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It had already started as an off-day. Just something about that day had Jere in a funk when he woke up. He tried to ignore it as Bojan, his boyfriend, woke up with him, sharing soft kisses and sweet nothings with him.
“I’ll go warm up the shower for you, darling,” Bojan offered. The two of them were going to have a long day. They were not only driving out a long way to the venue where Joker Out, Bojan’s band, would be performing that evening, but also constructing the set, programming the lights, and doing all of the nitty gritty dirty work that needed to happen in order to have a good show. It was quite generous of Bojan to offer him the shower first, especially on a long day like today.
Jere walked into the bathroom and shucked his shirt. As he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Usually his dysphoria wasn’t too bad, and he could look at himself shirtless in the mirror, but today gazing upon his reflection just filled him with a horrible sense of dread. He didn’t dare to look down. Bojan turned around next to him, withdrawing his hand from the stream of water in the shower and following Jere’s gaze.
“Can you turn off the light please?” Jere asked in as steady a voice as he could manage. Bojan wordlessly slipped behind him and flipped the switch. He then placed his hand on Jere’s upper shoulder.
“Let me know when you’re done in there, alright?” he murmured, planting a kiss on Jere’s cheek before closing the door behind him.
Jere took one of the speediest showers in his life, desperately trying not to think too hard about his present situation. He focused on the set he was going to be building later that day, and seeing his and Bojan’s friends and co-workers. Before he even knew it, he was drying his hair and slipping his previously discarded t-shirt back over his head. He flipped the light back on and alerted Bojan that he was done.
As the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, Jere began the hunt for some clothes. He found his regular jeans and underclothes in all the same places as before. But as he slipped his binder over his head and opened his closet, he realized that all of his shirts were missing. Well, all of his comfortable ones. He kept a few shirts at the back of his closet that he hates the fit of, in hope that someday, when he felt more comfortable with his body, that he would wear them again. Jere wracked his brain to figure out where the rest of his shirts had gone. Then he remembered.
The dryer came to life with a mighty whirr, and told Jere that his clothes would be dry in roughly an hour and fifteen minutes. An hour and fifteen? That’s cutting it awful close, Jere thought to himself. While he waited for the dryer to be done (and for Bojan) he decided to get the rest of his stuff together. He filled his pockets with the usual stuff, including a pocket-knife multitool in case his big toolbox went missing. He laid out his and Bojan’s jackets and shoes. He even made a cup of coffee for himself before Bojan arrived.
“You alright?” Bojan asked. He must have been able to read the apprehension on Jere’s face.
“Dryer will take a long time. I only have shitty shirts in my closet now,” Jere explained. Bojan gave him an empathetic look. He pulled Jere in for a quick hug.
“Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be fine.”
It was not fine. The two of them ate a quick breakfast together, but it was constantly interrupted by Jere checking his watch every two seconds. After some more calming from Bojan, the watch checking slowed down to every thirty seconds. But soon Jere’s fear came to fruition: they would have to leave before the dryer was done.
“You could just pull something out now?” Bojan suggested. Jere shook his head at that.
“Too cold. I know I’m Finnish, but even I can freeze,” he said. With a pit settling in his stomach, Jere grabbed one of the shirts from the back of his closet. He pulled it on in front of the mirror, cringing at the way it pulled in at the sides to give his body a curvier look. He switched the jacket he had pulled out earlier for an oversized hoodie.
…
No more than an hour later and they were finally on the road. It had been like a massive game of tetris, except the pieces were boxes, bags, and people. When the engine of the car roared to life and the wheels started turning, Jere breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey, not yet,” Nace said from next to him. Jere looked over at him quizzically. “We still have to make it to the venue on time, unpack all of the stuff, set it up, and do a soundcheck before tonight.” Jere rolled his eyes.
“Don’t make me remember.”
The road yawned out in front of them and lolled out behind them. Everyone in the car either took to their own solitary activity, or decided to play with the others. They played every road-trip game under the sun, mostly involving the alphabet. They first tried naming a song starting with each letter, then a fruit, then a vegetable, then celebrities, and now they were on to countries.
“Jere! It’s your turn again,” Jure called to him from the other side of the car.
“Me again? Okei, what letter?” Jere replied, torn away from the view out the window on the other side of Nace.
“Š.”
“Why do I always get the letters that we don’t have in Finnish?” Jere grumbled, but he had a smile on his face. “Š…” he repeated the sound as he thought, sounding akin to a white noise machine, or a waterfall. Speaking of waterfalls…
“Hei, can we stop?” Jere asked suddenly.
“That doesn’t start with Š,” Jan helpfully pointed out. Jere shushed him. The response from up front was that no, they wouldn’t stop if they could help it. Jere was handed an empty water bottle from the depths of the van. He stared at it as the pit in his stomach deepened.
“Don’t worry, we won’t look,” Jure reassured Jere. He appreciated the sentiment, but unfortunately it wouldn’t help his current situation. Bojan made eye contact with him and Jere hoped he didn’t look too desperate.
“I need to go too, can we please stop? Just for a minute?” Bojan suddenly said. A little bit of grumbling came from up front but eventually the van pulled over on the side of the road. Bojan and Jere climbed out of the car and the two of them found a spot behind a bush to take care of things.
“Thank you,” Jere said to Bojan as they approached the van again.
“Of course,” came the reply as Bojan pulled him in for a hug.
...
They ended up reaching the venue right on time and promptly got to unpacking things and setting up. Things were going well, and Jere was able to forget about the dread for a while.
“Hey, Jere, can you help Kris with his monitors?” came a call from across the stage. Jere obliged as he was the closest one who had the skills necessary; mics and sound weren’t really his preference, but he was well-versed in most fields of technical theater.
“What is the problem?” he asked, approaching the mic table. Kris turned and pointed to a spot on his upper back.
“They usually tape the wires here, but I guess they forgot this time. Could you do it?” he explained. Jere assured him that he could. He drew a length of tape and asked Kris to move his shirt. Kris hiked his shirt up over his head so that his entire back was exposed. This already made Jere feel sort of jealous, but the tumultuous feeling was only exacerbated when he had to ask Kris to bend down so that he could actually reach the spot he had been talking about. He tried to keep the jealousy and otherwise dark feelings out of his expression while Kris thanked him.
...
The show went well. Jere watched from the wings as the fans screamed as loud as they possibly could, and how the boys seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. When they came offstage, Bojan gave Jere a short but passionate kiss, seemingly still riding the high of being onstage. They pressed their foreheads together and smiled and giggled at each other about nothing in particular. While they waited for the fans to start clearing out, someone handed Jere a drink.
Whatever was in the drink had been quite strong. Jere was already feeling tipsy after just one. He declined another until after the set had been struck and all of their stuff had been packed away. But after that he didn’t care. He had been trying to ignore his feelings all day and he figured that being drunk would just help him. Everyone piled into the van again, this time drinks in hand, and home they went.
The drive back felt much shorter, as it always did. By the time they got back to the city, the group was drunkenly singing Britney Spears songs. It felt like the party had just started.
But even so, someone sober called for the first round of carpooling.
“I’m going to go home, darling,” Bojan told Jere, and Jere didn’t really hear or care about the reason. He just gave Bojan a messy kiss on the cheek and slurred something along the lines of “be safe and don't wait up for me.”
Jere didn’t always drink to forget, but tonight he certainly was. Especially after someone offered him some crumbly pastry that he tried to shove in his mouth all in one go, spilling crumbs everywhere. “Everywhere” including down the front of his shirt. And in his shirt. And by extension, in his binder. And in his binder meant–
Jere tried hard not to gag or let out a sob or collapse at what had just happened. If only he hadn’t been so drunk, then he might not have been so stupid. He just decided to ignore the discomfort that the crumbs caused and resolved to get even drunker.
After a long while of singing, dancing, and drinking, Jere realized that he was among one of the last people left. Someone was calling for a carpool again. It seemed that this was it for that night.
“C’mon Jere, last call! Unless you want to sleep here,” Jure clapped Jere on the back, slurring and giggling. Jere wasn’t nearly as drunk as he had intended to get, but he guessed that he did want to get home tonight.
Jere stared out the window of the car, watching the lights of the city go by. It was late, but the bustle of urban life never stops. As they approached his and Bojan’s place, though, Jere realized that he had somehow lost his hoodie in all of the hype of the night. He voiced this thought, and was reassured that it had been taken care of. But that meant that he was only wearing that horrible, form fitting shirt. Jere’s hands ghosted his sides but he dared not touch. Dared not look. He kept his gaze straight ahead until he had to leave the car.
Jere thanked the group and nearly bolted up the stairs. He fumbled the keys in the lock only once, the realization of his shirt seemingly having sobered him up. He threw the door open and all but slammed it behind him. Jere’s back pressed up against it and he was breathing heavily. After a moment, he tried to walk further into the apartment. His legs felt wobbly and unstable. He tried another and his knees buckled.
“ Ei vittu, ” he breathed, trying not to cry. All of the feelings he had been trying to avoid all day came crashing down upon him. Feelings of jealousy, self-hatred, dread, existentialism, all of it came pouring in. He could barely even hear his own breathing over the sound of his thoughts.
Through his clouded vision he could see Bojan coming out of their bedroom and coming to meet him on the floor. Jere wasn’t sure if Bojan wasn’t saying anything, or if his brain was just so filled with static that it wouldn’t let him hear what was going on.
In either case, Bojan helped Jere to stand, holding his hand and guiding him to their bedroom. He took off the horrible shirt and helped Jere get out of his pants. He gave Jere his oversized pajama shirt to put on himself, and busied himself with something else while Jere changed.
When Jere had removed his binder (and all of the crumbs underneath it) Bojan handed him a glass of water and painkillers.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. Jere could only give a choked half-sob half-laugh at first.
“Better now,” he resolved to say. Bojan pressed his lips together into a thin line.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. Jere was sure he misheard him.
“ You’re sorry?”
“Yes, I’m sorry for leaving you tonight. I knew that you were having sort of a bad day, and I left you to drink until you dropped. That’s not something a boyfriend, or even a regular friend should ever do. I should have taken you home with me earlier.”
Jere considered this. He didn’t blame Bojan in the slightest for any of that. In fact, he was pretty used to drowning these feelings in alcohol or some other intoxicating substance, so this sentiment was sort of new territory for him.
“You’re so nice…” was all he could come up with. Through broken words, he tried to convey to Bojan that he was so lucky to have him as a boyfriend. He felt blessed every day with him because of everything he did for Jere. Not only in the trans department, but just in general as a boyfriend. While he had been telling Bojan this (and intermittently crying again), Bojan took up his spot on the other side of their shared bed. When Jere was done, he pulled him close and gave him a long, tight hug.
“I love you, you know that?” Bojan asked, planting a kiss on the top of Jere’s head. Jere hummed an affirmative. And they stayed like that until they both fell asleep to the sounds of the bustling city.