Work Text:
The fabric store is quiet in that way that craft stores are. The lighting is soft without being dim, the music low enough to ignore, the aisles wide and uncluttered. Nothing competes unless you go looking for it. Yuna Hollander notices all of that before she even makes it halfway through the door. What she does not expect, however, is Brad Marchand already set up at the back table like he belongs there.
He had a spread of fabric swatches laid out in front of him, not scattered but carefully arranged. Colours shift in small, careful steps instead of jumping. Textures are grouped, not mixed. It doesn’t look like someone guessing. It looks like someone who started somewhere and made choices on purpose, and is actually really, really good at it.
He glances up when she approaches, gives a small nod like they’re meeting for something normal instead of whatever this is.
“Hey Mama Yuna,” he says with his typical shit-eating grin. “I grabbed a few things to start. If they’re terrible, we’ll blame the store and I’ll pretend I wasn’t involved.”
Yuna stops at the table.
Takes it in.
Then looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “You chose these?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, easy. “Figured it’d save time.”
There’s no edge to it. No grin waiting for a reaction. He’s already looking back at the fabrics, like the answer doesn’t matter as much as getting it right.
Yuna steps closer.
The colours don’t clash. Nothing pulls too hard. Even the ones that should stand out… don’t. They settle instead. And when she reaches out, the textures follow the same logic—consistent, predictable, nothing catching unexpectedly under her fingers.
Yuna reaches for one of the reds—if it can even be called that. It’s softened, deepened, closer to burgundy than anything bright. The kind of colour that warms instead of demands.
“Why this shade?” she asks.
Brad leans in slightly, following her hand. “Because it doesn’t hit you all at once,” he says. “Bright red’s a lot. This one just kind of… sits there. We’re not looking to overwhelm anything.”
She turns it slightly under the light. The colour stays consistent and warm. It’s actually basically perfect. She finds herself surprised again.
“And these?” she asks, gesturing to the rest.
“Kept the black minimal,” he says, tapping a darker swatch. “Just accents. If you use too much it gets heavy. This way it just breaks things up, and sill follows a general theme of the Centaurs’ colours.”
Yuna glances at him. “And the off-white?”
Brad picks that one up himself, running his thumb over it. “Same idea as the black, but it warms everything up,” he says. “If you go too stark, it feels clinical. This keeps it softer.”
He sets it back down with the others, the three tones sitting together in a way that feels less like a team palette and more like something natural. Like something you’d see without realizing you were looking at it.
“Also,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “it’ll look good later in the night. When the light drops a bit.”
Yuna’s gaze softens just as she studies him.
“Later in the night,” she repeats.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like sunset. Everything’s warmer then. This won’t fight that.”
“That’s…specific.”
Brad lifts one shoulder. “You sit through enough events, you start noticing what’s annoying.”
“Annoying,” she repeats, softer.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like when something’s off and you can’t pinpoint it, so you just get more uncomfortable and more irritated and you don’t know why. That kind of annoying.”
Yuna sets the fabric back down with care.
“Show me what didn’t make the cut.”
***
They work through it without friction, which is something she did not anticipate. Brad doesn’t argue for the sake of it. When he disagrees, it’s quick and grounded. When he agrees, he doesn’t over-explain it. He’s almost nothing like the person she watches on the ice.
He picks up a fabric with a slight sheen and puts it aside almost immediately. “No shine. Light hits it weird. You end up noticing it every time you move, and that’ll drive Hollan- I mean, Shane, crazy.”
Yuna inclines her head. “We’ll avoid it.”
A heavier weave follows. He presses it between his fingers, thoughtful. “This one’s too rough. You’d feel it through clothes.”
She runs her hand over it once, then sets it down. “Not ideal.”
He lifts a patterned linen next, holds it at arm’s length, then closer. “This one’s fine from far away. Up close it’s doing a bit much.”
Yuna steps in beside him, studying it from both distances before nodding. “We can use it sparingly. Out of the main sightlines.”
“Or,” he says. “There’s that cotton/bamboo blend in almost the exact colour but softer, gentler, and can be more than an accent.”
There’s a rhythm to it that settles in quickly. No wasted motion. No second-guessing once something’s decided.
At one point, Brad glances at her sideways. “You were expecting this to go worse, weren’t you?”
Yuna doesn’t look up from the swatch in her hand. “I was prepared to redirect you or distract you, yes.”
He grins. “Oh, I can still be a problem if you want. I just figured I’d get the important part right first.”
“Efficient,” she says, laughing. She was charmed in spite of herself.
“I try,” he replies, like it’s half a joke and half not.
***
They end up agreeing on the original colour palette and the cotton/bamboo blend he’d suggested. To Yuna’s surprise, he happily purchased it all himself, and left detailed instructions for what he wanted made before turning to her and offering to take her for lunch so they could discuss the layout and other plans.
“We should have a quieter area,” Brad says, resting his chin in his hand as they waited for their food. “Somewhere people can step out without it being obvious. That’ll help with anyone with kids, or even sensory issues.”
“It’s already arranged,” Yuna tells him. “Since it’s in their backyard. There’s a great smaller section of the yard Shane uses when he needs some peace and quiet.”
“Good,” he says, nodding once. “Then extra cushions there. Nothing too structured. If someone wants to sit sideways or curl up or whatever, they can.”
Yuna glances at him then, more directly. “Or whatever,” she echoes.
He shrugs. “If you have to think about how you’re sitting, it’s already uncomfortable. You want it to just work for anyone. They wouldn’t want anyone to feel excluded.”
She studies him for a second longer than she intends.
“That makes sense,” she says, finally, trying and failing to keep the surprise out of her voice.
Brad reaches for his drink with a wry smile. “No need to hide your surprise, Yuna. You’d be surprised how little people actually know about me.”
***
By the time lunch is done they both have their phones out to sync the now infamous spreadsheet and notes on the details all worked out.
“This will work, Brad. This is wonderful.”
Brad lets out a quiet breath, barely noticeable. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” She pauses, then adds, “You’ve done something exceptional, and kind.”
He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna write that down. Get it framed.”
“You should.”
“Put it in my trophy case,” he adds. “Right next to all my other achievements.”
“That feels appropriate.” She laughs, patting his arm.
They start gathering their things, but slowly in the way people do when they don’t want the time to end. Brad leans in a little closer, voice dropping just enough to shift the tone and his face once again holding that troublemaking grin.
“So,” he says, the laughter bleeding into his voice. “Obviously you know about Sid.”
“I do.” She answers, her voice carefully neutral.
He nods, pleased. There’s a pause, and then his grin sharpens.
“They’re going to lose their minds.”
Yuna allows a hint of a smile. “Wyatt first. But I haven’t even told Shane and Ilya.”
“Immediately,” Brad agrees. “He’s already building theories.”
Yuna straightens. “You’re joking. Right?”
“I’m not. He’s been interrogating Sid in the group chat.”
She laughs, quieter this time but no less delighted. “That’s incredible. I almost feel bad for him.”
“You don’t.”
“No,” she admits. “I don’t.”
She glances at him. “You’re not interfering.”
“I’m not interfering,” he says. “I’m observing.”
“You’re meddling.”
“I’m supporting,” he corrects. “Big difference.”
“There isn’t one.”
Brad thinks about that for a second, then shrugs. “Okay, a little meddling. But it’s gonna be worth it.”
Yuna exhales softly, something close to amusement.
“That remains to be seen.”
“It’ll be funny,” he says.
“That’s not the metric.”
“It is for me.”
***
They head toward the door together, the conversation easing back into something lighter. Brad holds the door open for her without making a thing of it.
“Hey,” he says, like it just occurred to him. “This is going to be a good wedding.”
Yuna pauses just outside, turning slightly. She looks back at him, and thinks about the very deliberate choices he made without being told why they mattered, at the quiet way he got it right, the solid and dependable support he has given her boys without even a moment of hesitation.
“Yes,” she says, softly. “It will be perfect. Because you care enough to help make it perfect.”
Brad blushes a little, then looks around quickly to make sure no one saw. He met her eyes and she got a look at the person he hit behind the persona.
“Good,” he says. “Everyone deserves love. And after everything, they deserve sunshine.”
There’s no joke underneath it this time. No edge, no performance. Just something simple and steady, offered without expectation. He doesn’t look away after he says it, either. Just stands there, like it’s obvious.
Yuna studies him for a moment, reassessing in a way she rarely has to. Then, before she can second-guess it, she steps in and wraps her arms around him in a quick, firm hug.
It catches him off guard—just enough that he stiffens for a second before settling into it, returning it without making a big deal out of it.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
Brad steps back, dragging a hand over the back of his neck as the grin slides back into place, easy and familiar.
“Don’t tell anyone I said that,” he says. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Yuna’s mouth curves, just slightly.
“Of course,” she replies. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Brad nods, satisfied, then pulls his phone back out.
“C’mon,” he says, already moving. “We’ve got one more stop to make before I have to make my flight back to Nova Scotia. Kat says there’s this store here that makes sensory friendly tuxes, and I thought of Shane immediately.”
Yuna shook her head with a smile. “Lead the way, monster.”