"Is it?" His friends all seemed to have varying criteria for what was and wasn't camp, and it'd caused many a disagreement, but he still didn't think whatever was happening on that stage tonight was it. "Fuck trying too hard's like my whole thing too. I'm gonna have to find something else now." Although he was always hesitant to share his writing, it was through poetry that he gained the freedom to express himself, without his usual armor of jokes. That was the scariest part of it, the sheer vulnerability, and that's why it was usually just for him. It didn't have to be very good, even if his friends would support him either way, it served its purpose as a creative outlet. He shook his head, "Probably not. Plus this girl keeps looking at me from across the room, and I don't want to break her heart. If I get up there she's gonna figure out I'm gay."
"Time for a makeover?" Chuck almost seemed too eager, though they'd been friends for longer than they hadn't by that point so obviously he didn't actually care. If he had, his first port of call would have been to give Pitts a decent haircut, but alas they'd all had their parent-dictated bullshit back in the day. What mattered most was that they'd found poetry and the freedom that came with it. "If you get up there?" Chuck stepped back, hand on his jutted hip to survey the man before him. He was the last person to believe in a one size fits all definition of sexuality, but that girl had to be blind if she couldn't tell Gerald was a card-carrying gay. "Well if she doesn't get it, I'll help nudge her along-" Chuck's hand struck out, gripping Gerald's collar and yanking him in for a kiss. Truly, it was the least Chuck could do for a friend being hunted across the bar. "Please tell me that wasn't your first kiss," he asked when they parted, expression as shitheaded as ever.
















