Comments are turned off. Learn More

 

---

 

 

The thing about stories was that most of them made me feel weird. Each and every time, they talk about someone who will go on grand adventures with betrayals, friends and lovers, and will evolve. They learn, they expand. But they never really change, do they? They stay roughly the same person on the inside. What a boring prospect. If I were them, I’d want— I’d need to change everything. A big spring cleaning. And no stories did that; that wasn’t a thing.

I guess, for her, maybe it had been.

I think that’s also why, at that moment, I did not willingly seek out stories. Sure, my past hang-ups about them had started to dissipate, but that didn’t mean I’d gain anything substantial from them either. They felt so far removed from the real world, so uninterested in my experiences. Except maybe Celeste — even if it was hard to say why exactly, I had to admit it’d tugged at something in my stomach — but what were the chances of that happening again? Scarce. I couldn’t count on that. Maybe I could try things, but someone had to push me a bit, provided that someone was Mandel.

And following my Sunday breakdown, he affectionately forced me to watch movies and shows with him in the evenings. “This week,” he’d said, “I propose we only record a low-effort episode for M&S’s. And don’t you look at your comments! I know, very hard! Then we’re gonna spend some quality time on the wet plane together… No, not a swimming pool, Ju. I hate swimming! I just meant the real world. Like, if computers are dry, then people are wet, thus this is the— Oh. You just wanted to be annoying, eh? Thought so. Anyway, how’s that for a plan?”

In retrospect, it had been a very good plan. Because, first of all, I discovered the joy of bingeing shows with snacks and snuggles. Tragic I’d never heard of that before. He showed me one he’d liked as a kid: apparently it was a classic of the 2000’s, with magic, tragic pasts, and brightful futures — not the kind of thing I’d thought I would ever like. And yet, to my surprise, it was fun, the story was engaging and well written. I couldn’t really pinpoint any negatives. Except maybe an emptiness. I didn’t feel the same sensation as with Celeste again. Here, every character lacked something, they felt flat. The closest we got to something interesting was at the end, when the hero doubted their role in the story, but only for them to turn around at the finale and reassert their original opinion on the matter — I felt more connected with the bad guy who changed sides, for goodness sake! The main character’s sense of identity never really faltered. Why wasn’t there any story about that? About true change?

She changed, I thought. But how did that even work? Did she— Wait. Was it really she? Maybe 40 just misspelt? Maybe I was terraforming Minecraft mountains out of Minecraft hills? But, supposing he did really write ‘her’, that would mean… Did she really become… Did she…

Was it really possible to do that? Or had I misinterpreted?

Maybe I hadn’t read enough books, watched enough shows, or played enough games. Maybe some of them do talk about it. Maybe someone has felt this before—

“Happy new year, Juuuuu!” Mandel yelled from outside my flat, interrupting my musings.

Obviously, I screamed.

And I also jumped and nearly fell from my chair. “This is getting dangerous, Mandel,” I replied after going through a little breathing exercise.

“Uh… Oh! Oh… Sorry,” he said. “Can— Can I still come in?”

I popped off my desk and opened the door. That should answer him, but to be sure, I stepped towards him to initiate a hug.

“Awh, still a fan of hugs?” He ruffled my hair and returned the embrace.

“Nah.” I took advantage of the fact that his guard was down to nibble on his neck.

“Ouch!” He chuckled. “What was that for?”

“You said ‘Happy New Year’ but it’s still 2023, you dingus. You deserve a punishment!”

“You—” He exhaled. “I’m starting to realise you’re particular about dates.”

“Very.”

He chuckled again and planted a kiss on the top of my head.

That could not go unchallenged. I looked up at him, and I smirked. “Especially those with you...” While he blushed and stammered, I innocently took his hands in mine, with absolutely no underlying evil intent. “So. Let’s get going?”

He nodded and let out a little sound of approval. “Yeah… Still sure about spending this new year’s eve with Zach, though?”

Ah yes, our new neighbour I’d met in unfortunate circumstances. Mandel had suggested we spend some time with him, and argued it would help me get out of my ruminations for a while. I hummed and nodded. “He seemed cool when I saw him last week — way cooler than his uncle. And if he’s a bit like me, like you said, then we should get along, not talking to each other and not being weird about it.” 

“That sounds about right.” He pulled me outside to initiate the great journey towards his flat. The air was very cold, so I had to keep close to him. “Plus, guy has no one to go to tonight, so couldn't rightly let him be alone.” He sighed, then launched an ironic wave of the hand to his right, like he was revealing a new car model on a non-existent stage. “The homophones strike again!”

Zach didn’t say it was a case of homophobia specifically, but you could reconstitute the scene pretty easily with what he’d said. Mandel had friended him over the week, and through the course of several little discussions, he’d deduced Zach had been ‘diplomatically’ kicked out of his parent’s place and put in his uncle’s care for the time being, probably after a coming out of some sort, we figured. 

And there weren't many kinds of coming out I could think of.

I followed him down the stairs. “Or the biphones?”

“Or the transphones…”

“The what?”

“Erm, it’s like, the T in LGBT.” He hesitated for a second before setting foot on his floor. “I— I don’t know much about it, though,” he said, hesitation creeping into his voice. “I should probably, um, research what it means at some point.” He shrugged.

“Oh. I guess I should do the same.”

He cleared his throat — and this conversation out of my mind — and announced, “Here we are,” as if I hadn’t spent most of my evenings here for the past few days. He opened the door, we stepped in, then he flopped on his bed and looked at his phone for a second. “Zach will be here in a few minutes.”

“Right. Mind if I put some tea on? Do you still have some of that herbal tea that tasted low-key like raspberry?” I poured water into the kettle, put it on, and then leaned on the countertop. To my left, I could see the street lamps slowly turning on through the window.

Mandel had beautiful flowery fabric embroidered with purples and deep greens covering his glass door and window from top to bottom… in theory. Because — and I only noticed it at that moment — his curtains were pretty much always kept open. I quite liked the darkness, so I never really bothered letting anything but a sliver of light pass through. But here, I realised how exposed not having them shut felt, especially on Mandel's floor. Everyone on the other side could see all our little boxed lives. And even people on the street could peek at what you were doing if you stayed too close to the wall. How could someone bear being so apparent to the world?

The kettle clicked.

The why I pretty much did know, landlord liked our flats being available like that. He could do a little tour of the balconies every week or so, to check if everything was up to his standards. He did not force us to open the curtains, thank goodness, but if he could, I’m pretty sure he would. It wouldn’t surprise me if he actually lived in one of the units on the other side — and if he didn’t, he was probably drooling over the idea.

I poured water into three mugs and added a bag to each.

Timid knocks.

Mandel sprang up from his bed, leaving his phone behind. Zachary was standing outside, with an oversized hand-knit pink sweater enveloping him and a black beanie covering part of his head, his face flush from running down the stairs from the flat he moved into in the upper part of the building. 

Mandel let him in. “Hey, Zach. Make yourself comfortable. You can sit in the bed if you need.”

“Thanks,” Zach said in a low voice, then walked to the bed, looking down.

I handed both of them their mugs. “It’s hot.”

After the mugs were distributed, I sat on Mandel’s desk chair, and we fell into awkward silence. I repeatedly kicked the floor, alternating between my right and left feet, to make the chair oscillate in a calming rhythm. My eyes wandered to the outside again — maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to open my curtains, from time to time? I was starting to understand it was a good visual escape — observing all the intimate details of the terraced houses' roofs going up and down and pumping out smoke in the sky. A ginger cat jumped down from one set of tiles to another and stopped, a curious paw raised up, to look down our street. I wondered what orangetech was doing right now. I could imagine a girl having the party of her life, finally free from being a dumb Minecraft YouTuber, probably making friends, being more comfortable with herself, but staying unequivocally herself. She would know what she needs and how to ask for it.

I slurped a bit too audibly.

“Right.” Mandel clapped his hands. “Gonna put on a bit of music. Are you okay with punk, Zach?”

As I nursed my drink, avoiding any surplus amount of eye contact, I briefly admired my boyfriend’s aptitude to speak.

A sparkle kindled in the small guy’s eyes. “Um, yeah,” he answered, failing to contain his obvious appreciation for the genre.

The night wouldn’t be easy for Mandel with guys like Zach and me.

 

✦ ▶ ✦

 

“Um, did you discover new bands? I feel like the music you put on is… different from what I’ve heard before.”

“Ah. You noticed,” Mandel happily answered me. He was probably glad that he could have a conversation with more than one syllable words. “Well, not really, I always listened to these bands before. It’s more like I’m trimming out some things from my repertoire. See, I was listening to that one song about the Spanish Civil War—” That escalated quickly. “—and it mentioned all the kinds of activities the revolutionary men took part in: workshops, joinery, taking over the town hall. And I was like, ‘Where are the women?’ you know? Well, the only line in the song mentioning them is about them hanging out the fucking laundry.” Zach rolled his eyes. “Yeah, exactly. So now, I’m trying to listen to women more.” He lowered his eyes and wagged a knowledgeable finger. “The voices are a bit different; that’s what changed.”

“Man, I feel you, skull emoji,” Zach elegantly blurted. His face turned red the instant the words left his mouth. “Erm… I— I mean, yeah.” His voice dropped. “I try to do the same. We don’t really notice how our subconscious is influenced by that kind of thing until you listen to people who actually know what’s up. Do— Do you have any good recommendations?”

“Oh yeah, this one French band,” he said, pulling out a vinyl from a pile. “They got this new album.” The cover was a big profile of an old bearded guy eating a boat. “They’re good. Try it out.” He handed it to Zach. “Here, put it on the turntable.” Mandel paused the current song, lifted the tonearm gently and took out the vinyl to let Zach put the new one in and press play, then he put the needle at the start of the record, and loud music at low volume started filling the room again.

Why did Zach say ‘skull emoji’ out loud earlier? He was probably very online one way or another. But he seemed embarrassed enough; I didn’t want to unearth that kind of skeleton from his closet.

Think about something normal to say. Think, think, think.

“Um. I like the singer’s voice,” I successfully offered.

“Oh, Ju! I was thinking about this the other day. You kinda have a similar voice to her, you know?”

“I— What? I do?” A silly smirk took place on the edge of my face. Why did that feel so nice to know?

“Oh yeah, I can hear it,” Zach chimed in. “With a bit of work, you could definitely pull off that kind of girl voice. It’s definitely achievable. I— I’ve heard there’s… resources to do that.”

“Um, I don’t know… Why would I want a girl voice? Isn’t it a bit weird?”

“Oh. Yeah… Yeah, I guess. Sorry.” His cheeriness dropped.

“Well, whether or not you decide to do it, know that I’d fully support you, Ju!” Mandel said and flashed me a corny thumbs-up.

I buried my head in my hand. “Why is it so hard to have a normal conversation?” I whined.

We all let out some little chuckles. Then, after hearing each other laughing, we broke into fits of giggles, and the tension in the room finally dissipated a bit.

At some point, Mandel checked his phone and stood up with a start, then looked at us with a grin. “We should probably start getting on the roof, midnight is rapidly approaching our location.”

“The roof?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a bit of a surprise, but Zach apparently has a way of getting to the roof of the building. This should be the best place to spend this night in the whole city!”

Zach crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. “I might not look like it,” he lifted a stubborn finger and smirked, “but I’m an agent of mischief.”

I could only smile at that. He was finally opening up and feeling at ease with us.

We hastily equipped warmer clothes — Zach put on his pink sweater again, Mandel took an old jacket, and I simply stole a warm garment from my boyfriend — then we made our way to the stairs, closely following the landlord’s nephew. Early fireworks crackled in the distance, and their lights began to flicker on the wall of our building. We were now higher than Zach’s floor. Exhilaration and fear of getting caught mixed in my gut as I climbed each step. 

“Okay,” Zach said, stepping on the highest balcony, then carefully looking left and right, “it’s there, on the left.” He pointed in the direction of a metal gate with a vertical grid. Another set of stairs completed our path up to the roof on the other side. We tiptoed our way to the door and gathered behind Zach. He stuck his arm through the leftmost hole of the grid, stuck out his tongue in an adorable manner, then — click — he unlocked the door from behind.

Mandel laughed. “Just like that? Oh my god, this is so archaic.”

Zach smirked. “I know, right? When I saw this door when visiting the other day, I was like, ‘Christ, this is one of those doors, eh?’ So, as soon as I moved in, I went to check, and yeah it was!” He bowed and showed us the way. “After you… my ladies.”

“Flatterer,” Mandel said as he started the ascent into the dark.

“Oh,” I whispered, then took out my phone. “Wait.” I put my index and middle fingers together to form a tiny slit in front of my phone lamp. I turned it on, and a small circle of light illuminated just enough to see the stairs before us but not to alarm any pesky landlord that could’ve seen us trespass in the dead of night.

With my free hand, I held Mandel’s, and we slowly went up the last stairs. The roof was pretty much flat, with only the slight incline needed to take care of the rain. The building was the highest in the area, only topped by the old slag heap nestled behind it. There were some ventilation tubes — cubic enough to be part of some sort of industrial modpack for Minecraft — some opaque skylight windows on the back, and simple railings on each side of the roof. As soon as we stepped on the black grainy coating, I remembered Zach was right behind us, and I bashfully let go of my boyfriend.

A loud crackle drew a squeak from me.

I quickly turned towards the origin of the sound. And behind fleeting yellow sparks, I could see the city in its entirety. Even the furthest neighbourhood from ours, where my parents lived, was visible on the other side of the valley. I could see their roof, and a bit of smoke escaping it. I wondered what they were doing. Dad was probably reluctantly being held hostage by Mum outside. When he saw the fireworks doing their best to show off their sparkly potential, he would say something like “Such devastation…” and laugh evilly. And Mum would roll her eyes and say that she would rescue him in an AoE next time they raided.

Mandel got close to me, a blush growing on his face. “Hey…” he whispered. “Um… Would it be okay to kiss you at midnight?”

“Oh, Sure!” I exclaimed, then put a hand to my mouth and continued with a smaller voice. “Though, is that okay if… if Zach sees us?”

“If you’re cool with it, I’m cool with it.”

“Okay then… Let’s do th—”

“Five!” Zach shouted, in unison with some voices in the distance.

“Four,” Mandel joined.

“Three,” I offered, and smiled.

“Two,” Zach continued.

The ‘one’ was lost.

Mandel cupped my face in his hand, and I took him by the waist. The kiss caused a chain reaction in my core that soon exploded into many colours and positive emotions. Every part of me lit up in rapid succession, alternating between left, right, front, and behind. He may have sloppily tried to put a bit of tongue in, and I may have happily welcomed the attempt. But that’s probably a matter of which details should stay private.

After some point, the guy who was supposed to be all sporty and stuff was surprisingly in need of some air. We detached from each other and just stared for a few seconds before I closed my eyes, then collapsed in his arms and breathed, avoiding my best to think about the face that had reflected in his eyes. How would everything feel if I were—

Think about him. Don’t think about you; that’s only been a source of sad and angsty feelings. Let’s never do a repeat of last Sunday. He’s a source of joy. He’s handsome, he’s considerate, he’s hot, he’s funny, his arms are the perfect cushions, his face is round and soft, and his beard is… there, I guess. 

Like the one that kept fighting its way back on my face every day.

Why did I have such low self-esteem? Why can’t I think about him rather than fucking old me? I shook my head and squeezed him.

Zach fake-coughed. “So you two are together, right?” The cold made him blush, probably.

“Um? Ah, yeah.” Mandel nodded.

Zach chuckled. “I’m third-wheeling hard, aren’t I?”

“Oh! Sorry, he gets really touchy-feely when… well, when we do that.” His voice resonated through my body. It soothed me, so I decided to give him another squeeze.

“Damn, so you’re really gay… G— Good for you,” Zach mumbled.

“What do you mean?” I asked, grateful for the amusing distraction that Zach’s blurts offered me. I was surprised; I thought he was some flavour of gay. 

We all slowly settled on the side of the railing, facing away from the city — except me, as a matter of fact, I slowly settled on my boyfriend’s side! I was neatly wrapped around his arm, so I could feel every little movement of his.

Zach looked at the ground and propped his face on his two hands. “Oh, well. I kinda wish I were gay, you know? There’s something so cool about being gay. The connection of two persons — or more! — who share a common basis of understanding. This deep way people can relate to each other, help one another through shared struggles, and revel in common joys. But I just… like girls— Oh, sorry! I hope that didn’t sound fetishistic, or homophobic, or anything. I mean, I hope it wasn’t homophobic, because, obviously, it’s not a matter of how it sounds, it’s a matter of what it conveys, whether or not I intended it that way.” He sighed.

Mandel and I quickly looked at each other, he seemed as confused as me.

“Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t say anything dumb.” Zach frowned. “See, that’s the thing. I wish I could be trans, but I keep reminding myself that I’m just a guy with lots of things to improve and lots of privileges to understand and try to undermine. You ever read some feminist theory?” We both shook our heads. “Ah. Never picked up one of those, eh. I get it, some of them can be a hard read — from an accessibility point of view, I mean. Not everybody’s good with words. And frankly, Butler is sometimes so undecipherable, ugh! I’m starting to think they get a kick out of using jargon; it seems deliberately obtuse! But it’s very important, though.” He raised a finger. “It should be our responsibility as dudes to read that kind of thing.” 

I winced. I never asked to be a dude. 

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, no, that’s not what I wanted to say. Shit.” He put his face in his palm, and before I could ask exactly what he was meaning, he continued, staying absolutely unstoppable. “I did it again. Yeah, that’s what I was telling you about: I keep putting my foot in my mouth; I have so much to deconstruct. All this learned behaviour. That’s why I have to research this stuff. I’m a lost cause! Ugh, when I think about who I might’ve been if Gwenn hadn’t taught me all this stuff. Shudders! Being a straight dude is the worst! I just wish I could be gay and a bwoman, but I never could pull it off, my biases keep fucking everything up— No, I mean, I am responsible, not my biases, I didn’t mean that. I should be doing the work t—”

“Bwoman?” I asked, trying dearly to veer him away from what seemed to be an unhealthy rant. “Did you say bwoman?”

Zach’s eyes met mine. He looked surprised at first, then his face turned Minecraft pig pink, and he turned to the side. “Geez, this is way more embarrassing to say IRL…” He closed his eyes, pinched his nose, and started the explanation. “So, you see, we — as a society — established that we say moobs for man boobs, right? Right. Thus, I posit boobs stands for bwoman moobs. Makes sense.” He nodded, face full of serious. “Otherwise, smarties, riddle me this: why aren’t we calling boobs woobs, eh!?”

“Um, yeah, that makes sense,” Mandel agreed with a nod.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Zach?” I said at the same time, with a laugh.

He winced. “Could you call me Zee? I don’t like how my name sounds, I always preferred something like Zee. It’s fun how it rolls on the tongue. Zeeeee. Zee, Zee.”

Mandel choked on his breath. “Please never say that again, that means, like, dick in French,” he said, and I hid behind him to stifle another laugh. 

Zee, for his part, blinked a few times, probably in order to mind-wipe himself or something. “Anyway!” He clapped his hands together. “That’s why I think we should say bwoman…”

Mandel chuckled. “Very insightful.”

“I know. That’s what I keep telling people!”

“And about the other stuff, the gay stuff—”

“Hehe, that’s you,” I whispered, poking him on the cheek.

“—and the trans stuff. Do you want to talk about it more? Without spiralling, though; you seemed a bit panicked earlier.”

“He’s the best Minecraft player! He’s all about angles!” I exclaimed, patting Mandel. “He hates curvy things, and that includes spirals. Also yes, what the hell does ‘trans’ mean? I feel like I kept hearing about it all day.”

Zee’s face lit up. “Oh. You don’t know?”

“No,” Mandel said.

“Nuh-huh,” I said, at the same time.

“Well. It’s the coolest thing, let me tell you…”