."

Vincent laughs. "Oh darling, you're actually a real sweetheart, aren't you? You're gonna be a real gem once you understand how we think and talk about things these days."

"I'm trying," Edwin grumbles.

Another laugh, and when did Vincent's laughs stop rubbing him so raw? More like a summer breeze than a biting wind that breaks the skin on his lips. "I know you are, sweetie. I'm proud of you. Did it help, looking things up? What did you learn?"

Edwin tries to ignore the embarrassment heating up his cheeks. Vincent shouldn't be proud of him. He shouldn't like it. "Just some facts. And the gender thing. Who you feel you are and how you want to look and surgeries."

"Damn, I'm impressed. Did you understand everything?"

Edwin hesitates. He wants to say yes, but ... "I don't know. It's weird. Not bad weird, but ..."

Vincent finishes his sentence. "But you don't really get it."

"No."

"That's okay. As long as you treat us well, you don't need to understand it. Maybe tonight will help. You can ask questions after the show."

"What's the show then? How does it have to do with the gender stuff?"

Vincent glances at his watch and winks. "You'll see in a minute."

They wait a few minutes in silence and Edwin's fingers twitch next to his leg. He just has to watch, right? They've migrated to the front of the crowd, so they're very close to the stage. Someone could ask him to go up on the stage. Or talk to him. He kinda wants to slink back into anonymity, but Vincent's body presses against his arm and he's surrounded by people.

It's too late anyway because the music changes and out walks ... a woman? She has big bright purple hair that must be a wig and wears a short dress with a flashy print and fishnet stockings. She towers over him on her high heels, also purple, and her make-up screams. Edwin doesn't have a better word for it.

She doesn't look real.

She's a drag queen, isn't it? He? They?! This is a drag show. Vincent took him to a drag show. That's ... Well, that's one way to make him see men wearing make-up and feminine clothes. He can see the humour of it. It makes him uneasy to see people that are so extravagant, that make it impossible to ignore them, that seem to make their sexuality their whole identity, but that's the point, isn't it? Vincent wants him to see this as normal, to get used to it.

But drag is not ... normal. It's not like Vincent wearing make-up. He glances at Vincent. There is some colour around his eyes, and Edwin thinks he spots eyeliner too. Vincent is wearing lipstick that accentuates the shape of his lips, and two different earrings, one a small red flower and the other a golden hoop. It's tasteful.

Drag is not like that. It's loud — louder, flashier, an exaggeration, over the top, a caricature of femininity. Vincent had said last month during their fight that gender is a performance, and this is a very literal interpretation of that.

The drag queen greets the audience with a joke. She ...? He's funny.

He leans over to Vincent. "What do I say for ...?" He jerks his hand at the drag queen. "I mean, is it he or she? Or they?"

Vincent chuckles. "When queens are in drag, it's usually she. He when they're not in drag. Depends a little if they're a man."

"Okay." Jesus, this whole thing is so complicated. "Is this to teach me how gender is a performance?"

Vincent shrugs. "A little. It's also an important part of queer history and culture. Especially for Black people. But lots of people do it now. Have you never heard of RuPaul's drag race?"

"Vaguely. But I've never watched it."

"Me neither. I like live shows more."

Edwin looks at the queen as she prances around the stage, joking like any stand-up comedian and a bigger-than-life parody of a woman, of a gay man. He tries to wrap his head around it, to not see it as an embarrassment. Why would someone do drag? He wants to ask Vincent, but the drag queen is talking. Is it because ... they want to be women? No, that can't be right. That's the whole thing he read online. It's just clothes and make-up. Maybe it's because people already judge them and this is like a giant 'fuck you'. Yeah, that sounds right. It's a challenge, a taunt, a 'I don't care about your judgement'. Leaning into the things they are judged for, reclaiming them.

Maybe that's why people make their sexuality their identity. People judge them, want them to hide it, so they only scream louder, are prouder. He himself has been spending little time with his old straight friends, and a lot of time with his new gay friends. There's a freedom in it. Maybe that's why Vincent is the way he is? People want to make him small, so they can ignore him, so he grows bigger, more obvious. That'd make a lot of sense.

Everything is clear now, as if the cloud over the sun has drifted away and he is blinking at the sunlight and the landscape stretching out before him. He suddenly stands on steadier ground with Vincent. It is all a performance. The water in the stream runs fast, but it's shallow and he won't trip in it.

The drag queen stops talking and the volume of the music goes up. She lip syncs to a song Edwin doesn't recognise and dances. How does she not fall in those heels? She moves with clean lines, energetic, confident. Her shape really is that of a woman, with hips and boobs. How does she do that? It can't be natural, right?

One song morphs into the next and Edwin starts to see the appeal of a drag show. It's not just dressing up, they're also doing stuff and they look good while doing it. It's like a concert, or a dance recital or a comedy show. This is not too bad. Maybe Vincent knows all the words and the history, and maybe all the other people in the audience do too, but he can enjoy this without knowing anything. He feels stiff, sure, with the crowd moving and yelling and singing along, but he can handle that. Vincent is pressed against him, warm and steady and just watching, like him, maybe for his benefit. It's weird, to be ... comforted by Vincent's presence, when Vincent has always made him tense up with every step, every word.

The first drag queen is joined by another, somehow dressed and made up even more outrageously. How can they even stand to walk around like that? But they look like they enjoy this. Without any shame, they sing a duet with decidedly sexual undertones in the lyrics. Their voices are sultry and they move close together, grinding against the air, almost touching. It's ... indecent.

Edwin flushes, but he can't look away. They caress shoulders, arms, butts, chests, all the while still dancing and it fits somehow. It's artistic, and intimate, and provocative. An image of someone looking at him like that, moving so close to him and touching, flashes before his eyes and he burns even hotter.

They flaunt their femininity, their sexuality. They're like peacocks, showing off in all their colours, taking up space. It makes him curious. Do they always dress like this? Is this their way of trying to impress one another? Attract a man? Do they look like Vincent when they're not performing? The same performance, but smaller, more subtle, more acceptable. Tame in comparison. That seems tiring, a constant performance.

Does Vincent ever get tired of performing? He could look like a regular guy if he wanted. Edwin glances at Vincent. His face has strong lines. Edwin doesn't know enough about make-up to guess how they would look without. Stronger, softer? Up close like this, he can see a shadow of stubble.

Vincent has an athletic build too, even if he dresses in soft and frilly clothes. He could change all that if he wanted. He's choosing to make things harder for himself because surely people bother him more when he's so ... blatant? He could drop the petnames, and his manner of speech would only be half so ... Well, gay. There's his gestures and posture and gait too, but without the clothes and the make-up and the flirty words, people would overlook those.

The drag show ends and it's just music again. The crowd moves towards the bar or the tables outside. Edwin can breathe easier, now that not everyone is pressing close to see the stage.

Vincent empties the glass he's still holding. "How was that for your first time, darling?"

Edwin flushes. Of course Vincent has to make an innuendo. And it's true that it felt ... charged. The drag queens were very clearly performing sexuality, but it wasn't sexual for him. They just drew his eyes, everyone's eyes, but that's why they were performing. "It was good", he says. "They're good dancers. Funny, too."

"Didn't expect drag queens to be funny?" For a second, Edwin thinks Vincent is accusing him of, of — he doesn't even know — but the quirk of his mouth cues him in. He's just teasing.

"I didn't know what drag queens did in a show. Do they all do comedy?"

"Depends on the queen, but a lot of them. You like comedy, honey?"

"Sure. Like most people, I think."

"Guess you should see more drag shows, eh? Loosen you up a little while you're laughing too hard to care." Vincent winks.

Edwin clenches and unclenches his free hand, the muscles in his shoulders. That sounds a lot like Vincent thinks he doesn't know how to have fun. That he's boring. Just because he's not like Vincent. He doesn't draw attention with his looks, or flirts, or ...

He doesn't need to come up with a reply because Vincent suggests they get another drink now, since the after-show rush has calmed down. Edwin trails after him. He's lost the steady ground again. Vincent's confidence brings out all his insecurities, like he doesn't measure up to an unknown standard. Like he's not Vincent's equal as a gay man in his own right, but a student that's a little slow on the uptake. Maybe that's not Vincent's fault, though. Maybe that's just him. Ellen would know. She always helped him figure those things out.

He orders another beer and tries to regain his footing. He knows things now, about Aids and gender. He's done research. He had a realisation earlier. Should he mention to Vincent that he understands a little better now?

The bartender hands over their drinks and Vincent is already moving away. He ordered some fancy colourful cocktail. Edwin feels starkly plain again. But that's okay, he reminds himself. He's just a normal guy. Not everyone needs to be like Vincent.

"You ever dance, Edwin?" Vincent turns abruptly and they're suddenly very close. Not side by side, but front to front. He can see the lights reflecting in Vincent's eyes. How his cheeks seem to glitter. Is that actual make-up?

"I-" He can't find his words. He needs space to think. "No?" Only as a student, when Ellen pulled him with her. But he wouldn't now.

"Shame." Vincent looks him up and down and he shivers in the heat of that gaze. "I bet you could make a good dancer. Here, hold." He presses his glass into Edwin's free hand. "I want to dance. You can look." He winks. Edwin's face grows impossibly hotter. What's that supposed to mean? Why does Vincent always have to flirt?

He looks around if he can't find a table to put down the two drinks he's now awkwardly holding, but no luck. Vincent has moved away a little, but not so far people will fill the space between them. He's not the only dancer, unsurprisingly. The music has the kind of beat that fills up your body, like your blood is already dancing.

Vincent shakes his limbs loose and then he moves with a fluidity that might as well have been a learned choreography. He's not just a good dancer, he's experienced. He dances with his whole body. His loose shirt and pants swish with his movements and a bracelet on his wrist catches the light.

Vincent always looks confident and graceful, but now he looks free. This is not a performance. He looks very masculine. Dancing like this, his clothes emphasise the muscles in his arms and his legs, sharpen the lines with the fuzziness of the light around it. Edwin wants to study the line of Vincent's neck. Like the lines of his face, they're not delicate, but strong. Edwin wants to bury his nose there and smell. Would Vincent smell more like Ellen or like the male sweat in the locker room?

Edwin almost drops the glasses in his hands when he processes the thought he just had. That's just weird. His nose in Vincent's neck? He's never thought that about anyone. That's intimate. Vulnerable. The closest he's ever come is hugging Ellen.

He looks at Vincent again, without any weird thoughts popping into his head. His eyes want to stray to Vincent's neck, to test out what will happen, but he keeps them firmly elsewhere. When Vincent catches him looking, he smiles. It's not flirtatious, not a challenge. It knocks something loose in Edwin, a rock tumbling down the mountain. It's a great smile. Vincent's intense gaze is hidden in the shadows, and with a smile like that, he seems approachable. Edwin can understand why someone might find him attractive. He pulls the clothes and make-up off in a way Edwin never could. He has charisma. Edwin has never had that.

Even now, someone has joined Vincent and they're dancing together. They almost bump into each other, but they laugh it off. The woman has a ponytail and a similar style as Vincent. When he draws her in and twirls her, she doesn't hesitate to twirl him in turn. The line of his arm and shoulder is elegant. Edwin wants to put his hand there and follow the line of his biceps, elbow, forearms, down to Vincent's hand. Or down his back to his waist, around his belly, to his butt, his thigh.

He ...

Fuck. Shit.

Is he attracted to Vincent? No, that can't be true. He's not attracted to feminine men. He likes manly men. Like most gay men. Maybe not leather, but muscles.

Vincent has muscles. Maybe not the muscles of someone who weightlifts, but he's fit. He looks strong. His fingers would have a tight grip. His thighs and calves ...

He stops that train of thought before it can go any further, but the loose rock has become an avalanche.

Fuck. He's attracted to Vincent.

Vincent, who can poke him until he snaps. Who is so confident in who he is that Edwin feels small. Unsure of who he is. Vincent who is teaching him about everything he doesn't know. Oh god.

He wants to keep looking at Vincent dancing. Dance with him, even though he wouldn't, with all the people. He never dances, but he wants Vincent to challenge him with those dark eyes, that teasing smile. He fears that intense gaze and craves it. He wants to be drawn close, feel the heat of Vincent's body again, touch. He wants to glide his hand down Vincent's chest, feel the hair on his forearms, all of his muscles, his knuckles.

He wonders what Vincent would do, if he were to touch back. He shivers, and he doesn't know if it's fear or the first stirrings of arousal. He's hyperaware of the sweat cooling on his skin, the people around him who can all look and see his attraction on his face.

He downs his beer too fast to taste much. Vincent has stopped dancing and leaves his partner with a jaunty wave. Edwin freezes while Vincent walks towards him. It's just in his head, but he feels like the plain brown mouse and Vincent like the magnificent cat that's about to capture him.

"That was delightful." Vincent takes his glass back and his fingers graze Edwin's hand. It raises the hair on his arms. "You sure you don't want to dance, darling?"

"No." It comes out higher than usual, but Vincent only sips his cocktail, so it must not have been noticeable. He can see the fine hairs of Vincent's forearms, the details of his make-up. With the glitter, he's literally radiant.

Edwin looks away before Vincent can catch him staring. "Do you dance? Like, lessons? You're very good."

Vincent fans his face. "Honey, you flatter me! But you are right, this is not all talent." He gestures at his body while striking a pose. Edwin follows the movement and flushes. Again. He might as well be sunburnt. "I did ballet until my twenties. These days it's just running. Gotta stay in shape to be this pretty."

Edwin's mouth is dry. Vincent must have noticed something, or he wouldn't have turned up the flirting again, the ... the cheekiness. How is he going to survive when Vincent robs him off his words? He's like the current in a river, constantly pushing because that is its nature, and it'd be so easy to slip off his stepping stones.

"I also run. Three times a week. And weightlifting."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Vincent looks him up and down and squeezes his upper arm for a second. "That explains this." There's the cat again, preying on the mouse. But he's not Vincent's food, his plaything. Vincent flirts. It doesn't mean anything, not that he's attracted to Edwin and not that he wants to make him uncomfortable.

"How often do you run?" Edwin asks, because that's safe.

"Less than you, dear. Once or twice a week. But I like to make it a long run."

"How long is long?"

"Ten kilometres? Something like that. Why, would you like to run with me, darling?" Vincent looks up through his eyelashes. Or is that just the slight height difference?

Edwin opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say, but he has to say something. Saying nothing is worse than any answer he can give. "If you want? Something ... not this." He waves at the bar, the crowd. Maybe Vincent will be different when Edwin is more at ease.

"Do you not like what I'm teaching you, Edwin?" Vincent's eyes twinkle.

"I-"

"I know. Just teasing. You can handle it, right? I'll tone it down if it's too much. But we can run together. Get all sweaty." He exaggeratedly flutters his eyelashes. Edwin laughs and tries not to conjure any images of other circumstances where people get sweaty together, just like Vincent intended.

That run is gonna be torture, if Vincent will flirt and joke like this.