Work Text:
“Left a smudge. Just a tad to your right. Maybe slightly up. Too far”, Stede gave an exasperated sigh, “Don’t you own one of those fancy laser level things? Why ain’t we using that?”
“It’s not in keeping with the spirit of it.”
“But it’s not straight!”
“That’s kind of the whole point.”
Across their home office, Ed locks eyes with Stede, grinning at his own comment and desperately trying to hold back a fit of giggles. It has become their thing, seeing who breaks first, a silent contest with each other where there are no losers. Letting the laughter flow out of him, this time Stede is first to break. It’s cathartic in a way. Just letting it all go, not having to worry about anything, just letting himself enjoy himself.
Trying his best not to lose his balance while standing on top of Stede’s twirly office chair, there Ed is giggling like a schoolgirl. They own a step ladder but Ed also objected to using that, citing that “it’s not part of the experience”. Stede doesn’t believe that for one minute, but he’s not going to deny Ed and “the experience”. The movement of Ed’s laughter is gently spinning the chair. Right, they should probably just stick the pin in anywhere at this point before either of them end up in hospital (Ed would probably claim that’s also part of “the experience”).
“Left. Up. There. I’ve committed to it now. Now get down from there, you nut before you get hurt.”
Ed makes a show of jumping off the chair, somehow uninjured.
“How’s it looking?” Ed says as he joins Stede, their shoulders bumping as they stand side by side.
They stare at the previously blank wall now draped in colour and Stede wants to cry.
It all started a few days ago with a late night conversion. Champagne in hand and sprawled out on the sofa, so at ease with each other. They were celebrating, Stede had officially moved in. It’s not like he didn’t spend most days and nights at Ed’s place anyway. His sad post divorce flat being neglected for weeks at a time. So when the rental contract ran out, Stede didn’t want to assume, but Ed jumped at the chance of making it official.
So anyway, they were drinking, a bit tipsy, not drunk, thank you very much. Tangled together. They were happy. Stede was happy. For the first time in his life, he felt safe. Safe to be himself. He’s in love and he’s happy and he’s at home with the man he’s in love with, in their home. And he’s so happy. Maybe he’s had more to drink than he realised as rambles on (Stede is happy, has he mentioned that yet?) as Ed looked at him, all eyes and softness like Stede’s hung up the sun.
Stede doesn’t remember how the train of thought started. He was happy. He was finally happy with his life. Took him long enough. But his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what ifs. Despite being trapped in an unhappy marriage that neither of them would have chosen or wanted for themselves, it did result in two wonderful children, so it was not all that bad. But then a series of events unfolded, a now ex-wife sleeping with her art teacher, a midlife crisis, quitting a job he hated, coming out, being part of a friend group that cared about him for the first time in his life and meeting the love of his life. He would go through all that fear and unhappiness again if it meant meeting Ed. But what if things were different?
He rambled away his thoughts to Ed, how coherent they were was anyone's guess. And Ed listened, no matter how much he went on or how much nonsense came out his mouth, Ed listened. Stede was not used to people listening to what he had to say but Ed, Ed is different. No matter what, he listened.
The thoughts of what could have been wouldn’t leave his mind. What if he had everything figured out when he was younger? What if he was a young man today instead of 30-odd years ago? Would he have bypassed the compulsory heterosexuality? He still gets a twinge of jealousy when he sees young people having it all figured out. Being out. Being proud. Not being scared of having their flags on display. Shouting to the world, this is who I am. Deal with it.
Alma video called him from university earlier in the day. In her first year and away from home, proudly showing off her newly decorated doom. She’s already forfeit her deposit by hanging up fairy lights and photos pinned to her wall. And a flag. Pinned to the wall beside her bed, a large asexual flag. Stede is so proud of her. So happy for her to just be herself. He never got to do that. And yes, he was a bit jealous of her.
“I can imagine you in your little shitty student house, pride flag stapled on your bedroom wall. It would be rainbow central in there. So many colours. I’ve never known you do anything half assed, you’ll full ass it.”
“You think?”
“Fuck yeah, a technicolor sensory vision.”
“I’ve never even owned a pride flag.”
“Me either.”
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while before Ed rejigged his body to be even closer to Stede. He settled down and gently flopped his head on Stede’s shoulder.
“I just wished I was braver.”
“You’re so much braver than you give yourself credit for.”
Stede scoffs at the idea. Him brave? Get out. No, he was a coward, always has been, always will be.
“Shut up, you are,” Ed said as bumps his head into Stede playfully. “It’s one thing discovering and accepting yourself when you are younger before the weight of the world tries to drag you under. It’s a luxury not all of us have. But it’s another thing to do when you are middle-aged. That takes guts to reexamine your whole life and being and start afresh. I’m proud of you, Stede.”
“Oh god, I’m middle-aged!”
“We both are, Babe. But seriously, that’s what you are taking away from that?”
“I just feel like sometimes I’ve failed at, you know, this, I don’t know. Fuck. I missed out on all the stuff you are meant to do when you are young.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Make some questionable sexual decisions? Dye my hair an awful bright colour?”
“Do you want to do that?”
“God, no, I don’t want that at all. I don’t even think I would have wanted that then, either. But I don’t know, I missed the whole teenage rebellion stage of life. I feel like I should be making up for it. I’ve kind of failed at the whole being gay thing.”
“Stede, there is no right or wrong way of doing any of this, you hear me?”
“You had it all figured out.”
It’s not a question, Stede knows all about Ed’s past already. He knows Ed has never hid away from his sexuality.
“Yeah”, Ed sighed, “It didn’t mean I wasn’t shit scared though. Not that I was allowed to show it. Easier to hide under all the armour. Fight anyone that has an issue. Got the scars to prove it and all that. But fuck, man, I’m only myself when I’m with you. You think I’ll be having this sort of conversation with anyone else? You make me want to be braver.”
Stede pondered this. Thoughts and alcohol swirling around.
“If I could go back, I don’t think I would change a thing.”
“Me neither.”
And they snuggled, they ordered food, they opened another bottle. The conversation flowed to lighter topics. Stede was happy, so happy he could cry. Something he didn’t think was possible before.
“There is nothing stopping you being a middle-aged teenage rebel!”
“Ed, be serious.”
“A middle-aged James Dean.”
“Ah yes, because when you think of James Dean, you think of a middle-aged queer man.”
“He was queer, you know.”
“Oh.”
“He didn’t get to be middle-aged but anyway, that’s not the point. What is the point? Oh, yeah. No one said you can’t have your youth in your forties.”
So that was that night. Stede let the conversion drift from his mind. Just another late night conversion he can share with Ed without it being a big thing. It’s so easy talking with him. He’s never known it to be so easy before. Ed just gets him. All since forgotten about till Ed rushes through with the post and places an unopened parcel addressed to himself in front of Stede where he is sitting having breakfast.
“Present”, Ed said as if that explains everything.
Stede raised an eyebrow at him as he began to unopen it.
“You know our talk the other night?” Ed said as Stede finally ripped through the tape, “Well.”
It’s a flag. A cheap mass produced Progress Pride flag. All folded and polyester. Stede wanted to cry as he unfolded it.
“You said you never had a pride flag before. And you wanted to steal the students down the street’s one so I’m preventing you from committing crimes.”
“I never said that bit!”
“Yeah, you did. You mumble in your sleep.”
Ah. They drifted off to sleep that night on the sofa, still tangled up together, neither of them willing to make the effort to move. Just so at ease with each other.
“Is this okay?”
“It’s beautiful.”
Which is a lie as it’s cheap as fuck. The fabric isn’t fabric but plastic. It’s probably funding some billionaire somewhere. But Stede doesn’t care. To him it was perfect.
“Going to give you the whole experience, Middle-aged James Dean.”
Which all led up to now and them staring at the wall. It’s a bit wonky. Unironed. Also part of Jame Dean-ing it, as Ed is also referring to it, apparently.
And now he does cry. Stede never thought he would have the luxury of this. He’s out, he’s proud, he has his tacky flag on the wall for all to see. Pride of place behind his desk, in view of all to see in zoom meetings.
“Happy tears?”
“Yeah. I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve everything your heart wishes for”, Ed says as he pulls Stede in a hug, “Thank you for existing.”
For the first time in his life, he’s at home. He’s happy. He is happy with who he is. Happy to just exist. To live how he wants to. For the first time in his life, he is somewhere he feels safe. Home.
As Ed kisses him on the cheek, Stede thinks maybe home isn’t a place, maybe it's someone to feel safe with. Ed’s is his home now.
—
(In a few weeks time, Ed will present Stede with a new parcel, this time beautifully wrapped. Because he knows Stede and how he is hiding his feelings on the unironed nature of the flag and how horrible the material feels. So he has commissioned Frenchie and Wee John to create a handmade replica of the original Gilbert Baker flag using the finest fabrics they have. Because what is the point of being middle-aged and having the cash for it if you can’t commission your queer friends to make queer art?)