Fic: Pink Champagne
Title: Pink Champagne - Chapter 2
Author:
bellacatbee and nileflood
Rating: Overall rating NC-17, chapter rating PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, Michael/Adam
Spoilers: None
Includes: Homophobia, Cross-dressing.
Word Count: 5600 appox.
Summary: Dean used to know he was straight but since he met Castiel everything’s confused. Castiel dresses like a girl but only for his job, Adam’s experimenting with make-up and Dean knows this is all the fault of Sam’s gender and sexuality course. AU.
<< Chapter One | Chapter three >>
Dean was actually pretty surprised that he'd had the foresight to book the morning off. He’d done it originally so Bobby wouldn't have the chance to ask him where he'd gone and somehow weasel out the truth- Bobby always got to the bottom of things. He was a bloodhound when he wanted to be. He hauled his ass out of bed about three hours after he'd knocked his alarm clock to the ground, even though he still felt a little worse for wear. It didn't help that he'd left the Impala at that Club overnight; it was probably scratched to hell if it was still there.
"Shit." He cussed, finishing his umpteenth coffee and shoving the rest of the toast he'd had for bunch into his mouth, finding a pen and sticking a note to the fridge. Gone to rescue the car. Not that Sam was likely to get up at any point soon and wherever Adam was, it didn't appear to be here.
Adam was old enough to look after himself though, so Dean left the house, shuddering instead at the idea of public transport rather than leaving Adam alone. He did get back to Candy Club though, and god, the place looked different in the daylight. And that was just the outside. Which, thankfully, still contained the Impala. Without a scratch on her. He checked every inch. Even the tyres. And then, satisfied, he let out a breath and glanced back to the building.
Maybe he should just go. He had four hours or so until he had to work and he should make sure Sam was up and ate something and that Adam came home and... no. They could look after themselves. He was only going to take a peek at what it looked like when it was empty anyway. So he stepped up to the doors, glancing over them. Nothing like a security system in sight so... he pushed, just to see, and the door opened. Wow. That he'd not been expecting.
"Hi?" He called out, just to make sure he wasn't going to be mistaken for a burglar. He'd rather not be hit over the head with something if he could help it, or shot, especially as then Sam would have to find out that he'd been here again for more than picking up the car.
**
Castiel looked up from the paper work he was doing, still trying to understand how they had ended up twenty-five dollars down but he had a feeling where that money had disappeared out to after the previous night’s takings. He had his suspicions that one of their bar staff was stealing from them and they couldn’t afford people taking any extras. Stealing wasn’t a perk of the job, Castiel reminded himself but he was still loath to consider the idea that he might have to fire anyone, even someone who was ripping them off. He sighed, pushing the accounts away from himself and stood up. They were expecting a delivery today so he’d unlocked the door. He was going to be down there working on the accounts and the driver always pulled up front anyway.
“Hello.” He said, holding his hand up to cover his eyes against the glare of the sun. It was pretty dark inside the club without lights on and Castiel didn’t put the lights on unless he really needed them. Extra money going on electricity bills was not something they needed right now. “Do you just want to bring it in and leave it by the door? I’ll get to it in a moment. Is a cheque okay?” He turned back to the table, riffling through the papers till he found the cheque book for the business’s current account. There’d be enough in it to cover the delivery provided that Gabriel hadn’t decided to add anything extra to their order.
"Er-" Dean said, because clearly Castiel was expecting someone. It was obviously Cas, that voice had imprinted on his mind and as he stepped deeper into the dark innards of the club- it was odd, being back here. The place had looked much different last night, but maybe that was because it'd been busy and there'd been multicoloured lights and noise. Now it just looked dim.
But there was at least one little corner that seemed bright, one of the tables, papers and what looked like a ledger book spread across the top. And Cas. Without the make-up and the shoes and the dress. Cas. Obviously a boy, even with the long hair, those eyes. Boy.
Dean faltered, and then swallowed. He'd known Cas was a boy. He knew what this place was. He was ignoring it. Had been ignoring it. That didn't mean he couldn't say hi. That was why he'd tried the door, wasn't it? To see Cas, Misha. From last night. Why the hell he'd thought that he'd see the marvellous creature in the gleaming white dress, the creature that could have been mistaken for an angel... well, he was stupid. And he wasn't saying that Cas wasn't attractive, because he was. And thinking that didn't make Dean gay.
"Yeah." He managed, forcing himself to speak because he'd been too quite too long, fighting his internal battles. "Not your delivery guy, sorry. I was just coming back to fetch the car." Not for anything else. He should tell the kid now he wasn't going to come back on Thursday. That something else had come up. Family stuff.
Yeah, because if that wasn't the most obvious brush-off in the book.
And now Castiel’s eyes were adjusting to the light and or the lack of it. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’ve just been waiting for the delivery man.” He said, wondering now how he could ever have thought that Dean was anyone else but he had been on autopilot. He’d only managed to crawl into bed after midnight when he’d finally got all of that tacky make up removed. Putting it on took hours and taking it off seemed to take the same level of dedication. He’d skipped the bath in the end and just crawled straight into bed. He’d had a cup of coffee that morning but nothing to eat yet so Castiel could forgive himself for being a little addle-brained. He just hoped Dean wouldn’t think that Castiel had forgotten about him
“I didn’t realise you’d left your car here. Probably best not driving back when you’d been drinking.” He said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until Thursday. Is there a problem?” He knew sometimes people who left their cars outside the club got them clamped. Mostly that person though was Gabriel and his parking was awful but that didn’t mean that Dean might not have been the victim of an overzealous policeman. “I’ve got a contact. We can probably get that removed for you.” He’d have to beg Lucifer and Lucifer would then phone up Nick and make whatever bargain they normally made to get Gabriel’s car unclamped.
"Huh?" Dean said, more than likely appearing addle-brained himself. He was still trying to get his head back into gear, trying to get over whatever hurdle he was stuck behind but he just couldn't do it. His brain seemed to be stuck in reverse gear and he just couldn't get it going again. "No, no, everything's fine." He said after a moment, because he just couldn't understand what Cas was taking about. What did he need removed? And what sort of contacts did they have for it? Considering what the Candy Club actually was, Dean didn't want to think too hard on the subject. Maybe coming inside was the worst idea he'd ever had.
Correction, the worse idea Sam had ever had. This was all Sam's fault. "Yeah, Thursday." He repeated then, hand moving to the back of his head. "I don't know if I'll be able to make it." There, he'd said it. But he wasn't looking at Castiel, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor just to his right. He didn't want to see what Castiel thought of him. He'd tried, last night. But he'd been drunk and he wasn't into guys.
Not even ones with beautiful eyes. And then, that was it. He looked up to Castiel's big, soulful eyes, bright despite how dark it was. And that mouth, and the dark hair that framed his face and even without the dress, that face... "I thought maybe Wednesday instead." He didn't know what he was saying, but he'd said it. And Wednesday was tomorrow. Which probably meant Castiel would think Dean really had the hots for him.
“Really?” Castiel asked, a little surprised by that. He’d thought that Dean was trying to find a way to get out of what he’d said the night before. Admittedly Castiel hadn’t expected him to come back. He might have hoped a little but Dean had been drinking the night before, he might not have even remembered what he’d said and maybe there was a part of Castiel that just didn’t expect anyone to want to come back. “That’s great. I’ll make that reservation for you now so you don’t have to worry about calling in.”
He found the reservations book behind the bar and pulled it out. He flipped to Wednesday, grateful to find that they did have a table open in the front. He grabbed his pen. “Dean what?” He asked, glancing up at the man. “And I need your phone number as well.” He wondered if Dean would mind giving out his number. Some people didn’t want anything that could track them to the club. It was like a dirty little secret but Dean didn’t seem like that. He was turning up here in the middle of the day and he’d left his car parked outside. He was so different to the other men who’d wanted to talk to Castiel, no, to Misha. Castiel really couldn’t wait for the day when he didn’t spend time pretending to be somebody else for a living.
Now Cas seemed the one who was surprised, and Dean wondered if he had been wrong, if Cas had only been polite and friendly the night before because Gabriella had told him to be, that he wasn’t interested really. Dean had no idea how much beer he’d actual drunk the night before but maybe it had been enough to throw off his judgement. It was possible after all, even if it didn’t usually happen. He was pretty good at working out what people wanted or what they thought even when he was drinking. Otherwise he’d never get laid.
Dean followed though, when the other man moved to the bar, digging around there and Dean settled on a stool, not too close, because Cas might want to tell him they were all booked up Wednesday and oh well never mind they'd take a rain-check. But he didn't, and Dean found himself smiling widely. Cas wanted his number. Sure, right, whatever for the log book or whatever it was. Cas would have his number. "Winchester. Dean Winchester." He supplied, because okay, even if it was a guy who found him hot, Dean liked that. Maybe that made him an ego maniac or something. "Do you want a cell number or home? Because at home you'll just get Sam or Adam. Cell is better if you want to reach me." And maybe Cas would want to call him or text him or something.
Wanting him to, though, that was sort of wrong.
“Novak.” Castiel said without looking up. “That’s my surname. Castiel Novak.” He wrote Dean’s name down in the free space and then scribbled a quick note under it in case anyone happened to pick up the reservation book before Wednesday. ‘Do not give this table away. Luci, that means you!’ It would be just like one of his brothers to give away the table Castiel had reserved for Dean and leave the man standing at the bar. They played favourites and maybe that was what Castiel was doing now but he wasn’t queue jumping for Dean. If there hadn’t been an available table he would have told Dean that.
“If you want to give your cell number that’s okay.” Castiel agreed. People didn’t always want to be called at home to have their reservation confirmed. Cell phone numbers were fine. “We’ll just give you a call on the day to make sure you still want the table. There’s always someone who doesn’t book, comes in late and wants to sit up front and we can’t hold tables if people aren’t going to turn up.” He said, glancing up at Dean and smiling at him. He didn’t think that would be the case with Dean. “Who’s Adam?” He asked, thinking back to the night before. “Sam was your brother who was here yesterday, yes?”
Dean smiled slightly. He could imagine all sorts of guys came down here and didn't want people finding out. The sort of guys that had one phone for their girlfriends and one for their wife. "I'll give you both." He said, rattling off the numbers, watching Castiel write them down. He seemed to have nice writing, sort of posh, smart writing, and neat too. Dean's was fucking terrible, or so Sam kept telling him. Dean didn't care much. But he liked Cas'. That was pretty weird though, so he decided not to mention it. "Cell is best though. Don't have a machine at home, in case my dad rings." That was a joke, and one that he guessed Cas wouldn't get, but he offered a smile anyway, just to prove he was messing around.
"Adam? Oh, he's the youngest. Half-brother. At university. We hardly ever see him, he just crawls home at stupid o'clock and dumps dirty clothes around the house." Dean said, and then realised something. "So we're pretty evenly matched on the brother's front. Although I think mine are probably worse than yours, even if mine don't do stand-up in pink dresses." Because they were weird in their own way. Thank god there was no business, no industry in the world that they could go into together. They'd all be bankrupt within a week. Or somehow one of them would have killed the others. Sam. It would be Sam, it was always the quiet ones.
“You think I’ve only got two brothers?” Castiel asked, smiling more to himself then to Dean. “I’ve got sisters too. Where do you think I learnt to apply make-up? I didn’t teach myself and youtube tutorials didn’t exist when I was growing up.” He’d not actually been interested in anything like all the frivolity he’d learned since he came here when he was younger. Anna had practised on all of them because she said it was easier to get the technique right on someone else first and Castiel had been a lot more docile then some of his other brothers. Lucifer had been the one with the actual knack for it but their father had never liked it. He’d turn in his grave if he knew what they were doing here, if he was in a grave. Castiel didn’t know. He knew that Gabriel thought he was probably dead. He thought sometimes it would be better if he was. All his children had moved on without him.
"Oh," Dean said, a little crestfallen, although god only knew why. He guessed maybe he wanted something in common, but it didn't matter. He was smiling as Cas spoke, laughing at the mention of youtube. He'd just thought there were stupid videos of cats on there, and music. Make-up tutorials? That was a new one on him. "I thought you were just a natural?" He said, because he'd not thought about it, not really, but he supposed that's what he'd thought. "So why does it look like Gabriella's applied his with a shovel?" He asked then, because he had to. Castiel looked beautiful on stage, all smokey-eyed and wet-lipped and Gabriel... looked a mess. That was the truth and he wasn't going to dress it up.
Castiel laughed. He didn’t mean too but he couldn’t help it. “Because Gabriel isn’t trying to look feminine. He’s trying to look like a guy in a dress.” He said, surprised Dean hadn’t realised that. “Gabriel is the comic relief.” Part of Gabriel’s act was looking as if was Dolly Parton after an experience with a temperamental hair dryer and half a ton of stage make-up. “It’s what people expect and he’s playing up to them.” He tried to explain but he wasn’t sure that Dean would get the subtle differences between what he and Lucifer did and what Gabriel did. Maybe there wasn’t a lot of difference anymore.
A lot of performers now prided themselves on how well they perfected passing and they didn’t want to make it obvious that it was an over the top persona people were watching. Gabriel was old school. Unless Dean had a lot of interest in queer subculture then he probably wouldn’t know that. Castiel didn’t think that Dean was the sort of man who would know. He just to act straight all the time. Castiel had to admit he was drawn towards straight acting gay men although more so since he’d started to work at the Candy Club. Anyone who drank beer and had dirt under his nails suddenly seemed worth a second look. It was all fetishisation at the end of the day and Castiel hated that there was a part of him that liked Dean simply because he fitted a type.
He stood there for a moment, wondering if he should do something else, say something else to Dean. It felt like something special was happening now between them but Castiel didn’t want to dwell on thoughts like that. Dean was just a nice guy who liked hearing Castiel sing. He wasn’t a creep. He wasn’t married or didn’t seem to be at least and maybe Castiel liked the idea of having him up in the front row. There was nothing wrong with any of that and he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, especially not himself. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Dean.” He said, reaching to brush his unruly hair behind his ear. It was getting too long. From the back he looked like a girl which in his line of work was helpful but Castiel didn’t like it.
Well, that looked like that was over. He got up, off the stool. "Yeah. I should leave. I have work and Bobby isn't going to be pleased if I don't turn up." That much was true. Even if he had... well, a long while yet till Bobby would expect him. But there was no point hanging around if Cas was busy. "I didn't mean to distract you. Adam and Sam refuse to study near me. I'm a walking distraction." And he was trying to delay leaving. That was obvious even to him so he had better just man-up and go. "See you Wednesday then. Get them to get you better shoes before then!" He called, heading to the door, a weird twisting in his stomach. Nerves, maybe that was it. Or anticipation.
“I’ll be lucky!” Castiel shouted after him before going back to the accounts. They’d have to fire that member of the bar team. Castiel was never going to get new shoes when he was there stealing their earnings. Maybe they’d be able to hire a part timer who’d work a bit cheaper in his place.
Dean hadn't had a good day at work. He'd been distracted, it wasn't his fault really. He was trying to work out what the hell he was meant to wear to the club, and more importantly, why he ever cared about what he wore was bothering him too. It wasn’t a date, it wasn’t even a club with a dress-code, it wasn’t even important. No one cared what he looked like. But the frustration was taking its toll. He'd been working on the same stupid little fault with a gear-box almost all afternoon when Bobby called him up on it. The man wasn't pleased, face set in a close approximation to one of Sam's bitch-faces as he pushed Dean out of the way and looked at the SUV's innards himself.
"What the hell, boy?" He asked, straightening up. Dean could have had that fixed in an hour, maybe a bit more on a normal day. But this wasn't any normal day. The morning off had clearly rattled his brain and he was useless in his current state. "You go call this girl," Bobby said, because when Dean was troubled it was either some girl or his brothers, and when Sam or Adam were up to something, Dean didn't bother hiding his feelings. Quiet Dean was a worrying Dean. "And I don't want to see your face here till you've sorted yourself out, hear me?" He added, ignoring Dean's protests and taking over the car himself, shoving Dean out of the way.
So Dean was at a loss. He milled around the yard for a few minutes, but that didn't help. Bobby didn't want him there so... well, he headed home, where else did he have to go? He let himself in too, not used to being home this early, dumping his keys and his coat and looking around the apartment, trying to work out what to do. "Sam? Adam?" He called, wondering if anyone else was about, or if he had the place to himself. What the hell he was going to do he didn't know. Dr Sexy wouldn't be on for hours yet. Maybe there was re-runs.
There was the sound upstairs of something being knocked over and then swearing.
“Dean, don’t come up!” Adam shouted, frantically trying to stuff everything back into the box he’d knocked over. There was eye shadow everywhere, glitter and mascara and some of it was in the carpet. He’d need to vacuum. Dean was supposed to be at work and Sam had classes. This was Adam’s free time. He’d never do this when either of his brother’s was home to catch him but they hadn’t been home. He shoved everything back into the box and then pushed the box back into the bottom draw of his dresser, underneath the old pullovers he kept for winter. No one was going to be looking there for things to borrow. Those hardly even fitted Adam any more so neither of his brother’s would want them. “I’m fine.” He shouted again. “I just knocked something over. I didn’t expect you to be home yet.”
He glanced at himself in the mirror and reached for a wet-wipe. There was no way he’d be able to get all of this off his face before Dean got up there. He’d just wanted to practise his eyeliner because he kept drawing wonky lines but eyeliner meant eye shadow and that meant foundation. There was a lot to think about. Lipstick was most important and Adam always liked the person who looked back at him better than the face he usually wore. Dean wouldn’t get that though. Sam might understand that it didn’t mean Adam wanted to be a woman, far from it, he just liked their things. His mum understood. She’d never said anything but she didn’t complain if an old lipstick or two went missing but Dean would never get it.
“Just don’t come up!” He shouted again, scrubbing at his face as hard as he could, his mascara smearing down his cheek.
Adam had a lot to learn about his half-brothers, or at least about Dean. As soon as someone told him not to do something, he was bound by some sort of brotherly-law to do it. In this case, he was heading for the stairs as soon as Adam's panicked, muffled voice echoed down to him, and he was climbing up towards their rooms by the time Adam was telling him not to come up. It was just how he was. He would have done the same thing to Sam, frequently did for that matter and if Adam thought he wasn't going to be treated the same he had another thought coming.
Of course Dean didn't know exactly what Adam was doing. He wanted to find out. If it was embarrassing, all the better. He probably had some girl from one of his classes in there. Got her to come over so they could work on some presentation or something, he was sure they made you do that at college. It was the reasoning Dean had used in High-school with great effect. If Adam was a late bloomer, that was okay. He would just pop his head in the door, grin, check out the girl because this was his baby brother they were talking about, and then go downstairs. He'd mention it that night when Sam was back. About a hundred times. At least. It would be great.
"Everything okay?" He asked, ignoring Adam's own desperate calls, heading down the landing with his thumbs tucked into his pockets. She'd be sort of cute, blonde probably, not unlike Jo, he guessed, with painted lips and in really tight jeans. He'd congratulate Adam later, when she'd gone home. Maybe she had a cute sister who'd come pick her up. Although really, that didn't sound all that interesting.
He stopped then, at Adam's door, a "Oh, hi" on his lips, like he was cool with his dorky kid brother bringing home girls, that Adam was cool and probably the best lay this girl had ever had... and there was no girl. No girl, although there was a funny sweet smell in the air and Adam looked... Dean didn't know what the fuck he looked like. He'd never, ever seen anyone look like that before in his life.
"What the fuck?" He managed, having paused for a long moment working out that Adam was alone and doing some weird shit to his face.
For a moment Adam didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tell Dean to get the fuck out of his room but if Dean took this badly then Adam didn’t know what he’d do. Moving in with Sam and Dean while he went to college had been sensible. He was close enough here that he could visit his mom on weekends or pop over quickly if she needed him and he got to spend time with the brother’s he hadn’t known that well growing up. He was able to save up some money while he went to college and he didn’t have to drain his mom’s savings to help pay for rent. If Dean kicked him out then where was Adam going to go? It wasn’t as if Adam had his name on a lease or anything. He’d been there because it made sense but it wasn’t his house. It belonged to Sam and Dean and Adam was just an interloper in their midst.
“I told you not to come upstairs.” He said. If Dean had just listened to him then this could have been avoided. Dean had bought this on himself. He’d been the one who couldn’t just live in blissful ignorance. Adam threw down the wet-wipe. There wasn’t any point in trying to get the makeup off any more now Dean had seen it. “It’s just makeup, Dean. I…I just like it, okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, not sure what else he could say. He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Dean. He’d never tried to explain it to anyone and if he’d had a choice then Dean would never have been the first person he tried it with. It just made sense in Adam’s head and he was comfortable with it.
Dean had thought, for a brief, happy moment that some pricks had drawn on Adam's face when he'd fallen asleep in the library or something. Okay, it wasn't a happy thought, but it was a normal thought. He could have ignored the bright, wet finish to his baby brother's lips, he could have ignored the colour around his eyes. Some jerks had just drawn black stuff on Adam's face. Maybe it wasn't believable, but Dean could force himself to believe anything other than what was in front of him at that moment. And then Adam had to go and admit it, to voice what could have otherwise been denied and ignored.
They stood, silent, the air thick with tension and all Dean could think about was Cas. Fucking Cas! With his beautiful eyes that didn't make him look like a panda, with his amazing full lips and that colour on his cheeks. Cas had looked amazing. Adam just looked like a mess. Maybe because he was taking it all off. Maybe because he just wasn't Cas. "No sisters." He muttered, and then shook his head. What the hell was happening? First that Club and Sam drinking fucking cocktails. Girlie cocktails. And then he'd come home at... this! There was this!
"Am I the only fucking straight guy left on the planet?" He asked to the heavens, arms opening. Bottled water. That was it. Adam and Sam drank it. Cas drank bottled water. There was something in it, obviously. It was too late to save his brothers, but he would never touch the stuff. He'd be okay. "You know what, Adam? Okay. Okay, you like make-up. Get it off, okay?" He said, because what else could he say? His brother looked like an idiot.
“I am not your sister, Dean.” Adam snapped. He’d known this was why he’d wanted to keep it a secret because Dean would just never understand. “I don’t want to be your sister. I just like it. It doesn’t mean anything. I just like it.” If he said it enough times then maybe Dean would get idea. You just had to keep repeating things with Dean until they sunk in.
“Dean, this doesn’t mean I’m gay!” Dean was apparently going to pull every single cliché out of the box. It shouldn’t have surprised Adam. He should have been ready for it but it still hurt a lot when his brother said things like that. Dean for all his faults was still his brother and Adam wanted to be accepted. He was the result of an affair that had broken up John Winchester’s marriage. His half-brothers didn’t have to spend any time with him, they didn’t even have to acknowledge him but they had and Adam just wanted them to accept him. “I don’t know what I am.” He muttered. Dean probably didn’t want to hear this and Adam didn’t know why he was telling him but Dean hadn’t learned to go away when people told him to so he was going to have to listen “But wearing makeup doesn’t make me anything. I’ve had sex with girls.”
"I wasn't even talking about you!" Dean snapped back, voice raising. He'd been sort of calm before. But now Adam was just assuming things that were nothing to do with him and all to do with Cas and Dean hadn't even realised he'd said the thing about sister's aloud. But he was sure if Adam had a sister then he wouldn't have looked like a clown.
That was too harsh. He didn't look like a clown. Dean shouldn't have called him that. Thought that. Whatever. "You think girls dig that?" He made a gesture towards Adam's face, as if that explained it all. "Come on, Adam! Even if you aren't gay, really? The only dudes that like that shit are weird, really, really weird, okay? Ask Sam. He's doing that weird paper. He knows all about this crap." He didn't want to say where he'd been. He didn't want to admit being at the Candy Club, about Cas. Cas was a great person, sweet and sort of shy and human and Dean needed to wear something nice tomorrow night. Cas, who was cute and looked great in that dress and the stupid painful shoes, should never, and could never be, put into the same grouping as Adam. Adam who was still just a kid, still messing around. He wasn't even listening to Adam anymore, blinking as Adam told him to leave and muttering a "Yeah... right..." as he moved towards his own room.
“Dean just drop it!” Adam shouted. He didn’t care what girls wanted, he didn’t care what guys wanted. All he wanted was for his brother to get out of his room and leave him alone. “I know you think I’m a freak, Dean. I know you do!” He didn’t need to hear Dean say the words. Everything else Dean had done, the way he’d reacted had said it for him. Dean thought that Adam was a freak and a specimen for Sam to study. That would be how Sam would treat him, as if Adam was an experiment he could understand if he applied the right line of questioning. He wouldn’t realise how outcast he made Adam feel and Dean would just go on shouting and ranting about anything that made him the slightest bit uncomfortable and showed him up for the bigot he really was. Adam waited for his brother to leave and shut the door behind him with a firm slam. It didn’t make him feel any better.
He sat down on his bed, the packet of wet wipes in his hand and stared at them for a long time. He read and re-read the packet information, not really seeing any of it and it took him a little while to realise that he was crying.