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Flans doesn’t know what to make of John’s… side project.
When he told Flans about his girl friends’ idea to drag him up, Flans was concerned. It seemed like a big commitment. All that makeup and clothes. And was there something John wasn’t telling him? Some desire to, I don’t know, be a girl? Flans didn’t like the thought. They were comfortably male friends, more like brothers than anything. John being anything other than a straight guy with him made him uneasy in a way he couldn’t articulate. It was too far in a direction he wasn’t interested in exploring. What would be the point.
Flans showed up to the gay bar in his usual “nice” fit, plaid button down tucked into khaki pants. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. He felt a little out of place, and not just from the khakis. He sat at the bar and ordered a shot and a drink. The bartender winked, and didn’t charge him. Flans smiled and then cleared his throat. It was time for the show.
The host did a song and some crowd work before announcing the main event: the first-timers contest. One by one a parade of queens crossed the stage, some shyly giggling, some stomping out with goofy confidence. The last one out caught his eye, with a glittering silver dress and strings of beads bunting below the knee. Before his eyes could register, his heart started beating like crazy. A pit in his stomach dropped. The stomach pit called out to his brain: That’s John.
Dark hair swept up and around his head, falling down around his shoulders in curly tresses. Like ocean waves, the curls flipped and swooped and flirtily pointed out from his small head.
His dark lashes pointed downward demurely, slowly lifting out as John looked out to the room.
Flans’ heart sped up even more at the idea of being looked at by Drag John. He quickly looked down at the table, the wall, the host, but his longing and anxiety made it impossible to stare at anything but Drag John.
What was her name? Maybe if John had a different name he could buy into the fantasy that it was someone else. His senses returned to him to hear the host introducing the queens onstage.
“And finally, Stella!” John gave a little wave and smile before continuing to awkwardly stand, moving his hands to his sides, then gathered in front, then gathered in back. He never knew what to do with his hands when he wasn’t singing.
“Give it up for Stella,” The host repeated. “It’s actually Stellub,” he called out to the host. Stellub then looked over at Flans, hopefully looking to see that he got the reference?
Flans, caught off guard by the reference to their band and thus making him uncomfortably aware of his body in space, realized he needed to make some kind of reaction for John. He mustered up his big smile and a silent laugh. But the moment they shared eye contact, he knew he was done for. Everything from this moment on would have to be an act.
Stellub was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had an old Hollywood softness. Her sparkle, her hips, her proportions, her legs. But the features that made the illusion work were unmistakably John’s. Those eyes. God. Stellub had a facial harmony unlike anyone.
As she went into her performance, a lipsync that reminded Flans of their days in performance art spaces, a realization dawned on Flans. He hadn’t seen John from this vantage point in a very long time. Stellub had all the wiles John did onstage, an undeniable transfixing charm that made the audience long for her gaze.
He wondered, with a pang of jealousy, what Stellub was thinking about while performing. Flans felt like he was totally see-through when he performed, all jumps and remembering words and guitar licks. And when looking at John, a professional musical connection, like deciding when to cut off a note .But John has that look that he’s thinking about somebody, and depending where his gaze landed, it could be you.
He wished he was onstage with Stellub to have that connection they always do, then at least he knew John was thinking about him. If only to know when to cut off the note.
It made Flansburgh crazy. His stomach did flips as he tried to comprehend what he was feeling. It felt like obsession. He felt out of control. It was totally unexpected and yet felt inevitable.He didn’t like it. Above all he felt unbelievably stupid, falling for someone who wasn’t real and at the same time, too too real.
When it came time to vote, Flans cheered as loud as his body would allow in its spellbound state. Stellub didn’t win the contest. John looked happy nonetheless. This wasn’t something Flans considered when he thought about this whole venture. He assumed it was a silly waste of time, maybe even offensive. That it would make John happy? He had to process so much. He needed to speak to him immediately.
After the queens were dismissed by the host, Stellub disappeared backstage, presumably to his girl friends who helped him out. Thank god, maybe John would de-drag, stop looking so beautiful, and Flans could actually talk to him. Maybe it would all be easy once Stellub was no more. But moments later, Stellub was walking up to Flans.
Flans let his mouth start moving before his mind could catch up.
"I… I don’t know how to say this, but... you were really amazing tonight. It’s not just because you were in drag, or whatever—just—god, this is dumb. You look really beautiful.” Flans’ eyes hit the ground and he lowered his voice. He swelled with emotion that he couldn’t stop. “I don’t know what to do."
There’s an awkward pause. John’s face doesn’t change immediately. He leaned forward, waiting for Flans to continue, but Flans offered no further utterance. An unsure silence hung between them. John’s mouth formed a cheeky little smile.
“Oh!” His eyes flicker around the room for a moment, trying to come up with something to say without the pressure of Flans’ intense eye contact. John hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from Flans, especially with how he had reacted when he invited him.
On top of that, John has trouble parsing the intent of Flans’ confession. He’s just talking about the performance, right? He knows Flans thinks he’s a good performer. They have a band together, for christ’s sake. But what does he mean by “know what to do”? What would they do?
In the silence Flans’ heart sinks, a cold knot forming in his chest. He shouldn’t have blurted that last part out. The hesitation of John’s response is almost worse than outright rejection. What was he hoping for? At least for John to laugh it off. A laugh is something shared. But what little acknowledgement John gives is impenetrable.
“That’s really nice, Flansy.” John finally says, hedging his bets.
“Oh, um, yeah. Okay.” Feeling fully stupid, Flans can’t be in this situation anymore. He hops off the barstool and takes a step to the bathroom. How stupid and impulsive could he be?
Flans’ reaction confirms to John this was more than a simple compliment. There was a confession somewhere in there. “Hey, wait up, –OOP” As John moves to follow Flans to the bathroom, his heel catches on the bottom of his dress and he stumbles forward.
Flans reacts lightning-fast, whipping around when he heard John’s voice unexpectedly close beyond him. He sees his friend’s eyes bugging in their adorable way as his hands make a beeline to the floor. In a millisecond, Flans has his arms out, scooping John up and placing him vertical again. John’s lanky limbs are limp, foot still caught in the back of the dress. He can’t help but lean into his savior. Flans holds John up delicately around his ribcage and time slows down. John’s eyes go from the floor, to his friend’s plaid button up, to his face. Flans’ eyes were widened in surprise and concern. They’ve never been this close before. John feels his weight upon the soft strength of Flans’ biceps and feels smaller than he ever has. Maybe this is the magic of drag.
Flans thought John’s eyes were huge before tonight. But this close, they’re all he can see. Enhanced by the makeup and close distance to his own, Flans thinks John may have the biggest and most adorable eyes of anyone to ever exist. He swallows, with shame that he is openly lusting over a real feature of his friend’s face.
Flans quickly remembers the rejection he already received moments before. He attempts to place John back on his feet and brush himself off. John’s arm lingers on Flans’ as he steadies his balance. Their gaze broken, John reaches back and fixes the bottom of his dress. The warmth that came from his front being in contact with Flans dissipated.
“Hah, sorry,” John said in his warm baritone. He tucks a lock of the wig behind his ear, then untucks it, remembering it’s not his real hair. Flans pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Thanks. Um, but what were you talking about?” John decides to press.
Stellub/John has a confidence Flans never has seen in his friend before. But it’s not just her confidence that pushes Flans to answer. Flans feels open with her in a way he hasn’t been able to be with John in the past. Maybe it’s the mask of makeup between them that allows them both to trespass territory they never have before..
“No problem,” Flans looks to the side. “And um, it’s just that you’ve made things a bit complicated for me.”
“Complicated how?”
“Like, now I know there’s this woman out there who… doesn’t exist.”
“Well, I exist. It’s me.” John says bluntly.
“Right, but this isn’t really you,” he says rather callously.
John looks hurt and confused. “Why does it matter who I am, or who this is.” He gestures at his gown.
“Because if it’s you then I…I…” Flans frantically looks at his buzzing hands in distress. He closes his eyes. “This means something else about me that I’m not ready to think about.”
John is more confused than ever. But he doesn’t want this conversation to end. If John had the confidence to go up there in drag for the first time, maybe Flans can talk about his feelings for once. And at a gay bar!
John grabs Flans’ elbow and guides him towards the door. Stepping outside, the cold night air hits them with an honesty. Flans has always felt amazing with the feeling of a few drinks in his system and being outside. But he’s also being confronted. Grabbing the railing, he looked at the options in front of him. What he’s already said has made it impossible to laugh off. There’s no avoiding it now. He turned to John, glittering even in the tangerine streetlight. Flans noticed tinsel woven through the wig. Wow, what a beautiful detail.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He confessed. “And it’s not just…the way you look now. It’s the way you always look. Everything about you that makes you beautiful tonight has always been there. And it’s just a lot for me to, you know, realize.”
John blushes at the flattery. He tried to push the attention off to Flans again. “But you said, something happened with you, what happened?”
“That I realized I’m in love with you. And when you look like this, I can’t deny that. I can’t say to myself that your gender is the reason it’s not real. Because here you are, everything I’ve ever wanted. And I don’t know if it’s real, because I don’t know how you feel about this or me or–”
John grabs Flansburgh’s arms, pulling himself close and kissing him.
It doesn’t matter what is real. What’s no longer real is the distance between them. Flansburgh hopes in his mind that it’s permanent.
John pulls away, looks at him, and throws his arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Flansy.” He says quietly in his ear.
Flansburgh melts, his grin so big it his face can barely contain it. Though his arms encircle padding and beads, he knows that the person he loves is finally in his arms, and wants to be there. He’s so grateful that John crossed a boundary tonight, and in doing so, shattered all of his.