Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Are you like completely sure you wanna do it?" Mischa asked Noel, who just rolled his eyes at him, slightly annoyed, and took a sip out of the beer bottle standing right in front of him.
"It's like the fifth time you're asking me this. Yes, I am. It's not like it's a full time job, it's one time thing." Noel said while placing the bottle on the table between them and looking back at him with that flicker in his eyes. "Plus, they pay well. And I could use some extra money" He added.

It was another cold, winter, Friday night. And they were spending it in their favourite place ever since, during Noel's second year at the university, he bumped into Misha, when he was walking out of the coffee shop next to the campus, and spilled his coffee on him. He offered to pay for the cleaning but when Mischa said that he didn't have to, Noel suggested he'll buy him a beer instead. Mischa, who could never miss an opportunity to drink, especially when he didn't have to pay, obliviously accepted his offer. So they came here, to this bar, not so far away from the university and started talking. During their conversation it turned out that they both went to the same high school. Misha, as a punishment for stealing, was even supposed to join the choir Noel was a part of but, in the last minute, his adoptive parents came up with an idea that he should get a job instead.

And now, almost two years later, they were sitting in the same pub at the same table they sat that night when they met, talking about, as Misha thought, the stupidest thing Noel was about to do in his entire life. Misha just sighed and reached for his own beer. He could feel Noel's eyes on him the whole time the cold bottle was stuck to his lips, like he was wating for him to ask him another question.

"I understand the money thing" Mischa started, placing the bottle back on the table, and looking at his best friend " But isn't it like...weird? Not like I have anything against it but... still. Dressing up as a woman and doing some kind of fucking act in front of other people?"
"It's not weird. And you said it yourself, there's an act. It's art. It's all about being free and being yourself. And, ka-ching!" Noel started rubbing his fingers right in front of Mischa's face " The money. I'll be funny and worth it. I'm so doing it. " He closed his eyes and smiled widely while showing his teeth to prove how proud he was of himself.
"Боже милий. When you become that famous author you're studying so hard to be remember to mention me in your autobiography as a person who was against this stupid idea that's going to ruin your whole life" He joked, only to rub his arm for another few minutes after Noel, slightly irritated by his comment, punched him there. After this their conversation naturally moved on to another topics, like Noel's studies and Misha's work, just as it always did.

Before either of them knew 2 hours has passed and it was time to go home. It was after midnight and the outside was freezing. The cloudless sky was shining with the light of thousand stars and the snow, laying on the streets, was reflecting white moonlight as well as yellow, cozy, light of the street lamps. They were walking together, lost in conversation, in the direction of Noel's apartment where they always parted.

"You really gonna do it, hmm?" Mischa asked again when they were standing outside Noel's block. They walk, as always, wasn't long enough for them to speak about everything they wanted. Usually they could spend up to even an hour standing there in the dark, talking about everything they had forgotten to mention before. They might have known each other for just two years but they felt like they were best friends since that goddamn high school.
"You really wanna talk about it again? Are you worried about me?" Noel smirked looking at him. "Maybe we should come inside instead of standing here for another hour and freezing. Once we're in my apartment you can lecture me about how messed up it is, in your opinion, for as long as you want.

"Thanks I'm fine with standing outside." Mischa answered but then he noticed a cloud of Noel's hot breath escaping his mouth as he spoken and how he trembled sometimes, when the wind blown, carrying freezing, winter air. He must have been cold. "But you're obliviously not." He added. Noel just scoffed
"Shut up I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure" Mischa rolled his eyes "Then you'll be fine with standing here for as long as I still want to ask you something. I told you to buy a normal fucking jacket which purpose is actually keeping you warm. I dunno why you insist on wearing these straight-out-of-french-tragedy coats. Anyway why are you doing it? I mean is there like a bachelor party and the best men didn't want to pay for a real striper or...."
"No" Noel interrupted him and frowned slightly. "There's this bar a couple of miles from here and they're doing performances like this all the time. Something came up I don't really remember what exactly but they're one actor short. They were kind of desperate and were looking for just anyone with even the slightest experience in acting. And I took some extra classes last year, remember?"

Mischa did remember. How could he not when these goddamn classes were like the only thing Noel could speak about for the whole year which was really irritating sometimes. But deep down Misha envied him that Noel could go to the college, he could study to become a writer, which was Noel's greatest dream since he was a kid and even had an oportunity to take fucking acting classes, which not only Noel loved, but he would receive extra credit for them too. Mischa could never have a life like this, because his adoptive parents kicked him out of the house the moment he finished high school. He had to work his ass off ever since to afford living and didn't have time or money for other things.

"And when are you doing it?" Mischa just asked pretending that he didn't hear Noel's question.
"This Sunday. I have to be there like 8 30 to put on make up and stuff, the performance start at 9 45 so I'll probably be done at like 1am, why? And why are you asking so many questions? Do you want to come and look at me on that stage when I'll be wearing a dress? God...are you gay?" Noel covered his mouth with his hand which, as Mischa noticed, was red from cold, pretending to be shocked but Mischa saw that playful spark in his eyes. Noel, especially after drinking, loved teasing him and asking him these weird questions and making comments about Misha's alleged homosexuality. This must have been his type of humor.

"Dude. I'm not a homophobe but you have to stop with those jokes. Myself I've always been a ladies man which I'm very proud of it. And I'm not going anywhere I was just curious." Mischa frowned " Forget I even asked I'll just go already. Goodnight Noel" He said but before he could walk away he felt Noel's hand clench on the sleeve of his jacket.
"Fine, fine not gay, I'm sorry " Noel chuckled and took his hand away. Mischa gazed at him again, waiting for him to say anything. But instead of opening his mouth Noel was just standing there, under a street lamp, which subtle yellow light was illuminating on his dark, perfectly styled hair with a few sparkling snowflakes in them, his long dark coat, which really made him look like out of their times and with eyes lowered on his hands, picking up on the skin around his fingernails, like he always did when he was nervous.

"Actually..." Noel spoke after a while not looking up on him "I was kind of hoping you would come... I mean it's not like I'm asking you to come and look at me as I'm performing, you can of course If you want to " Noel finally looked up on Mischa's face as if he was looking for help with finding the right way to say what he wanted to say. Mischa could hear panic in his voice, as he began to explain himself " I mean I wanted to ask you if you maybe could like... pick me up after the show? There's no more buses this late at night and after all you own a car. I'll get there by myself I have a bus at 8:11 so I'll be fine just... Coming back home might be a problem" After Noel said those words there was no more running away from Mischa's gaze just these hopeful, slightly unfocused, dark eyes glancing at him. A few seconds passed until Mischa finally spoke.

"Fine." Misha signed seeing Noel like this. "But you owe me a beer. I'll be there. Just...text me all the details. And go inside now or you'll get sick and all this. " He moved his hand in randomly chosen direction. "...this mess around your little gig won't mean a thing. Goodnight Noel. See you Sunday"
Noel smiled hearing his words and started to walk backwards, in the direction of the doors to his block, not taking his eyes off Mischa.
"I'm going to be so rich I'll buy you even ten! Or maybe even champagne!" He yelled when his hand landed on the door handle. His voice was excited, happy and so... alive. "Goodnight Mischa." He said and disappeared behind the door.

"Goodnight Noel" Mischa repeated under his breath, looking at the closed door for a few seconds and then began to walk away. The walk wasn't as pleasant as before, when he had someone to talk to. Now there was no one. Just him walking home, alone, in the middle of the night, surrended only by the falling snow, which cold winter wind blew sometimes in his eyes, making it hard to see, darkness and that thought, somewhere in the back of his head, that disappered in Noel's company. That now he was back to that draining adult life. A few minutes into his walk he felt a buzzing in his pocket. When he took out his phone he saw that he had two new messages. The first one contained all the details like, once again, hour when Noel was supposed to finish work and adress of the place Mischa was going to pick him up from.

The second one was only a few words long. But these few words brought a light smile on Mischa's face and a thought, that maybe his life meant something. Because, even if this was just giving him a ride back home, he could help this boy live the life he wanted to. The one Mischa knew he himself never could. The life of a college student for whom word held all these opportunities. The text said: "Thanks again! You're the best friend I could ever have!"

Just so little. And just so much.
"Another weekend ruined" Mischa mumbled to himself smirking, sliding the phone back into his pocket and looked up at the night, dark sky. Because for him, former 'The Angriest Boy In Town' whom everyone was afraid of, with the worst adoptive parents, who wouldn't even give him a chance to go to college and live a normal life, having somebody who would call him his best friend and enjoy spending time with him was all he needed to keep going.

And just like that, before Mischa could even realize, it was Sunday. From the begining his day was a disaster. He woke up before the sunrise, which was way too early for his liking, especially because he didn't have to do anything until midnight, when he was supposed to pick Noel up from this ridiculous gig. Mischa yawned and then laid in his bed for another hour and a half trying to fall back asleep. He couldn't. His old, used up mattress, comforter he had stolen from his adoptive parents when he was being thrown out and uncomfortable pillow under his head. Even since the moment he woke up all these things had to remind him how miserable his life was. When he finally stood up from the bed he felt how cold it was. Freezing winter air entering throught his drafty windows momentarlly caused shivers and goosebumps on his whole body. He quickly put on some clothes he had picked up from the floor and tried to warm himself up by huffing on his hands.

"блять..." He murmured and walked into the kitchen to make himself something to eat. In the next 15 minutes he burned himself trying to make some hot coffee, almost cut off his finger while chopping onion for his omelette, then could't find any bandages and ended up not putting anything on his, cut which caused him pain almost every time his open wound touched any surfaces. "If this is how today's supposed to look like I might as well just go to my car and drive into a fucking tree right now, I don't even have to wait for that idiot to text me." He though while siting down in front of the TV with his breakfast and coffee which, as turned out when he took a sip, was disgusting and already cold.

The rest of the day Mischa spend on the couch, watching TV, trying not to move around the flat too much so he wouldn't kill himself by accident, ocassionally checking his phone to see whether Noel needed anything more from him. But the phone was silent. Not a single call. Not a single message. The one Sunday when Mischa would actually appreciate Noel writing to him, over and over again to announce when he did even the smallest, most random thing. His phone would buzz every 10 minutes, not letting him work on enjoy his weekend. The worst part? If Mischa didn't respond quickly Noel would call him and talk about whatever he just did, just to hang up after three minutes and soon, do it all over again. He said it helped him focus and increased his productivity when someone knew what he was doing.

Usually it annoyed Mischa. But that day? That day he needed a distraction from that perfect life he saw on TV, from every part of his sore, worked up body that screamed for rest. From that cheap food he ate, old clothes he wore, freezing, rented flat he lived in. From his own mind, tired from relentless worries about job, money and his not so bright future. And that day Noel was too busy to write even one message.

Mischa felt like the time had stopped. Like the hours, minutes and seconds didn't want to pass by, to disappear. Like they wanted to suffocate him, drive him insane on his own couch, torn his body and life apart, make him think trough his whole existence, every life choice he ever made or wanted to make. It made him recall his every struggle, every mistake and every crushed dream.

And even Mischa, who hid this kind of thoughts deep inside him, who never let them linger in his mind for too long, who never let them affect him because, as he used to say to Noel sometimes, 'life was fucked up anyways and what choice did you have besides pulling through another day and getting drunk every chance you got' couldn't do it anymore. He just stood up, his face blank, turned off the TV, changed his clothes from sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt to a long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans, grabbed his jacket and keys and finally walked through the door leaving that awful place, which reminded him every day just how fucked up his life was.

He shouldn't have ended this way. He used to have passion. He used to have dreams. He used to have a family back in Ukraine who cared for him. He was young. Right now he should be going to college, following his dreams, spending time with his friends, doing crazy things when his youth lasted. The fact that he wasn't a typical 23 year old filled him with rage. Mischa yearned for that perfect life everyone else around him seemed to have. He envied them. And especially, he envied Noel. Mischa saw other version of himself in him. They were the same age, went to the same rural highschool in some small, Canadian town. And now they were both here. They were sitting together in the same bar, walking the same streets, buying coffee in the same coffee shop. And yet their lifes were so diffrent.

Noel was an artist. Expressive, loud, annoying and alive. A college student, doing everything he could to become a writer, taking some stupid acting classes for fun and today, he was supposed to wear a dress and put a stupid act in some stupid bar for money. And not because he had to, because he would get kicked out of his apartment if he didn't pay rent or because he would starve. No. Because he wanted to. Because he wanted to have some extra money he could spend on something stupid like another coat, vinyl or something like that. And Mischa? He was quiet about his emotions, his feelings. He was a dead man walking. Everyday he was working his ass off, fixing cars and motorcycles, just so he could live another day, that would be the same as the one before. So yes, Mischa envied Noel. But seeing his best friend living the life he himself will never have, all happy and excited about everything, without a care in the world, made him feel better. Especially when he knew that this life was also possible because of him. Because he would sacrifice Sunday night and a last chance to rest before another week at work, just to pick Noel up from a fucking bar in the middle of the night.

Before Mischa realized what he was doing he was sitting in his car, hands clenched so hard on the wheel that his knuckles turned white, foot pressing firmly on the accelerator as he was driving somewhere. He wasn't really sure where he was going or whether he was going anywhere. He drove one mile just to drive another one and another, without the ending nor the begining. Just as if he was running away, trying to forget about his own life.

After 20 minutes of driving around, and wasting money he spend on gas, he finally had to stop the car on the red lights. He opened the windows to let in some fresh air that, as he hoped, would help him calm down. He took a deep breath, trying to relax his tensed body and his tired mind. Freezing air stung his lungs, throat, lips, face and fingers, helping him regain full consciousness and control over his thoughts and actions.
"Бог, I'm a fucking idiot" Mischa whispered to himself, glancing once at the traffic lights, and then, on his reflection in the car window. "...what are you running away from? And where...?". Another questions no one could answer for him because nobody even knew he asked them. Another quick glance at the, still, red lights. Mischa squeezd the wheel even harder then before. What was he supposed to do now?

He checked the time, it was a few minutes after 11pm. He still had almost 2 hours until he was supposed to pick Noel up. He could go back home but he didn't want to. Then, out of nowhere, he knew. Mischa smirked slightly at the same thought of it. The moment the lights turned green he took a turn in opposite direction than his house was.

20 minutes later he was getting out of the car in front of the bar that Noel was performing in, thinking about how, when Noel notices him sitting inside, watching him, he'll understand what a stupid idea it was to do this thing. It was a perfect plan: Mischa would get to embarrass his friend, have something to make fun of him in the future, he didn't have to be home alone with his own thoughts and Noel would buy him a drink for being here. In the span of two minutes he was already inside.

When Mischa stepped inside the first thing that hit him was the fact how different this place looked compared to any other bar he ever saw.(This place wasn't, small, crowded, modern, filled with mirrors, colorful, flickering lights, a few high, plastic tables, dance floor and a DJ, in backward cap, which Mischa always thought looked badass, some loose t-shirt with a random band name, yelling something every few minutes. Mischa knew places like that, they suited him, he liked them. And this bar? It was a complete opposite.

It was huge. Long, made from the dark wood, with whimsical ornaments bar and a few bar stools were right next to the door. A barman, dressed in a suit, standing behind the bar was cleaning the wooden countertop, a wall filled with all kinds of alcohol behind him. Then, a little further, small tables covered with red tablecoths with matching, big, and probably comfortables, sofas or, a few, fancy chairs from dark wood with red pillows. Above every table there was a, covered with a lampshade, chanderlier that illuminated on the table itself with dark, thick, yellow light. Finally, in the back of the room, Mischa saw a big, at that moment, dark, stage, with bloody-red velvet curtains hanging above it, tied with a thick, golden rope. Every wall was covered with more tied up curtains, low, yellow lights and sometimes, with big paintings in golden frames and neon signs. The whole place, filled with quiet classical music and lowered voices of all the guests, was rather dark which made it look misterious, whimsical and prestigious. It looked almost like... a theather.

Mischa felt a little less confident than before. He didn't expected this place to look like this. But he couldn't just back off now. He looked around once again looking for a place to sit in, as most of the tables were already occupied. Then he noticed one, empty table in the corner of the room. After he ordered himself a non-alcoholic, as he was driving and expected Noel to be a little drunk, at the bar, where the bartender glanced at him as if he saw that Mischa didn't belong in this place, he walked to the table and sat down on the chair. He quickly checked his phone. It was 11 40 and Noel still hadn't send him any messages. Then, as if they were waiting for Mischa to sit down, the big reflector above the bar lightened up with bright, yellow light that fell on the stage.

The room got silent for a few seconds: no more soft music, no more talking, laughing or rimming of the glasses. Just silence. And then, a big applause as if everyone, except Mischa, knew exactly what was about to happen. He frowned slightly and took a sip from his glass. He didn't like this bar already. It made him feel out of place, as if he was just some stray from a shelter trying to fit in with purebred dogs. But he couldn't just walk out now. He wanted to embarrass Noel, to have a laugh when he'll be doing an act on that big, fancy stage. He could already imagine his face when he'll notice him and will still have to perform, knowing that Misha's watching him and he won't let him forget any mistakes he might make. Or this whole situation in general. That thought kept him there, in that bar, next to that table, on that chair, with that drink in his hand and his eyes fixed on the stage.

Then someone walked in on the stage. They were dragging a, made from, as everything there, dark wood, chair in one hand and pair of black, plain high heels in the other. The first thought Mischa had was the fact how good and clearly he could see that person, even though he was sitting so far from the stage and there were like 5 tables that should have been blocking his view. Of course he couldn't see their face well but this was fault of his own, tired eyes. The actress placed the chair sideways, in the middle of the stage, shoes right next to it and stood a few feet away from it, closer to the edge of the stage. Mischa didn't pay much attention to her, only glanced at her once and then looked back on the glass in his hand. He came there to see Noel. And only Noel. No matter how pretty girl would appear on stage, Mischa wouldn't care. Because even the bartender knew this wasn't a place for him. Even he could see everything which Mischa wasn't. The things he registered about the actress was that she had black, short hair and was wearing a plain, short, black, strappy dress and black stockings. Then music started to play. The show was on.

Mischa expected some loud, party music but instead he heard piano. Only piano. And after a few seconds the girl on the stage opened her mouth and started to sing. Mischa recognized this voice in an instant and quickly raised his head to look at the person on stage. They were standing there, a few feet from the edge, with their hands behind their neck, playing with their hair and with this smirk on their face, as they were squirming and singing about being some kind of hooker with black heart. Mischa didn't know why he didn't recognize them earlier. It was Noel who was standing on that stage. And he looked...amazing.

Noel slowly made a spin, while walking to the chair, with accompaniment of piano and violin, sat down, then swiftly turned his whole body, so now he was sitting sideways to the audience. Mischa watched him carefully as he slightly arched his back, slowly sliding his feet into the black heels. With every move his short, black dress revealed more and more of his skin above the black stocking, making Mischa, unknowilngly, slightly clench his fist on the glass he was holding. Next Noel was looking around the room with that teasing, yet longing look on his face, bent down to pick up one of the shoes and, for a second, throw his leg high in the air, then slowly, lowered it, slide on the second heel and placed both feet on the ground. All this while slowly sliding his body to the edge of the chair.

Then, again, Noel raised his legs and began to move them in circling motions in the air, while arching his neck back. The next second he swiftly brought up his legs closer to his chest. His expression was erotic, sensual. He looked down for a second, his long, black lashes covered his eyes, which was somehow one of the hottest thing Mischa had seen in his entire life, and then he raised his sight with this playful, agressive smirk on his lips.

Mischa could't look away, the sight of his best friend on the stage, in a dress, wig, and, God, those stockings and heels, on his long legs made him feel weirdly hot. His hands begin to sweat and a shiver went down his spine, as he noticed how much of the white skin of Noel's tights was visible in the position he was.

He watched almost religiously as his friend put on red lipstic and stood up, while moving the chair, his fingers playing with his black, short wig. He traced with his eyes Noel's every move, as the music became more and more dramatic. Every circling motions Noel made alongside his body with his hand, while slowly raising it higher and higher, every swing of his hips as he moved his legs, every movement of that black dress, which was short, but every time it moved on boy's hips, this new, annoying voice in Mischa's head made him wish it was a little bit shorter.

When Noel started to sing about killing a guy while crossing himself, the hitting of the piano keys perfectly alined with the movement of his hand, on Mischa's face appeared light smirk. In every other circumstances he would have think it was hilarious: that angry look on Noel's face, his tensed body, the darkening light around him. But not then, not that night, when he clenched his white teeth, when he lowered his gaze, as if he knew Mischa was watching him, and, God, when he finished that part with an inhale. Inhale, which made his abdoment shrink, the dress, which probably sticked to his sides due to how damp his flesh was from all the sweat, followed the skin, making him look as if he had women's waist, and then the loud exhale, while he swinged his hips, which send a shiver of excitement down Mischa's spine.

The violin played in the background, when Noel walked to the chair showing everyone his back, which the dress didn't cover and the tattoo he had there and smiling, as if he knew he was worth the sin - the reaction of Mischa's body at his sight. Mischa couldn't take his eyes off him, as Noel put his foot on the chair and move his hips forwards and then backwards, showing of how flexible his body was and exposing his legs, in these black, somewhere ripped stockings. Seeing this Mischa felt this weird, raw desire to feel the thin net under his fingers, to slide them in the big hole right above Noel's ankle, to clench them on his white calves. Then Noel lifted his leg over the back of the chair, turned on his heel and sat down, all this while still singing. Mischa never heard him sing before. God, he had nice voice.

Then Noel slightly bent down, placed his hands below his knees and began to slide them upwards his body, while spining around on the chair and looking at the publicity and, when he turned 180 degrees, lifted his arms above his head. Next second he jumped up from his chair and, still dancing, he ran to the edge of the stage, throw his arms up in the air, his eyes closed, dark lashes casting a shadow on his cheekbones, and slowly slid his hands down, down his head, down his neck, down his collarbone and, finally, down his chest, where his fingers traced the hem on the neckline of the dress.

Mischa carefully watched Noel's every move, he watched as he tugged his wig behind his ear, he watched him as he walked to the center of the stage, his heels clicked quietly on the wooden boards, with that dangerous, curious and aroused look on his face, where he stopped in front of an another actor, dressed in a red, sleeveless sweater and white shirt underneath. He watched as Noel lifted his leg, only to place it closer to the other guy, flashing him a thigh, as he took the cigarette from that guy, as he let him spin himself, their eyes glued to the others one's face. He watched Noel, as he slightly leaned over, so the man could light his cigarette, he watched as he let out the dark cloud of smoke from his mouth on that guy's face - he didn't even blink, his eyes fixated on Noel. He watched as Noel reached his hand to him, as the man squeezed it, as he began to walk away, as the actor pulled him back to him. Mischa heard the quiet, surprised gasp that escaped Noel's lips a few seconds before he let this guy place a hand on his lower back, press him against his body and offer him a rose. He watched all of that without blinking, without moving, even without breathing. And some part of him, the raw, aroused and wanting part of him, wished it was him on that stage. Mischa wished that he was the one, that could hold Noel close when he was wearing that dress, that wig, those shose and these stockings. That he was the one who could hold Noel when he was in drag.

The weird combination of piano, violin and the sound as if someone was tapping two wooden stick together played in the bacground.
Noel reched for the rose which the man was holding, the second after his fingers clenched on the flower's stem, shocked, indignant noice came out of his mouth, as he threw the rose on the floor, as if the thorn sting his finger, and glanced at the guy in front of him with anger and disbelief painted on his face. Mischa didn't even have time to blink before loud sound filled the room, when Noel slapped this guy's face. Hard. Tension heavy between them when they looked into each other eyes, daring, waiting for what the other one will do. And then they kissed. Also hard. Wild, desperatelly. Hands roaming over the other one's back, their flesh close, as if it was glued, pressed together from heads to toes. And even when their bodies parted their lips didn't want to, savoring the kiss, the animalistic, raw need to stay connected. At this sight the drought of Mischa's own lips began to bother him, the need to feel on them the weight of someone's else's was almost too much to handle.

When they finally broke off from the kiss, this guy pinned Noel's back to his chest and let his hand press his head to Noel's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin on his face. Noel had this pleased, aroused, but fed up expresion, when he placed the cigarette between the other guy's lips and tugged his hair behind his ear, as if he really was that tired goddamn hooker he was singing about, which listened to men rambling about how they just might be in love with her on the daily basic. He slowly bent down his knees, sliding down that guy's body, the white reflector's light followed him, letting the other guy's face disappear in the darkness. Then Noel was brough up by his chin until he was standing, his face a few inches away from that man's. He slowly started to lean in, as if he wanted to steal another deep kiss, but he just waved with the money in front of his eyes instead before they were thrown on the ground and the guy left without looking back at him.

While watching this Mischa could only think about one thing: how he would never treat this girl like that. How he would listen to her every word, bend under her lightest touch, how he would yearn for even the slightest glance of her dark eyes from behind those black, long lashes, how the perspective of touching the warm, smooth, soft skin of her legs, thighs and arms would make him obey her every word, how he would learn the meaning behind the smallest move of her body, the slightest frown on her face, how he would even sell his car, the only thing that he had that was truly his, just so he could buy her whatever she asked for. Just to see that charming smile on her face, just to see her blush. But when Noel kneeled down, picked up the money from the wooden boards and slid them under his black stocking, when he reached in the direction of another actor walking beside him, when Mischa saw the muscles on his arms move under his skin, his flat chest, it was when the realization hit him again. It wasn't a girl on that stage. It was Noel. His best friend. A man.

And the thought of that? That on that stage, in that dress, in that wig was a guy? That the rush of blood floading through Mischa's flushed, sweaty body was caused by a women that didn't exist? That he forgot how to speak, move, blink or even breathe because of his best friend? He had to admit that it was unexpected, new, scary and weird. But it didn't make it any less hot. It didn't make the performance any less appealing. It didn't make Noel's moves any less hypnotic. It didn't make Mischa's rushing heart beat slower. It didn't make Mischa want him any less.

Noel slowly stood up, sliding his hands all the way up his legs, even vaguely pulling up the fabric of the dress, so everyone could see the welt of his stocking and the straps attached to them. Next he made a quick step back, spinned and sat down, him and the other actors standing around the chair he was sitting in pointing their hands in the direction of his illuminated by the spotlights face. Over there, on that stage, dressed as someone else, he was tragic. And he was a star. Like he always wished he was. Seconds after that he stood up from the chair only to momentally fall on the floor, streach his whole body and reach with his hand to the publicity. Mischa would have sworn Noel reached out for him. Especially him. Even though he couldn't see him. He couldn't even know Mischa was there, in that very room, breathlessly watching him on that stage.

Then Noel rolled once, two, three times to the edge of the stage. This move by itself was nothing more that hilarious, even idiotic, but for someone who was as invested in the performance as Mischa was? It only showed how desperate Noel was, how elusive and how important for him was this dream he was singing about. The dream of being someone else. The dream of living a different life, the dream of having which wasn't given. The dream of changing the unchangeable.

When he finally stoped and laid down, flat on his back, on that dirty stage, he was tired, his breath heavy and loud. He placed his feet, in these black heels, on the floor, and as he was singing about selling his love he aggressively spread his thighs, his tender skin bouncing back slightly due to how unexpected and swift his move was. The sight made Mischa tremble lightly and caused that uneasy feeling on his spine. A few seconds later Noel straightened one of his legs, up in the air, and slid a rose down his body, from his ankle to his cheek as his profile was turned away from the flower. The look of longing with that raw, melancholic, dangerous note on his face was enough to make anyone unable to look away from him. The lights on the stage were slowly darkening, the only visible spot was the one Noel was sitting in, the music in the background being now only violin and humming of the other actors. Noel once again straightened his leg, his face now frowned, as his singing got replaced by growling, and pressed a rose to his calve, pretending it was a hot, lited cigar, which he was burning himself with as he put it out on his own skin. Just to break the cycle of meaningless plesure, just so his body could experience anything besides stray hands and lips belonging to faceless shadows. Just to feel alive.

Mischa was amazed by what was happening in front of him.A shiver went down his whole body, unpleasant wave of energy stuck on his shoulders. The way Noel moved, frowned his face, even the way he sounded was driving him insane. His hands were sweating, trembling, unknowilngly playing with the hem of his shirt, just to soothe him out a little bit, just so they had something to do as his mind wandered, as his eyes were glued to this perfect figure on the stage.

Then Noel quickly shifted himself on his knees, the look on his face was now nothing more than a painfull longing, as he looked around the publicity as if someone, anyone, could help him, could rescue him, could safe him from this miserable life which image he was painting with his words, with his song. Noel's hands quickly pulled down on his dress, so it wouldn't show to much and then pressed palms to his chest before he looked above the stage, above the publicity, above the room, above Mischa on the only light in the room. His, as Micha was sure, shining with tears eyes were glued to the reflector while he reached his hands in it's direction, his whole body trembling with the power of his voice as he streched the word 'alive' for as long as he could, until there wasn't any more air in his lungs. Until he shared all these emotions he was filled with.

And Mischa could feel all of them, deeply as if they were his own and not some French hooker's, which story Noel was only portraying. But there was something odd in the way he played this role. Mischa just didn't know whether his best friend was such a good actor after just a year of acting classes or maybe he himself found something relatable in this story, this song, these words. Some way he could project the wanting, the longing, the need of being someone else, someone he could never be onto his own life. Probably both. Because even Mischa found something. Something deep, raw, real. And he found the need of having something no one could give him at this point, because it was already too late. And that thing? It was another chance in life. Another chance to be born different, without that curse, to find his way, his path in life, to fulfill his dreams

A loud gasp of Noel startled Mischa from his thought. Noel was now sitting on the stage again, facing the audience, and he had that weird, hot, knowing smile on his face, as he curled up his legs and began to slide himself away from the publicity, into the darknes of the stage, with his hands, while squirming his thighs, showing off alternately his both legs in dark stocking and exposed white thighs. As his back finally touched the chair, he swiftly stood up and sat down on the chair, fixed his wig tugging it behind his ear, he reached out with his hand high, above his head and began to lean back on the chair, at the same time straightening one of his legs. His face fixated on the front rows of the tables, his red lipstic perfectly visible in the green light, the same with his white skin, which looked paler then ever. Almost sick.

As Noel was singing, squirming his body on the chair, another actor with an accordion and a black skulllcap on his head slowly walked to him. He played the role of a priest. As he kneeled down to Noel, all the lights, except for one illuminating on Noel, went off and the music shushed. The only thing you could hear in the whole room were the voice of the actor kneeling next to the chair and Noel's heavy, loud, almost painful breathing. As if he was fighting for every mouthful of air when he talked to the priest, telling him his final words. Mischa's eyes were glued to Noel's arched body, but not to his frowning face, not to his limp arm on the floor, not even to his legs, no. But to his chest, to the way how with every breath his ribs were moving, how the dress followed the skin, and to his hips and pelvis which, when he was lying like that, seemed so small as if they were the size of Mischa's open hand.

Then the sound of the accordion filled the whole room, the green light was back on and both of them lifted themselves up, the priest guy stood up and walked away, but Noel sat sideways, one hand resting on the back of the chair, smirking, gloating with the attention, with the feeling of every pair of eyes on his skin, with the knowledge that everyone wanted him. That everyone watched him. Only him. The music was gone again, the only sound in the room was Noel's voice, sensual, thick as honey. Then he lifted his hand and smacked his thigh, stomping his foot at the same time. Other actors did the same.

Mischa couldn't help but shiver. Just the power of Noel's voice was enought to make everyone hold their breath, but now? With the loud music, as their feet hit the stage, with the dangerous look on Noel's face, as his hand slid up his torso, draging the hem of his dress with it, just to land soon again on his thigh with that loud smack, with his voice raw, rough the tension in the air was unberable. Everyone could feel it. But Mischa? He was slowly losing his mind.

Noel's moves became quicker, bolder.

And it was driving Mischa insane. He clenched his fingers on his thigh, hard, nails digging into the material of his jeans just to stay grounded, just to feel that he wasn't dreaming. His heart pounding in his chest as if it wanted to jump out of it, run away, leave his limp body behind. The adrenaline, the blood in his ears, the drought in his throat, the sweat on his back, the tightness of the collar of his shirt on his neck. The flush on his face, the goosebumps on his arms, the dizziness. He could feel all of that. He should just stand up, walk out of there, go outside, let the cold wind and the fresh air calm him down, regain his composure. He should. But he couldn't look away. He couldn't look away from Noel.

Then Noel turned to the audience on the chair and spread his legs. And even though he placed his hands at the edge of the chair a second after, so only his inner thighs were visible, for that one quick second Mischa's eyes which were focused on Noel's slightest move, which caught his every breath, were able to see his pants.
"добрий бог" his voice quiet as he whined painfully, bitting down on his lower lips and covered them with his hand, trying to hide his embarrassment, only his shiny, needy, curious, worshiping eyes still visible. Still glued to the view in front of him. As if he was a teenager again watching porn for the first time in his adoptive parents' basement and not a grown man. He still tried to hide. As if anybody was looking at him. As if anyone could pay attention to anything else than Noel sliding his hand up his body, with his legs spread, with his feet in black heels hitting the floor.

Suddenly he jumped up from the chair, everyone else still stomping their legs to the music, and put his foot on the chair, his whole body trembling with the emotions, with the exhaustion of his muscles, with the weight of his words and the power of his voice which was louder and louder with every second. As If the story he was telling wasn't someone's else's anymore but his own. As if he meant every single word. As if he belonged there, in that reality. As if he finally felt like he was alive. And wanted to take, to savour as much as he could before it will be over.

Noel tucked his wig behind his ear, grabbed the chair and walked with it to the edge of the stage, as the backup actors finally started moving, preparing themselves for something. Then Noel climbed onto the chair in the middle of the stage, white light of the reflector on his body, his knees bent down, his face feral, wild...alive. He hit his chest with his clenched into fists hand and then slapped his legs while looking around the room with that new power in his voice. Everything stopped. But half a second after he started to dance, still standing on the chair, his hips swinging, arms moving in every direction, hands sliding on his chest, tangling in his hair, his face squirming with tension, with pleasure, with every note that escaped his mouth. At some point he bent down and, still singing, started to tear his stocking. Mischa could tell how invested he was, how real it was for him, how perfect, how simply right it felt for him to be there. To be there and to show how much he had to offer.

And for Mischa in that moment there wasn't anything more than him. He didn't see other actors behind Noel's back, dancing, playing on the tamburine. He didn't see the stage, the piano in the corner of the room, other tables and other people. He only saw Noel. Noel in his black dress, his ripped stockings, his wig and his heels.
Only Noel.
Noel as he squatted on the chair, his knees pressed together, his hands holding the backrest. Noel as he fixed his gaze on a point in the back of the room, his face dangerous, as he put first one, then second foot on the ground. Noel who was still bending his knees and then, in the span of two seconds, sit down sideways to the edge of the stage, and laid down on the chair, arching his back and his neck, placing the back of his palms on the wooden stage and streaching his leg. And when Noel did that the the music shushed and the light went of. Noel's performance has come to the end.

Everyone around Mischa immediately started clapping. Long and loud. But not him. Not Mischa. He couldn't bring himself to move or to even take his eyes off Noel's body, still arched, his chest moving as he was trying to catch his breath. He didn't even see all these people. So Mischa just sat there. And as he watched Noel sit up, his eyes on fire, lit up with the raw happines and excitement, his breath heavy, his face euphoric, his wig messy, his skin flushed and shining with the sweat, a thought appeared in Mischa's head. The thought that if Noel was standing right in front of him right now, in that dress, in that wig, in these stockings, in these heels, with this red lipstick on his lips and with these wild, shiny eyes Mischa would just grab his hand, dig his nails in his wrist, pull him closer and kiss him.

And that thought terrified him.

And when he saw that kiss in his mind, the picture so vivid, so real that he could swear he felt Noel's burning, damp skin against his own, that he really could clench his fingers on him, tangle them in his hair and feel his short, ragged, hot breath on his lips. He felt that he couldn't sit there anymore. His head was spinning, his mouth was dry, his hands, clenched into fists on his knees, were trembling and his jeans were a little bit tighter than they were supposed to be, than they were just a few minutes ago. So he just stood up and before anyone could realize and before he himself registered what he was doing, he was outside. In a blink he felt the cold, winter wind on his flushed cheeks and, as he opened his mouth to take a deep, calming breath, freezing air was forcing itself down his throat to pierce his lungs. It calmed his mind, made him think clearly. Just like before, when he was getting out of the car. As if he never went inside this club, as if he was never there, as if he never saw Noel on that stage. But he did. And that changed a lot.

Mischa looked down on his wrist. It was just before midnight. Only 10 minutes passed since he got here. And in the span of these 10 minutes his life turned 180 degrees.

Mischa still had a little above an hour before Noel was supposed to be done, before he was supposed to waiting for him. And he didn't know what to do until then. For a second he thought about coming back inside, where was warm, but he wouldn't survive all this time without glancing back at the stage. Because doing that would immediately bring back all these memories and thoughts about Noel. His next idea was going for a walk but even he was starting to get cold in his thick jacket so if Noel somehow would finish earlier he would surely freeze to death waiting for Mischa to come back. Especially if he was wearing one of his coats and Mischa knew him well enough to know that he was. God how stupid he was that even in a moment like that when he was losing his sanity he was thinking, caring about Noel. About whether he will be cold, whether he will be looking for him, whether he'll think that Mischa stood him up. So the only thing Mischa could do was coming back to the car and waiting inside.

He sat down behind the wheel and rested his temple against it, hands clenched hard on the wheel on both sides of his head.
"Why did I even agree on this..." He whispered as the memories he tried to ignore started to flood back. Memories of Noel, of his body, his face. And the fast, loud beating of his own heart that came with them. Because somehow that night he fell in love with him. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore this feeling, to not think about it, to lie to himself, he couldn't. Because he fell in love with a man. With his best friend. With Noel in woman's clothes.

Mischa looked at his phone to check the time and see whether he had any new messages from Noel, but his phone was silent and the time passed slowly. Too slowly. So he shoved the phone back into his pocket and looked out of the fogged up window at the street's lamps which were throwing their low, yellow light at the streets covered with white snow. The bare, white trees, couples passing him by and the snow which was falling from the dark, night sky. He looked at it all but didn't see a thing.

He was buried deep in his thoughts, in his memories trying to understand, trying to figure out why, trying to decide what next. Because that woman Noel turned into wasn't real. She didn't exist. And he wasn't gay. Neither of them was.

At least that what he thought until that day. Now he wasn't really sure who he was anymore. He was so invested in his thoughts that he didn't feel how the time passed by. He didn't feel how numb from cold, how stiff from the lack of movement his body got. He was too busy recalling every memory with Noel, remembering every time he looked, he talked, he sat, he walked, he simply breathed the same air as him. Trying to understand whether he maybe liked him before, whether it was friendship or a crush, whether he was caring for him as a friend or as a would-be lover. Whether Noel was perfect only in that dress or maybe every single day since they met. After which felt both like eternity and a flicker of an eye he felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he received a message. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts and reached for it, his fingers numb from the cold, which he hadn't noticed until then. He pressed the button on the side and the screen lit up. One new notification. From Noel.

Mischa felt how his heart skipped a beat as he unlocked the phone, his hands shaking lightly. He read out the message, his lips moving without making a sound as his eyes slid through the text. When he finished reading his whole body was filled with anxiety, which twisted his guts, but also there was something else. Something like anticipation to see Noel again. Because he was supposed to walk out of that club in a few minutes. A shiver went through Mischa's body as he opened the text box and started texting him back, holding his breath. He couldn't find the right words, deleting whatever he wrote a few times, his shaking, numb fingers making typos. God, he felt pathetic- like a teenage boy asking his crush out.

'I'm here. At the parking in front of the club.'

Send.

Then he placed the phone, still turned on, at the passenger seat, sighed and rested his head on the wheel not looking away from the screen. As if he was waiting for another message. But it didn't come and soon the screen turned black.
Mischa lifted his head slightly, put his chin on the wheel and looked at the front of the club. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and just waited, eyes glued to the door Noel was supposed to walk through in a few minutes. Waited because it's all he could do.

And then the door opened and somebody walked outside, reddish light from the inside illuminating on the stairs of the club and at the person's silhouette. At this sight Mischa clenched his fingers on the wheel, his whole body tensed. That someone closed the door and quickly walked down the stairs, with every step walking out of the darkness, getting closer to the lamp and it's light. Now Mischa could see that this person was wearing a buttoned up black coat, black elegant shoes and was carrying a pair of heels in their hand. They looked like Noel. Except for the fact that they had black hair, which might have not been long but were definitely longer that Noel's. Despite that Mischa opened the car's door. Because even if it wasn't Noel Mischa felt like he couldn't just sit in the car any longer. The air inside was filled with his problems, insecurities and questions from the last hour he spent sitting there, and they were driving him mad. And Noel couldn't see him like that.

Mischa got out of the car and slowly started walking to the lamp next to which that person was standing, now checking something on their phone. As he was getting closer he could see that he was slightly taller than them. With his every step the snow under his shose was crunching, which finally that person must have heard because they quickly turned around and looked in his direction. And it really was Noel. Noel except he was still wearing that wig on his head. And he still had his makeup on. Mischa froze as he noticed that. Before, when Noel was on the stage, Mischa could hardly see his face, but now Noel was standing so close to him, under that street lamp, with these snowflakes falling down on his hair and coat. With this red, lightly smudged lipstick on his lips and long, black lashes. And he looked beautiful. Mischa felt his heart pound in his chest, that nervous itch on his back. He slowly opened his mouth, not looking away from Noel's face, not really sure what to say, just feeling the need to say anything. To break the silence between them, because if he didn't? He felt he might do something stupid. But then Noel smiled and spoke first.

"Thank you for picking me up. And I'm sorry that you had to do that I know you have work in the morning. You haven't been waiting for too long right?" His voice was a little too loud, eyes a little too unfocused, smile on his face a little too not like his. Mischa was right assuming that Noel would be a little too drunk to drive by himself. But he still looked so perfect, so... feminine.

"No problem" Mischa looked away and said slowly as if he wasn't sure that this was the right answer. His voice lacked that sharp edge which his words were usually dripping with every time he suffered consequences of Noel's actions. And not getting a full night of sleep before work definitely was one of them.
"Not that long something like 10 minutes... Maybe 15." He lied. Of course he did, he couldn't confess that he was here for almost 2 hours, that he went inside, that he saw Noel on that stage, that he just ran away and hid in his car too confused and too scared of his feelings, of the reaction of his body, of his thoughts. If Noel didn't notice him inside, if he didn't know he was there then it would be better if it stayed this way.

"Good." Noel smiled again and looked at taller man's face. He must have not noticed that lack in Mischa's voice, he was too excited, too exhausted, his voice too fast. "Cuz I didn't want you to wait so I thought I'll just take it all off at home. Sorry once again." He said, tugging a stray lock of hair from his wig behind his ear.

"I see... You know I would have waited for you, right?" He should look at him. He really should. He should look at his face, he should check whether he knew that he would wait, whether he knew he would stay, whether he knew that even thought he said all these things to him, even thought he pretended he was irritated or even mad, he cared about him. And he would do so much more for him than this. But he couldn't. Because he was scared. Scared that once he'll look at him he won't be able to look away. So he just cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Plus, don't you have to like return these things here?" He really wished that Noel changed back into his normal clothes, took of his wig and washed off makeup before he left the club. Because now Mischa had to somehow stop his own imagination, stop the memories which were flooding back, stop the nervous sweating of his hands and stop his heart that pounded loud in his chest, so loud that he was sure that Noel could hear it. And none of these things were possible.

When Noel heard those words he lowered his eyes and Mischa would swear that his already slightly flushed cheeks got even more red but maybe it was just because of the freezing, winter air. Maybe he wasn't really blushing. He opened his mouth but for a few seconds he didn't say a thing as if he was thinking of an an answer, of an excuse.
"Actually I... borrowed them from a-a girl from my university. "He finally said quickly, even though he got stuck a few times. Mischa just assumed it was because he had a few drinks.

"I see..." He didn't know what else to say. He found the whole talk; the whole situation very uncomfortable. He - sweaty, with trembling hands, this shiver on his spine whenever he glanced at Noel, pounding heart and with his voice that didn't sound like his and, in front of him, Noel - painfully unaware what he was doing to him. Mischa looked on Noel as if he was hoping that he would somehow find a way out of this whole thing. And then he saw how his whole body was trembling.

"Are you cold?" He asked and at the same time answered himself in his thoughts. Because naturally Noel was cold. It was winter, middle of the night. From time to time freezing wind blew, carrying snowflakes with it that settled on their clothes, in their hair, on their skin. He must have also been tired, his skin hot, flushed and covered in sweat which now was only making him more vulnerable to the cold. And he was wearing that goddamn coat.
"Let's go, you will warm yourself in my car" He added, his voice back to normal, even his heart slowed down a little as he focused on Noel's wellbeing and not his own yearning and nodded towards his car.

"Cold...? Yeah, a little. Thanks." Noel said, his voice at first suprised but when through his body went another shiver he must have realized that he was, in fact, cold. Mischa slowly started walking towards the car, Noel right after him, careful not to slip as they were walking away from the lamp, in the darkness.

When they were next to the car Mischa instead of going straight to the driver's seat stopped next to the back door and reached for the car handle.
" A heater next to the passenger seat broke down. You'll be better in the back. Warmer." It was true but there was also another reason why Mischa didn't want Noel to sit next to him. Because then he would see him in the corner of his eye all the time, his red lips, his shining eyes behind those lashes and his legs still in those stockings, hair on his legs visible through the holes. It was for the best if Noel sat in the back. For both of them.

Noel didn't say a word. Their eye's locked for a moment above the car's doors as he was about to get inside. Mischa felt that knot in his throat at the sight of his face, so close to his, Noel's lips, skin around them, and those places where the lipstick was smudged, blueish from cold, just a few inches from his own. He opened his mouth slightly but before he could say anything he heard a loud bang and a painful groan as Noel hit his head while getting inside.

"чорт, ти в порядку?" Mischa muttered, light, nervous smirk on his face looking at Noel sitting inside, his moves now faster, angrier, and holding his head. All he got in response was a quiet mumble. So he just made sure that he won't catch Noel's coat in the car door and closed them. A few seconds later he was sitting behind the wheel. He quickly looked in the rearview mirror to check on his best friend. Nothing changed. He was still in a wig and buttoned coat, his heels on the car seat next to him. Still so pretty, still so feminine.

Mischa started the car, turned on the heat and then the wipers to get rid of the snow from the windshield. After a minute or two he glanced once again into rearview mirror to see Noel. He just couldn't stop himself. And as he did he felt this uneasy feeling in his whole body, something like sadness with a little bit of despair and longing. Because Noel was sitting in the back of his car, holding his head again but now without the wig and in an unbuttoned coat. He still had the make up, the stockings, the dress he could finally see from under his coat. But the girl of his dreams was gone. And he knew that he'll never see that girl again. Because now it was just Noel.

With his short dark hair, this long strand of hair hanging next to his ear. With his flat chest and muscular shoulders. Still pretty, he had to admit it. He knew that from that day he'll always see how pretty and charming he was for a guy. Mischa wasn't gay. He never liked a guy in his life before. Until today. Today when he liked that boy in a dress, wig, makeup, stockings and heels. Today when he liked a boy who was both: feminine and masculine at the same time, a perfect mix of these two. Today when he liked a boy he used to just spend time as a friends. A boy he didn't know whether he would still like when he'll see him again.

But somehow, as ridiculous as this thought was, he knew if he had to be with a man, if it didn't really matter whether he was with a man or a woman, Noel was the only boy he could ever love. The only boy he would shag, in that dress or without it. The only boy he would do anything with. But he still was a boy no matter how perfect he was.

These numb, aching feeling filled Mischa's chest as he slowly realized all of that. He needed a distraction, anything to pull him out of the spiral of his own thoughts. He rested his temple against the wheel, one hand clenching next to his head and with the other one reached to the radio and turned it one without looking, hoping for something loud, something so good or so bad that he won't be able to think about anything else.

But Mischa never got what he wanted. Ever since he was a child. Leaving Ukraine, coming to Canada, his adoptive parents', the basement, the fact he wasn't able to go to college, small apartment and his work and tonight. The girl he loved, the girl he wanted wasn't a girl at all. As if the whole world was against him. It was the same now. Instead of hip hop, metal or rock the old radio started playing something weird, something that wasn't even close to anything he heard before. He growled slightly and turned his head to look at the radio display. As he read the title he felt as if nothing he ever did mattered, as if his whole life was staged and his suffering had no other purpose that to amuse others. He closed his eyes, pressed his temple hard to the wheel and chuckled, not caring whether Noel heard him, whether he would laugh, whether he would think he was weird.

"це мабуть якийсь чортів жарт" He said to himself, his voice filled with disbelief and resignation. He was a lost man. And he knew it already.

The tittle of the song was "Andrew in Drag"