A Closet Full of Dresses

There were three suitcases, always three. One suitcase for his clothes and one for everything else, books and journals and hair gel. The third was always locked and hidden in the closet, keeping the reminder of it out of his sight as well as the questioning eyes of everyone else. He had bought the lock at a hardware store, paid fifty dollars for it, always carrying that suitcase as carry-on so the lock wouldn’t get broken. Ryan never opened that one if anyone was in the room. Brendon assumed it was full of gay porn and sex toys, but he never mentioned it.

Right now, however, Ryan was alone. Brendon had gone out with Jon and Spencer and a few other people to some club and he had feigned fatigue. Which meant that he had at least three hours before they came back. So he had pulled the suitcase out of the closet and was now kneeling on the floor, twisting the combination lock. When he undid the zipper, there was no gay porn in sight, just tulle and lace and silk and satin, every color in the rainbow. Dresses and stockings, lingerie and high heels.

Tonight he pulled out the black, laying it on the bed. He stripped quickly, shimmying out of his boxers. He stood there in a pair of red lace underwear, shivering slightly in the air conditioning. He reached into the suitcase and pulled out a bra, slipping it on and doing the snaps before putting in the silicone cups.

He let out a small sigh of contentment as he pulled the dress on, feeling the soft material sliding across his skin. It was always like this, like the first time he had sex. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memory rush through his senses. Lying on the bed, trembling, first painful thrust, knowing this was what it was for a girl, for her first time, awkward movements and rough penetration and missionary position. That feeling of being right, that everything was going to be okay, if only for a minute.

The dresses were like that now, which was good because the sex wasn’t. Ryan opened his eyes, slipping on a pair of back heels before walking to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror as he put on his make-up.

No one knew about this, this secret ritual. Ryan putting on bras and dresses, smiling as he looked at the almost-girl in the mirror. No one knew that it never stayed smiles, always ended in tears with Ryan throwing the clothes back in the suitcase and refusing to answer questions about why he was upset when Brendon came back.

Tonight was no exception. After an hour there were mascara stains down Ryan’s cheeks. He washed his face before he tore off the dress. When Brendon got back, Ryan was staring blankly at the television, his eyes bloodshot and puffy.

Brendon sat down beside him, leaning in to lightly kiss his cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Ryan didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off the television.

“Baby?” Brendon tried again. He snuggled against his boyfriend, softly feathering kisses along his neck. “Come on, Ry. Talk to me.” He moved his hand to the waistband of Ryan’s sweats, knowing he would get a response, even if it wouldn’t be the desired one.

Ryan shoved at his hand viciously, trying to pull away, but Brendon held fast. “Get off of me!” he shrieked.

“Talk to me.” Brendon pleaded, trying to grab Ryan’s shirt when the other boy managed to pull away. Ryan crawled into the second bed and Brendon followed. “Baby?”

“Go away.” Ryan snapped, hot tears swimming in his eyes. “I don’t want to.”

“We don’t have to.” Brendon said quickly. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t, to be honest. Brendon was still trying to figure out how to deal with his boyfriend’s sexual anorexia. It had been a month since their last time.

“Please, go away.” Ryan whispered miserably.

Brendon sighed heavily, squeezing Ryan’s shoulder for a brief moment. “If that’s what you want.” he murmured. He kissed the other boy’s cheek sadly before crawling into the other bed. His emotions were swimming around in his head, upset and worried and scared. Upset about Ryan’s reactions, worried about what was happening, and scared that he was going to be dumped.

Ryan curled up into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. He let the tears fall now, but biting his lip to make sure the sobs didn’t slip out. Brendon was going to break up with him soon. He’d probably get kicked out of the band. And all of that scared him to death, but he could see the silver lining glowing in the darkness.

Maybe, if everything fell apart, he could disappear. He could be a girl. Tears were running down his cheeks and along his neck as he tried to figure out whether losing everyone would be worth it. He knew it would. He just wanted to have everything.

Brendon stared at the curve of Ryan’s shoulder blades through his tee shirt as he tried not to think, tried not to get lost in memories. Memories of when things weren’t so bad and Ryan would let Brendon hold him even if he wouldn’t talk. Memories of when Ryan would let Brendon be inside of him.

Now everything was different and all Brendon wanted to know was why.

* * *

The next morning Ryan was a little better. He forced a pretty smile when Brendon ordered room service and kissed him once they were done eating. He swallowed his protests when the kiss deepened and let the other boy scoop him up and push him onto the bed, kissing Ryan’s neck and greedily sucking at his pulse. And with slightly shaking hands, Ryan undid Brendon’s jeans and hesitantly kissed down his stomach before taking the other boy in his mouth and giving him his first blowjob in two weeks.

Afterwards, he ducked into the bathroom to cover up the new bruise on his neck and slip a pair of pink panties on under his boxers before they left for the photo shoot. He leaned against Brendon in the car and smiled during the pictures. Afterwards, when they decided to go out to eat, he talked and let Brendon hold his hand under the table. And everything was okay.

Until the Meet and Greet. Ryan got a little quieter, wouldn’t kiss Brendon back before they went onstage. And after the show, he hid himself in his bunk and refused to talk when Brendon tried to kiss him.

He saw their faces in his head. Their beautiful faces with their long hair, curvy figures, small hands. The way, he knew, that night or the next, they would take it all for granted. Too fat, breasts not big enough, hating their menstrual cycles. And he hated them for it, for being what he couldn’t and not appreciating it at all.

“Ry?” Brendon slipped into his boyfriend’s bunk around midnight, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s waist. “Baby?”

The older didn’t answer, didn’t move, but at least he wasn’t pushing away.

Brendon kissed his hair and stroked the small of his back. “I love you.” he whispered, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I love you, Ry.”

“I love you, too.” Ryan whispered, an hour later, once Brendon’s breathing had slowed and he knew his boyfriend was sleeping. He slipped his boxers low around his waist, taking Brendon’s hand and running it along the lace that was underneath, pretending it was real. Pretending that Brendon knew and that it wasn’t a dirty secret hidden beneath denim and cotton.

He heard Brendon’s voice echoing in his head. ’Talk to me.’ Ryan’s eyes filled with tears as he struggled not to cry, letting go of Brendon’s hand and pulling his boxers back up. “You’d hate me if I did.” he whispered, the tears escaping and slipping down his cheeks, falling into the creases of his lips and wetting them.

* * *

The next morning they were at the new venue and Ryan wasn’t in his bunk. When Brendon opened the bus door, Ryan was leaning against the building, staring up at the blue sky.

“You sleep okay, baby?” Brendon asked, crossing the concrete and rubbing the back of his boyfriend’s neck.

Ryan nodded, breathing deeply, leaning his head against the other boy’s shoulder. “Love you.” he murmured affectionately.

Brendon smiled. “I know, baby.” he said softly. “I love you, too.”