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He first showed up a couple of months ago. Riley’s bar was still fairly small at this point, a quiet tucked away place for wandering queers. They didn’t pay much attention to the guy at first. Just another midnight straggler, a lone soul stumbling into a bar for some good liquor. And their job was to provide the goods, not question the motivation of their customers. He came in, looked around, smirked and sat down by the bar.
“Cuba libre. Two shots.” His voice was rough and somehow unkempt, much like his black hair which stuck out in all sorts of directions. Without a word, Riley turned to fetch the required ingredients. It being a Tuesday night, the bar was pretty much empty apart from the two of them. As she began to mix his drink, he tilted his head slightly and grinned: “Come here often?”
“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” they deadpanned, adding a slice of lime and passing him his shots. He immediately downed one, not even bothering to savour it. Wiping his mouth, he continued with that same weird sarcastic tone: “I’m sure all sorts of freaks try to ask you out ‘round here.”
They shrugged. Maybe he was just having a bad day.
“Sure. Are you one of those freaks?” He snickered, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated motion.
“Wow! You give yourself too much credit, bud’.” Okay, this guy was an asshole. Riley knew the type. You meet all sorts of people working the night shifts and they could already tell.
“Sure. Look, we’ve got a pretty strict ‘no fuckboy’ policy in here, so if you intend to be one…” Without dropping his cool demeanor, he laughed, gesticulating with the now-empty glass: “Well, isn’t this like a fuckin’... gay bar or something? Seems like being a fuckboy is kind of the intended experience — “
“We also got a ‘no bigots’ policy here, bud’,” they cut him off, the last word dripping with irony.
“Well, sucks to be me, I guess…” He got up, tossing a few spare bucks from his pocket on the bar.
“Keep the change. I’m on a roll tonight.” And then, he left, his second shot stood alone and undrunk. Riley simply returned to cleaning glasses. Just another asshole. He probably won’t be back.
And then of course, he was. A few days later, right around midnight. They sighed briefly before returning to pleasing-the-customer mode. Well, whatever that meant by their standards.
“What do you want?”
“Aww, you actually remember me! That’s so cute — “
“What drink do you want?”
“Cuba libre. Two shots.” Sitting down, he let out a chuckle.
“So, don’t you wanna know my name? My tragic backstory? My whole deal?” he asked, seeming like he honestly didn’t give two shits whatever they were about to answer. Riley shot him an annoyed look while slicing another lime:
“Not really.”
“Wow. Hurtful.”
“Hmm. I’m here to make you drinks, not make you be actually content with yourself.” That seemed to cut somewhat, his pupils dilating slightly: the first genuine glimpse of emotion they ever caught him show. But it was gone within seconds, and he returned back to his perpetual grin.
“Dang. I thought the bartending schtick was like an… actual calling for ya. Didn’t know you hated it.”
“Who said I hate it?” they said as they slided two glimmering red glasses across the bar.
“You totally sound like you hate it.”
“If that’s what you wanna believe, dude.” He was quiet for a bit. Then he downed a shot, and coughed slightly.
“Leeroy.” Riley raised their eyebrows.
“Leeroy?”
“That’s my name. Thought you’d like to know, since I am clearly the most interesting thing that’s happened here all night.” That got a slight chuckle out of them. He looked up, seemingly pleased.
“Well, Leeroy… I’m Riley. I work the bar. Any/all. That’s probably all you need to know.”
“That reminds me… how does the nonbinary ninja fuck up their enemies?” She heard the joke before. Still, couldn’t hurt to let the guy clear himself of the bigot allegation.
“...Dunno. How?”
“They slash them.” He yawned and got up, stretching his arms. They were pale and thin and dotted with a sky of small white scars. Riley didn’t mention it.
“Wow. A non-offensive trans joke,” they deadpanned instead.
“The only one I know, Riley.”
And then, Leeroy just kind of became a regular. Each Tuesday around twelve, he’d wander in — hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, a mischievous smile on his face. He’d order the same thing, paid with the same crumpled-up bills, and would sit at the bar for a few minutes. Riley soon grew to — well, not like him per se, but at least… tolerate him. Sure, he was an asshole, but he was an asshole with personality. They could respect personality.
Leeroy was an odd guy. And sure, most of their guests were ‘odd’, but he wasn’t quite like that. Riley always made a point of their bar being a safe place for all sorts of folks to hang around without feeling judged, so if he turned out queer, they’d be perfectly alright with that. But as much as he talked and joked around, he seemed almost too cautious about revealing anything important about himself. What she gathered was this: He lived with a friend. He worked a late night shift at some parcel-delivery-service-bullshit-company. He didn’t take much care of himself. And he had a weird relationship with ‘man-stuff’, as he once put it.
Once, about a few months into his weekly visits, Leeroy was sat at the bar, making his way through another shot of rum. It was one of those quieter nights, with no special event or concert taking place, which he seemed to enjoy. They never really noticed him talking to any other customers. Well, a guy with his attitude probably didn’t attract that many friends.
“So, how d’you figure it out?” he interrupted their stream of thought.
“Figure what out?” He pointed with his glass toward the striped flag behind them.
“Y’know… that gay shit.”
“Hm. Seems like I don’t gotta tell you fuck-all, Leeroy,” they retorted with their usual monotone voice. He scoffed in annoyance.
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you just woke up one day and thought: ‘Oo, let me make my life harder than it already needs to be’. So, what gives?” Riley put down the glass they were cleaning, and leaned over the bar. They were pondering whether to absolutely pummel this dude into oblivion for a while, but something stopped them. Maybe they were just too tired for a proper fight. Or maybe, there was something genuine behind the sarcasm in his voice when he asked them.
“Well… it just felt right. Like, I was kinda looking for myself and what I wanted to be and do in life, and — being a girl or guy just wasn’t part of it. And I realized the binary didn’t really fit me.”
He went quiet for a bit, uncharacteristically so. They took this as licence to continue: “Main part of it was the name and pronouns part… I mean, all that shit can feel like such a formal important thing. But, y’know — it’s all just letters on a page, sounds in the air. It fits me better. And that’s really what mattered.” Leeroy’s eyes widened ever-so slightly. For a small moment, they wondered if he was about to —
“Did you just quote fucking Mallbat, Rye? I knew you were a real nerd, but that is a deep cut even for you.” He grinned, all his big-guy fuckboy personality immediately back in full motion. They rolled their eyes with a subtle smile.
“Fuck you, Lee.”
“Aww, you wish.”
And then, he didn’t show up for the next few weeks. Riley didn’t really pay much mind to this though, since they had a lot more stuff on their plate: the bar was finally catching steam, a bunch of people were coming through each night and they even got some solid events planned for Pride this year. But still, they couldn’t help but wonder sometimes.
Leeroy was a strange case. He was perfectly confident, and yet very clearly had things to hide. He acted like the typical macho-man, but he was a regular to a mostly queer bar. And of course… they didn’t want to pry. Sure, they had a fairly well-developed sensitivity for eggs and the like, themselves being one for a good few years. But to be frank, they didn’t consider it their responsibility to crack Leeroy’s shell for him. Or… them. Well, whoever Leeroy would end up being, Riley hoped it brought them some joy. And preferably make them less of an asshole.
They had been in the middle of making a needlessly complicated drink for some barely adult kid, when they heard those four simple words again:
“Cuba libre. Two shots.” Without turning around, Riley quipped:
“Thought I’d gotten rid of you.”
“You wish.” They finally turned to look at him. And, well… he didn’t seem all too different. Just had some shittily applied makeup. And mascara. And his hair was actually washed. There was a tired, nervous grin on her face.
“...what, no smart-ass comment?” Riley raised their eyebrows, scoffing.
“What, would you like me to give you one?” Leeroy chuckled.
“I dunno. I’ve been thinking, I guess.”
“Well, that’s a first.”
“Now that’s the smart-assery I’m talking about! But yeah, honestly. Maybe it is a bit of a first.” She took a sip, looking aside. Riley waited for a bit. Then, with some hesitation, they asked: “Well, how does that feel?”
“Fuck off. You’re not getting me to talk about my feelings, Rye. Just cuz’ I’m wearing makeup, doesn’t make me a fag.”
“Woah there, bud’. All for reclaiming slurs, but…” Before they could finish, she interrupted, her voice almost meek:
“...and yeah, it feels… good. It feels like me.”
“Well, that’s all that matters, right?” they smiled. She rolled her eyes again:
“Oh wow, look at us. Being all emotionally-open and shit.” Riley shrugged as their guest finished her drink.
“So, what do you go by, Leeroy?” She was perfectly still for a moment, her eyes widened in that strange far-off way. And then —
“Just Lee’s fine. And I was thinking… she/they?”
“Well; nice to make your acquaintance, Lee. And welcome to the club.”
“...if you think me transitioning will make me less of an asshole, you’re dead wrong.”
“Sure thing, sister.”