Harvey Stonewall (loveislove) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-12-03 21:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | democratic party, lgbtq culture |
Who: Glibt and Mark
What: A long overdue argument discussion.
Where: Mark's brownstone.
When: Late Thursday evening.
Warnings: Alcohol, language.
It wasn't work for ACT UP that had Glibt staying late at the office. He had finished proofreading his last phamphlet in the early evening but he stayed in the headquarters, fielding calls from his activists in DC, happy for the victory there and despondent about the loss in New York. Most of his time, really, wasn't spent actually working for ACT UP; they were too violent and angry for his case but they made it possible for him to be connected to the New York activism scene and gave him an office where he could do his real work; coordinating the efforts of LGBTQ activists nation-wide. It was ten o'clock at night before Glibt realized he'd been on the phone with his ACLU contact for far too long and, wishing the man well and thanking him for his assistance, Glibt hung up, rubbed his eyes, and tried not to read over the blog entry in which Mark had outright denied their relationship.
It wasn't like he expected Mark to give up his career just to be with him. It wasn't like he expected Mark to gush about him and their relationship in public. It wasn't like he even expected Mark not to deny their relationship. But to worry about the preservation of a party that was constantly shifting and changing each day, to compare the repercussions of their relationship to the repercussions of James' Caridad phase, well, it had hurt, hurt more than Glibt had expected it to. Doing his best to swallow that hurt after an irrational bout of anger that'd had him typing almost furiously to Mark earlier made it all the more real, Glibt slowly packed up his laptop and coffee mug, sighing as he left the building. He didn't want to go back to the brownstone but he hoped that by the time he returned, Mark would already be in bed. Glibt didn't want to get angry at his boyfriend, didn't want to let out everything he'd been burying for some time. He just wanted to get a beer, go to sleep, and by the time he would awake the next morning, hope that everything had been forgotten.
Letting himself into the brownstone quietly, he padded toward the kitchen for a beer, straining to hear sounds of movement in the bedroom as he did his best to remain as silent as posible.