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Stede squirmed in the uncomfortable dress they’d made him wear, it was cinched like a vice around hips and chest.
It was his parents’ wedding anniversary party. They’d rented out their old wedding venue, got an event planner on board and did all the fancy bits. Guest list numbering in the triple digits–had waiters and everything fluffing around with their trays of drink. It was all so horribly and wonderfully unsupervised actually, Stede was able to snag a glass of champagne off a tray and no one bleated at him. The woman in charge of watching him had fucked off with–some older guy, whatever–Stede couldn’t be bothered to get the name.
Stede squirmed again, in his uncomfortable dress. He was home from school first time in ages and this was how they treated him. He wasn’t even surprised, although he thought–the past years–because he’d been so liberated and everything, he’d been away so long–nope. His mother wrinkled her nose over his short wavy hair–he got it cut, first time on his own–he’d put the curlers in for events, but only then–and not for this, fuck you very much. Stede’s father pointed out lots of girls–he looked pointedly at Stede when he said it, fucking asshole–were getting their hair chopped nowadays and Stede’s mother calmed down. But she still insisted on stuffing him into the puffiest poofiest stupidest most feminine dress she could get her hands on, watching him get his hair done (with bows in, who put bows in their hair??) and chirping about how pretty and beautiful her daughter would be if she just wore makeup. Stede wanted to throw something, maybe a chair through the window.
Alright. Okay. Stede could take this, for the next–god, was it five hours? He was sure they had the venue until tomorrow at least. And Stede was there a week. He could probably get away with hiding out rest of his time, pop off early if he made something up. He thought they understood, when they invited him to spend the break with them. And Stede had been playing nice for months, letting his parents misgender him to their heart’s content because he still needed them for financials. And he thought he’d broken through to them, when he talked about a potential boyfriend (which didn’t work out) and neither of his parents made comments like they had before. The last time he’d put romance in focus, his mother told him he should have just stayed a lesbian and Stede bit his lip to stop himself from snapping back–about how he’d been so fucking deep in the closet when he was with Mary he was basically halfway to Narnia.
Twenty minutes ago, Stede’s father introduced him to another guy and Stede realized with a sick feeling in his stomach what was happening. His parents were trying to…“fix” him. They weren’t okay about boyfriends because they were accepting, they were okay about boyfriends (vetted, of course, not just any guy) because they considered it a necessary corrective measure–get Stede married off and all that. If Stede wasn’t going to be a lesbian, which his parents could stand slightly better than the alternative, this was their next best.
He escaped from the charming young man in music school, drank three glasses of wine, sobbed, and was now sitting well off from everyone else in the most uncomfortable dress he’d ever worn. He didn’t even mind dresses really, he even used to have a bunch of them. But when his parents started forcing that stuff on him, the dresses and everything–Stede tossed every feminine piece of clothing in his wardrobe, the thought of wearing that stuff made him sick down to the bones. It hadn’t before, but with his parents shoving it all on top of him he was suddenly very self-conscious about what he wore.
Edward Teach broke from the crowd and stumbled into Stede’s sight line. Stede knew him by name alone, never properly gotten eyes on the eldest and only son of the Teach family. They were in restaurants–Stede thought they were in restaurants–they had a chain of them and Edward’s father had been invited especially because he’d done some kind of business dealing with Stede’s parents before. So this was a courtesy invite and Stede could tell, Ed looked just mildly shellshocked being around so many people in their expensive suits while he wore an (admittedly suiting him well) far less overpriced purple dinner jacket, white dress shirt, and black dress pants. Ed had been mingling, but now he tore himself away from inane confusing conversations to be in the corner of the room where no one looked at him.
He nodded at Stede, leaning up against the wall. He’d seen photos of Stede, never met him for real. He looked just as uncomfortable in pictures (often stuffed into the most ludicrously over-feminine dress Ed had ever seen, loaded up with bows and ribbons) as he did in real life.
“Hello,” he said, stiffly and courteously.
Stede nodded his head, fluffing his enormous skirt and feeling more doll than human. Which was what his mother intended probably. Stede hadn’t even told his parents about the HRT, if they found out–Stede didn’t even want to think.
Ed watched his words, knowing quite well how violently pissed his dad would be if he fucked things over with the Bonnet daughter. Business dealings–if he fucked over his father’s business dealings.
“You’re Bonnet’s daughter? Beatrice?”
Stede wrinkled his nose. He’d been getting all sorts of that from the moment he got back. Beatrice Bonnet. He’d become so unused to his deadname while away at school. The group he hung around never used it. Oluwande and Lucius–being trans themselves–would have never dreamed of it. And Stede was quite sure Lucius’s boyfriend Pete (who was cis) didn’t even know Stede’s deadname, so that wasn’t even a problem.
Stede opened his mouth to correct Ed–realized he was under obligation to not piss off his parents tonight. There were conditions for Stede being able to study abroad and rely financially on his parents, this was one of them.
“Could you not…call me that?” Stede settled for. “Sore subject.”
Ed’s eyebrows rocketed up his forehead.
“Don’t like it, your name?” he said.
Stede closed his mouth rather tightly and nodded his head. That didn’t cover the half of it. His name was a sore subject, his parents were a sore subject, having to hide his T shots and not being able to put on his binder–sore subjects, whole fleet of them. He shouldn’t have come home. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. He tried his normal bluff about needing to focus on his studies, got called out immediately by his father and relented.
“God, I feel that,” said Ed. “My dad only calls me “Ed” when he’s pissed off.”
Stede smiled in sympathy. His parents only used his name when they were mocking him, making a point about how he’d never be a real man. Tough luck on both sides, Stede didn’t want to be a real man in the sense his parents meant it. He didn’t want to be like dear old dad.
“I’ll have Ed over Edward all day,” said Stede. “He sounds like a smash at parties.”
Ed grinned.
“What if I told you it was his first one?” said Ed.
Stede’s smile was the purest joy, like he’d swallowed the sun.
“He’s nailing it,” said Stede. “I can barely listen to these assholes for five minutes, you made it twenty.”
The Badminton brothers had this tear they were going on, about their family’s private golf course and how Stede should come down one week to watch or maybe get taught a few things–Stede had a vivid mental image of slamming a golf club into Chauncey Badminton’s jaunty smug fucking face as Chauncey tried to explain the definition of aimpoint–oh, obviously a woman wouldn’t know what that was! Chauncey’s face said–god, Stede wanted to throttle him.
Stede leaned in towards Ed.
“I heard Mrs. Badminton’s been shopping around, get my meaning,” he said. “She’s got a thing for pool boys.”
“That why she’s not here tonight?” Ed said. “Her husband said she was sick. Fever.”
“Oh, I’m sure something’s gotten her all hot and bothered.”
They blinked at each other a second, then erupted into giggles.
“What should I call you?” said Ed.
Stede did feel less stuffed–less straining to get out–a tiny bit anyway–now that he wasn’t getting suffocated to death by French perfume and marriage talk. Ed was the first tonight–first to not ask Stede about when (not if, but always when) he was getting hitched and popping out two little kids. Son and a daughter, it was implied. Male heir and a nice proper little lady to marry off when she came of age, that was what his parents thought was right. Stede was a bit past coming of age, so it was hurried on the marriage talk and he just just fended off the marriage/kid questions by insisting he wanted to finish his studies. And they’d all smile and tell him well get on with it! Not like he was getting any younger! Surely there was someone at university–? And Stede would cut them off, change the subject or make an excuse to run away–exhausting.
“Stede,” he said. “Call me Stede.”
Ed’s eyebrows lifted just a fraction–didn’t say anything.
“Nice to meet you, Stede,” he said. “My name’s Ed.”
They shook hands. Nice break, he wasn’t having to put on a smile when he got talked down to or looked at like he didn’t belong. Didn’t have to keep his words particular and in order, on the chance his father was listening and he’d get furious if Ed said anything that might damage his very oh-so-important business dealings.
Stede pulled Ed further into the crowded venue, off from where people were talking–laughing–metaphorically jerking each other off about their vacation homes and sending their kids to these upper class fancy schools–probably start literally jerking each other off in a few minutes time, with how conversations were turning.
They found an empty room and sat down–Ed grabbed the excuse to get the fuck out of that stuffy room, would have taken anything short of formal banishment for the escape. Stede took him there with going in mind, Ed could tell as they walked along to the nearest door and had their discreet slip out. Wouldn’t be sporting if the adults caught on, Stede would get his arm yanked by his mother–dragged back and talked to for twenty minutes about etiquette. Ed was sick of doing the proverbial–the tongue tango with rich assholes and Stede was sick of being called Beatrice and getting himself out of conversations that always tailed off into questions about–marriage and kids.
Marriage and kids, huh? Ed knew a bit about those–about the marriage and kids talk. His dad was getting down to it, about how Ed should find some rich young lady–other reason his dad dragged him out to this thing, so Ed could shop around–Ed slipped away from that, his dad got distracted in conversation with another wealthy prick and Ed took his escape.
“Oh lucky,” Stede sighed. “My mother wants me to marry a Badminton.”
He said it like he’d swallowed a mouthful of sewage. Ed couldn’t blame him. He’d conversed with the Badmintons about ten seconds and thought they were the most insufferable dicks in that whole room.
“Or this other guy, this Ricky,” said Stede. “He’s the one with the motorcycle.”
“That’s his?”
Stede chuckled–could see why Ed was caught off guard.
“I bet he doesn’t know how to ride it. He’s just been hobbing his knob about it all night, about what a badass he is and of course they’ve all been eating it up.”
Ed rolled his eyes–of fucking course the one guy at this party with a sweet ride turned out to be an enormous piece of hot steaming garbage.
Stede played with the bows on his dress–this grimace on his face, like he was in pain. He’d been doing that lots tonight, Ed picked up on it–looked like someone laced the inside of his dress with cyanide and it was slowly poisoning him. Ed had never seen a person so uncomfortable in what they had on.
“Don’t like getting dressed up?” Ed said.
Stede stopped messing with the bows–deer in headlights just a second, at this smart little observation that instantly made his heart thump faster.
“No,” Stede answered stiffly.
He glanced at Ed’s suit–at the dinner jacket. He was jealous instantly, at Ed’s luck–why why why couldn’t Stede have been born with a penis, born a boy? He could have worn a dinner jacket just like that–dress pants–cis boys didn’t get pushed to marry Badmintons–cis boys didn’t get told they “should just be a lesbian instead” because it was easier to take than him being trans. Although he supposed if he had been a lesbian woman he would have wanted that dinner jacket–it was a fantastic dinner jacket. So no winning either way, his mother would have stuffed him in that poofy puff pastry of a dress and shoved him headfirst at a Badminton whether he was trans or a lesbian. His parents were such liars–such bold fucking liars.
Ed looked at the dinner jacket, put his palms over it.
“It’s not my favorite,” he said. “I had a–”
He looked at Stede for a very long time and thought–like he was trying to suss something out–decided, finally, to go for it–go for it sprinting–drop his guard a teeny-weeny-beany little bit–with no one except Stede in earshot, his father platonically flirting with some wealthy business guys–
“I had a dress I wanted,” said Ed. “This tulle gown–purple. Figured my dad would have–”
He chuckled, but with an edge of serious in his voice and hands tightening when he said it.
“–my dad would have killed me, if he’d seen that. His son. His son in a dress! God, I’d never hear the end. He would have murdered me.”
Swallowed, something heavy rattled in his breathing–
“I really wanted that dress.”
Stede looked down, at his frills and puffs and–oh. He knew what that was like, to want something–to want to wear something and not be able to–to feel so so so out of place in what he was put into–to stare longingly at other people, at men in their suits and think–“That’s me! That’s the me I want!”–and not be able to have it, to have his shoulder gripped by an older adult–his mother–and to know he was a fish in a birdcage.
Ed turned to Stede and smiled–it broke out on his face, this lovely beautiful grin.
“Want to do something weird?” he said.
Forever up for doing something weird, Stede nodded his head.
They swapped clothes. Ed put on Stede’s poofy puff pastry dress, Stede tore some of the bows and frills off–really getting screamed at by his mother for that, but Stede didn’t care at the moment–and it looked more like something a person would actually wear, with a few of the bows and frills off. Ed spun in it and he was beautiful–breath caught, he was so beautiful.
Stede put on the dinner jacket and dress pants–Ed took a fake flower out of a vase and pinned it to the front, that really slid the look into place. He was a bit silly in the suit actually, it was too large for him in the arms and in the shoulders–but he liked it, he liked it with all it’s imperfections he could have never gotten through if it didn’t feel so right to be wearing.
“Should we just…fuck it, wanna just go?” said Ed.
“You know, you’re right,” said Stede. “Fuck it. Fuck–fuck all of it. To hell.”
He waved his arms around, presumably to demonstrate the fucking all of it they were meant to be doing.
They found a back way out, by Stede’s knowledge of the venue–a back way and around to the front, to where all the cars were parked. The cars and Ricky’s stupid motorcycle.
Stede went for the bike, trailed by an incredulous but excited Ed who was lifting up the skirt of his dress to run. They looked like teenagers coming home from a dance or a gala.
“Ever driven a motorcycle before?” Ed said.
“Nope!”
Stede climbed on, fiddling with the controls of the–oh, this was a proper road monster! Ricky did not deserve this incredibly cool machine, not even a little bit–less still when Stede heard it purr to life.
Ed got on the back, put his arms around Stede’s waist.
Stede had never driven a motorcycle before–sure, he’d never even touched one. But he got it going after a little fiddling, figured out the basics and improvised his way into a start from there–easy peasy! They were off in a flash of it, party-goers unaware as they zoomed into the night. Perhaps never to come back! Stede didn’t feel like he ever wanted to come back.
The road was pleasantly deserted this time of night and this way out–they passed a moonlit cliffside, off where the rocks sloped down into the ocean.
They stopped at the first building they spotted, a convenience store haloed in white window light. Stede’s stomach gurgled petulantly–oh calm down, you he chided–as they pulled into the parking lot, reminding him he hadn’t eaten a single scrap of meal since brekkie. His mother–forever the absolute peach–insisted he skip lunch, said he was getting a little round around the tum–didn’t he get enough for eating at that school of his?–and Stede bit his lip so hard he almost cleaved it in two, just thinking on the relief he felt when he laid down his first ever meal away from home and no one gave him that side eye over what he put on his plate. Fatty sugary foods–cream-filled and jam-filled–and no one there to tell him he was eating too much, that a lady’s meal should be less than half a man’s, that no man wanted a fat overly-indulgent little slut–his mother’s exact words, when he was twelve and had reached–greedily, he was made to think–for a second cookie after devouring the first. Right. His mother and father could go suck eggs in hell.
He took great pleasure, in buying sugary snacks and drinks and thinking of how much his parents would scream if they knew how he’d come to indulge–really truly indulge–while at university and even back he could only kick the habit when his parents were within shouting distance.
But then they sat down to eat outside and–well–
Stede could only look at what they’d bought–at the snacks–sugary fatty indulgences–he’d pumped himself up on indulging for the first time since he’d come home–he thought he was better about eating, thought university kicked the shame for good–but looking now at the pile he’d bought–to share, but so much still–he felt guilt squirm in his chest. He’d…he’d bought all that. To eat. And he’d taken Ricky’s motorcycle. And he was wearing a suit. His parents were going to–
Ed wasn’t eating either, just looking very hard at all of it–he swallowed once, fingers clawing at his knee. He’d never been good at eating with other people–tense uncomfortable meals with his parents–dinners with his father’s business associates–where he’d be laughed at for every little thing he did with his silverware, for not knowing which spoon to use, for not knowing French or Italian or whatever language the menu was printed in–where he’d squinch his mouth tight and not say anything–where they laughed their stupid faces off, when he jerked his head away from one of the older ladies trying to have a grab at his hair–his father shouted at him for that and Ed squinched his mouth even tighter, said nothing on the drive home and neither did Mama Teach with her sad tired eyes.
Stede split a chocolate cookie in half–it was less of an indulgence really, less monumental and striking if they shared–right–intense relief rolled over him, when he put it like that. The guilt minimized, coils of tension released from under his skin. His stomach gurgled–in agreement.
“Splitsies?” he offered.
The larger half was pressed gently into Ed’s palm–and when no dishes were thrown, there was no screaming or shouting–Ed shut his fingers over it.
“Thank you,” Ed said in a voice so microscopic even a beetle would have strained to hear.
They ate, Ed’s shoulders relaxing.
Ed turned another cookie half over in his palm, hesitated good and hard over taking a bite–thought about all the times his dad got after him about eating too much, about how dear old dad expected (and always got) the largest most filled out plate at the dinner table, about the many times Ed had been forced to sneak little treats out the kitchen after hours because he didn’t get enough at dinner–having to watch with envious sad eyes as his father ate twice his fill and Ed would say nothing about the scraps on his plate or the way his mother seemed unusually skinny for a woman her age because she didn’t eat much.
His gaze went–own accord, it was felt–to his dress, with the ruffles and bows and lace taken off–and what he’d thought really, about university–about going, you know–really going–and how it clawed his throat animalistic, clawed his throat raw–to think of leaving his mother alone–to think of what his father might do, what he might say–always always to think of what he might do or say. Ed’s fist clenched a moment–just this tiny moment, where tears misted behind his eyes.
“You ever feel like you’re just–treading water?” Ed said. “Waiting to drown?”
He spread his index finger on the table as he said it.
“Yes,” said Stede easily, simply.
Stede placed his own hand flat on the table–and the tips of their fingers connected–kept them there, long as they wanted–if they didn’t look, they could keep them there–in this touching state, not looked at.
Stede heaved a sigh–could say that was how he’d felt really–all his life–jerked at the whims of his parents–and now this, cloying for inheritance he was finding less worth it every step. He gave up going to fashion school. He did whatever his parents asked of him, within reason. But it wasn’t enough still, he was never on plan with whatever passed for perfect daughter or perfect son. He was starting to think dear old dad was just shunting the goalposts.
“You wanted to do fashion?” said Ed.
“Oh, that’s–um, it’s just a silly thing,” said Stede. “Side project, nothing wrong with a little side project.”
He said it like he thought Ed was his boss, like he was deathly afraid of getting shouted at. He’d once thought if he played the part–you know, really played at being the perfect obedient daughter–they’d let him have this one thing. But they just took, they took and took and took and the give was barely scraps, barely enough to live off. Stede didn’t know why he bothered.
“Show me,” Ed said.
Stede got his spiral-bound notebook from his bag rather excitedly, flipped it open and showed Ed his drawings.
Great eye for colors, this Stede–first page in his notebook was a tailed coat patterned with white flowers. It came with dress pants and a shirt, but the tailed coat was the real star of the show–looked fairytale. Fuck, Ed would have killed to wear something that beautiful. He’d take one in lavender, turning all the heads and getting flirted with all over the place.
“You made this yourself?” said Ed.
Stede’s cheeks rosied, not self-consciously but happily.
“Oh, I haven’t made anything,” said Stede. “This is just–oh, it’s this silly thing I’ve been into. Fashion, you know.”
He’d been using the notebook to shape his…well, his rather useless piece of art. He had notebooks full to bursting with the stuff. Lucius introduced him to this marvelous program for aspiring fashion designers, a tool to render his ideas. They were rougher than the sketches, but Stede took to the process easier. The only trouble was that Stede took fucking ages with what he wanted to make, he’d spent a whole month on this one design alone because he kept having things he wanted to add and there was so little time to work on it.
“I’d buy it,” said Ed. “I’d buy fucking ten.”
Stede smiled, faint and puzzled. What a nice thing for Ed to say! And surely an exaggeration, who would pay for Stede’s stupid ideas?
“Very kind of you, Ed,” said Stede. “Put you down for…ten, is it? Maybe throw in a nice bag with those?”
Ed was the coolest person he’d ever seen in his entire life. But there was this…oh, how could Stede put it? Finery? Yes, there was this finery to Edward Teach. Ed took to what he put on, poured himself so easily into that dress like it was made for him–he was really the definition of beauty. And Stede was very much a lover of beauty.
For his part, Ed had done some noticing of Stede and now it was coming together in his head. Ed wondered if that tailed suit was what Stede actually wanted to wear.
Ed pointed at the notebook, his eyes glinting with fascination.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got more of these?” said Ed.
Stede’s entire face lit up, he scrambled into a better sitting position. He didn’t care how monstrous that chair was being at the moment–fuck that chair honestly–he just cared that Ed wanted to see his designs, his silly stupid designs. If anything else in the galaxy mattered, it wasn’t enough to deter Stede.
“Oh, loads!” said Stede.
He flipped–got to the deeper pages, the more intricate designs. And they were–god, they looked awful. The actual craft, Stede was no artist. His lines were sloppy and there was no reason to how the anatomy shaped. But the designs were fucking next level–Ed almost gasped. Longcoats, topcoats, waistcoats, breeches, high-heeled shoes with bows on them, suits with such bright garish patterns they should have given Ed a headache just from looking. One of the suits was lavender and patterned with waves–Ed’s favorite, his all-time favorite he’d seen–and another was a bright red floral pattern evening gown. Stede tried to go past that one quicker than the others–Ed exhaled sharply in surprise and adoration when he saw it.
“You’re fucking brilliant at this,” said Ed.
Stede worried at his bottom lip, he hadn’t intended Ed to see that second to last one. He thought he’d ripped that one out, the floral pattern evening gown. Stede didn’t think anyone was fit to wear that.
“Yes, brilliant,” said Stede. “If only I could sew–”
He let out a weary sigh. Yes, yes, sewing. And getting the fabric–right. And learning all he could about making clothes. And finding the time. And getting up the courage.
Ed’s gaze was locked on the open notebook.
“I can sew,” he said.
Ed’s preferred end-of-day relaxation routine involved sitting down in his favorite armchair, grabbing a ball of yarn, flipping on the TV, and getting to work on his latest project–when dear old dad wasn’t around.
“Can you really?” said Stede. “That sounds handy.”
Ed preened a bit at the praise, he grinned at Stede. Oh, he was handy in more ways than Stede was picturing.
“I could teach you,” said Ed.
Stede blushed. Was that what he’d accidentally implied? Stede thought his comment was rather off-hand and innocent, he didn’t mean to give Ed the impression he was asking for anything–he’d never ask for anything–at least not from Ed.
“Oh, no, it’s too much trouble,” said Stede. “I’m sure you have….other things…”
Ed squeezed Stede’s hand–captured Stede in those big brown eyes of his, Stede closed his mouth automatically.
“I don’t,” said Ed. “I’m wide open, nothing to do with myself.”
Stede exhaled shakily–oh.
“Loved that lavender suit,” said Ed. “It’s just my style.”
Stede’s gaze flitted from Ed’s chest to his face, he was thinking about Ed in that lavender suit…and–he was rather ashamed over it–Ed in that floral pattern evening gown. He didn’t think that was fit to be worn by anyone, but Ed would have made it work. Ed’s body was…fuck, it sure was something.
They talked–finished up their snacks and went back inside, to buy a pre-packaged sandwich they could split.
“Love your dress, mate,” said the woman behind the counter.
The woman looked slightly older than them, with adorable impish features and dark hair in a ponytail. Ed wondered what she thought of them and if he cared–if she saw two men, if she saw a pair of lesbians, if she saw something esoteric and personal enough she couldn’t have said words about it–well. Ed wasn’t asking.
“Thank you,” said Ed gratefully.
Ed’s fingers were warm and good along Stede’s wrist–when they walked the beach, furthest from the venue. Stede had quite forgotten, why he’d come back–to blow up his whole life maybe, to have it out with his parents that one last time and let them cut him off–but he wasn’t thinking about that, about the inevitable shouting–hypothetically, Stede wondered what he’d do if his mother threw something at him–but it was all hypotheticals now, so Stede pushed his fingers between the gaps in Ed’s and they held hands and walked along the beach.
“Is this okay?” Stede asked about the hand-holding.
Ed threw one glance at their linked hands, then cast his gaze all along the beach–empty, this time of night.
“Yeah, it’s–it’s pretty okay,” said Ed.
He’d left his phone at home, at request–at demand really. He’d lost track of time–knew it had been hours since they left the venue, perhaps three or four.
“We should go back,” said Ed.
He swallowed–hadn’t meant to do that–hadn’t meant to make it sound like he was having a shit time. Couldn’t have been having a better time really–he was sure this night would go tits, he’d say something or do something and get screamed at over it and then he’d run up to his bedroom at home and lock himself in rest of the night. But instead he’d met Stede and they’d swapped clothes. He didn’t want this night to end–but it needed to, was the trouble. It needed to. Or else he might do something very very Edward Teach, like asking Stede to run away with him. And Stede would do something very very Stede, like saying yes.
“Can we…please?” said Stede. “A little longer?”
He squeezed Ed’s hand–and that was all it took really, just the hand squeeze. And the pout–he did a little pout and Ed was–god, right through the heart–right through the fucking heart! Ed, lovestruck dumb, nodded his head.
“We can whatever,” Ed said.
They whatevered a little ways more down the beach, Stede chattering on about this class he was taking–about moths or something–Ed, hardly the nature guy, listened to Stede talk–listened to Stede recite his heart’s poetry.
But Ed had to get them back–they couldn’t be out there a second longer, they’d have a search party after them–Stede was an heir, with all the fancypants rich stuff that came with–couldn’t have him wandering off and dying mysteriously. And Ed couldn’t imagine the worry his mother would endure, if her husband returned home without their son. She’d head out herself to look if no one else would–the thought ached Ed’s chest.
They drove back to the venue–Ed keeping hold of Stede’s waist the whole time. They wouldn’t let go–wouldn’t, if they could help it–until the very last moment.
Ed held Stede’s hand–held it until he had to let go, break his fingers out from between the gaps–so he could change out of his dress, so they could swap back in that discreet side room.
“Well–,” said Stede.
He got not a second further, because Ed threw himself at Stede–Stede standing there in the dress he hated and Ed in the dinner jacket he was beginning to–and Ed’s arms were around him quite suddenly, holding him very tight. Stede had never been embraced like that before, not once in his life–he was lost on what to do at first, arms hanging limp–until–no!–Ed was starting to pull away, to back off–thinking he’d fucked up. And Stede tugged Ed back into him–held the embrace, his arms squeezing around Ed the tightest Ed had ever been squeezed.
They pulled away–Ed’s fingers danced lightly over Stede’s.
“Have a good one,” said Ed.
“I won’t. But thank you.”
They parted ways, Ed hanging on the door frame for a moment so Stede could go ahead–it swallowed up inside him, this horrible cloying want. It just made sense, best night of his life–could have eaten it for brekkie, this night–had it over his pancakes–and he still wanted more–Edward Teach, greediest man alive, couldn’t be satisfied with one spectacular night out of a thousand shit ones–Ed said to himself, his entire soul collapsing as he let go of that door frame and–
Ed felt something in the pocket of his dinner jacket–he pulled it out, fingers gripping a bit of ripped off paper. That wasn’t there before. He unfolded it, wondering if it was put there by mistake.
It was a phone number. Stede’s phone number, he surmised.
“You wear fine things well!” was printed under it, surrounded by hearts.
Ed stared at the phone number a long time. He wondered when Stede put this in his jacket–must have been after they swapped, before they swapped back. So between now and then, Stede tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, wrote down his phone number with a cheesy message, folded it up, and slipped the paper into Ed’s dinner jacket–and didn’t once think to himself oh! what a silly idea!
Fucking mental–Ed thought to himself affectionately, tucking the paper back into his dinner jacket.