Warning: this one's really heavy on the internalised homophobia and general bigoted opinions.

***

"Have you ever thought about children, Vincent?" Caroline asks.

"Oh, dear. You're really going for it, aren't you? I have thought about it, but biology is a bitch and I doubt my odds to foster or adopt are all that great as a single man. And the little devils are only amusing if you can go home at the end of the day. Less chances to fuck up another human too." Vincent's words are careless, but Edwin wonders if he regrets that he can't have biological children. His daughters were born without years anxiously waiting for a chance to adopt someone or getting attached only to let them go back to their families. If he hadn't married a woman, that would have been his fate.

"Yeah, that's one of my biggest fears: to have this tiny person who depends on me bear the consequences for the rest of their life if I say or do something wrong." Caroline taps her glass in a rhythm of fast-fast-fast-stop.

"I guess we're cowards here compared to our master on the subject." Vincent gestures at Edwin. "Or too much childhood trauma to pass down."

"Probably the latter," Caroline jokes.

Edwin shakes his head. "Children are strong. And I love them more than I'm afraid of hurting them. If anything, that's selfish."

"But Sandra and Tamara are great, so I think you did pretty well there," Caroline reassures him.

"They are, but I did have an awesome woman at my side." He could have raised them on his own, but they were better parents together.

"No denying that. But if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back." Caroline puts her glass down and Edwin realises he hasn't sipped from his in a while. It gives him a few moments of respite from carrying the conversation with Vincent on his own.

However, Vincent breaks the silence first: "I knew I was right about you in May. I've got a nose for these things." Vincent taps his nose and Edwin notices a small silver piercing glinting in the light.

"Right about what?" Vincent's smug expression makes his hackles rise.

"No offence, honey, but you looked very much like a straight man who was dropped in a pride of gay lions. You said you're gay, but you have a wife and kids and you act like it." His wrist goes limp and the drop of his hand is so incredibly dismissive.

"Had." Edwin doesn't hide the ice in his voice, so cold it burns. "We divorced this year. After I came out."

Vincent's jaws move without uttering a word, his eyes wide. "That's ... Congrats." He smiles tightly. "It's easier said than done to live your truth." His muscles relax into something more genuine. The sincere answer surprises Edwin. No nicknames, no jokes, no flirting. Would Vincent truly empathise with his struggle now?

"Are you mocking me?"

"Mocking you?" Horror dawns on Vincent's face. "Of course not! Honey, I'm speaking from experience. I have my opinions, but your journey is yours and I will never invalidate that or try to tell you who you are."

"It sure feels like you're doing exactly that. You're constantly telling me I must be straight," Edwin huffs.

"No, no, you got that wrong, dear. I'm saying you look and dress and act like a cishet white man. And believe me, I know the type."

And what's that type? Normal? "Now you're just judging me because I'm not like you."

"What do you mean, not like me?" Vincent's tone turns distrusting.

"We don't all feel the need to scream our sexuality to the world." Edwin crosses his arms.

"What, you have something against make-up?" Vincent mirrors his stance, but he cocks his hip as well.

"No, that's not-"

"Or do you think make-up is only for women? Because let me tell you: make-up is art, and art is for everyone."

"Make-up is not art. I just find it ridiculous that men would need to wear make-up. Why can't you walk around without a bunch of shit on your face?"

Vincent dramatically throws his arms in the air. "Fuck, I knew you were one of those types. Did your wife wear make-up? Your daughters? I bet they do, even if you don't know because you've probably never paid attention because ooh, you're a man, and you can't know the first thing about make-up in case it's contagious. Bitch, do you hear what you're saying? Men don't need make-up, but women do? That's some serious misogynistic shit. I'm sure your wife - sorry, ex-wife - will be happy to hear that you thought she was ugly without make-up. Probably for the best you're divorced now."

Edwin is floored by Vincent's passionate rant but sputters: "You're putting words in my mouth now. I have always thought my ex and my daughters are beautiful, whether they were wearing make-up or not. And I've told them that too." A fire grows in Edwin with every word. He wants to grab Vincent and shake some sense into him. His words burn and rub his skin raw, and they only feed the raging fire within still crackling in a single tree, but soon it'll jump to the surrounding forest.

Vincent doesn't relent: "So women are free to wear make-up or not, but men don't have a choice? Pretty hypocritical."

"It's just not normal! Women wear make-up all the time, but there are no men who do, aside from people like you." Edwin juts out his chin.

"People like me? You mean queer people? Because sweetie, newsflash: if you are gay, you are one of those. Or did you mean people who said 'fuck society and stupid norms' and live their best life and are happy and not miserable in their neat little cage?"

Something twinges inside Edwin, but it turns into flames. "You don't have to wear make-up to be gay! None of my gay friends do. No real man would."

Vincent laughs without joy. "Of course you think a little eye-liner somehow makes me less of a man. Ever seen a movie? Because I can assure you all those male actors have had their make-up done at least once."

"That's different. They're playing a role."

"And what if I'm playing a role too?" Vincent jabs his thumb at his chest. "Not on a screen, but all day every day, for everyone to see. What if I'm performing? Have you never heard that gender is a performance?"

Edwin does vaguely remember something like that, but doesn't that mean one should perform their role - what is expected - instead of breaking the mould? He exhales slowly. Patience. "But that's why some people think we want to shove it in their faces. People choose to watch a movie. You're not just performing; you're screaming in a megaphone."

"Darling, it doesn't work like that. I'm not shoving anything in anyone's face. I'm just not hiding. What you're saying - what they say - is that I can be gay, but I can't be proud, that I should be ashamed, that being gay is something to hide." Vincent spits those last words and his dark eyes seem even darker, as if all his anger gathers there.

Edwin's anger rises in return. How dare Vincent insinuate he's a homophobe. "I'm not saying that!"

"No, but you're thinking it, feeling it. You think you've come out and now you've accomplished everything, but let me tell you a secret, sweetie: there's not one closet, there's an infinite number of closets."

"And here you are again." Edwin sweeps a hand through the air. "Implying that I'm not gay enough because I don't feel the need to make my sexuality my entire personality."

"And you think I'm too gay because I'm unapologetically me, because I dare to express myself, dare to be a feminine man, as if that makes me less of a man and less of a gay man."

"I don't believe those are your only reasons. You want to provoke people, make them uncomfortable," Edwin accuses.

"If walking around is provocation, sure. If my mere existence is provocation, then yes, I want to make people uncomfortable. I want to remind them how narrow their views of the world are, that people like me fucking exist and we're never going away, that femininity is not a weakness, that they genuinely think my choice of clothes makes me worse than their bigotry. I will put on a fucking tonne of make-up every single day if it'll remind them their rules are worth shit and I will break every single one if it makes me happy and I don't give a fuck what they think and the world still doesn't end." Vincent suddenly leans over, his gaze too piercing and too close. "Does this make you uncomfortable? Do you hate it when I flirt because you know you let society shackle you, but I'm free?"

Edwin steps back, something hot twisting in his belly. "Get out of my space. I'm not interested."

Vincent straightens up and Edwin feels calmer when he can't see the glitters on his eyelids. "But you know it's not about that. It's about the fact that I'm not a woman and you've probably only ever had women flirting with you and it's about the fact that I don't fit your idea of the man you expected or wanted to flirt with you. And you might have come out, but maybe you haven't fully accepted what that means yet, that there will be actual men interested in you, even men like me that feel the need to announce their queerness to the world or might even remind you of the women you can't find attractive."

The burning tree in Edwin's heart cracks and the flames hiss. What if Vincent is right? "But why the ... the pet names and the hands? You're just asking that everyone thinks being gay makes you weak and dramatic and we're all preying on other men." Shouldn't they try to combat those stereotypes?

Vincent smirks devilishly and does exactly that gesture with his hand and the limp wrist, as if to taunt Edwin. "They're my chosen weapons, of course. What the straights think is their problem, not ours. Let them be afraid if that's what threatens them. And maybe some kid will see me and think: 'hey, it's okay if I want to be like that' and be a little less afraid to come to the dark side." Vincent empties the last sip of his white wine. He still looks poised and collected, not a hair out of place. "Anyway, that was enough education of the masses for today. Be a dear and tell Caroline I'm going home when she gets back." He waves and Edwin's eyes follow him while he walks away. He feels shaken, loose, ashes that will be scattered by the wind at the very first gust. He wants to be alone, but he wants Vincent to stay too because that's better than aimlessly drifting.

Where is Caroline? He and Vincent argued for so long. Embarrassment creeps up as he realises she could have returned in the middle of their fight. What would she have said? What will he say? She wouldn't want them to fight. Would she have picked Vincent's side? She might have stayed neutral. Calmed them down. Talked about other things, and they would never have started this conversation.

Edwin turns to the group next to him and notices Eliane and the short black woman again. Rosalie. He's not sure if she's Eliane's partner or they're only flirting, but he can find out. He inserts himself next to Eliane and her face lights up.

"Edwin! So glad to see you again!" They chat about their jobs and the weather, familiar and grounding, no thoughts required.

Caroline joins them soon. "Did Vincent leave?"

"He said he's going home," Edwin replies, his voice steady.

"He didn't kill you in my absence?"

Only a little. "Still alive, as you see." He doesn't smile because it would come out as a grimace.

"Seduce you then?" Edwin shakes his head and shoots her an incredulous look. "He's got that charm, you know."

"I can imagine that." Vincent mostly gets under his skin, but he isn't gonna tell her that.

***

Author's Note: Only one novella recommendation and it's the last one! Need more queer characters? Wait no longer and check out Embrace the Sky by indigosa.