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"You're the only person who doesn't think that's the funniest thing in the world," Gerard tells him. "Or like, sick and disgusting, I guess."
They both laugh at the latter proposition; it's the kind of thing that would stab at them in earlier times, self-critical as the both of them are, but there's a type of judgement you grow numb to, and that sort of opinion falls neatly into that category. The prejudice of it, the impersonal nature; it's easier to ignore.
"No, yeah, I get it," Geoff says. And when the knowing laughter fades, his face kind of drops, falls pensive and distant. "Why that'd be nice, drag. Or like. Dressing up in some way, at least."
"Why didn't you ever try? Like, makeup or something," he asks. It's not like they aren't aware it's not normal, but neither are a lot of things in their world; this seems relatively tame on the spectrum. "Or, why don't you?"
"It's, you know, just," and Geoff takes a long, careful pause, tongue poking at his cheek, and then he says, "different."
"Different how?"
"I mean, look at me," Geoff says, throws his head back like it's funny, except he doesn't laugh at that one. "I'm--you've always been pretty, and I'm, like, this."
"Hm. A little dead in the cool way and anybody could snap you in half looking? I think that's very gender neutral, actually," Gerard says, and it does get a smile out of Geoff.
Albeit more longing than agreeing.
"I'd like that to be true," Geoff says. He knots his fingers together, separates them. "I just don't think. It isn't. Not for me."
"Hey," Gerard says, and he angles himself a little closer to Geoff, knees on his elbows. "You're pretty mean to my friend."
And friend, which, well--they aren't dating, and they never were, and they never called it anything. Getting high and fucking and watching films isn't a specific anything. Geoff isn't really much a dating type, anyway, and Gerard doesn't really let themself think about if that has to do with his self-esteem, or that's just how he is. It doesn't matter anyway.
And Geoff is suddenly very interested in the sofa, his shoes, anything that facilitates not having to look right at Gerard.
"In some ways maybe I am," he says. "But I think it's just true that your friend would look ridiculous dressed up like a girl."
"They're not girl clothes, really. Just your clothes once you have them," Gerard says. Then they add, "unless you want them to be."
Geoff does look at him, then, and his eyes are deep and wistful, imagining, maybe, something Gerard wishes he could coax out of him, give to him. Geoff says, "I do want them to be, I think. But not. I can't."
And Gerard nods. Lets it sit awhile. Tries to convey in the still silence that he's here to help hold the heaviness of it.
"You want a drink?"
Geoff's genuine laugh is back, pretty and soft.
"I always want a drink," he says, "but you already knew that."