Vincent lives in a small and neat apartment above his store. It's not in the most touristic part of the centre, but not on the outskirts of the city either. He probably gets decent foot traffic out here. There's other shops nearby too, a clothing boutique and a comic store. Must be convenient for Vincent. He seems like the type who would avoid big chain stores.

Edwin presses the buzzer next to the shop window. The shutters are down and there's a thick metal grate in front of them as well. Vincent lets him up. The door to the downstairs hall is very heavy as well, with multiple locks. There's probably more risk of robbery here than out where Edwin lives. Especially as a watchmaker and jeweller. The outside is not very flashy, but that wouldn't be much of a deterrent to a robber who's picked the target beforehand.

Vincent is waiting for him in the doorway, dressed down in swishy white pants and a lilac sweater. It's still very feminine, with flower patterns, but understated. He looks good. Welcoming. Edwin had never thought he'd think that about Vincent, but here he is. More even than the plain look every time they've gone running, this is not meant for him to see. Intimate. It's Vincent's home. If Edwin will see what is true and what is exaggerated anywhere, it's in Vincent's own space, where he doesn't need to build a shield to hide the softer parts of him.

It also means Edwin feels out of place in a different way than at the gay spaces they've been. He's gotten to know Vincent much better in a casual way during the last few weeks where they've spent time together without any "teaching", but in Vincent's space, they can't be equals. They're not two gay people in a gay bar, two men running. They're not just sharing a space where he could be Vincent's equal, even if he doesn't feel it.

What if Vincent is different here, when they're not running in Edwin's neighbourhood? They're only watching movies, but it's still meant to teach him about queer history and culture. Vincent might not deliberately mock him if he doesn't know something, but he's still quick to laugh and tease and Edwin doesn't want to disappoint him or look stupid. He promised Ellen he'd talk about his hurt, but he doesn't want to break the fragile bond they're building.

Vincent's apartment is very full, with furniture and ... stuff. There's a faded russet couch against one wall, with woollen throws on the back, and pillows in a mishmash of colours. The distance to the TV wall is small enough that you can only just walk around the coffee table buried under a pile of comics, what looks like colouring books, and knitting needles with something in progress. The walls that don't have sideboards or cabinets have several plants and posters, trinkets and shiny jewel-like decorations. If Edwin had been asked to describe Vincent's living space, he wouldn't have said this, but somehow it fits. It's chaotic, loud, soft, visual.

Vincent offers a homemade cocktail and Edwin accepts. This is one thing outside his comfort zone that he's definitely willing to try and he likes tasting different foods and drinks. The glass looks very professional, with even a little garnish.

At his question, Vincent chuckles. "I followed a course, ten years ago maybe? I have so many random skills, but this one is very handy." Edwin takes a sip and it bursts on his tongue, a little sour and bitter. It's very nice, both light and full.

"So what are we watching?"

"Wait a few more minutes and you'll see, darling." Vincent winks. Edwin cracks a smile. He's starting to warm up to the petnames because he can hardly imagine Vincent without them. They're just fillers without meaning and they flow off his back, only stinging if he tries to fight.

They both sit on the couch because the armchair does not stand at a good angle to see the screen. Their legs don't touch, but they could so easily slide to the middle together. Edwin steels himself to not pay attention to Vincent's nearness. The air between them has the weight of a touch and he can't shut off his awareness, that Vincent is there and close and warm. He could lean over, casually touch. It's the perfect set-up for a date, to stop watching the movie halfway through and kiss. At least Vincent can't flirt while they're watching the movies. Probably. On second thought, he shouldn't count on that.

Vincent has already set up the first movie and when he presses play, Edwin makes an unbidden low noise in his throat when he recognises the theme music and castle.

"We're watching Disney?" Why are they watching Disney? He hasn't sat through a Disney movie since Tamara was 13, maybe 14.

"Why yes, sweetheart, we are. You can't be my friend without sitting through at least one Disney movie with me." Vincent winks and Edwin looks back to the screen, ignoring the flush of his face. They might be friends now, aren't they? Who would have thought that's where they'd end up.

"What does Disney have to do with gay history?"

"You'll see. Maybe you can guess. Now shush, this is my favourite." Vincent turns up the volume.

The film opens with an ink drawing and then the title is displayed on the screen: Mulan. When the movie came out, Sandra and Tamara were still young, only 9 and 6. On Christmas Eve, they all went to the cinema together to watch it. Sandra and Tamara were very excitable and overwhelmed by the entrance hall with the crowd of people, the movie posters, the popcorn, the big chairs in the movie theatre, the large screen. Edwin mostly remembers their faces, both of them running around and silently clinging in turns, Tamara spilling all the popcorn, flashes of faces and a fight, a small dragon. If they're watching a Disney movie, this is not the worst one to sit through. At least he escaped the Frozen mania, a few years ago.

Vincent doesn't comment on anything while they're watching, but he does mouth along some of the dialogue, moves with the music. It must truly be his favourite, if he even knows phrases by heart. The whole time he has this little smile on his face. Edwin finds it hard to concentrate on the movie, when he can observe Vincent for once without being seen in turn. There's a lightness to him that draws Edwin in, that has him spellbound. Maybe it's Vincent's soft look, the cold outside, but Edwin wants to huddle up close. He's seen Vincent happy before, but this happiness is quiet, less showy. Precious, like a soap bubble that he could only ever see now, when Vincent isn't on guard, is only filled with honest enjoyment.

Edwin is still at a loss why they're watching Mulan, though. Close to the end of the movie, when they're trying to get into the imperial palace, Mulan and her soldier friends dress up as concubines. Is that why? It seems a little pointless. Edwin knows men can dress up as women; it doesn't need to be repeated ten thousand times. And anyway, he'd never questioned this scene because it's a disguise, to deceive the Huns. Maybe there are people out there who get mad at even that, but he's never been that guy.

When the movie ends, Vincent turns off the screen and turns towards Edwin, pulling one bent leg onto the couch. His knee is right next to Edwin's hip now and he doesn't dare to move. If they touched, would that give away how much he craves it? Is he supposed to say something now?

"So. Give me your best queer analysis, pumpkin."

Edwin looks at Vincent's face, the very light wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He wants to be able to answer for once, see him smile, but he has nothing. "I'm not sure what's ... queer about it. It's about a strong woman, so isn't that just feminist? There's the disguise at the end, but I don't know why we'd watch this whole movie for that."

A corner of Vincent's mouth curls up and he nods. "You'd be right about that, sugar. Nothing else you noticed? No?" He suddenly leans over until his face is so close Edwin can see the imperfections in his skin, study the shades of brown of his eyes. "Let me teach you about subtext." Edwin freezes and for a moment, he thinks Vincent will close the gap and kiss him. He wants it. He wants to know how it feels to finally kiss a man, kiss Vincent. Would it be different?

And then Vincent talks and he's reminded it's not real, that none of Vincent's flirting is real, but Vincent's warm breath puffs over his face, his lips, and it's very hard to concentrate on his actual words.

"Imagine we are movie characters and I say you're my best friend, that I would kill for you, and I look you in the eyes like this, maybe touch you" — Vincent slings an arm over the back of the couch, around Edwin's shoulders and Edwin has never been the one under someone's arm, except after a match, as a manly pat on the back — "but we never kiss, never say anything that would definitely make us gay. Would you say we are straight or gay?" Vincent suddenly sits back and Edwin feels cold in the absence of his body heat. "That's queer subtext."

Edwin can only blink at him. Queer subtext is what? Almost kissing but never showing it? "Well," Vincent amends, "I took some freedom there, but it's something that allows for or suggests a queer interpretation, but they can still deny it. And Disney has looots of queer subtext. Especially the villains."

"The villains?"

"You know, the villains, but they look and act like me and that's how you know they're the villain." Vincent takes on a pose with a pout and a limp wrist. "You'll see. Here it's more racism than homophobia, with those yellow eyes." He pulls a face. "The subtext is in the romance."

"The romance? But there's only Mulan and Li Shang."

"And Li Shang thought she was a boy for half the movie. Didn't you see that look he gave her, when she defeated him during training?" What look? "Oh dear, noticing the subtleties of attraction is not your forte, is it?"

"I didn't even notice who I liked for fifty years," Edwin replies gruffly. "I'm definitely not better at noticing who other people like, unless they're very obvious."

Vincent chuckles. "Well, darling, I find Li Shang very obvious and I'm not the only one. He's a bi icon. Not to mention the trans subtext in Mulan's plot."

"Transgender?" That came out of nowhere. Edwin's sense of being out of place suddenly skyrockets. He never of his life would have seen any of these things Vincent is saying. "Because she dresses up as a man? But isn't that ... Clothes and how you look don't say anything about who you are! That's what you've been teaching me."

Vincent chuckles. "You're such a sweetheart." He pats Edwin's knee and leaves his hand there. "Clothes and looks do mean something to lots of people. It's complicated. But lots of trans men want to dress as men so they are perceived as men, and vice versa. Non-binary people are just chaos." He shrugs. "Mulan has that song at the start about not fitting in as a girl, and then she doesn't fit in as a boy either. Take from that what you will. And the whole 'when will my reflection show who I am inside'. Or, I'll make a man out of you. That one's my trans anthem — except the casual misogyny, but it's Disney. We were never gonna have everything."

"Your ... trans anthem?"

"You know, my ideal of masculinity. Swift as a coursing river, with all the force of a great typhoon. Made me feel seen as a man, that it was not about the body or clothes or make-up."

"You're ... transgender."

"Yeah?" Vincent seems confused at Edwin's confusion.

"A transgender man?" But Vincent is ... He wears make-up! Doesn't that defeat the point of wanting to be male? Why would you want to look like a man if you don't want to be masculine?

"You didn't know? It's not a secret, darling. Even if it's not as obvious as my sexuality." Vincent's slight smile is there again, as if Edwin was too oblivious about this too.

"I- No. I didn't know." How should he have known? Should he have seen it? People change how they look so you can't see it, don't they? You don't ask that kind of thing, and nobody told him. Vincent definitely looks like a man, masculine under the make-up and clothes. Is that disrespectful? If someone says he's a man, he is a man — that's how it works, right? Even if he doesn't look like a man yet. But Vincent does, and he's also feminine. "I'm ... trying very hard not to say something wrong."

"No offence, honey, but I doubt it's something I haven't heard before."

That doesn't make it better. He doesn't want to be that person. "I don't want to say something hurtful. I'm not like that." Vincent always thinks the worst of him. Hasn't he proven himself yet?

"You're not going to hurt me, sweetheart. I know you're not that person. I will graciously accept respectful questions." Vincent winks. "Just don't ask me anything you wouldn't ask a cisgender person and you're peachy."

The first question tumbles out as soon as Vincent closes his mouth. "If you're a man and being ... seen as a woman made you feel bad, why do you ... do all the feminine things? Doesn't that make you feel bad? I'm just ... confused."

"Ah, darling, you said it just a minute ago. There's how you feel and how you look and dress. This is no different than your agender friend."

"Right." Stupid. You can look masculine and not be a man. Or be so confident that you're a man on the inside that you don't care about being feminine, even when other people might think that means you're still a woman. Just a woman who wanted to be special. He can hear it, what his mum would say, people he grew up with, and it hurts, as if they're talking about him.

"You never feel insecure? That you need to look very masculine because you weren't born like that?"

"I ..." Vincent presses his lips into a thin line and sits up straighter. "I'm not going to say people's judgements don't affect me, or before I transitioned, but ... you can't keep caring about what other people think." He gestures at the TV. "I'm swift as a coursing river, with all the force of a great typhoon. I don't need more than that to know I'm a man. Once you find your center, you are sure to win."

Edwin nods slowly. He has always cared about appearances, about following the norms. Vincent stopped caring, but Edwin can't let it go. He doesn't want to be judged, to be 'that friend'. He's never doubted he's a man because he was born like one, but he was afraid people would not see him as enough of a man, as a good man, if he didn't fit the norms of what a man should be. Not without reason perhaps, when some people have judged him as lesser since he came out, since he stopped fitting the norm of a man with a wife and children. He himself thought everyone should be a man like him, who fit the norms, and he judged Vincent and people like him for being different.

"What do you do if it's people who are important to you? I ... I used to play in another basketball team, but they were homophobic. And my parents ..."

Vincent pulls a face. "It's always the parents, isn't it? My parents are Bangladeshi Muslims, so you can imagine it was for the better I only came out after I left home."

Ah. Edwin processes that information. Vincent had never mentioned his family before, so he assumed his family wasn't alive or they had indeed disowned him for his sexuality. He could see Vincent wasn't white, of course, but he didn't dare ask or assume. Especially with his name. But if he's transgender, he probably picked his own name.

"So did you ... Do you still speak with them? Or how ... I don't know what to do about my parents. They think it's a phase. That I should have stayed married to Ellen. They don't want me to mention it, that I'm gay."

"A classic, really. Just conform so everyone else is comfortable and they can pretend you're not any different from them." Vincent rolls his eyes. "Do you want to stay in touch with them? Or are you okay with burning bridges?"

"I ... don't know. I didn't go over much even before I knew. They've barely called since I told them. So I'm ... It doesn't feel good to be there, even when they don't say anything. But they're my parents."

"I get you, sweetie. I had a few years in my twenties when I cut mine off because I didn't want to deal with them and how it felt to be home. I also had a major second puberty even before I transitioned and rebelled against everything." Vincent snorts. "But we have contact again now. Strained, but they'd rather have me in their life as I am than not at all. And they learn. Slowly."

"I don't think my parents would learn. I don't know if I could try to teach them on my own." He's not like Vincent. He doesn't fight back, confront and argue. "Ellen thinks I never realised I was gay earlier because of them."

"Sounds reasonable. You don't think so?"

"No, I do. I'm just ... You had parents like that and you still knew. It took me most of my life and they weren't even that bad."

Vincent chuckles. "Believe it or not, I used to be confused too. Mostly about my gender, but we're not born knowing ourselves, sweetie. There's plenty of people who come out late in life. I'll introduce you to some people I know."

Edwin smiles at him. "That would be nice."

"Nobody should care about how old you were when you knew, anyway. Does Ellen care? She doesn't sound like someone who'd judge you."

"No no, she doesn't. She's supportive. Great. My daughters too. Just a little shock when I came out."

"That's the people you want in your corner, darling. If your blood family is lousy, just find your own family. That's what I did and best decision I ever made."

"Is that why you have a queer mother?" Edwin recalls.

"Violetta? She found me in my full rebellious teenager phase. Made who I am today." Vincent smiles wistfully. "Taught me everything I know, how to be a good person, helped me transition. My cousin, too. She's a lesbian and my soul sibling. Some friends. Better family than my parents and siblings."

"And you don't have ... a partner? They're not put off?"

"Eh, the transphobes are filtered out before anything could ever happen. I've had some partners, but they had more trouble with me not spending enough time with them. Or so they said." He waves the words away. "Let's watch the next movie. You haven't even seen the gay villains yet."