Work Text:
Somewhere, in a too small room on a train bound for Connellsville, Adam Chase looks into a mirror.
It’s hard not to; it takes up a whole wall. No matter where you are, you can probably see yourself in it. Adam, however, isn’t trying to avoid it. He stands directly in front of the mirror, close enough that if he leans forward an inch then his nose will hit the glass.
Adam brings his hands to his cheeks and chin, brushing over the stubble that has grown over the last few days of travelling. He winces at the feeling. It’s not the first time this has happened. Almost every time he catches his reflection in a window, or he spends a moment too long staring at his face while editing, Adam feels a pained bolt of anxiety run through him.
He’s sure that Ben doesn’t get that. In fact, he knows that Ben doesn’t get it. Adam had brought it up to him, just once, and Ben had simply chuckled and told him he was overthinking things. Adam had laughed with him, and ignored the way his hands shook.
In the mirror, Adam makes eye contact with himself. Objectively, it’s him. If he moves then his reflection will follow suit. But deep down, Adam knows that’s not true. There’s nothing he can do about it though. The distant look in his eyes that appears when he’s alone is just part of who he is. The fact that sometimes his name doesn’t feel like his own means nothing.
When Adam is left alone for too long—much like he is now—his mind wanders back to New Zealand. The disguises hadn’t started there, but given the mechanics of the season it had only made sense to continue them. He thinks about Ben suggesting they wear dresses, the laugh that Ben gave his own idea and the hope that surged through his body. Adam agreed instantly.
The dress had felt amazing on his skin: light and gentle and filling him with confidence he had never really felt before. The whole situation was sort of insane; of course wearing an entirely new item of clothing while playing an utterly unhinged game would make him feel different. It was just the stress of filming, nothing more.
Later, in the comfort of his own apartment, Adam had tried the dress on again: it still filled him with confidence. The urge to jump and spin from happiness didn’t go away. He took the dress off and threw it to the back of his closet, resolving to never think about it again. It was an empty promise.
The shower switches off. Adam jumps away from the mirror, as if he’s been caught doing something wholly unnatural. He hurriedly tries to sit back on the couch, smoothing out the fabric like that will make his position more natural.
At seven years old, Adam had looked into a mirror and burst into tears. Nothing had prompted it, his mother had simply taken him shopping, and the mere sight of his reflection had been such a shock that his body didn’t know what to do other than cry. Something about seeing his short hair and overly baggy clothes felt wrong. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now every time the sleeves brushed his arms, his skin felt like it was burning.
At twenty seven, Adam no longer cries when he sees his reflection. The heavy visibility of his Adam’s apple hurts to look at; the long, rigid lines of his torso makes him want to hunch over until his shirt swallows him whole. But he doesn’t cry. His reflection isn’t his own, but that doesn’t bother him anymore. Not if he doesn’t let it.
One last look at himself confirms what he already knows. He’s Adam. Nothing more, nothing less. He has family and friends and an audience of fans that know him as that. Even if there was something else going on, it was far too late for him to do anything about it.
Ben opens the door, throwing a blinding smile his direction. “Your turn, Adam. It’s a weirdly good shower considering we’re on a train,” he says, voice light and entirely unbothered.
Adam smiles back. He doesn’t flinch.
Spending a lot of time on public transport, in various countries around the world, means that Adam sees countless different people. Sometimes they’re nice and polite, and Adam admires their personality. Other times they’re cute and attractive, and Adam spends the few spare seconds between stressing about winning and stressing about whatever Ben is doing to catch a glimpse of them across the aisle.
And sometimes, the woman sitting opposite him has a shirt that falls exactly right, and hair that is perfectly placed, and a bag that matches the outfit in its entirety.
Adam can’t help but stare. He wants to curl into a ball and never dare to speak again.
His brain is already fried from exhaustion. The last day of tag does something to his mind, making him think that both everything and nothing makes sense. This was definitely one of the entirely incomprehensible moments.
There’s no reason why he should be jealous. If Adam really wants to, he can wear the exact same outfit. He can buy a skirt that brushes his knees and a shirt that isn’t the same one that twenty other men are wearing. Other people do that all the time. And he doesn’t judge them for it! The looks he gives them are full of admiration, of curiosity, of hope that one day he can venture into the women’s section of a store and pick out the same satin shirt.
The person across from Adam looks up at him, and he quickly darts his eyes towards the window. He doesn’t have time to think about this right now.
Adam does not think about what shade of lipstick would look best on him; he thinks about winning.
“Adam? Were you gonna wear this as a disguise?”
Ben’s voice rings clear through the apartment, where he is currently helping Adam move. Adam looks over to his closet to see whatever it is that Ben is holding up. He doesn’t immediately recognise it, long, blue fabric unlike anything he would regularly wear. When he does recognise it, however, he jumps up to snatch it from Ben, ignoring the way his face is turning bright red.
The dark blue skirt had been an impulse purchase, Adam passing it over and over before caving in and buying it. He had all but ran home, desperate to prevent anybody from seeing what he had. The only times he had ever worn it were inside, when he was sure that nobody would be interrupting him. It gave him a thrill not dissimilar to the one he got from the dress in New Zealand. Wearing it in public was definitely a no go, but over time, Adam grew more confident with it.
Once, he had worn it during a meeting, and had talked so much that Sam had to ask him to slow down on three separate occasions. The confidence flowed through him easily; the way Sam firmly uttered his name hurt even more than usual.
Adam is aware he looks like an idiot, but he doesn’t know how else to spin it, other than running with Ben’s assumption of it being for the show. “It’s, um… It was going to be a disguise! I— I was going to…” he stammers, praying for anything to save him. Ben’s eyebrows are raised in disbelief, but there’s something else in his eyes that makes Adam want to hide forever.
“Are you okay?” Ben speaks slowly, making direct eye contact that makes Adam’s skin crawl.
Adam nods his head quickly, praying that maybe that will hide the panic in his eyes. “Of course! Of course I bought it for a disguise! I wouldn’t— I didn’t buy it for… Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just— I…” He buries his head in his hands and groans, sinking to the floor as the fabric presses into his skin. The softness of it is entirely contrary to the roughness of his own skin. Adam’s brain is a jumbled mess, scrambling his words. He doesn’t have to tell him anything if he doesn’t want to! Ben probably won’t work out the thoughts circling his mind like vultures.
A hand rests on his shoulder. It’s warm and solid and all Adam needs to let the tears begin to fall. He drops the skirt, letting the fabric pool around his legs, and pushes himself into Ben’s chest.
Ben’s arms wrap around him instantly, pulling Adam tight against him. He whispers what Adam can only assume are words of reassurance and comfort; he can’t hear anything over his heart hammering and his rapid breathing.
A million thoughts run through Adam’s head. Most of them are terrified: Ben’s going to judge him; Ben will tell everyone; Ben knows his secret.
What secret? His brain screams at him, and Adam dissolves into sobs again.
Adam knows that he’s soaking Ben’s shirt through, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Ben is holding him so gently, whispering softly into his ear. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay. It’s all fine, no matter what.” Adam can’t believe him, not right now, but it’s still comforting to hear. He doesn’t know what’s happening; every emotion is trying to escape from his body all at once, leaving Adam a broken mess of tears and bones. If Ben wasn’t here, the chances of him being able to put himself back together were minimal.
He’s not an idiot. He’s spent plenty of time on the internet. Adam knows what’s going through his head. He’s read countless stories of people realising they’re transgender, and their subsequent journeys—he’s read some of them so much that he could probably recite them from memory. But he can’t admit it to himself. Deep down, part of him knows that he will never be happy being a man. On the surface level though, he doesn’t think he could ever change. He’s too far in, too far gone.
Adam takes a shaky breath in, attempting to lift his head to look up at Ben. Despite Ben’s previous words, Adam still expects to see judgement, however small. As he stares into Ben’s eyes though, nothing of the kind is visible. It’s a sea of nothing but love and care and acceptance.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Ben whispers, rubbing a hand along Adam’s back. He can’t stop himself from leaning back into it, bringing a hand up to his eyes to begin to wipe away some of the tears. Even if he can’t see himself, Adam knows he looks a mess.
Adam shakes his head, sniffling slightly before speaking. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t…I didn’t think I would react like that. I’m sorry.”
Ben scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. Part of Adam wants to be upset, but the gesture is so fond that even in this state, Adam can see the joke in it.
“Can I ask,” Ben hesitates, clearly weighing up his choice of words, “Adam?” He tenses ever so slightly, but Ben notices. Of course he does. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Adam instinctively goes to shake his head, but pauses halfway through. His breath catches in his throat. “I don’t— No? Well, maybe? But I…” Ben’s hand keeps moving on his back; Adam breathes deeply. “I don’t know. I just, it’s so confusing.” The tears begin to flow again and Ben pulls him closer again, silently squeezing him tight.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to know. Not now. You’ll be okay,” Ben says. The words are soft, barely audible, but enough to keep Adam grounded.
This time, when Adam pulls away, he leans further back so they’re sitting next to each other, rather than sharing the same space. Ben keeps a hand on Adam’s wrist with a small nod; Adam gives him a weary smile in return.
Adam sighs deeply. He is going to have to continue speaking, no matter how much he doesn’t want to. Ben is kind, but he’s not an idiot. If Adam tries to dodge the conversation, Ben will find a way to bring it back seamlessly. “I don’t know. I really don’t know why…” he trails off, but Ben doesn’t reply, simply nods and encourages him to keep going. “Just, maybe sometimes? I don’t always feel like…I don’t always feel like a man. And I don’t know what that means!” he’s quick to add, “I just know how I feel. There’s only been a few times I’ve tried to…explore anything, cause…” he trails off again, flapping his hand not held by Ben to convey his feelings. Ben squeezes his wrist and nods as if he knows exactly what Adam means. They spend enough time in each other's head that Adam imagines he does get it, even if he’s never felt the same way.
“Would you like to?” Ben says. Of everything Adam thought he was going to say, that was never even a possibility. Adam blinks rapidly, unsure how to respond.
“Uh, well, yes? What would that mean?”
“I could use different pronouns for you? See which ones you like best?” Ben replies. He says it like it’s the simplest idea in the world, which in some ways, it is. Maybe if Adam had spent more than a minute at a time thinking about this, he would have thought of it as well.
The choice is almost overwhelming. Eventually, he nods. Words feel too small for this moment. Adam feels on the edge of something, like a life changing discovery is only a moment away.
“So, I’m assuming he and him are off the table. I could tell you about my best friend. They’re my work partner, they’re the person I always rely on. But also, they get very stressed over literally everything. I still love them though.” Ben says, smiling the whole way through.
The first thing Adam feels is relief. He isn’t sure just how long it’s been since somebody talked about him in a way that didn’t make his skin crawl, but he can hazard a guess that this is the first time in years. If he’s being honest with himself, this is the first time it’s ever happened. Even so, something is still wrong. Adam can’t put his finger on it, so instead, he smiles.
“I like that,” he says. It's just three words, yet somehow they convey everything Adam has never been able to say before. “It’s…different. It’s good.”
Ben squeezes his wrist again, fingers warm and reminding Adam that this really is happening. “Should I keep going with that? Or do you want to try she/her.” The prospect of Ben going that far, just to make Adam happy, chokes Adam up. He nods, preparing himself for…something.
“There is also this girl I know. She’s very kind, especially when I get unbelievably drunk. She cares a lot, it’s almost certainly her best quality. But don’t tell her I said that!”
Part of Adam unlocks, a part that has remained dormant for so long. There is something so incredible, so freeing, about Ben saying that and knowing that he’s talking about him. Talking about her.
Her eyes start to sting, vision getting blurrier as tears begin falling once again. She nods, fingers instinctively going to the skirt in her lap and taking tight hold of the fabric. Adam’s thumb brushes over the material; the smoothness of it calms her. Ben pulls her in again, knowing full well that his shirt is about to be ruined again and not finding any part of him that cares. This time when Adam cries, it’s not out of terror and sheer confusion. The fear that has encircled her heart is still there, but it is so greatly outweighed by the happiness coursing through her blood that the panic may as well not exist. Tears run hot down her face, and this time they feel entirely welcome.
“That’s—” she takes a second to compose herself, voice breaking suddenly, “I like that. It’s— Yeah. That’s it.” Adam’s voice is muffled against Ben’s shirt, but he understands her anyway.
In Adam’s life, there have been exactly two times that she has looked into a mirror and liked what she’s seen. The first was when she was eighteen, and properly drunk for the first time. It was mostly the alcohol running through her system that allowed her to feel such contentment, but looking into a bathroom mirror in a house owned by someone she didn’t know, with a lopsided smile, felt right. Maybe it was the way all the tension had left her body, or the fact that the bizarre alcohol and juice cocktail had stained her lips ruby red. Either way, she had never felt so elated to see herself.
The second was a few months ago, when the voices in her head got too loud to ignore, and she had walked home from the office with a bag of drug store makeup. She didn’t know how to do makeup—and she definitely had no clue what she had even bought—but after several hours of tutorials and failed attempts, she had something she was semi-happy with.
The first look at herself, her eyes surrounded by pale blue eyeshadow and the smallest wing of eyeliner, was magical. Adam hadn’t taken it off for hours, and spent most of that time staring at herself, wondering if this had always been how she was meant to look. She had chased that high for days, smiling at random points throughout the day just at the thought of it.
The rest of her attempts hadn’t been as successful. Her face was too tight, jaw too boxy, lips too thin. There had been mild victories, but nothing as earth shattering as the first time.
Pressing herself into Ben’s chest, face almost certainly a mess with how much she’s crying, is a weird time to think about how much she wants to look into a mirror. She’s let out such a deep part of herself, one that had been expecting to never see the sunlight; would that finally be reflected on her face?
She pulls back, letting the stress ease out of her body as Ben brushes stray tears off her cheeks. “You’ll get through this. I know you will,” he says.
Adam can only see love in Ben’s expression. Somehow, she believes him.