Rebel, Rebel

"Can I stay here?" a figure pleads, standing in front of a doorway and hugging himself. "Just for tonight. Please?"

"Uhh... Sure, babe, sure," a voice from inside says.

"Thanks, Bryan." The figure wipes his eyes before slowly entering through the open door.

"No prob, Chris," Bryan says, closing the door behind him with a soft creak before following Chris to the living room. The floor was carpeted and there was a couch in the middle of the room. A small table stood a few feet in front of it and a TV system was set up against the wall. The light was on and some music was playing.

"Is that David Bowie?" Chris asks.

"Umm... Yeah."

"Oh."

There was a brief silence as the two sit on the couch, listening to the speakers.

"So," Bryan begins, "you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just--my parents, you know?"

"Oh. They, uhh... found out about us?"

Chris shook his head, "no, my father just--shit--I couldn't take it anymore. He just exploded and..."

"Oh. Your mom okay with it?"

"She tries," Chris says, biting his lip, "but I think she's still in shock. She still can't decide what to call me."

"Haven't told her you're just fine with being a 'he'?"

"Already did but I think because I wear dresses, I'm a 'she' to her. I dunno."

"Oh." Bryan looks at Chris, frowning. "Your dad beat you up or something?"

"What? No! What makes you think that?"

"What was I supposed to think? You look like shit, dude. Your makeup's messed up and your dress--"

"Shut up," Chris growls, "I ran all the way here and I, err, tripped on my dress and--fuck, this isn't funny."

Chris moves away but Bryan sees that he's laughing too.

"Fuck, I'm a mess," he says, rubbing his neck.

"Well, if it helps," Bryan says teasingly, edging closer, "your hair looks alright."

Chris smiles, looking away. "Asshole."

"Tramp."

"You know you love me," Chris says, leaning against Bryan.

"I do," he whispers.

They sit quietly, hands intertwined.

"Could you turn up the music?"

"Sure, babe. Sure."