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The busy London Streets were hopping and bustling. Sounds of church bells ran from the rich hills to the desperate slums.
(Name) had grown up in the slums for all their life, their parents were honest people trying to make an honest life for themselves. (Name) always knew what to do or say to get someone off their back and prying eyes away from their pocket. They had grown close over the years with a particular man. One Robert E.O Speedwagon. A truthful, yet, cunning man who could charm any woman in London he had wanted. He could scare any man in London who he pleased, and when one crossed him, he wasn't a man of much forgiveness.
Despite what (Name) praised him for, his past was one of shame. A criminal's life isn't a very pretty one by anyone's standards. Sure, maybe it was better then selling your body for rent money. The things they heard Tattoo parade about were things that admittedly, scared them beyond belief. The idea of men having their faces degloved and women having their ankles slashed. Women had recounted the days of abuse by some of the men under Robert, and they weren't exactly wrong to do so. Robert himself never harmed a woman, he was above that. The things he would do to such people were things that, strangely enough, (Name) admired. He wasn't above putting any ungentlemanly figure who harmed anyone without proper reason six feet below the London boulevard.
Whenever (Name) had heard Robert was in The Rye for a drink, they would always visit him. It was always a treat to see the emotionally driven man around a group of gangsters knowing they wouldn't harm you or...*have* anyone harm you.
The ladies were off serving drinks and providing their services, and the bartenders were cleaning their glasses in this time of evening. It's been a long day of them helping out at the docks, and they had just returned home after a stint in Scotland during a merchant deal gone wrong. They had picked something up for Robert a little before they came back.
(Name) walked into The Rye as always, as a waitress pulled them towards were they usually sat, right beside Robert.
"Ah! (Name)! What a delight to see you again, old chap." Robert exclaimed, his long, messy blonde hair dangling down beside their shoulders as he embraced them into a tightened embrace.
(Name) groaned loudly before hugging him back. "Please Speedwagon- my back-"
Robert laughs nervously, before scratching the back of his head. "Sorry, (Name), you know how much I didn't want you to go off. I'm not very fond of the ocean, too...risky that."
"Aren't you a seasoned criminal? I'd figure you would talk any risk if it meant a bit of adventure." (Name) smirked a bit, their teeth showing through the gap of their lips.
Robert rolled his eyes as they laughed at him, dismissing them as trying to make light of his clear Thalassophobia. "I'm serious, (Name). I don't feel like seeing you never return from the ocean. That place is clear death for anybody who tries to go across that damn pond."
"Well, I did get you something to ease the troubles of me 'drowning on a ship'. Since you got that new suit, I decided I would get you a little something to go along with the whole new persona." (Name) smiled before pulling out a box.
"What's the occasion?" Robert questioned, genuinely dumbfounded by what he had just opened.
"It's your birthday!" (Name) laughed, before furrowing their eyebrows in worry. "Did you not remember your birthday?"
In the box, he saw a purple brimmed hat with a dark brace with silver buckles and pink feather like accessories tucked into the sides. "Do be a bit careful, they're rather sharp."
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A silent breeze filled the old London streets as Speedwagon stood there in front of a gravestone a year later. He wore the checkerboarded hat of a man who once taught his best friend a valuable lesson in life. He taught Speedwagon what it means to truly let go of someone, the pain, the exhausting pain in his chest almost overwhelmed him for but a moment. A small smile came to his face, as he took out a bouquet of flowers and that hat (Name) gave them all that time ago. rested on top of a grassy grave overlooking the London skyline
"Thank you for reminding me, (Name). I guess 25 is a nice number after all."