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Alex was grateful for the way John treated him.
Alex’s past boyfriends had each taken to praising Alexander for attributes about himself that he wanted to be rid of. They worshipped him as soft, chubby, bashful. At times this was nice, because don’t we all want to feel like we’re enough just the way we are? But as he wrestled with the sick feeling that manifested deep below the painfully gentle slope of each of his curves, it felt like he couldn’t bring about the reality that he felt he needed. Even when he believed that his chasing the prospect of sturdy comfort in a truly masculine body was just the errand of a delusional fool, he couldn’t get rid of the nausea that came along with the reality of his situation. He couldn’t fight away the dull terror that arose when his weakness was mirrored back to him in the treacherously sweet words of his lovers—breaking the perfect dream sequence of their private relations, infecting the moments of bliss with punishing reality checks.
It made him feel like his gender was a game to them, and his efforts at presentation were a fetish for others to enjoy. He couldn’t know for sure whether that was how they thought of him, but he was unable to bear their opinions nevertheless.
Yet his discomfort with such treatment made him feel like a traitor, and he wasn’t sure to whom.
John made Alexander feel like his predicament was (while not unimportant) incidental to their relationship. This was in part because John was gloriously gay, and that confirmed to Alex that John saw and loved Alex for what Alex saw himself to be. John was just as praiseful toward Alex, but never made any comments that told Alex that he was only ever going to be seen as desirable in a feminine way. John commented frequently on things that Alexander made an honest effort to be. The freckled man occasionally noted mid-conversation, in most honest phrasing, how Alex was tenacious; how Alex exuded confidence; how Alex was strong; how Alex was “sort of a dick, but in a good way.”
John’s complements never came off to Alex like a “sure, dear”. It always felt like Alex had somehow managed to peel away another layer of unfitting socialization, like John recognized Alex’s hard work and appreciated the outcome. John didn’t try to tell Alex that he didn’t need to work out or act a certain way to impress John because John knew Alex wasn’t doing these things for John. Alex knew that as long as he was John’s boyfriend, he was allowed to pursue whatever would make him feel safe, sane, real, and right.
Even so, the experiences leading up to this relationship left Alex a bit haunted.
Alex thought about all this as he sat next to John, who was lying beside him on Alex’s bed. Alex knew John had his own wealth of worries and passions, but when they were together, John seemed to relax into his place at Alex’s side. Alex, on the other hand, had a hard time controlling his compulsive worrying, thinking, pacing, and fidgeting, no matter what the situation. It occurred to Alex that he should feel guilty about this, and he did so with gusto, which likely made the situation worse. John somehow accepted the various quirks involved with dating Alex with seeming gladness. Who else but John would blatantly interrupt Alex’s muttering with such joyful ease?
Alex did wonder if he could make John’s life any easier in actuality. John was practically disowned by his family and practically the majority of his hometown because of his sexuality. Though it was pretty masochistic to even consider it, Alex couldn’t help but think that he technically had what was necessary to reconcile John’s relationship with the people of his past, to put it to himself gently. Euphemism or not, it was a harsh consideration. He hated himself for thinking it, but still he ended up trying to give voice to the thought.
“Do you think your dad would un-disown you if you brought me to him dressed like a girl?” Alex wondered aloud, as if the thought was born into his mind at that very moment.
“What? Fuck my dad,” John said. He turned towards Alex with a bemused expression.
Alex wrinkled his nose, “Gross, no.”
Somehow not having expected that joke, John barked a surprised laugh, as if it tore itself from his lungs without his permission. The genuine enjoyment of the art of immature humor was one of many traits in the overlap zone of their personality Venn diagram. How could anyone fall in love with someone they couldn’t laugh like a 12-year-old with?
Recomposing himself quickly, John then replied, “Really, Alex, I’m not concerned about how my dad feels about us. What brings this up?”
Alex failed to maintain any pretense of casual postulation, and instead slumped a little as he babbled a vague explanation, “Well, I mean, I’ve got, you know. I could—I have pulled it off. For a while. I mean, I might as well make it easier for you, if… if I can. If I’m able to.”
John scoffed, “I really don’t think we could pull that act off. Plus, why would we want to? My dad’s a massive asshole. A massive, tightass bigot.”
“The world’s most impressive diamonds are forged in the tectonic pressure of that fissure’s stony depths,” Alex intoned in a stoic voice, somewhere between poetic and mock-scientific.
“My dad has a lot of promise for a volcano-themed metaphorical conceit, because of all the shitspewing and exploding and all, but yo,” John sat up and took Alex’s left hand in both of his own.
“John—” Alex started, before pressing his lips into a tense line and averting his eyes. There was no warning held in his voice, however.
“Alex, listen. There’s no alternate reality where you’re a girl and I find out I’m not gay and we get to be a happy cishet couple and suddenly the awful, abusive people in our pasts come back and they magically love us now,” John leaned forward slightly to try to meet Alex’s eyes, “and I know that’s not what you want, and I know that’s not what I want, because the people in that version of our lives don’t exist. No matter what you’ve been told, no matter what I’ve been told, we can’t change who we are. We’re not supposed to be anything else.”
Alex turned his gaze back to John to search his face for the assurance that he heard in his voice. Passionate as ever, John’s gaze was steady.
Alex turned away from John and sighed so heavily that it sounded like he was exorcising a sorrowful ghost from the creaking structure of his chest. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” John relaxed once more beside Alex, but this time his quietude was somber. He thoughtfully traced around the callous on Alex’s ring finger from taking notes with cheap, gripless pens. After a long moment of silence, he spoke up again, “I know what it’s like. We were both fed a whole lot of shit growing up. It’s not just others who have to break through our society’s narrative to see us for who we are. We have to clean the bullshit off our goggles too.”
“‘For now we see through a glass dimly, but then we will see face-to-face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, as I have been known.’” Alex quoted with a bitter smirk.
“Even that bullshit. Fuck that shit!” John laughed.
“Yeah, fuck that shit.”