Vivid in Violet

Spencer’s actually looking for a present for his sisters – it’s their birthday in a few weeks – when he sees the dress. He was wandering in and out of random stores in the mall until he found this place, caught sight of the shoes in the window and couldn’t walk on by.

The dress is a vivid, royal purple, bunched at the sides and twisted around the middle in a vague bow shape. The straps are thin and cross over at the back and even on a short girl, which he isn’t, Spencer knows the hemline would be indecent.

The dress is gorgeous. Beautiful, even. Spencer reaches out, hesitant, fingers the soft, silken fabric, and is hit with the sudden inexplicable desire to try it on, to see if it looks as beautiful on him as it does hanging on the rack.

(He’s never bought a dress in public like this; at first, he borrowed some of Crystal’s and Jackie’s larger ones that he could just about wriggle into, but that soon became impossible when he hit his growth spurt and he took to ordering them out of catalogues instead. He’s never dared look at a dress in public before today. He doesn’t know what’s changed, but this dress is beautiful and he has to have it and, suddenly, he can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t.)

The girl behind the till raises a perfectly pencilled eyebrow when Spencer puts the dress down on the counter and gets out his wallet.

“For my sister,” he lies, because he feels like he should. “It’s her birthday present.”

The dress feels like a secret, burning a hole in the bag in his hand as he strides out of the mall and heads to his car.

***

“I wanna go out tonight,” Spencer says, flicking Ryan’s arm to get his attention. Ryan’s in his dorm, for no other reason than they felt like hanging out. “You know what they do to guys like us in the strip.”

Ryan head snaps up immediately at the familiar phrase. “You sure, Spence?” he asks, cautious. “It’s been a while.”

Spencer shrugs. “I got a new dress today,” he says, softly. “I want to try it out.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, nodding. “Okay, yeah. I’ll just get your make-up and shit while you put on the dress.”

(Ryan’s seen Spencer naked a thousand times – they’ve been friends since they were tiny, after all – but whenever getting naked is a prelude to putting on a dress, he gets all weird about it. He makes an excuse to leave the room or simply averts his eyes if Spencer needs him to tie it or zip it up at the back.

He says it’s different, somehow, and Spencer understands, even if Ryan doesn’t.)

Spencer waits ‘til Ryan’s shut the door gently behind him before taking the dress down from where he’d hung it in his wardrobe earlier. Normally he’s more careful about hiding his dresses in case Brent, his roommate, finds them, but he figured since he’d be wearing it a few hours later, it was worth the risk. He didn’t really want to ruin it by bunching it up and stuffing it under his bed; it was too pretty for that kind of treatment.

The dress slips easily over Spencer’s head and down his chest but it gets stuck around his middle. It’s tighter than what he normally wears, which means it flattens out his stomach a little but it makes his pudge even more obvious. Spencer pokes his stomach, wishing not for the first time that he were just a little bit skinnier, not even like Brendon or Ryan, just- less like himself. Sucking in a breath, he pulls the dress all the way down, smoothing it over his freshly-shaved legs.

Spencer refuses to look at himself before he’s finished, so he doesn’t even glance in the mirror before striding over to the door and calling out, “You can come in now, Ry.”

Ryan’s not allowed to comment either but his eyes widen when he sees Spencer in a dress, every single time, before he checks himself and smiles.

“What do you wanna go for today, then, Spence?” he asks, like he does every time, even though he knows Spencer will say the same thing.

Spencer shrugs. “Whatever you think works. No swirls or birds or rainbows, though, I’m serious.”

Ryan heaves an over-dramatic sigh. “Why must you spoil my fun, Spencer? You could be my canvas. We could do great things together.”

“No,” Spencer repeats flatly. “You might be able to pull that shit off but I can’t, you know I can’t.”

Ryan’s face softens. “You could if you’d let me try.”

“Ryan,” Spencer says, and Ryan knows better than to argue with him when he says his name like that.

“Okay, fine,” Ryan mutters, shaking his head. “Sit down and let me work my magic.”

Spencer sits on his desk chair, drumming his fingers on his knee, while Ryan combs out his hair. It’s short but it just about brushes his chin, so it’s long enough that he doesn’t have to wear a wig. Spencer hates wearing wigs; they itch around his ears and at the nape of his neck and he always thinks they look so obviously fake.

Once his hair’s been tamed, Ryan swivels him around to start on his make-up and Spencer’s eyes flutter shut obediently. Ryan’s done this to him before, so many times, but Spencer still shivers when he brushes the eye-shadow gently over his eyelids.

(Realistically, he should probably learn how to do this shit himself, but Ryan is a genius with any kind of pen and he always manages to transform Spencer so completely he barely recognises himself when he’s done. Spencer doesn’t think he’d ever be able to apply mascara without poking himself in the eye, let alone be able to create the kind of masterpieces Ryan does.)

“Hold still,” Ryan orders, making a tsking noise in his throat. “Seriously, it’s so much harder to put make-up on you when you won’t stop fucking wriggling.”

“But it itches!” Spencer protests, flicking an eye open to glare at his best friend. “And your hands are so cold, Jesus, it’s like being felt up by a zombie.”

Ryan makes a leering zombie face at Spencer and Spencer rolls his eyes at him.

“Hey, stop that!” Ryan scolds, poking him with the other end of the eye-liner pencil. “You’ll ruin your make-up.”

Spencer glares at him one last time before closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax. Ryan’s done this to him before, so many times; he doesn’t have anything to worry about.

“Tada,” Ryan says when he’s done, sliding the lipstick closed with a flourish. He studies Spencer for a few moments, chewing his lip, assessing his creation.

“What?” Spencer asks, self-conscious, when Ryan’s been staring at him for nearly a full minute.

“Nothing, it’s just-” Ryan breaks off, frowning. “You’re prettier than me,” he says, sounding genuinely put out. “It’s not fair.”

Spencer bursts out laughing at that. “Fuck off,” he says fondly. “Lemme see.”

He cranes his neck to look in the mirror but freezes when he hears the door opening. His head snaps to the side and Brendon’s standing there, mouth open, eyes wide with something that looks awfully like horror.

“Brendon,” Spencer says, stumbling to his feet, shoving Ryan out of the way, but Brendon’s already turned and fled, door slamming shut behind him. Spencer collapses back onto the bed, head in his hands, barely registering Ryan pulling him into a hug.

***

Brendon’s roommate, a tiny curly-haired guy called Ian, opens the door to their room when Ryan knocks.

“Is Brendon okay?” he asks, giving Ryan a curious look. “He just stormed in, like, a couple of minutes ago and he looked kinda freaked out.”

“He won’t be for much longer,” Ryan says darkly. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ian says, already grabbing his stuff. “Just don’t- don’t be too hard on him, okay? Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

Ryan laughs softly, but he doesn’t make any promises he can’t keep. He watches Ian leave, probably heading for one of the Alexes’ rooms, and then strides in. Brendon’s sitting on his bed, unconsciously echoing the position Ryan left Spencer in.

“You’re an asshole,” Ryan says, his voice even flatter than usual. Brendon doesn’t look up but Ryan can see the line of his back go stiff. “You’re an asshole and a dick and you made Spencer cry, Brendon. No one gets to do that, not even me.”

“I’m sorry,” Brendon mumbles, his voice muffled by his hands. “I didn’t mean to, I just- I freaked out.”

“Yeah,” Ryan mutters, leaning back against the door frame, “I noticed. And what the fuck is up with that, anyway? He was wearing a dress, it wasn’t like he was eating babies or something, Jesus Christ. What the hell was there to freak out about?”

Brendon looks up at him, biting his lip. “Wouldn’t you be freaked out?” he says softly, hugging his arms tighter around his body. “If you walked into a room and saw one of your best male friends wearing a dress, wouldn’t you run?”

“No,” Ryan says, evenly. “I’d find out what was going on instead of being a dick and running off and making my best friend feel like shit for no goddamn reason.”

Brendon looks away again. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice quivering with misery.

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” Ryan says, but he isn’t angry any more, just resigned. “Come on. We’re going back to Spencer’s. You can figure out what you’re gonna say to him on the way over.”

***

The first time Ryan saw Spencer wearing a dress, he was sixteen and Spencer was a year younger. His mom had let him in and smiled and told him Spencer was in his room so he should go straight up, and he had because he always did.

He was kind of pissed off because his dad was being a jerk again and that was why he didn’t notice straight-away that there was anything different about Spencer when he pushed open the door and stomped right in.

“Fucking asshole,” he fumed, throwing himself down on the bed. He looked up at Spencer, who was frozen on the other side of the room. “Spence? What’s up?”

And then his mouth fell open because Spencer was wearing a dress. Jesus fucking Christ, Spencer was wearing a dress. It was green, Ryan remembers, green like freshly cut grass, and he remembers thinking, dimly, that it suited Spencer, brought out the colour of his eyes, but he was too busy freaking out to dwell on that thought for too long.

“You’re wearing a dress,” he said stupidly.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, arms folded across his – stuffed; was he wearing a bra? – chest.

“You’re wearing,” Ryan repeated, “a dress.” It didn’t sound any less crazy second time around.

“Yes, I am wearing a dress,” Spencer echoed. “It’s green. It’s got a little bow on it. You wanna try it on?”

“Fuck no,” Ryan retorted, but a moment later they were both giggling hysterically for no reason either of them could discern. “So, uh, is this a thing for you?” he asked hesitantly, when the laughter had subsided.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, biting his lip. “I know it’s weird-”

“No it’s not,” Ryan said automatically. Spencer gave him a look. “Okay, maybe a little bit,” he relented, “but it doesn’t make you weird.”

Spencer smiled, sudden and shy and soft, and leant over to hug Ryan hard. “Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes, “thank you.”

***

Spencer isn’t wearing the dress when Ryan drops Brendon off at his dorm and tells him in no uncertain terms to fix what he broke. He’s pulled on his loosest pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt of his dad’s but the ghost of what he was wearing remains in the make-up along his eyes and mouth, smudged and faded like he tried to get it off but couldn’t quite manage it.

Spencer glances up when Brendon opens the door, but he looks down again almost instantly, face closing off into a blank expression. Brendon takes a moment to feel really, really shitty about what he did then says, sheepish, “Hey Spence.”

Spencer makes a non-committal grunt in return. Brendon bites his lip.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, staring at the floor so he doesn’t have to look at Spencer. “I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, still on edge, ready to take flight if danger rears its ugly head.

“It’s not because you were wearing a dress,” Brendon continues, spurred on by Spencer’s acknowledgement. Maybe he didn’t completely fuck this up. “Well, okay, it was, but it wasn’t- I don’t have a problem with it, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with it, I just- it was just a shock, that’s all.” He glances up, finds Spencer’s gaze and holds on. “You never told me,” he says, and he tries not to sound accusatory – this is about Spencer, this is not about him – but he doesn’t think he quite manages it.

“Okay,” Spencer says again, but he relaxes this time and the deer-in-the-headlights look retreats, just a little. “I should’ve, I guess, I just- I didn’t know how.”

You told Ryan, Brendon wants to say, but that would be bitter and irrational and pathetic and he knows it. Ryan is Spencer’s best friend; of course he told him.

“Why do you do it?” he asks instead, partly for a change of subject, partly because he’s genuinely curious. “The cross-dressing, I mean.” Spencer shrugs, uncomfortable. “Shit, sorry, is that a douchey question? I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just...” Spencer bites his lip. “I just like doing it. There’s no, like, big reason or anything. I don’t-” He glances away, down at his lap, away from Brendon’s curious gaze, and tries to work out how to explain. “The only time I feel remotely attractive is when I’m, you know, cross-dressing. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It is stupid,” Brendon says, so fierce it makes Spencer look up at him, heart pounding in his chest so loudly he’s pretty sure Ryan can hear it outside. “You’re fucking beautiful, Spencer, dress or no dress, and don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Yeah, sure,” Spencer mutters, trying to roll his eyes. “Whatever.”

“No,” Brendon says, looking at Spencer hard, “this is important. For what it’s worth, you looked really hot in that dress. But it wasn’t because of the dress, or the make-up, or any of that. It was because of you. You’re just- you’re really insanely hot, Spence.”

Spencer closes his eyes and tells himself that Brendon’s just saying it, that it’s because he feels bad, that the look in his eyes means nothing except that he’s a really good friend.

(The thing is, and this is a very important thing, Brendon is mostly straight. Spencer says mostly because he’s not sure getting off with random guys at parties counts. But other than that, Brendon has only ever had girlfriends and has only ever been interested in girls, to the best of Spencer’s knowledge.)

“I’m not a girl, Brendon,” Spencer says tiredly, when he opens his eyes.

“...I know,” Brendon says, confused. “I’ve seen your dick before, Spence. I know you’re a guy.”

“Not everyone who has a dick is a guy and not everyone who’s a guy has a dick,” Spencer says flatly.

Brendon’s eyebrows furrow in the middle. “So you’re, what, you’re transsexual? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“No, that’s the point,” Spencer stresses, “I’m not. I’m just a guy who likes wearing girls’ clothes.”

Brendon still looks utterly bemused. “Okay, um, I’m really happy for you that you have your sexual identity figured out like that and all, but- why does it matter?”

Spencer bites his lip and looks away. “I just- I thought- never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

Brendon can be a little bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but he isn’t that slow. “You thought I thought you were girl,” he says slowly. “When I said that you’re beautiful, you thought that was because I thought you were a girl.”

“Wasn’t it?” Spencer hates this, hates how needy he sounds, but all of a sudden he has to know.

Brendon’s eyes narrow. “Is it so hard to believe I might actually find you attractive?”

“Yes,” Spencer says desperately, like this is obvious, because it is. Brendon is straight, Brendon is not attracted to Spencer, Spencer has accepted this, why is Brendon confusing him?

“Spencer,” Brendon says, and then he’s in front of him, kneeling on the ground, looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes. “You’re such an idiot, you know that?”

And before Spencer can protest, Brendon’s leaning forward and hooking his arms around Spencer’s neck and he’s kissing him and Spencer doesn’t even hesitate before kissing him back.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Brendon murmurs against his lips.

Spencer shivers involuntarily. “I thought you were straight,” he says. His protest comes out more like a whine than an accusation, though.

“Idiot,” Brendon repeats, but he’s grinning, wide and happy like he can’t quite help himself.

“So this-” Spencer cuts himself off, biting his lip. “It’s not about me in a dress?”

“Spencer,” Brendon sighs, frustrated and impatient, “I thought you were pretty the first time I saw you, okay, this couldn’t be less about you in a dress. Although,” he says slyly, lips quirking into a dirty grin, “you did look pretty hot in it.”

“I could put it back on,” Spencer offers, with a grin of his own.

Brendon appears to consider this for a moment. “Maybe later,” he says decisively, playing with the hem of Spencer’s t-shirt. “For now, how about you just take this off?”

“Smooth,” Spencer laughs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t protest when Brendon pushes him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him.

“It’s too quiet in here, what’s going on?” Ryan demands, bursting through the door. “Do I need to kill- Jesus, my eyes!”

But as he backpedals out of the room, hands thrown up to cover his face, Spencer could swear he’s muttering, “Fucking finally.”

And Spencer can’t help but agree.