Vogue

The bright red, Volkswagen Bug probably shouldn't have surprised me quite as much as it did. I mean, this was Ryan we were talking about. AKA: Flamboyance embodied. Still, it was really cute and I was kind of excited to be driving around in Liza (the name he'd christened his car with, after Ms. Minnelli) for the day. She was a convertible, but sadly it was a little too cold to let her go topless for the evening. Manhattan's high had reached a brisk 53° Fahrenheit around one pm and had only been dropping since then. Considering that we were driving down to Coney Island Beach to watch the sun set over the Atlantic, it was probably going to get even colder with every passing minute.

After hanging out in Ryan's dorm room for a little while, we'd come outside to settle in and begin our trek down to the peninsula. However, as soon as we got to the parking lot he stopped a few steps shy of Liza and cursed under his breath.

"What's the matter?" I asked, turning to him with a crease in my eyebrow. Fishing around in the pockets of his pants, I was at first only met with a frown. Not that I minded having a moment of silence to fully appreciate just how snuggly his pants fit around him. A few weeks ago I'd had to hold back laughter every time I looked at him…now I was holding back things considered much more taboo in public than laughing.

"I left my wallet in the room. I'll have to run back and get it. Do you mind waiting? I know it's cold outside." He winced as he offered up the keys to his car, feeling rude about making me wait outside in this weather alone.

"I'm brave." I assured him with a smirk, snatching the keys from his fingertips and stealing a quick peck from his mouth. "Don't take too long."

"Two minutes." He promised before turning and jogging back up the stairs we'd just descended. Smiling to myself, I couldn't help but watch him go…damn, I loved how tight those pants were.

Shaking my head, I turned to continue my journey towards Liza. Popping open the passenger's side, my shoulders slumped as I was met with, not a warm shelter from the harsh wind racing in off the ocean and getting caught between NYC's buildings, but a stack of notebooks and papers that needed relocation before I could sit down. Picking the pile up I tried to get things into a somewhat orderly pile as I made to set them down on soft, tan leather of the backseats. But just as I was reaching around my own seat, all the loose papers slipped out of one his notebooks and I sighed, wondering if I was ever going to get out of the old. Folding my seatback forward, I leaned around and started picking up the papers.

Immediately, bright splashes of color erupted in my hands and my eyes couldn't help but rove over the thick pieces of sketch paper. Sleek and tall creatures covered the pages, wearing chic clothes and striking intimidating poses. It took me a moment, but suddenly I realized I was holding fashion designs. Hand drawn in what looked like colored pencil, possibly re-outlined in black pen for emphasis. Outfits based on animals that still managed to look gorgeous. Cocktail dresses inspired by looks of the late 17th century. Tops combining the style of the roaring 20s and the risqué allowances of the present day. Each page offered up something different, a whole new concept thought up for each character in my hands complete with side notes scribbled here and there in Ryan's unique script.

Cocking my head to the side, I arranged the stack as neatly as I could and set it back between the pages of his notebook before taking my seat and (finally) closing the car door. As I fastened my seatbelt, I tried to figure out the emotions left behind by what I'd just been looking at. On the one hand I was immensely impressed. Those drawings had not only been good, the designs themselves had been enviously beautiful, and impeccably creative. I wasn't just impressed, I was kind of turned on in a really odd way by his blatant disregard for gender stereotypes. After all, you've got to be some kind of comfortable with your sexuality to draw up fashion designs and keep them laying around in your car where anyone could see them.

Then again, you had to be some kind of secure to be Ryan Evans at all. His clothes, his hobbies, his mannerisms…A small giggle arose in my throat as I remembered the sway of his hips as he'd run up the dorm house stairs. Such a little fairy. The image in my mind spat itself out into reality as I looked out of the driver's side window and noticed that he wasn't two feet from the car. A mischievous smirk on my face, I jumped across the console and slammed my palm down on the lock to his door just as his hand reached down for the handle. A laugh left my lips as he tried without success to open the door and narrowed his eyes at me, playfully pursing his lips.

"I'd like to remind you that I'm the one driving and that getting on my bad side may not be the best idea until after the trip."

Another laugh, this one much smaller, bubbled up from my throat.

"I know a few good ways to get back on your good side." Giving him an evil smile, I flicked my tongue out and waggled it like a three-year-old for a few seconds. "Besides, what are you gunna do? Beat me up?"

"I'll make you listen to the original recording of The Sound of Music the entire ride to Coney Island." He threatened. My eyes went wide and his door was unlocked almost immediately. A low chuckle left his mouth as he bent to fit into the seat beside me and shut the door behind him.

"Works every time…" One flick of his wrist and the engine was on, his fingertips turning up the music on his speakers before he even thought about switching the heat on. Obviously, his priorities were slightly out of wack, but at least we weren't listening to The Sound of Music. Between Ryan's show-tune-inspired love of pop and my cheer-nurtured addiction to hip-hop, the only thing we could agree on was techno. As "Hung Up" by Madonna filled my ears and pounded through my chest cavity, I smiled and leaned back into my seat, reaching over and lacing Ryan's fingers with mine.

"You know I wouldn't really keep you locked out in the cold forever, right?" I looked over at him, all innocence and big, doe eyes.

"I know,…" He smiled softly, his gaze dropping for a moment to my mouth, "Besides, I love it when you tease me."

As he sped through traffic, one hand on the wheel and one hand in mine, my heart fluttered a little as doubts circled it like vultures. How could this even be happening? A boy who blasts Madonna from his V-dub convertible in laughably tight slacks with fashion design sketches in the backseat? Who was I kidding, driving off to watch the sunset with him hand-in-hand? I should have been booking a spot on Dr. Phil to help him come out of the closet before things went got out of control and I got my heart broken. But I was too selfish to even consider getting him to come to grips with his true self. His fingers felt too good between mine, and the music was too loud to shout over anyway. I wanted this to be real more than anything in the world, I wanted to believe boys like him could exist. Even if just for a little while…

*There were probably a dozen good names for this chapter (which is kind of annoying considering there are some chapters that take me days and days to think of titles for). However, I really couldn't pass up 'Vogue' and I thought maybe I should explain, because there are three references at work here. Vogue is of course a fashion magazine, which ties into Ry's designs, but it was also a form of underground music and techno dancing in the gay club scene of NYC around the 80s. It was the inspiration for Madonna's famous song "Vogue", the video of which features its namesake dance moves.

Thanks to the reviewers!!