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Matt Cavanaugh (palehorses) wrote in we_float,

"Nah, not really," he said, reaching into the closet for one. "I just wear whatever, you know? I mean, mostly I mooch around in, like, fucking jeans and a shirt and a jacket, but man, a lot of that's that I'm out of my fucking element, and I really, really do not need the attention that you get if you look like you don't belong, at least not right now. Need to process it myself before I start wandering around in, like, half the crap I own. Clotheshorse. Which, of course, is half of why I own all the shit I do, it looks cool, and I suck at figuring out when I'd wear it. Usually, course, I don't care as much, and honestly, back home it was a case of punching people in the fucking eye for their superiority complexes, but now I don't because - well, we're in Seattle. Stand out on the street and you'll see half the people are more interesting than I could manage in clothes, and that's in about thirty seconds of watching. And I kind of don't want to stand out yet until I know more about what, you know, what I'm resting my fucking world on, you know? I mean, a group of frat boys out to beat up a fag following me home or something - and that's fucking happened - is going to blow you all sky high too, which isn't fair of me. But another part of it's that there's a lot - a lot - less personal fucking repression here, you know? My god, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Utah's already hauling wild cards in front of the firing squad, honestly. And you try growing up there and knowing you're never going to fit in." It wasn't sad, nor even defiant; Matt spoke of the distinction as that of a cultural alien who would never be able to - or desire to - assimilate.

He hadn't missed the fact she wasn't looking at him, nor the blush when she did; he pulled the dress on before he took his pants off, more for her than for him.

"You can turn around now, princess," he added after a moment of twitching fabric into place - Matt wore clothes, not simply hung them off him. He hadn't planned this, so it wasn't as good as it could've been, but then, that wasn't the point, to fake out something he wasn't. At least, today it wasn't. The dress itself was simple in cut - short sleeves and a relatively high v-neck - but the pattern on it was anything but, composed of abstract splashes of blues and purples, giant patterns of colour that didn't resemble anything so much as maybe a really abstract O'Keefe painting. But you could see anything in it, and Matt liked that - it was the entire reason he'd bought it when he'd found it for sale.