Chapter Text
The sun rises to break the night—a symphony of purple, beautiful and ethereal. Watching it feels like a gift Stede doesn’t deserve.
It’s not for him, just like the party isn’t for him either. It’s for Lucius, who just so happens to share a birthday with Stede. And since Stede doesn’t celebrate his birthday anymore, he doesn’t have an excuse not to join Lucius’ party.
If anything, Lucius insisted more adamantly once he found out. Said that he shouldn’t sit alone at home on his birthday, that they’d raise a toast for him too—okay, fine, no presents—and that he’s not afraid of Stede stealing his thunder anyway. Stede doesn’t plan to. To him, it’s any old day.
And yeah, Mary and the kids are visiting Mary’s parents this week—by the time she remembered his birthday and that he had a deadline for a big project, the plans were already made, and Stede told her not to worry—so he would be alone, but he doesn’t mind that very much. It’s a relief to sit undisturbed with his books. The house is silent.
It sits like a tight feeling in his chest, knowing he has to be out all evening and night, which is stupid, because he knows these people, and they’re nice, and it’s at a bar he knows, and it’s going to be fine. There’s no need to worry.
He tries to scold the feeling away, breathe it out, shower it off, fuss with his hair about it, yet it persists for no fucking reason. At least he’s clean now, and his hair is set more nicely than it has been in weeks, so he may as well take the next step and pick out an outfit.
That calms him a bit, in fact, though at some point about thirty minutes pass without him noticing, sitting on the floor and staring at the two shirts laid out in front of him. But he started early, so when Lucius texts him—the vibration in the pocket of his jeans shaking him out of his stupor—he can indeed confirm that he is ready and on his way. A quick eeny, meeny, miny, moe determines that he wears the aquamarine button-down. It has a satin-y look and a hexagonal pattern in a slightly darker tone, and it brings out the golden hue in his straw-blond hair, if he does say so himself.
The bar is close enough that he can walk there, but it’s the beginning of January, so he wraps himself up in his wool overcoat and a big scarf. It covers the lower half of his face in a way that makes his glasses fog as he shuts the front door behind him. He doesn’t mind much, since he just needs to see where he puts down his feet.
Is it normal to be so friendly with your assistant? Sometimes it feels a little wrong, the way Lucius invites him to all these social events, even though Stede is his boss, technically. It often feels the other way around with the way Lucius makes sure Stede actually gets stuff done when there’s stuff to be done, which is… not as often as it should be, considering his rather high position in the firm, but to be expected since he only has the job because his father is the CEO. Most days, they have long lunches and plenty of coffee breaks, and Stede supposes that’s why he has sort of become friends with Lucius.
Stede sometimes catches Lucius sending him these looks that are equally knowing and curious, like he is halfway through trying to suss Stede out, but Stede can’t imagine what he is still looking for. There isn’t much to suss out—family man, family business, familiar with a lot of literature and not much else. When he is subjected to small talk during the few business meetings he has to make an appearance for, he says he sails in his spare time. He hasn’t touched a boat or been within five kilometers of the harbor in years, but it sounds nice.
Heading down the sidewalk, one foot in front of the other, Stede is glad he wore a hat. The tiniest snowflakes hit his cheeks as he ducks his head against the brisk wind. They sting like small needles, numbing the skin. The cold always makes him sniffle.
Mercifully, he soon reaches Spanish Jackie’z. A blast of warm air and laughter and music hits him before he even steps over the threshold, and Lucius’ hand is on his shoulder as soon as he does.
“Good to see you, boss!” Lucius turns to one of the long tables while Stede takes off his glasses to wipe them. “Everyone, Stede is here!”
A chorus of voices greet him with mostly polite enthusiasm. Lucius stays with him as he unwraps himself from his outerwear and hangs it on the coat rack by the door.
“Happy birthday” Stede hands Lucius a small, square box he pulls from his pocket.
“And to you, too,” Lucius says, but his eyes are on the box as he takes it. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it looks like you’re proposing.”
“Maybe I should, after you saved my ass this week.” Whenever there actually is quite a bit of work to do, a project to finish, Stede tends to scramble everything at the last minute, and probably would’ve dropped it all if not for Lucius’ talent for structuring and time management.
“Still, this box is—holy shit, Stede—” Lucius’ eyes widen as he takes in the watch, gold with a slim band and a burgundy dial.
“I noticed you don’t have one,” Stede says, suddenly doubting whether this was the right move—Lucius just keeps staring at the thing, and it occurs to Stede that it may be a bit much.
Slowly, Lucius looks up, expression still painted with disbelief. “You know, if this was a proposal, I’d probably have to say yes. Or at least suck your dick about it. This must have cost a fortune.”
Stede huffs a nervous laugh and dodges the last comment. “Don’t you have enough boyfriends as it is?”
“Right, you haven’t even met Fang yet, he’s bringing some friends too—help me with this, will you?” Lucius carefully takes the watch out of the box and holds it as Stede helps him attach it around his wrist.
Lucius keeps running his fingers over the metal. “Oh god, this is almost like, too expensive for me to wear outside. Like, it’s gorgeous, but what if someone sees it and mugs me?”
“There’s a leather band you can switch to if you like.” Stede lifts the hollow insert in the box to reveal it.
“Oh, brilliant. We shall have a summer wedding.”
“I don’t think HR would like that. Not to mention my wife.”
Lucius rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. “Fine, but now I feel horrible that I didn’t get you anything.”
“I told you not to.”
“A drink it is, then!”
Lucius drags Stede along to the bar, where he insists on paying the surly bartender for Stede’s drink. After Lucius is called back to the table, Stede lingers to buy him a drink in turn, carrying both drinks back to one of the empty seats by the end.
As he slides the drink over, Lucius sighs dramatically but accepts it and takes a sip. Lucius’ boyfriend, Pete, inspects the watch and compliments the craftsmanship as if he were an expert himself (he is not).
Stede knows Pete works at the fish market, which is across the street from the butcher (which is how they know Roach), which is on the opposite corner of the small local theater (where the Swede performs), which has costumes done by a specialty tailor shop a few streets away (Frenchie and Wee John), and they all use Olu’s delivery service, which also brings fish to the market from the harbor, where Buttons lives and presumably works.
Stede isn’t quite sure how they got to know Jim or what exactly Jim does, or—now that he thinks about it—how Olu makes that much money by driving a van around. He has a suspicion that it all ties together and also has something to do with Jim and Olu’s business with Spanish Jackie’z—which seems to be about more than just logistics, or at least logistics of a larger scale than what concerns the booze covering the lit shelves behind the bar.
Stede decides he doesn’t need to know.
Everyone wishes him a happy birthday, which makes his ears and neck go hot and probably red. He is grateful when he is left to get started on his drink while the others continue their conversations.
Deep breath.
Sip.
It’s fine.
They’re all nice and friendly, even if they regarded him with some apprehension in the beginning, seeing as he is Lucius’ boss. They’ve warmed up to him now, and Stede likes to think they’re friends, even if he sometimes feels like he’s buying their friendship—paying Lucius’ salary, ordering his custom suits from Frenchie and Wee John, having Roach cater meetings, donating to the theater—but it’s all he knows, and what he can do for now.
The bell by the door rings, and in the periphery of his vision, Stede sees four people step inside, all clad in black (80% of it leather, approximately). It’s not unusual for Spanish Jackie’z on a Saturday night and he doesn’t pay much mind to it.
Not until Lucius jumps up again and bounds over to one of the men, kissing his cheek above the full, white beard. That has to be the new boyfriend, and those have to be the friends Lucius mentioned.
With a pang of horror, Stede notices that two of the four free seats are at his end of the table. He really hadn’t counted on meeting new people tonight, and now he is first in line to talk to whichever two choose to sit here.
He only has time for one big gulp of his drink and two or three steeling breaths before the space is invaded and he has to lift his gaze from the worn lines of the wooden table and—
A man can’t be that beautiful. Can he?
Well, apparently, and he’s sitting right across from Stede. Holding out his hand. Which Stede should probably shake.
Ed is his name, he says, and Stede gives him his own with the usual repeat of not Steve, Stede, and Ed chuckles, and it’s like something jostles in Stede’s chest at the sound.
Handsome, yes, he can see and acknowledge when a man is handsome, good-looking in many different ways, and it always catches his eye, because he appreciates fine-looking things in general. Beautiful things, too. But this kind of radiating beauty in front of him, taking his breath away, is unlike anything he’s seen before.
Or maybe he’s drunker than he thought, but as he’s only half a Tom Collins in, he can’t really blame anything on alcohol.
Perhaps it’s the fact that Ed is talking to him with an earnest smile and genuine interest that is blinding Stede—sure, that must be it, the man is charming and charismatic in the way Stede wishes he could be himself, and to such a degree that it’s overwhelming him a little.
Oh. He should listen. Focus on what Ed is saying rather than the way his lips move and how the light dances in his warm, brown eyes.
The other chair isn’t filled. Stede vaguely registers that Fang decides to wedge a chair in on Lucius’ other side instead of taking up the one next to Ed, and the other two newcomers take their places at the far end of the table. It’s just Ed here, with Stede.
It’s easy. Stede tunes in, and Ed is on the exact same wavelength.
“What’re you having?” Ed eyes Stede’s drink, which has quickly been drained after Ed sat down and Stede’s mouth went completely dry for some reason.
“I was having a Tom Collins, but it seems to have disappeared on me,” Stede says, tipping the glass as if to prove its emptiness.
“Care for another?”
The bartender’s surliness evaporates as soon as Ed leans on the bar, and it’s all yes, right way, sir instead of the rather rude service Stede usually gets. Stede looks questioningly at Ed, who shrugs while the bartender hurries with the drinks.
“Knows I can kick his ass,” Ed just says.
“Have you ever?”
“Nope, not yet. His predecessor, though. Jackie agreed I was in the right—we go way back.”
Stede has only met Spanish Jackie—a formidable woman who owns the bar and runs a tight ship—on two occasions. Everyone knows not to piss her off. Not if you like to live, anyway. Stede did manage to piss her off a bit on the second occasion, and might have been banned if not for Jim interfering. He almost wants to try and piss her off again just to see if Ed would interfere on his behalf, too.
Stede doesn’t think he’s ever before met someone who has beaten another person up for real—unless he counts the boys at his boarding school who used to beat him up—and it’s a little scary and very intriguing. Ed’s whole appearance is perhaps supposed to intimidate too. He is top to toe in leather with buckles and heavy boots, long salt-and-pepper hair, and a big, full beard to match.
Stede does not find himself intimidated, because Ed’s gaze is warm, magnetic, and he can’t remember the last time he was able to keep eye contact for so long, like it’s the most natural thing.
That’s what scares him, though. That this has never happened before. That he’s reacting like this, like something dormant is waking from the deepest pit of his subconscious and perking up at the low rumble of Ed’s voice. That he doesn’t know what it is, that it’s chanting beautiful, beautiful, beautiful at this picture of rough masculinity, covered in an amount of tattoos that would have Stede’s mother drag him away as a child if they passed him on the street.
They clink glasses and Stede takes a sip, wrapping his lips around the straw and making a contented little hum. “They make them well here.”
He looks up. Ed’s eyes are darker than before. His easy smile has vanished—did Stede do something wrong, now? Or does Ed not like the drink?
Ed blinks, clears his throat, says, “Right, yeah, pretty good,” and takes another sip while looking at the bottles behind the bar with interest.
Stede is about to ask how often Ed comes here, since he hasn’t seen him the few times he has been with Lucius, when said Lucius bounds up to them and interrupts.
“That drink is far too colorless for a birthday boy!” he says brightly, tapping a finger against the condensation on Stede’s glass. “We’re doing some nasty pink shots, come on.”
Stede sighs. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“It’s your birthday? Today?” Ed leans in to ask, and Stede feels his cheeks heat up.
“Yep, we’re birthday twins!” Lucius answers for him, leaning over the bar to his other side to catch the bartender’s attention.
“You didn’t say,” Ed says. “Happy birthday, mate.”
“Thanks, but don’t ask me what age, please.”
“Ah, you can’t be much older than me. Gimme a hint.”
“Haven’t hit the big five-O yet. Got a couple of years to go.”
“See? We’re about the same, I bet.” Ed makes a motion with his hand, gesturing a few times back and forth between them. “Suits you.”
“What?” Stede looks down at himself. The shirt? The pants? In the periphery of his vision, Ed’s gaze is following his.
“Aging well, I mean. An impressive head of hair still on you, too.”
“Ah—and you’re one to talk.” Stede gives Ed’s long, luscious hair a pointed look, and Ed chuckles.
“The two of us are lucky, I guess.”
“When you’re done congratulating each other on your productive follicles,” Lucius interrupts, shoving a shot glass in front of Stede that is indeed filled with an opaque, glittery, and very pink liquid, “we’re doing this, c’mon.”
Stede turns to him and reluctantly raises the glass. It’s a little sticky from spilled liquid and smells strongly of artificial raspberry. Stede scrunches up his nose, and Ed leans on the bar next to him with an encouraging smile.
More liquid spills as Lucius clinks his glass against Stede’s a little too enthusiastically, but Stede drinks it, and it’s not as bad as it looks. Ed pats him on the back as Lucius whoops and slams his glass down.
“Back for another in ten minutes!” he says, pointing two fingers at Stede’s eyes. He walks back to wrap an arm around Fang’s shoulder and slides into the seat next to him.
“I asked him not to make a big deal,” Stede says, looking thoughtfully at Lucius.
“Maybe this is a normal deal to him.” Ed grins, and Stede’s gaze is drawn back to him. His heart beats a little harder. Has to be the alcohol catching up to him. “Not that I know him that well—yet.”
“Oh, it’ll happen—after all, it’s due to him that we’re all here now.”
“Yeah, like a merger.”
“A less stressful one that I’m used to, if I’m honest.”
“Oh yeah? Been merging a lot lately?” There’s a sparkle in Ed’s eyes as he takes another drink, and Stede copies him, his mouth dry again.
“Yeah, uh—we merged with Badminton & Badminton last quarter. I’m at Bonnet Inc.”
Ed shakes his head. “No idea what any of that is, mate, but tell me about it.”
It takes Stede a few seconds to register that Ed is asking him to go on. About a boring business merger. When they’re at a bar and Lucius looks dangerously close to asking around for cash for the jukebox to put on “something we can dance to, come on!” (there is no dancefloor at Jackie’z).
So Stede tells him the least boring version he can come up with, the one with all the drama and none of the mountains of paperwork, and Ed looks at him and nods and makes witty comments and laughs at Stede’s sarcastic parodies of the most pretentious people in his life.
It’s tempting to keep going, but Stede can’t remember the last time he talked for so long, and to keep his voice from turning hoarse, he has emptied his drink. Ed is already ordering for both of them and has apparently decided that they’re having Dark ’n’ Stormies next. Like him, Stede thinks, then takes back the thought, because it sounds like something out of a pulp romance, and what the fuck was that?
“So, what do you do?” Stede asks, then proceeds to almost choke on his drink at Ed’s answer.
“I’m a surgeon.”
“You’re a—what?” Stede can’t help the way he looks Ed’s full leather outfit over, and Ed’s smile is playful behind the beard.
“Not what you expected?”
“I don’t know what I expected, if I’m honest.” Stede blinks a few times, trying to imagine it—the leather gloves exchanged for rubber, fingers curled around steel instruments instead of a cocktail glass.
“Yeah, not wearing scrubs to the bar. Or the beard net.”
“I’d like to see that,” Stede says, half smiling and leaning back with his elbows on the dark wooden counter.
“You’d have to be in for cardiovascular surgery, so I hope you won’t.”
“There’s no ‘Take Your Friend to Work Day’?”
Ed bursts out in a laugh and shakes his head.
“Nah, mate, I’ll have to sneak you in.”
“How would we do that? Can’t fit in a backpack, that’s for sure.”
“Hmm. Maybe a suitcase.”
“Do you often bring a suitcase to work, Ed?”
“Not exactly, no, but for you I would. Could tell people I’m going on vacation straight after work.”
“And when they see you the next day?”
“Changed my mind. Couldn’t bear to leave my cat.”
“Ah, I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Yeah, but I’ll miss her, and then I’ll know the two of you are having too much fun without me, so I’d rather stay.” Ed pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times, and holds it up to Stede. “Here, this is her.”
Stede looks at the photo, and his stomach does a small somersault—it’s a selfie of Ed, lying on what Stede assumes is his couch, with a black cat curled up on his chest. He is wearing just a purple t-shirt and sends the camera the same big, round eyes as the cat does, pouting to mimic its expression.
Stede has always wanted a cat, but his father never wanted anything in his house that wouldn’t take orders, and Mary is allergic. His expression melts into a soft, dreamy smile at the sight of the cat lying so comfortably on top of Ed, wishing it were him.
Cuddling with the cat. Not lying comfortably on top of Ed.
It suddenly feels like someone turned the temperature up several degrees. Stede’s palms are sweaty.
“She’s lovely,” he says, hoping the dim lighting doesn’t make the color that is surely on his cheeks too obvious. “What’s her name?”
“Nova.”
“’New’?”
“You speak fucking Latin or something?”
“Ecclesiastical, yes.”
Ed stares at him with an incredulous look on his face, then seems to collect himself.
“Have to admit I was mostly thinking of supernovas when I named her. She’s a tiny ball of energy, ready to explode at any time—typically when I’m trying to sleep after a sixteen-hour shift. Ecclesiastical Latin, shit mate. Bet that’s useful.”
Perhaps he sees the way Stede can’t help his face falling a little and continues before Stede can answer.
“Hey, no, didn’t mean it like that—it’s pretty cool, mate, different, y’know? Never heard that one before. The only Latin I know is for body parts.”
“It is pretty useless,” Stede says slowly, shrugging a bit. “Should’ve learned Spanish instead, but it was this weird thing at my boarding school.”
“Boarding school, fuck. You’re all fancy and stuff.” Ed’s tone remains kind, and Stede relaxes again. The few drinks he’s had so far probably help, too. He almost forgot that they’re here with their friends and is reminded when Lucius comes back.
“Sorry, sorry, I know I said ten minutes, but you know how sometimes ten minutes last thirty? This is one of those times.”
“And to think I gave you a watch,” Stede says, shaking his head dramatically, making Lucius feign annoyance with a “harh-harh” before he turns to order the next round of sparkly shots. He orders one for Ed too, saying this is their formal introduction, and—after they down them—asks the two of them if they have any cash for the jukebox. Moments later, he leaves again with a handful of quarters.
“Aw, I should give you a present too.” Ed bumps his elbow against Stede’s arm. Stede laughs a little shyly and rubs over the spot.
“Absolutely no need.”
“You know what,” Ed leans close, very close, Stede can feel the heat of him, “I’ll gift you a victory against those idiots.”
He nods his head in the direction of the pool table in the corner, where Pete and Roach are chalking up cue sticks. Stede does not doubt that Pete is in the middle of a long-winded tale of his pool prowess to no one in particular.
“Think they’ll play us two against two?” Ed stretches his arms above his head, then twists his upper body as if to warm up before a game of sports. He gestures for Stede to go first.
Stede hesitates. “I was never really picked for teams for anything. Be careful what you promise—I’ve only played a few times before.”
“Lucky for you, I’m an expert, and also an expert teacher. C’mon mate, they’re setting up.”
Ed is right—he is an expert, and Stede watches him play the first few turns with great amazement, though his admiration is not quite as outwardly apparent as that of Pete, who looks like he has finally met God.
“You have to teach me a few tricks,” Pete says, after Ed shoots another ball in a pocket. Raising his eyebrows at Pete, Ed throws an arm over Stede’s shoulder, letting the heavy end of his cue stick hit the floor with a dull clunk.
“While we’re playing against you? Fraternizing with the enemy? Never! Wouldn’t betray my guy here.” He jerks his head in Stede’s direction, and Stede feels the back of his neck heat up, hoping his cheeks won’t follow suit. Ed is close enough that Stede can smell everything about him, and it’s intoxicating—abstract, seasmoke and firespice, yet tangible, leather and lavender, and shit, he asked Stede a question he didn’t hear—
“—alright, mate?”
“Uh-huh, yeah.” Stede clears his throat and straightens up. Ed pats his back, moves away, increasing the distance, and Stede can breathe properly again.
“Great, lesson’s on, then.” Ed takes off his leather jacket, and oh, his other arm is covered in tattoos too, that’s—that’s nice. Good. Fine.
It’s rude to stare, right? But as Stede’s eyes fly from Ed’s bicep to his face, Ed gives him a curious smile, so maybe it’s not all bad. Maybe Ed is used to it, people staring, people like Stede, but he wants to make sure Ed knows it’s a positive stare.
“You look good. I mean—the tattoos, your tattoos are really—lovely. Nice.” He evidently needs to slow down on the drink, his brain already struggling to control his mouth.
Ed’s smile grows and he strokes a hand over the newly revealed ink, glances at Stede as he begins to say, “Thanks, they’re—”
“Can we get on with it?” Roach has his arms crossed and is tapping his foot impatiently.
Ed clears his throat. “Right. Yes, absolutely. Stede, if you—”
When Ed said ‘lesson’, Stede had imagined verbal instructions, but it turns out that Ed prefers a hands-on approach, which does not help Stede’s brain-to-mouth communication problem. It hasn’t been that many drinks, has it? Maybe he ought to ask Lucius what the hell was in that pink stuff.
On any regular day, Stede would likely say that he doesn’t care much for touching. Not that it is something he usually has to deal with, except for either strained or disinterested handshakes. Mary is not touchy with him, that’s for sure. He has never found it in himself to complain about that—it’s a relief, actually.
Today, though—now—it does something to him whenever Ed leans over him, positioning the cue in his hands, adjusting his elbow, soft beard accidentally(?) brushing against his ear and accidentally(!) causing him to shiver, resting an encouraging hand on his lower back as he points to where Stede’s eyesight should be, and it’s difficult for Stede not to let his gaze flicker to Ed’s… lips?
Right, because Ed is talking, instructing, Stede isn’t distracted, he’s listening, and the warm thrill running up his spine is just the thrill of being close to winning a game for once.
“Fuck yeah!” Ed cheers, raising his hand for a high-five with Stede that he holds onto for a moment, Stede’s fingers laced between Ed’s right where the fingerless leather gloves stop. “You got it!” He lets go and gives Stede’s shoulder a pat, and Roach and Pete grumble from the other side of the table.
“Could get it in the next turn,” Ed says to Stede as Roach lines up to take his shot. There’s only one striped cue ball left, the one Ed is pointing at. In the sparse, warm light, it’s like he’s glowing.
“You’re a great teacher, Ed, but that one looks a bit tricky.” Unless Roach rearranges everything, which is highly unlikely.
“Tell you what,” Ed says, once again wrapping his arm around Stede’s shoulder, this time with an air of conspiracy. “I get that one in, you pocket the eight-ball.”
“Uh—okay.” A bit of pressure, there.
Roach misses the shot and makes a frustrated noise, while Pete immediately starts telling him what he should’ve done instead. The advice is clearly not appreciated.
Stede worries at his bottom lip as Ed lines up at an angle Stede would never dare to attempt, calls the shot, and pockets the last remaining striped ball perfectly. Only the black eight-ball remains now, staring at Stede with daunting inevitability.
The shot shouldn’t be too hard to make, but he’s grateful that Ed helps position him and treats him to advice, mumbles it close to his ear so their opponents can’t hear, not even with the eager way Pete is trying to listen in.
“Now take a deep breath—” Ed’s breath is warm on the shell of Stede’s ear— “focus, call it, and hit it like a sharp, quick stab.”
Stede does as he says, seasmoke, firespice, and the ball lands exactly as Ed predicted, right into the corner pocket.
“Yes!” Ed shouts, loud enough that it draws attention from the bar that is otherwise getting quite noisy. He grabs Stede tight around his middle and nearly lifts him up in a hug. “Fuck—yes, man, you did it! There’s your victory, happy birthday!”
Stede laughs his “thanks!”, and for a moment, they stare breathlessly at each other. Then Ed lets go, grin never faltering, and wordlessly takes Stede’s cue stick from him. Hands both their sticks to Pete, who is already asking for a re-match.
“Nah, but thanks for the game though,” Ed says, and Pete looks like he won after all, while Roach scoffs.
“Well, it was fair, I suppose,” Roach finally says, and reluctantly shakes Ed’s hand, then Stede’s, because if that’s what is done after a game has finished, Stede will do it too. Pete is reluctant to let go of Ed and only half-heartedly shakes Stede’s hand, but then Jim and one of Ed’s friends (Archie, Ed informs him, and Stede wonders what it’s short for) stand ready to take on the next match, and Jim’s stare is intimidating enough that Pete pulls himself together.
Ed guides Stede to the bar with a hand on his shoulder, and Stede is still buzzing with victory in a way he isn’t used to when Ed gestures towards the sour bartender.
“Another drink?”
Ed says he doesn’t need a scarf, that his beard is enough to keep his neck warm (“from here to here,” he says, framing where the beard starts at his chin and ends above his collarbone), but Stede sees him shuddering a little when a cold gust of night air hits them.
It is no longer Stede’s birthday, but it feels more like it than ever.
“Listen, can I call you? Or, y’know, text you?” They are walking side by side on the sidewalk and Ed glances quickly at him, hands in the pockets of his leather pants. Stede pokes his face out from where it’s buried in his scarf up to his nose. The alcohol still in his system helps a little against feeling the full effect of the cold, keeps his blood buzzing.
“Sure. I’d love that.” He smiles, and Ed returns it with a small huff that comes out as a tiny white cloud in the cold air.
They stop under a streetlamp to exchange numbers with frozen fingertips. After Stede puts his gloves back on and they continue walking, he is on his way to stuff his hands back in his pockets when Ed—
Takes it.
His hand.
Is that. Is that normal?
Stede considers himself good friends with Lucius, but they never hold hands. Before that—well, nothing to report.
Ed squeezes his hand a bit as Stede goes numb, puzzle pieces tumbling around in his rum-muddled mind.
He doesn’t have enough time to put them together before Ed stops in front of an apartment building. It looks old, but even in the darkness, it appears well-maintained. Stede imagines newly renovated luxury flats with tall ceilings and crown moldings, the kind he knows this part of town is full of.
“This is me,” Ed says, not letting go of Stede’s hand, instead looking expectantly at him. What exactly he expects, Stede doesn’t know, but—okay, Ed steps closer, blinking at him slowly like a cat showing its trust.
“Oh. Well—thank you for the birthday present.” Stede hopes that’s what Ed is waiting for, a pleasant remark and a goodnight. It doesn’t seem to be quite the thing, though, as Ed’s eyes search his.
“You can have one more,” Ed says, his voice a low rumble in the quiet street, and when did he get so close? Close enough that Stede could count his eyelashes if he tried—perhaps he should, if only he could harness the brainpower for it, but it seems to have left him entirely.
“It’s—it’s not my birthday anymore. Past midnight.”
“Haven’t gone to bed yet, still counts as the same day.”
“I’m not sure that’s—”
Stede doesn’t finish the sentence, for two reasons: one, his brain has short-circuited, burned the last connection from mind to voice box; and two, because his lips are suddenly occupied.
By Ed’s.
Because Ed. Ed is kissing him.
Holding Stede’s hand in his, bringing the other up to cradle Stede’s face, cold fingertips brushing his temple—how are his lips so warm?—then sinking into his hair. Ed traces the seam of Stede’s lips with the tip of his tongue, and it’s gentle and hesitant and softer than the press of Ed’s mouth against his, and it’s a cascade of brilliant, divine sensations, flowing through his most intricate capillaries and warming him up from within.
Stede parts his lips for Ed before he can even try to think about it, but oh god, he is supposed to think, isn’t he? About his w—
About Ed tilting his head, accepting the small, broken sound coming from the back of Stede’s throat for the subconscious plea that it is, about the sharp intake of air that he does as he deepens the kiss, about having never been kissed like this before, about how his arm ends up around Ed’s waist, about the way Ed’s beard softly brushes his chin, and about Ed’s little sigh as he draws away again.
It takes Stede a few seconds to blink his eyes open, still trying to process what just happened, make sense of it. Ed’s eyes crinkle as he smiles.
“Goodnight.” He gives Stede’s hand one last squeeze before letting go.
“Goodnight,” Stede says, breathless, then watches Ed go to his front door and give him a small wave before letting himself in.
The thud of the door closing behind him wakes Stede up. There’s no one else in the street. It’s probably cold. The ten-minute walk home passes by in no time at all, and when he pulls the covers up and closes his eyes, it still doesn’t make sense.
Stede wakes up with a feeling in his chest that is heavier than usual.
Then sits up with a jolt.
That had to be a dream, right?
He stares at the wall for who knows how long, a grinding headache at the back of his skull, mind blank and scampering at the same time.
Nothing makes sense, and the shower doesn’t help either. Neither does the cup of black coffee or the piece of toast he somehow manages to make, chew, and swallow. Thinking too hard and not at all, an avalanche of bad conscience threatening to bury him if he digs a little too deep.
He is leaning on the windowsill, looking out on the quiet street when his phone buzzes.
Ed: hey Stede! I had a really nice time with you yesterday. was wondering whether it was just the booze speaking, or if you’d like to go out sometime? I know I really enjoyed the goodbye ;)
Oh no. It is so nice. It is too nice. Too—so much. So many things. So—
Real.
It really happened, Ed had kissed him, Ed had kissed him and Stede is married and Ed is asking him out and he can’t fucking breathe and it appears that Ed likes him and his heart is hammering and he doesn’t deserve how nice Ed is being and he has to sit down or the world is going to spin away from him, and the nearest thing is the floor.
He sits on the floor. Lies down, phone resting on his chest, closed eyes, fists clenched so hard it hurts. It’s good that it hurts. It’s a fucking fight against his lungs to breathe deeply, so he settles for moderately, one, two, three, four, five…
Call Lucius.
Lucius will certainly know what to do.
It’s pathetic, having to call someone twenty years his junior to help sort out his crisis, but it’s the only thing he can think of. Apart from defenestrating his phone.
Lucius sounds about as hoarse and bleary as Stede expected.
“Stede?” Lucius yawns audibly. “What’s up?”
“Did I wake you?” Stede glances at his watch. It’s almost noon, but he doesn’t know how long Lucius stayed out.
“Nah, just letting myself be treated to brunch—soon, I hope.”
Stede can hear clanking utensils and voices in the background on Lucius’ end.
“So, you seemed to have a good time yesterday.” There’s a careful edge to Lucius’ tone, like he is paying caution to every word in a way he rarely ever does. “Ed’s a nice guy, huh?”
“That’s—that’s why I’m—fuck, I need your help.”
“Yeah? Something happened?” It sounds like Lucius stands up, the legs of a chair scraping over floorboards.
Stede tries to keep calm as he reads Ed’s text to Lucius, putting his phone on speaker while he does so.
“I don’t know what to answer, Lucius! I never—I haven’t—this is such a mess.” Stede has to get his breathing under control again, burying his head in his hands and messing up his damp hair.
“First things first, what does he mean by ‘the goodbye’?”
“He—uh—he sort of kissed me.”
“Oh my god.”
“It’s bad, I know, I’m fucking married for Christ’s sake, what will Mary say, and—”
“Stede is married?” A voice comes through from the other end that is neither Lucius’ nor Pete’s, so Stede assumes it’s Fang’s. “And he’s not gay?”
Lucius turns away from the phone to shush him, but it’s a fair question, one of those Stede has been contemplating all morning along with, well, everything else.
“Well, I—I might be?”
Lucius is back immediately.
“Oh my god. Okay, this is—this is not over-the-phone business, I am coming over.”
“Alone, please,” Stede says, and Lucius agrees before hanging up, sounding like he’s already halfway out the door.
Stede reads and re-reads Ed’s message while waiting, then again while Lucius paces his kitchen in front of the kitchen island where Stede sits, running his fingers through his hair so many times that he’s sure it’s standing out in all directions.
With Lucius’ help, he formulates an answer, and after reading that over about ten times too, he sends it.
Stede: Hi Ed. I had a very nice time with you too. I am terribly sorry and have no other way of saying this, but I am married. Clearly, I have some stuff to figure out. Hope there are no hard feelings.
It takes a long while for Ed to answer. Maybe he won’t. Lucius tries to distract Stede with gossip, looking through his fridge, suggesting they go for a hangover-healing belated piece of birthday cake for both of them. Stede can tell that he’s dancing around the subject. They haven’t talked about Mary yet.
Eventually, his phone chimes again.
Ed: of course. thanks for being honest
Stede sighs.
“Lucius, I need a divorce.”
Lucius stops and sends him a worried glance.
“When is Mary coming home?”
Stede keeps staring at his phone, clenching and unclenching his fist. The thing to do now is to take one step at a time, one thing at a time, pushing a feeling of dread aside.