Mr. Beautiful

I gave him another bland smile, though this one was harder to fake.  "Listen, it's Allen, right?"

He nodded.

I continued, "I know you and Damien have some beef between you, but don't drag me into it.  I'm guessing you've heard that I can handle myself in a fight, you probably heard the rumor that I used to be a cage fighter by the way you're acting, but listen carefully to this part: Nothing you can say is going to get me to go over there and do your dirty work for you, and we all know if you tried to kick his ass yourself, he'd clobber you."

He tried to respond, looking angry, but I spoke over him.  "Now you, you aren't a close friend of mine, and you're starting to piss me off, so you I could be convinced to fight, but not him, and not by you.  So move along before you find out firsthand if I did really used to fight pro."

That had its desired effect, and he left with a few grumbling complaints about me being a prick.

That was fine with me.  I was smiling when he left, thinking I'd defused the situation well enough.

A look at Javier's face told me otherwise.

I sighed.  I didn't know what, but something about that exchange had deeply bothered him.

He'd been playful and engaged before that, enjoying the crowd we were hanging with.  He became withdrawn and stiff after.

There was no good way to get it out of him there, no subtle way to get him alone that wouldn't look suspicious, so it wasn't until later, post-party, that I got him to talk.

"What's bothering you?"

We were getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth side by side in the mirror.  I saw his mouth tighten.

He set his toothbrush down and met my eyes.  "You really don't know?" he asked quietly, but something in his tone was very loud, so loud it was screaming at me, trying to tell me something that I wasn't ready to hear.

I shook my head.  "I know you got upset after I threatened Allen.  You don't think the way I handled that was appropriate?"

He grunted.  That was it.  Just grunted and went to bed.

I followed him, a kernel of annoyance moving through me.  I was plainspoken, and sometimes I really wished that he were too.

"I don't speak fluent grunt," I told him as I got into bed.  "Want to tell me what yours meant?"

He didn't even crack a smile.  "I think it bothers me the most that you don't even understand how screwed up that all was."

I sighed.  I hated arguments like this, so full of riddles and land mines.  "I guess I don't.  Explain, please."

"You were so willing, happy even, to get into a real fight over a fake relationship.  You weren't bluffing.  You would have followed through, kicked Allen's ass if he kept it up."

"The guy was being a jerk, talking that way about Bianca, trying to stir shit up with me and Damien.  And he never would have fought me, so it was a bluff.  I'm twice that guy's size."

He grunted again, and this time I could interpret it into a noise of utter frustration.  "You don't get it!"

"Explain it to me then," I muttered sullenly, wanting nothing more than to get off this subject.

He was in my face suddenly, eyes wide, passionate.  "You're so scared to show the world who you are that you would cripple your life for it!  Why?!  What are you so scared of?  The world is not your sick dad.  Half the guys we work with are g*y.  Do you see the straight ones stringing any of them up?  This isn't the fifties.  We don't have to hide anymore!"

My jaw clenched, and I just stared at him, refusing to talk about this.

He cupped my face in his hands, eyes imploring.  "There's nothing wrong with you, Stephan.  Nothing at all.  You are who you are, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't change it.  No matter how you hide it, you can't run from yourself, and you shouldn't want to, because there's nothing wrong with you."

I didn't cave one single inch, staring him down with cold eyes, letting him talk, giving him nothing.

One sad tear ran down his face.  "You're perfect, Stephan.  Perfect.  I love you.  I'm in love with you, but what are you even doing?  How long can you live with this farce?  How long do I have to pretend to be your bro, your bud, in public, lovers only in private?"

Nothing.  I gave him nothing.  No part of me was willing to cave to this.  I would not do it, not even for him.

He was getting more desperate by the second, eyes wild, lips trembling.  "You know what terrifies me?  That you're so willing to risk us, to risk this, just to keep up the front."

Nothing.  I gave him nothing but cold, resolute eyes.

He got the message, shaking his head back and forth as he looked into them with sad eyes.  "It's not even a dilemma for you, is it?  If I made you choose, go public or lose me, you wouldn't even hesitate, would you?"

My breath caught.  That one got to me.  "Don't," I said quietly, a plea in my voice.

He backed away, his jaw hardening.  "No.  I need to know.  If you care about me, you'll choose me.  Choose me, Stephan.  Please."

"Don't do this.  It's not fair.  It is manipulative.  I have a right to be a private person.  You shouldn't want to force me to live other than how I choose to."