Russ is leaning against a tree, lighting a cigarette. He's about to scroll Twitter as he smokes, just to see how the shitstorm is developing, when Larry whistles to get his attention. Jamie looks up too, which is pretty cute.
“Hey, Russ. Come along with me for a second.” Larry motions for Russ to follow him and steps deeper into the brush. He looks serious, so Russ can expect to have some kind of heavy conversation. He's not sure what about, though. Usually Larry shrugs off drama surrounding him, so Russ doesn't know if he's stressed out over this.
When the Cains are far enough away from the rest of the pack, Larry crosses his arms and stands with his feet planted. He's wearing white slip-on Vans that somehow never get dirty, and he looks deep in thought. “We need to talk about… that thing I said.”
“Where you called us fags in a van?” Russ asks, just to make sure. He still has mixed feelings on what Larry said. He thinks it's kind of funny, but he's not into the chaos that followed it.
“Yeah, that. I just wanna have a one-on-one conversation with you. Brother to brother, you know?”
“What's going on, man? Ain't never seen you so stressed before.”
Larry sucks his teeth. “I really am nowhere near straight. I’m only platonically attracted to people, okay?”
Russ is half-surprised to hear that. It checks out, but he's never heard Larry speak about his sexuality so frankly. “You coming out as ace, or aromantic, or something?”
“I’m coming out as Larry,” he says, with a bit of an attitude. “I don’t want no labels. I don't care if they're accurate, I don't wanna fit myself into none of those boxes.”
Russ puts his hands up defensively. “My bad. I still don't get what exactly you mad at, though. Is it the way some people keep saying you a queerbaiter?”
Larry shrugs. “More or less. I mean, I think it's blatantly obvious that I'm some kind of queer. Forget what I said about living with three of them, I dress like and talk like this. I even go by Larry instead of Lawrence! You know, to make people think of the nigga from SpongeBob?” Larry tugs at his bright orange shirt collar and widens his eyes in mock disbelief, like he's saying, Isn't it fucking obvious?
Unfortunately for him, it isn't, not to Russ. He knows he's talking to the pack leader, and that this is supposed to be a serious conversation, but there's no way to sugarcoat what he's thinking. “Bro, you look like you toured each and every one of California’s beaches one time and decided to make that your whole personality. All you missing is the surfboard.”
Larry nods vigorously. “Yeah, you get me!”
Russ lets out a puff of smoke and grimaces. “No I don't, dummy. What the hell are you trying to say?”
“I'm saying that I know I look like I'm faking it, because I am! Don't get me wrong, I love Hawaiian shirts ten times more than the next guy, but combine them with my skateboard, and the way I talk — I feel like a caricature of what a stereotypical surfer bro would act like, Russ! I'm fucking with gender and shit on a level these people can't even begin to imagine, dude. Why would anyone this cartoonish be straight?”
Russ loops right back around to being shocked again. “Wait, so you been in drag this entire time?”
Larry actually breaks down laughing at that label. “Okay, I’ll let that one slide ‘cause it actually never occurred to me to put it that way! Yeah, I'm a huge drag king. Why are you the only one who gets that, though?”
“Because I’m your brother?” That's a genuine head-scratcher. It feels like Larry has never been this truthful with him before, but even now he has no idea what the guy is going to say next. They do understand each other in a way that others don't, but their relationship is murky. It always has been. “But like, if it ain't so obvious and you want people to notice, you might have to come out and say it. You playing 5D chess with thousands of people who don't even know you outside our videos. I know I don't usually expect cis guys— Are you cis?” Can't be too sure.
Larry snorts. “I’m totally cis, dude. I'm just better at being a cis guy than most other people.”
“Aight. Yeah, well, I think most people don't imagine cis people fucking with their own gender like that. Like, maybe some people saw it, but until now niggas said you be acting masculine too hard to cover up that you gay or something. ‘Specially with the way you lean into the Gigachad jokes some fans be making.”
“So you want me to come out and have people stuff me into a different kind of box?”
“It's a more accurate box, at least.”
“I don't like when people know what I'm thinking,” Larry says, a little coldly. He's annoyed. This is a tripwire that Russ wasn't aware he could cross. “The guesses that I'm a gay dude are annoying now, but at least they're less accurate. Besides, isn't it kinda hypocritical for you to say that when you haven't even come out as demisexual?”
Russ flinches and drops his cigarette. He stamps the thing out before something catches fire. “How the fuck did you know—”
“I know everything you're thinking, dude. You like an open book to me,” Larry says plainly. He's kind of back to his usual calm demeanor again, maybe pleased that the conversation isn't about the mysterious cogs in his head anymore.
Russ tries not to imagine Larry literally reading his mind. That would be a nightmare. “Okay, but you don't just say shit like that outta nowhere. You outta pocket too often.”
Larry's gaze softens, and he uncrosses his arms. “You're right. I am. Sorry about that, bro.”
That apology must be truthful if he didn't take the chance to call Russ his little brother. “It's fine. Just don't go around telling nobody. So, yeah, coming out ain't an option then. But maybe changing the humor around a little is? The fact of the matter is, I don't think you in a position to be saying rough shit like that. General jokes about gay niggas is fine, but your delivery was kinda… judgmental. Ivan and Ib noticed that too. You remember the nervous looks they gave you when you said it, right?”
“I thought our audience knew how to take a joke.”
“Not every joke worth taking.”
Larry raises an eyebrow at that. “Are you saying I'm not funny?”
“I'm saying you got two senses of humor. The drag-ass surfer bro vibe, and the… I don't know, whatever this pseudo-homophobic shit is. You should draw a sharper line between ‘em, ‘cause the internet’s too internet-y to get the latter.” Russ wonders if his tone is too commanding and adds, “At least, that's what I think you should do. You don't gotta, though.”
Larry smiles and seems to loosen up some. It's relieving seeing him calm down, if not baffling — Russ inched a little too close to challenging his authority. “You know what? I think I can do that. Maybe we can make an apology video, too.”
“Who are you, Jeffree Star? Don't even think about an apology video. Let Ib type up an apology for you and Tweet that.”
Larry pouts, “Why's Ib gotta do it? It's my problem.”
“Nigga, have you seen the way you text?” Russ takes out his phone and pulls up one of Larry's more serious Tweets. It's in all caps and filled with at least twelve fire and triumph emojis. “I've never seen you type anything more serious than this outside of like, resumés. Ib’s just better at being cordial online, okay?”
“Fine, fine. I'm providing input, though.”
“Long as you ain't the one using the keyboard,” Russ shrugs. “You owe some other people an apology too.”
Larry gives him an incredulous look. “Pfft. Who?”
It's Russ’s turn to raise his brow. He just stares, ‘cause if Larry's so good at mind reading he already knows what he has to do. Really, the man hates apologizing as much as Russ does.
“My pack?”
“Duh. All of us got hatemail thanks to your shit. Not cool, man.”
“Yeah, I guess it ain't. Sorry—”
“Save it for when we get back to Lucille.” Russ starts walking back to the van, but pauses. “You know what I just realized, Larry?”
“What is it?”
“No offense, but you are really bad at dealing with people sometimes. Like, so am I, but for you it's wack ‘cause you so charismatic most of the time. What gives?”
Larry puts his hands on his hips and stares at the ground. Russ stares at him in turn, because he's never seen him react to something like this. Maybe this is what happens when Larry is the one who gets read for filth. “Okay, Russ. Lemme let you in on a little secret.” He hooks an arm around his brother's shoulder and whispers, “Even I ain't perfect. Turns out, I got issues too.” Before Russ can respond, Larry turns into a wolf and darts off.
“That ain't a secret, you fucking idiot,” Russ calls out after him. “Everyone has issues!” He doesn't bother chasing Larry. As he trudges back to Lucille, he figures maybe he should just take what he's been given. After all, when he thinks about it he can't remember the last time Larry so clearly admitted he has any flaws at all. Maybe the guy struggles to talk about that kind of thing. Russ kinda hopes they'll have another honest-ish conversation like this so he can learn what the problem really is.