"Wot's the occasion?"? Asher's voice was a low whisper among the rows of musty books.? It was a bibliophile's haven, a sanctuary for old books to be preserved and sold to the highest bidder.? Harlen wandered among the rows of books with a mission, seeking one specific spine out among the masses.

"No occasion."? He answered distractedly.? Snapping fingers in Asher's direction, he hunched over a row and narrowed hazel eyes at them.? "An unbirthday."

"Ah.? A sporadic gift-giving."? With hands in his pockets, he swept along the aisle, examining.?

"Of course.? Don't you buy Lani presents sometimes?? It's good to buy purposeless presents for your wife."

"I do.? And it is.? I'm sure it's good for yew to buy purposeless presents for your--"? Asher trailed off, distracting himself by pulling a book off of the shelf.? Harlen straightened his spine and turned over his shoulder, his chin pointed over at Asher.? Eyes narrowed at him and he propped hands on his hips.

"Boyfriend.? My boyfriend."

"Right, that."

"Oh God, Asher."? The pianist sighed a heavy breath and rolled eyes.? "Grow up."? He huffed.

"Wot?"?

Harlen snagged the book from its protective cover and opened the binding to peer at the pages.? Satisfied with it's appearance, he carried it to the desk and placed it carefully down.? A hefty purchase required a credit card, so one was plucked from his wallet and slid over.? "I said grow up, Asher.? This latent homophobia was cute at first, but now it's just getting old and annoying.? Like your favorite aunt or something."

Asher's blue-green eyes widened and he nearly choked out a cry of shock.? Instead, realizing that books were sacred things to be silent around, he merely gasped.? "Homophobia?? That's.. that's absolutely absurd, I'm not homophobic, I.. I work for the East Manhattan Social Center for heaven's sake!? I give tolerance lessons, how could I get a job like that if I was homophobic?"?

"Oh my God.."? Harlen groaned, taking the credit card back and scrawling his name on the dotted line.? Exchanging it for his now brown-paper-wrapped package, he grinned his thank you and turned on heel.? "Tolerance and homophobia are not opposites.? You can tolerate something and still have a skewed view of it.? I tolerate that I live in New York, but I certainly don't embrace it."

"Wot are yew talking about?"

Stepping out of the shop and back into the spring-weathered street, Harlen held the package to himself.? "You don't like me.? I mean.? You like me.? But not as much as you like other people.? And why?? Because every time you look at me, Asher, you see a big pink Homo sign over my head.? And you can't get past that.? You spend all your time with me, focusing on that big neon sign over my head.? So you have that barrier there the entire time, and we're never going to get anywhere."

"That's bloody... ridiculous!"? Asher spat back.

"You can't tell me that if you had to describe me in five words, Gay, or some deritative thereof, would not be one of them."

Pausing, Asher tipped his head in less offense and more confusion.? "Isn't it important to you?? Being gay?? Isn't it something yew want to be defined as?"

"Of course it is!"

"Well then what's the problem with it being one of your top five descriptive words?"

"There's nothing necessarily wrong with it, of course I want to be defined as ... of course I want it to be a part of me, but I don't want it to be the only part of me.? I'm a pianist, a ... a semi-native Parisian, a twenty-something, a--"

"Well then why flaunt it?

"Fuck. Y'know. Usually I let you say about... two or three things that really offend me before I speak up and tell you you're being an idiot but now this is just pushing it. Why flaunt that you're straight!? What, God, with your.. constant kissing your wife and your... khaki pants and button down shirts and lack of wardrobe variety. And a pregnant wife! If that isn't flaunting your heterosexuality, I don't know what is.."

"That's entirely different." Asher commented.

"How? Just because we live in a hetero-normative society, heterosexuals are allowed to live their lives simply and openly and without fear of persecution, but the moment I reach over and take Michael's hand, or kiss him in public, or make a comment about the blowjob I gave him the night before --"

"--now you're just trying to get me flustered." It was working it seemed. Overlapping words, Harlen plodded along without a pause.

"-- it becomes a scandal to you! A giant scandal. You can't get past it. You can't get past the fact that behind closed doors, which in itself is entirely unfair that doors have to be closed at all, I fuck your best friend. Your homosexual best friend."

"He's not gay."

"Like fuck he isn't."

"He's bisexual, it's different."

"Says the resident sexologist." He quipped, rolling eyes almost immediately. "Gay, bisexual. Tomato-tomahto. He'll come to his senses. Hello, Prophet. I know these fucking things."

"He's not gay, though. He's still attracted to women."

The very notion of this fact was being thrust into Harlen's face like something foul smelling. He pulled away from it and scrunched up features into something of distaste. Pausing right there, he clutched the book close and angled closer to Asher with a menacing glare. "I'm aware. I'm very fucking aware. But the chances of him ever fucking one again are about as good as the chances that you'll bend over and moon a bus of nuns. So he's as good as gay. Fuck. You're... edging on my nerves."

"You're being awfully touchy today." Asher's voice was surprised and tentative, like Harlen could have lashed out with claws bared at any moment.

"Why do you think!?" He croaked back. "You don't like me! You! Out of all the people in my life who have license to not like me, you, the person who knows me least, who preaches like fuck about... tolerance and love and religion and blah blah blah God God God -- you, Asher, don't like me. Because I'm gay, because I'm stealing your best friend, because your wife likes me, because your mother likes me, because... whatever. You can't get over that barrier, you want to, but you can't. You come out with me now and then when I ask you to keep me company, or when you need a favor, or when I want you to come to a fucking antique bookshop so I can drop a few hundred dollars on an antique copy of Plato's fucking Symposium for my fucking boyfriend, who just happens to be your best fucking chum in the world, but you do it because it's the right thing to do. You don't [i[have[/i] to be nice to me for him. I'm sure Michael could give two shits about whether you liked me or not, but I do. I care. It's not fucking fun to be not liked. Please, for the love of all that is holy in your fucked up sphere of bullshit religion, stop. Just stop all of this semi-self-righteous Christian martyr bullshit. You are not perfect. You are biased. You pretend to like me so no one will see that you too, the prodigal fucking son, are subject to human flaw."

Asher could do little else but blink for a moment, his mind fumbling for a formidable, gentle response. It was as silent as a busy New York street could be. The silence between the two men was what really echoed.

"I don't dislike yew, Harlen. I don't hate yew. I don't think you're a terrible person."

"I don't care. I don't care. You don't like me. And you have no reason, no basis, no... you should like me. You should. There's no reason not to, I'm fucking likable. I'm a nice person. I'm funny and smart and fucking.. compassionate and charming and.. fuck, why am I justifying myself to you, to.. fuck."

"Are yew ... is everything okay?"

"Please don't." He pleaded. His mouth creased into an almost crooked line, full of suspicion. "Just don't. Too late."

"Harlen."

"What." He asked, fatigued and sighing, Eyes closed for a moment and pried themselves open again to find Asher staring at him rather gently. The ecstatic hovered like a spectre, waiting for the time to step through.

"Yew don't like me either, do yew."

It was a simple enough question with a simple enough answer.

"No, Asher. No, I don't."