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Barmey was— well. He was a lot of things… but as a child, he was a "girl." Of course, Barmey wasn't a girl, no. He was very much a boy, that much is obvious, but growing up a girl… wasn't easy.
He remembered never hating skirts, dresses, maybe, but only because he didn’t like how they looked, but he always liked skirts. That made things more complicated when he was in highschool and debating his gender.
It was like… that movie Freaky Friday where that girl switched bodies, except Barmey was born in the wrong body and instead of being switched into his… what was it? Sister? Mom? He was switched into his twin sister's body. Not the most poetic example, but sue him, he didn't have any better way to explain it.
He was a boy— always was, always will be, but he kind of liked skirts. Just a bit.
So he stood there, in front of a mirror, holding a black long skirt in one hand, his phone in the other rapidly googling if it was okay to be transmasc and wear a skirt. Listen! Barmey was a man, he really, really was, nothing could take that away from him because he was Barmey fucking Calhoun and he chose his name and yes, he did mean to name himself Barney but made a goddamn typo so Barmey Calhoun it is. Gah!
He groaned, opening the first link that showed up once the page loaded. Scrolling down, he read the top comment. "Anyone can wear any clothing. Clothing ≠ Gender." YEAH! But didn't they understand that he had to like, ultra compensate to be a man?! Jesus, he didn't even have a dick, he can't look like a girl! He barely even passed as a man!
But yet, looking at the black piece of fabric in the mirror, he wanted to put it on, because it was comfortable and it looked good. He turned off his phone, putting it face down as he took the skirt in both hands and put it on. It felt weird, something so connected to femininity being on his body after years of wearing "masculine clothing", clothing that helped him pass.
This would invalidate everything he worked hard to look like, wearing clothes so connected to femininity would ruin any shred of masculinity he faked having! He had the audacity to ask people to believe he was a guy, and then goes and wears a skirt.
He stopped thinking for a second. What in the transphobic Ben Shapiro was that?! He was not going to become a right wing commentator, God. Barmey closed his eyes, bracing to look into the mirror wearing something so sacrilegious. He opened his eyes and-
Huh.
It wasn't… bad. It was… good even. He liked how it kept his legs warm, how comfortable it felt to have something long drape over his body. Not even just how it felt, it looked good- he liked how it looked on him! He grinned for a second, doing a small spin. His small moment of euphoria was ruined by hearing the door open.
Ah shit.
He looked at the door using the mirror, seeing his lovely boyfriend of two weeks standing there, a confused look on his face.
"What the hell?"
"I- I can explain, man!" Barmey defended, rubbing the back of his neck. Gordon raised an eyebrow.
"Are you trans?" Gordon asked.
"No! No I am not, God wait, ugh. I did- I—" Barmey closed his eyes, biting his tongue in frustration. "Wearing a skirt doesn't make someone trans, Gordon and—" He opened his eyes again.
"I know that, I was just asking in case."
"Can you? Can we…? Can we sit down?" He sounded exhausted, out of breath, and goddammit he felt like he was going to die. This is not how he wanted to come out. (How did you even want to come out?! His mind supplied. Good question, he responded).
As the two shuffled their way onto the couch, Barmey sighed. "Alright, alright. Let's get this done. I am trans."
Gordon stared at him with an indecipherable expression, and Barmey swore he could see the cogs turning in his head. He took the silence as a reason to keep talking.
"I was born a woman, I erm… am not one. Anymore. I-"
Gordon cut him off with the slightest smile. "So?"
Barmey's brain short circuited. SO?! SO?! He just admitted his biggest secret, and Gordon just responded with "so?" He blinked a few times, before sighing, covering his face with his hands. "I was worried you'd be… not happy dating a trans person, that you would find me weird. I mean! I'm a guy! And I'm wearing a skirt!" he felt tears prick at his eyes, finishing the sentence with a small sniff.
"Yeah?" Gordon asked, "If I were to wear a skirt, I wouldn't be any less a man. I could still kick someone's ass, I'd fucking rule in a skirt, by the way, we could be fucking. Ass kicking skirt wearing boyfriends."
Barmey snorted, "You're so fucking weird." He grinned, looking up at his boyfriend. "So you're okay? With all this I mean?"
"Yeah, gender doesn't equal clothes or whatever. You're still Barmey to me, stupid fucking name, but still Barm— wait a minute. You chose your fucking name and you chose BARMEY?" Gordon yelled, the reality of the situation kicking in. Who CHOOSES to be named BARMEY?!
Barmey turned a shade of red- "LISTEN, listen, I made a typo an—"
Gordon laughed, loud and shrill. "Good fucking God, you're a lost cause." despite the words, his grin was contagious as Barmey smiled back. Gordon scooted closer, holding Barmey's sweaty hand in his own.
"Says you." He rebutted, leaning into his boyfriend's touch, leaning his head onto Gordon's shoulder.
"My therapist says I'm doing better!" Gordon defended, leaning his head on Barmey's.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."