Misc.

cabaret/good omens

It was a dreary Friday afternoon and everyone was eager to get off work soon and go home for the weekend to be with their loved ones. Those who didn't work were at home, sitting, watching, waiting for the rain to let up.

Cliff sat in the big armchair near the window in the apartment him and Sally shared. He watched the rain drops race down the glass, and he thought. He'd been thinking a lot lately. Lapses of silence that prompted Sally to ask, "is everything alright darling?" and Cliff absentmindedly nodding to reassure her it was. 

It was not. 

The idea that he might be a bit queer was always up in the air but he never really paid any mind to it. Men were to be with women and that was the way it was. Sure, people could say it was 2000-this that whatever but rules were rules. At least, that was what Cliff was raised to believe.

He wasn't queer.

He couldn't be.

Cliff was already prone to worrying as it was, but after a peculiar night out that worry became tenfold. 

He reminded himself harshly, "you're /not/ queer."

It wasn't that he had a problem with it, he prided his friends on how they had the confidence to flaunt that side of them without shame.

Cliff just...couldn't. It was different for him.

Not that he would need to flaunt it in the first place anyways, because he /wasn't/ /gay/, and he /wasn't/ questioning that. 

---

Sally came home that night, kissing him hello, grabbing leftovers from the fridge for dinner.

"We should go out again tonight. Em said they had something planned at the Klub."

"Mhm," Cliff vocalized from the couch, staring out the window once more.

Sally walked over, standing a few feet away, holding a plate.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Sally," Cliff said, looking over at her. "You don't think people like Em are weird, do you?"

"Well of course not darling, we're best friends. Why would you ask something like that?" she laughed a little, confused. 

"I mean, you don't think they're weird because of the way they dress or um, identify, I guess?"

"No, I don't. I've told you before Cliff, I think people are people, and that's all that matters. Why do you ask?"

"Oh no reason. What's for dinner?"

Coming to Berlin two years ago had been a strange event for Cliff to process. He'd come there as a last resort, desperate for some kind of stimulation, motivation to write.../something/. And here he was, still in the same apartment two years later, abruptly exposed to a multitude of things that back home would have called nothing less than disgusting. 

He'd been taught his entire life to go to church, get good grades, a good job, and find a nice girl to grow up and settle down with. 

When he felt a funny feeling for boys instead of girls, he was taught to push it down. Let it go, it's sinful and unholy and not welcome in this house.

He remembered how his mother would look at the group of kids smoking underneath the tree dressed in worn out, dark, alt clothes, how she would clench her teeth and say "they need God". 

He remembered being afraid of ending up like that and receiving the same treatment if he dare fall into temptation.

He remembered feeling choked by the world around him, feeling bad about any man he thought was remotely good-looking, feeling so suffocated that the only other option was to come out and just tell people.