sitting somewhere in between worlds which was fitting for the way his life had turned out. “I miss it.”
“Really? You used to hate Europe,” Shen pointed out as he opened another beer and handed it over. “You used to email me every week and tell me the French were assholes.”
“They are,” he said, and took a long drink, swiping the back of his thumb over his lips. “But they’ve grown on me.”
“Or maybe you just embraced being an asshole to fit in better.”
Archer shifted over a little and gave his friend a good look. He was somehow both exactly the same and entirely different than the boy he left behind at eighteen. He was dressed better, but there was still a hint of mischievous youth to him. His jaw was a little sharper now at twenty-six, but his eyes were still fierce, his brows perfectly shaped and defined. Tonight, his blunt nails were a matte grey that matched his shoes, and there was just the barest hint of gloss on his lips.
He was subtly flamboyant and gorgeous, and Archer felt a rush of affection for one of the only people who stuck around long enough to still call himself a friend. “Thanks for coming over. It’s been a weird transition. The jet lag is still kicking my ass and my brother wants me to do all this like, benefit shit with him.”
“I missed you, of course I’m here,” Shen told him. The sincerity in his voice was enough to warm him. Shen had visited a couple of times during fashion week in Paris when he had models walking a runway, but their time together had been stunted and controlled. It was the first time Archer had been able to visit his friend without demands on their time, lab results waiting, or press stealing attention.
“Is Rex still being an asshole about you being queer?”
Archer felt a small twist of pain that he’d kept that secret from his friend, but it wasn’t his to tell. “No. He stopped that a while ago, and today there was this benefit with Q Magazine for the new LGBT rights laws he’s been pushing for. He’s…trying.”
“It’s just,” Shen started, then shook his head. “He hated me for who I was for so damn long. I used to go home and cry every time he’d look at me like I was a freak. And I could never tell if it was because I wasn’t white, or because I wasn’t some straight jock, but…”
Archer’s throat tightened. He knew his brother hadn’t hidden his distaste for Shen, but he had no idea Shen had taken it so hard. “I wish you would have said something before now.”
“You would have done something stupid,” Shen said with a small grin. “Like try to fight him… with your fists.”
And that wasn’t a lie. Archer was a pacifist, but he wouldn’t have let something like that go if he knew his friend was being hurt. “He shouldn’t be allowed to make you feel like that.”
“No. But he made me stronger,” Shen said. He picked at the edge of his nail, stopping short of peeling away some of his polish. “Right after you left, I tried to…tone it down, I guess. I dated some really fucking boring guys, and wondered if maybe I’d be happier if I was less of myself.”
“And?”
Shen laughed. “And I felt worse than before. I figured, fuck it. I might be alone, but at least I can stand to look at myself in the mirror. I mean, you saw me in Paris back then for my first show. You know I never truly let myself go.”
Archer did know. Shen had been out and proud, unabashedly himself without giving a single shit what the people around him thought. It was so much like the kid he was in school, and Archer felt a small measure of guilt for not understanding his struggle. And he felt even worse knowing that his brother was behind a lot of it. But Shen seemed happy now—at least, from what Archer could see.
“How’s work going?”
Shen rolled his eyes. “Same, same. All the struggle of being a designer with none of that Heidi Klum glory. We booked a couple of shows this spring though, so it helped. The online store is doing better than our little shop, but we’re in the black.”
“I’m proud of you,” Archer told him, and Shen rolled his eyes again as he took their empty beer cans and replaced them with another.