Let me just start off by saying I hope this is acceptable.
Evan looks surprisingly fay without his do-rag. Like a little boy a mother has shoved into his Sunday suit for mass. He stands in the darkness of Nate's unlit porch, tie-less, looking lost.
Nate who has to be up in three hours takes one look at his face and sighs. "Do you wanna come in?"
He sets Evan up in the kitchen, glass of milk, Brad's box of 'Nilla wafers. Evan doesn't say anything, he munches on a few 'Nilla wafers quietly, head bowed, eyelashes dark crescents against his cheek. Nate pulls out a chair and sits down across from him.
"Stafford, what happened?"
He doesn't understand any of this. How Evan got here to D.C., what he's doing in that tailored suit. Evan doesn't say anything. Brad walks into the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of flimsy pajama pants. He scratches lightly at the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband and says to Evan, "Nate should be asleep." He shoots Nate a mildly disapproving look and then drinks straight out of the milk carton Nate left on the kitchen table.
Evan stares. He tugs on the cuffs of his shirt peeking out underneath his jacket. Brad turns around to shoot him a sharp look, stowing the milk back in the fridge. "Were you getting married today?"
Evan visibly swallows, but he holds Brad's gaze. Nate stares at Brad and then turns back to Evan. "Am I missing something?"
Brad leans back against the fridge and crosses his arms, looking like he's content to wait for Evan to speak. Nate who has no idea what's going on just wants it to be over already.
"Stafford, what ever it is, you know you can tell me?" He feels like he should reach out and pat Evan's head, but he really doubts anybody in the room will appreciate that.
Evan takes a deep breath, he diverts his gaze to Nate. "I think I might be a...a fag."
Evan Coming Out
Evan looks surprisingly fay without his do-rag. Like a little boy a mother has shoved into his Sunday suit for mass. He stands in the darkness of Nate's unlit porch, tie-less, looking lost.
Nate who has to be up in three hours takes one look at his face and sighs. "Do you wanna come in?"
He sets Evan up in the kitchen, glass of milk, Brad's box of 'Nilla wafers. Evan doesn't say anything, he munches on a few 'Nilla wafers quietly, head bowed, eyelashes dark crescents against his cheek. Nate pulls out a chair and sits down across from him.
"Stafford, what happened?"
He doesn't understand any of this. How Evan got here to D.C., what he's doing in that tailored suit. Evan doesn't say anything. Brad walks into the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of flimsy pajama pants. He scratches lightly at the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband and says to Evan, "Nate should be asleep." He shoots Nate a mildly disapproving look and then drinks straight out of the milk carton Nate left on the kitchen table.
Evan stares. He tugs on the cuffs of his shirt peeking out underneath his jacket. Brad turns around to shoot him a sharp look, stowing the milk back in the fridge. "Were you getting married today?"
Evan visibly swallows, but he holds Brad's gaze. Nate stares at Brad and then turns back to Evan. "Am I missing something?"
Brad leans back against the fridge and crosses his arms, looking like he's content to wait for Evan to speak. Nate who has no idea what's going on just wants it to be over already.
"Stafford, what ever it is, you know you can tell me?" He feels like he should reach out and pat Evan's head, but he really doubts anybody in the room will appreciate that.
Evan takes a deep breath, he diverts his gaze to Nate. "I think I might be a...a fag."