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I Would Die 4 U

A friend very kindly let me know that Accardi Florentino is based off of Prince, and ever since learning that information this Ryccardi one shot has been plaguing me like a vision from an angry god. So here it is! It's loosely based off of the first three lines of the Prince song I used as the title ;)

It’s another late night. We sit in Accardi’s kitchen, at the table. The light over his sink has begun to go out, fluttering like an irritated eye; Flashing half of Accardi’s face into stark relief, then into dim shadow. Dark and pale and dark and pale. The other half is lit in soft gold, the light from the living room keeping him in its perpetually warm glow. Between each half is Accardi’s lopsided smile. He’s studying me as I study him.

It feels almost as if his eyes glow in the dark,

but that’s just absurd.

It could just as easily be a trick of the light.

Outside, the night is purple. The sky is lit and alive with it. Just beyond the window, the crickets sing for Him, the sweetgrass sways for Him; Other creatures walk the forest on forked hooves and an owl cries out. Do these sensations, any of them exist? Or is it the wind again? I’ve been in Rosso long enough that I can’t be certain.

Either way, a cup of warm chamomile tea sits between my hands. Accardi took care to add honey this time. It still drips back into itself in the bottle between us.

I try for a smile as Accardi continues looking over my face, “Are you okay?”

Accardi’s brow only furrows as he props his face into a tightly-gloved hand, still staring. He looks as if he might be sick.

My head lulls, eyelids twitching against sleep. Positioning my hands is like wading through a soft fuzz, so that lifting the cup of chamomile to my lips and drawing some of it into my mouth becomes a heavy task. Accardi was right about the calming effects. I think appreciatively. I haven’t been sleeping well since I came to Rosso.

My hearing is getting downy at the edges, like radio static. But Accardi’s voice still rings clearly in my ear when he finally asks, “How did you know that you were…” He gestures vaguely, “neither man nor woman?”

It’s a mellow, floating feeling, ‘neither man nor woman.’ It brings back memories of fair summers and a cold, fresh spring creek. Hidden places only I knew.

“I don’t know… probably because I was irritated all the time.” I answer with a grimace.

“You? Irritated?” Accardi teases, “And there are bees in the beehive.”

“Oh, whatever.” I glare back at him, “This was different. This was… systemic.”

Accardi cocks his head, waiting for a response with more meat to its bones. His eyes, framed in plum-colored coils, bore gently into mine. With an electric knot in my stomach, I pick up my chamomile tea and sip again.

It’s not fair he gets to be that pretty. I grumble internally.

Pulling tea through my teeth and down my throat, I start. “Well…” My right hand fidgets with the brim of my hat, adjusting it as I begin to talk, “When I was a kid… it felt like I was always hitting a wall… No matter what I did or which direction I went, I ran into some invisible barrier that pissed everyone off when I… stumbled into it!” With a sigh, the brim comes down over my eyes. The dark is a small comfort. I tilt my face further back into it, ‘Boys can’t like purple,’ ‘Boys can’t wear their watch on their right wrist or cross their legs when they sit.’ ‘Boys can’t cry.’ All that shit.” I hiss into heavily frayed inner lining.

The hat gets pulled from my head and discarded onto the table.

Accardi watches its arc through a lazy face. Hums and glances at the watch on my left wrist.

I pull my sleeve down to cover its face.

Pause.

Frown,

Had I really never thought of this-?

No,

it’s just what’s practical.

I shake my head, returning Accardi’s look before I start again.

Start where?

‘Boys can’t, boys can’t, boys can’t’

I take a deep breath. Hold it. Continue, “We weren’t allowed to do all of that because, what? It was ‘girly?’ … That’s so stupid. I remember thinking, even as a little kid that knew nothing, that that was so stupid. What if I wanted to be girly? Or be into girls’ things? I had a lot of friends who were girls, and I thought they were cool. They were certainly nicer to me.” I can feel my eyes roll, all the way into the back of my skull, “Boys were fucking assholes. I didn’t want to interact with most of them. But I wasn’t even supposed to be friends with girls, because being friends with girls was ‘embarrassing.’”

Even now, with how far I’ve come, I can still feel that little kernel of shame at the thought: of closeness with femininity. At friendship with women. “Stupid.” I curse under my breath.

There had been ‘drama’ when I had been friends with girls, of course. But, there has also been drama when I was friends with boys. It was just a different type, handled differently. Treated differently.

“But it wasn’t even… I don’t know, hatred? That made me realize I wasn’t a man or woman. It was…” It was a field full of people, no tree nor rocky outcrop in sight. The only mountains were miles off, hardly bigger than the palm of one’s hand. But there were no hands, because the people were all the same height and size, swaying in the wind, all golden with the fall. Root, stalk, leaf; and ‘he’ or ‘she’ did not matter.

“I had a dream.” Smiling, I begin to abridge, “And in my dream, gender didn’t exist. ‘Man,’ ‘woman’ -- it didn’t matter any longer. We were all treated equally.” I cross my arms and pillow my head on my right bicep, turning my teacup on the saucer Accardi served it with. “It filled me with a sense of great euphoria.”

Accardi’s hands fall to the table between us. One kneading the bones of the other. His eyes first appear to me lightless, until he looks back up at me and the glow from the living room catches them again. He smiles, bidding I continue.

After a moment, I do.

“I started thinking of a world where they didn’t exist. ‘Man.’ ‘Woman.’ It didn’t matter what you were born as, you could pursue whatever you liked, like whatever and whoever you wanted to, and dress and present yourself however made you happy. It made me happy.” I can feel my smile grow heavy, in a way that drills into my face, making my whole body feel light in comparison. “I knew I wanted that for myself, to not have to deal with the stupid shit people expected of me as a boy. I wanted to live outside of that.”

A dimple appears at the corner of Accardi’s mouth. His eyes look tired, but something seems to have changed. In his face, perhaps? His smile?

He studies me, then the table, then his own hands.

Around us, I can hear his house creak and settle in the wind.

Accardi props his chin into his palm, “Sometimes… I feel like it would be fun to be a woman.” He confesses, eyes dropping to the table.

I sit straighter. “Do you want to be a woman?” I ask.

Accardi startles. He begins to massage his face with his supporting hand, looking sideways through a window. “I- Well- I don’t know if I would say that-” He pauses to think, hooking his lips closed with an anxious finger. “It’s more like-- How would I explain it…”

He goes quiet,

stuck in thought.

“Does it happen often?” I try.

“Nono…” Accardi murmurs. He rests his hands on the table, clasping the first four and steepling the thumbs.

Outside, beetles shake their hardshell wings.

If I listen close, I can hear the methodic tick-tick-tick

of Accardi’s grandfather clock.

“It’s not like… it constantly hounds me, or anything. It only happens occasionally, and I keep it to myself.” Accardi explains.

“You haven’t told anybody?” I ask.

Accardi shakes his head. His eyes look sunken.

“Not even Juliek?” I make sure this question comes more gently.

“Not even Juliek.”

“Why? I hardly think he’d judge you for it.”

Accardi’s face stretches around a bittersweet smile. “He wouldn’t.” He agrees, “I know he wouldn’t. In fact, he’d probably be ecstatic. Threaten to doll me up whenever the mood hits me.”

My smile follows Accardi’s, “Then why haven’t you told him?”

Accardi bounces his head minutely side-to-side, “I don’t know…” He considers, “Because I’m not sure if this feeling’s even real…? And, I mean,” He gestures to the window, “You know someone for almost two decades, such a sudden shift- it’s…” His hands mimic a slow combustion, one he sets onto the table, the backs of his hands laying bare the palms. He stares down the both of them. “And all the people I know here in Rosso… all my clients… And the things I’ve accomplished…” His eyes close, “...it’s not as big of a deal here as in other regions, but still… After thirty years, it would be…”

I wait for Accardi to continue. He massages his bottom lip between two fingers, thinking.

In the end, he only shakes his head.

I have a fresh bud between my hands, one that must be sheltered from the wind and early spring snows. “Have you ever acted on it?” I coax.

Propping his chin again and holding his other arm close to his chest, Accardi confesses, “A few times. Always in the privacy of my own room. I’ve never done it around anyone else…” His head cocks, “--Well, I guess there was that time Juliek and I broke into his mother’s closet as teens.” He adds in a whisper, “Tried on her dresses.”

“Was it fun?” I grin.

“It was a blast.” Accardi returns my smile alongside a laugh. “I think that one afternoon had one of the strongest influences on my personal sense of style.” He smoothes a proud hand down his chest, taking care to inspect his neck scarf and bounce its ruffles, “She’s a well-to-do woman. Always dressed to the nines and she was in love with cravats at the time.”

I snort. “Is that what those things are called?”

“This?” Accardi holds the scarf towards me, “Yes, it’s called a cravat. And don’t let yourself forget that! I’ll probably be wearing these until I die.”

He puffs out his chest as he makes his declaration, cravat getting flicked outwards by two showboating hands. I give myself a moment to admire the way it lays at his throat, spilling over the lapels of his coat.

“They suit you.” I tell Accardi.

“I’m aware.” He returns with a self-aware smirk, “Thank you.”

I scoff, bringing my cup to my lips in order to take another sip of tea. After a moment, Accardi mirrors me, imbibing his own tea. As he raises the glass to his lips, I notice how his hands tremor against the porcelain.

When I look up to his face, flashing, still, with the kitchen light, his eyes dart to mine. He looks frightened, yes, but he mostly looks excited.

“Do you feel that way right now?” I ask, “Like you want to be a woman?”

Tea gets sloshed over the side of Accardi’s teacup as he sets it back down. Clattering sideways against its saucer, it takes him a moment to right the cup, holding it in place for a few silent moments before clearing his throat. “... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Excitement floods me, “Do you want to do anything?”

Accardi’s teeth clench, a smile flashing alongside a suspicious look, “What do you mean..?” His eyebrows are lowered too far to be inviting.

My cheeks burn, “Didn’t you say you act on it occasionally? Do you have a dress or something that you wear?”

“I-uhh…” Accardi seems to become aware of his hand on his teacup, dripping tea down the sides of it. Abashed, his face darts sideways, to the napkins at the head of the table. His answer is meandering as he grabs a couple and begins mopping up his spill. “I… There is a dress, yes… It was, um… on sale down at the uh, store… and I just couldn’t-- Well, it was one of the most gorgeous purples I’d ever seen, okay… and you know how I am for anything purple… I couldn’t let it rot on that mannequin… So I smuggled it home…” His eyes float upwards, towards his bedroom, “Now, I just-” He shrugs, standing and walking off, “Have it in my closet. I wear it sometimes when I get in a mood like this.”

I watch as he rolls out his trashcan from one of the cabinets and drops the sodden napkins inside, lingering there after the door shuts to lean against the sinkside counter.

“Do you want to go wear it now?” I prompt. I would love to see Accardi in a pretty dress.

“I-” His voice matches his stuttering sink light, “would I-- I woul-- no, we- I- It’s-withyou-itsisjust--” With a sharp huff, Accardi holds both arms in front of himself, face locked in a last-nerve grimace. “One second.”

With a quick, decisive twist, he tightens the shorting bulb, until it hums a continuous, fluorescent white.

His next breath comes deep and leaves

just as slow, his wound-up frame

deflating with the gesture.

“I’m still not ready to share that much with anyone. Even you, Ryker.” Accardi states, beginning to cross back over to the table, “I would just make a fool of myself right now.” Gets added with a wink.

‘Not ready’ indicates that he someday believes he will be.

A smile stretches my face. “Then, do you want me to refer to you like a woman?” I ask, “Call you ‘she,’ ‘her,’ ‘beautiful’ …Stuff like that?”

Accardi drapes himself over the back of his chair, propping his chin against a palm and leaning towards me, “Ryker, my dear, you can always refer to me as beautiful.”

With a tingling heat crowding my face, I cover it with my teacup, “But do you want to be referred to as a woman right now?” I grumble, before taking a flustered sip.

Accardi’s lips scrunch, like he wants to smile but is suppressing it. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” He admits, “My heart might explode.”

“Accardi, look at me.” He does, “I’m the last person that could judge you for something like this.”

“Nono, I know. You wouldn’t judge or be harsh to me. But.” He clasps his own face, eyes closed and curled into a soft-doting cradle, “I think my heart would be so happy it would burst.”

“Is that not a good thing?” I ask, “To ask me for something that would make you happy?”

Accardi’s eyes and mouth crack open. His fingers bend at off angles. “I think it’s best for everyone if I regulate my own happiness.”

A hint of unease pinches at my back,

“... Why so?” I question.

Accardi covers the bridge of his nose with a bashful hand. Stays silent for a moment as he collects himself. “I get carried away easily.” He explains, “When I get too excited, I make the stupidest decisions imaginable.”

I can’t help but pry. “Such as?” I ask with a grin.

“Hmmmmm…” Accardi considers, glancing sideways through his window, “Traipsing through the woods at midnight, whistling all the way?”

With an over-exaggerated confidence, he sits, leaning into his hand once more.

“What's wrong with whistling at midnight??”

Accardi’s face flattens. “Never whistle once the sun goes down in Rosso.”

I nod slowly. Then, when Accardi widens his eyes pointedly, nod my head a bit faster.

Silence stretches as Accardi frowns. His side of the conversation turns inward. I watch as his brows furrow, fighting the urge to extend a hand and smooth them.

My own mind wanders, too. To the possibility of Accardi in a purple dress. Maybe one with frills, or, with Accardi’s class, one with lace. I imagine what he’d do with his face to match the gown. I’m sure when he eventually tells Juliek, Juliek will help him look absolutely stunning.

Help her look absolutely stunning.

The thought hooks a smile into my face, a sickly sweet familiarity.

“Do you ever hope to tell people? To live authentically to this part of yourself?” I ask.

The question frightens Accardi.

His eyes jump to mine, “Most likely no.” He answers, “As I’ve said, it happens only occasionally. It’s not worth all the hassle to tell people.”

“Even your friends?”

Accardi hesitates,

“... My friends are good people.”

He nods, “It’s likely I’ll tell them eventually. They wouldn’t judge.”

My smile is lopsided, but strong.

“Good, I’m glad.” I tell him.

Accardi’s eyes have gone wistful. “Me too.”

He goes and stays quiet, bringing his teacup to his lips and taking a sip. Is there even any tea left inside? I wonder.

It’s difficult to piece Accardi’s face as he drinks. Is it sadness? It would make sense if it were. But, is it instead happiness? At having accepting friends? I couldn’t altogether rule out that possibility. Is he in pain? Does he need comfort? Just in case, I’d like to try.

“Hey,” I say gently.

Accardi’s eyes rise to mine. He finishes his drink and lowers the cup to listen.

“If you ever want to explore this feeling of yours and you need someone who won’t judge, I’m more than willing to figure this out with you. All you have to do is ask, okay?” I promise.

That difficult expression on Accardi’s face melts into a smile. His eyes gain the tiniest hint of mist before he promises in turn, “I will.”

My face softens to match his. I hide it in my teacup. My heart doesn’t even feel like it could dip low enough again to get trapped back inside of my chest. It’s spirited itself forever away to the pearlescent clouds.

When Accardi bends across the table to place a kiss at my temple, it stops all together.

“Thank you, Ryker.” Accardi’s lips are soft. So, so soft.

“I-it’s no problem.” I stammer, “Of course.”

“Why don’t we get you settled for bed? You always have such long days…” Accardi’s hand is soft, too, coaxing along the side of my face.

I can feel my consciousness drift again as a burn spreads across my face. “Yes, please…” I murmur, “I probably should have been in bed three hours ago…”

“I enjoyed your company.” Accardi murmurs back, “It makes this house feel full again.”

I almost feel like crying. From happiness more than sadness, but I can’t think of words sharp enough to express this feeling to Accardi. So I don't even try. It’s easier to listen to how everything feels right as Accardi helps me stand. As I lean into him, trusting him to guide me from the kitchen and into my bed.

"I'm not a woman

I'm not a man

I am something that you'll never understand"

Thank you for reading! ✩₊˚.⋆