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Allan was going to snap.
This wasn’t an exaggeration; he was going to lose it.
He was tired of the patriarchy. He was tired of the Kens pulling him around like he was a rag doll. He was tired of seeing the Barbies being treated second-rate when even the Kens weren’t treated this bad before. He was so, so tired of the Horses patch on his shirt! One night he tried to rip it out, grunting and groaning and throwing himself at walls while everyone slept, only to realize it had been sewn on by a Barbie that once worked on her own haute couture line. This was stitched with stitches he didn’t even know could be stitched!
Oh, he was sick of this! He was sick of this Kendom! Did these men even understand the implications of what they were doing? But geez, if he ever tried to escape, he was sure he’d be having an equally worse time on the other side. He knew that the outside world wasn’t for an Allan. And he would try fixing this situation alone if he could, trust him! But he’d tried to approach each Barbie to remind them that this wasn’t how the world was supposed to be; all he gained from that were nightmares at their blank stares and superficial smiles. So he was stuck to cope with… this.
Though Allan was in luck for once. He had a moment of solace.
He had some time to rest in the middle of the beach, hidden underneath an bright pink umbrella, hugging his knees to his chest. It was nice to sit like this. There weren’t any other Kens around, which wasn’t surprising; he overheard them planning a group session of learning how to play Wonderwall on the guitar. The Barbies? Well… he’d already tried to speak to some, but that was a failure. Philosophy Barbie—who he adored with all his heart—would simply grin at him and ask what he was talking about. Now here he was. Alone.
But he didn’t hate this lack of company. It was nice to just sit there with the cool breeze of the wind tickling his skin, with the heat of the sun that didn’t prick his body and filled him with warmth, with the waves dancing along the sand and filling his ears with the sweet melody of its ebb and flow. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath as the air didn’t reek of beer, and there weren’t these ‘manly men’ trying to wrestle each other for the most benign things. Everything smelled fresh, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel so tense. All his woes took a moment to lay back, to give him a moment to himself.
Maybe he should build a beach castle, grab a margarita to sip on, and listen to music that he liked. One time he tried to play *NSYNC, and it was like every Ken would have started beating him into a pulp if he went any farther than the first chorus of Bye Bye Bye. There was a speaker around, right? He should find his phone, turn on a few tunes, relax–
“So that’s where you were, Allan!”
Allan gasped, eyes popping wide open as he almost fell over into the sand. He had no idea where this disembodied voice came from, looking around frantically until a nice, toned pair of legs appeared in front of him. His eyes rose from sandals, to a pair of red shorts, to… nothing but chiseled abs that looked like bread rolls stuffed together. Then, the face. That stupid, handsome face.
Oh, it was Ken.
It was the same one Stereotypical Barbie hung out with a lot, and that he hung out with a lot, too. Before this whole nightmare, this Ken would take him out for all sorts of activities; tennis was the most common, but there was also rollerblading and drive-in theater movies and sharing milkshakes. This Ken used to make him feel butterflies in his stomach. He liked this Ken a lot.
But ‘like’ felt too strong of a word with the current state of affairs, though. He wasn’t sure how to feel about any of the Kens anymore, even with his admiration, especially the one before him. But he knew one wrong move and… well, he wasn’t sure what would happen, but he knew it would be awful. So he looked up at Ken, gave him a smile, unsure if the joy that showed through his lips alone was real. He knew his eyes always gave up his true feelings.
“Hi, Ken,” Allan said, giving a small wave to the unmoving man. “Um, how can I help you today?”
“Hey, no need to be all formal with me, buddy,” Ken said, reaching a hand out for Allan, and Allan winced. Buddy? This Ken hadn’t called him buddy in ages. He held onto Ken’s hand, almost whimpering at the tight grip on his fingers when he stood up, pulling his own hand back once he was stable on the stand underneath him.
“Well… okay, but I still want to know what you want from me. Since that’s the only reason you approach me anymore,” Allan said, stepping back, lips pressed tightly together as he looked over Ken. No, this wasn’t the same man he showed respect for, yet he tried to look for signs of the one he knew from before. There were none of the tight hugs, none of the true joy, none of the respect for him. “You never talk to me unless you need something anymore, Ken.”
“That so?” Ken asked, and Allan winced since there wasn’t a hint of care in that tone. Any other time, this Ken would apologize and ask if he could do anything to fix this. But now? He sounded proud, too proud to even think of uttering any word adjacent to sorry. Allan’s heart ached, and he took a deep breath.
“Yeah,” Allan said, not knowing what else to say. He felt his cheeks grow hot, and not because of the sun; he couldn’t describe this sensation, but he knew that Ken’s response was getting to him somehow.
“Well, look, I’m just asking for a quick favor. Do you mind if you take some pictures for me?” From out of thin air, Ken grabbed a digital camera—glitter pink and covered in stickers, definitely something borrowed from one of the Barbies. “I just need some pictures to show the other Kens. You know, try out some poses, I know they’ll love it.”
Allan gulped as he stared at the camera in Ken’s hands, feeling himself shudder. So it was for another favor. Great. He didn’t want to take the thing at all, yet it was as if his hand had a mind of its own; it reached for it, each finger grasping onto its edges as he took it back to stare down at it. He was waiting to hear a thanks from Ken, but when he had looked up, Ken already ran closer towards the water, standing right at the edge of it.
“Are you ready, Allan?”
Was Allan ready? He felt an uneasiness in his stomach, like all the air had been sucked from it and a void took its place. His brain began to ache; he didn’t want it to. He stepped forward, his movements almost robotic as there was still this innate urge to please this Ken in whatever way he could. When Ken held a hand up, he stopped in his tracks, and pressed a button on the camera, listening to it turn on with a light whirr.
“I’ll start posing. Just take pictures. Don’t ask me when; just feel, Allan.”
And what did Allan feel?
That the air had gone stale and lacked that soothing scent of the sea, that he wanted to wash off the sand that stuck to his skin, that he despised suddenly becoming second-rate to the man he considered a best friend. A man he considered… significant to him.
Teeth pressed together, Allan held the camera up and stared at the viewfinder, watching as Ken began to flex, posing to show off the pure muscle of his form.
And for a moment, Allan saw a glimpse of the Ken he adored, not even looking over the man’s body anymore. He took the photos with trembling hands, and he honed in on an energy he craved feeling after that week’s happenings.
There was pure joy with each pose, but most important was a glimmer in Ken’s eyes and the truest of grins on his face. With each display of showing off his pecs, his biceps, his thighs, there was no snark, no smirking—just bliss. The same bliss Allan would witness Ken display every day, from all the small things that life would bring. Sometimes, all it took was a ‘hello’ from his favorite Barbie, and Ken would be smiling all day. And what a bright, sweet smile it was. Was.
Allan wanted that same bliss to be mirrored in his own emotions, yet all he felt were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, ready to spill at any moment. Nothing felt real anymore, he felt his body transform into fuzz, his heart tugging his chest in with each beat. How long would this Ken appear before him, before he became his last sunny memory amidst the harshness of this Kendom? Would this be the last chance for him to witness the true Ken he’d leaned and relied on for all these years? He didn’t know. Did he want to know?
He didn’t want to show any weakness in front of the Kens, to cry or complain or whine; he knew that all would come was mockery. Be treated worse than he already was. Yet there was this urge to burst out into tears in front of this Ken, to throw the camera and lose his mind. Maybe then Ken would snap out of it, take Allan into his arms and hold him close, tell him endless apologies and how everything would go back to normal. How he’d love to be held in those arms, to feel the warmth of Ken’s body as he let loose.
God, Allan wished everything would go back to normal.
Oh, and who was he kidding?
He loved Ken, and watching the Kendom go on hurting more than him made his heart break harder than knowing he’d never receive love back. This was the Ken he loved, transforming into a monster by his very eyes.
He didn’t want to linger any longer on that thought, lest he wanted to break down.
Silent, Allan continued taking photos, barely looking at the camera to check if any of the photos would come out the way Ken wanted them. He stood there for ages, mindlessly clicking on the camera’s buttons before Ken finally stopped, walking towards him and reaching for the camera. Allan barely processed it happening before Ken spoke.
“Will you let me check the photos, Allan?” Ken asked, panting from the apparent sheer effort of his movements. Allan never noticed until he’d gotten an up close look of the light sheen of sweat that glistened over Ken’s perfect form. He shifted his weight on his sandals, not sure how he felt ogling the body of someone he had such mixed feelings for anymore.
“Allan–”
“Sorry, sorry. Here.” Allan handed Ken the camera, chewing on his bottom lips and he had no idea how the photos turned out. In the moments he had the energy to focus, he did witness Ken’s posing, and hey! The man did great. Allan watched in silence as Ken clicked through the photos, barely able to see them from the angle Ken held the camera at. “Um, do the photos look good?”
Ken took a deep breath, and when his eyes met Allan’s, Allan gulped as he witnessed pure disappointment in them. An almost vitriolic disappointment that made him shiver.
“You think these are any good, Allan?” Ken asked, holding up the camera's viewfinder mere inches away from Allan's face.
Allan watched the slow slideshow, all blurry photos of Ken twisting himself into any and all positions just to show off his body.
A blur—what the Ken he loved had become.