Chapter Text
Ed sighs.
“Oh look, he’s being a mopey twat again,” Izzy sneers as he lifts Ed’s drink to wipe down the bar underneath.
“Back off, Iz,” Fang says. “He’s just in his feelings today.”
Ed takes the glass from Izzy. “Yeah, fuck off, Iz. ‘m just in my feelings.”
Fang beams proudly at Ed. But then, as Izzy moves further down the bar, sucking his teeth, Fang schools his face into one of concern. “Still thinkin’ about that blonde bloke from the elevator?”
Ed freezes, glass paused at his lips. “Yeah.” He takes a sip. “D’ya think I’m crazy, Fang?”
“Nah,” Fang replies immediately, no hesitation. “There was somethin’ there, wasn’t there?”
Ed sighs again. “Yeah, maybe. But what the fuck good is it pinin’ after someone I’ll never see again?”
“Never say never, boss. You’re goin’ back to see Jeffrey tomorrow, aren’t ya? Maybe lightning will strike twice!”
Ed props his head on his hand and takes in his old friend’s warm, smiling face. Ed wishes he could feel that same sense of optimism that seems to propel Fang through the world. Instead, he just feels hollowed out by the tumultuous last few months he’s had. They finally located Jack and are suing him within an inch of his life. Jeffrey has helped get the books all back in order. Blackbeard’s is on its way to being financially steady once again.
And Ed. Well. Ed had been on a bit of a journey in these past several months. He’d thought about Dimple Blonde Elevator Man a great deal. Ed had felt a connection there, and he thinks, with nothing to back it up except this persistent feeling that’s stubbornly lodged in his gut, that the blonde had felt it too. He often fantasizes about the “what ifs”. What if he’d slid his foot over to close that last bit of space between them? What if he’d started up a bit of banter about Perfume Lady? What if he’d just said “fuck it” and gotten back on that elevator and followed the man wherever he was going? Sometimes these fantasies play all the way out to an exchange of rings. Sometimes they only get as far as the nearest bathroom for a quick fumble. Sometimes they go on a series of perfectly nice dates, only for Blondie to realize in the end that Ed’s just not worth the trouble. Ed turns those ones over and over in his mind, when he’s feeling particularly unloveable. Then he calls his therapist for a top up.
One morning a few months ago, Ed had stood in front of his mirror, freshly showered. He wiped away the steam on the mirror and stared intently at the face looking back at him. He knew his finances were going to get unfucked, his crew would be okay. But he was just so tired. Had been for a good long while. If he’s honest with himself, that’s probably why Jack had been able to get away with his shit as long as he had. Ed doesn’t even remember digging out the electric razor. But he does remember very much liking the end result. He had turned his face from side to side, studying his jawline, which he hadn’t seen in decades. He gathered his hair up and held it in place. It accentuated his neck, giving the hawk tattoo between his collar bones center stage, giving its wings space to stretch out, ready to fly. He looked…soft, was the only word he could come up with. And he loved it. Later that day, he’d acquired a fuckton of accessories to help wrangle his long curls into the new do. He’d also walked away with a three-pack of tshirts he’d bought simply because the turquoise one at the top of the pack had reminded him of Elevator Blonde. Ed put it on the next day, and nope nope nope, that is Blondie’s color, not his. The deep rosy red had worked okay. But, oh, the purple one that had been hiding at the bottom of the pack. Yeah. Fuck yeah. It quickly became Ed’s new favorite thing.
Izzy had about keeled over the first time Ed walked into work with his clean-shaven face. Fang, Ivan, and Archie looked perplexed but were quick to jump in with compliments (if “babyface” could be considered a compliment). He’d let the beard start to grow back in and spent a few months grumpily trying to tolerate the “in-between” phase. But when Jeffrey Fettering had emailed a few days ago to say that his books were officially balanced and clean, he had celebrated by shaving off his beard once again because fuck what anyone else thought, Ed liked his new look. Even if his face was still itching something fierce and he was freezing from neck to nostril in the AC pumping through the bar.
Anyway. Ed finishes his drink. He gives Fang a genial slap on the back, puts a huge tip in the jar for his staff, and heads home. He lies in bed, idly swiping through Grindr notifications that do nothing for him. No one can compare to the blonde in the elevator. He knows it's irrational. They hadn’t even had a conversation. So how the fuck had this man become the measuring stick everyone else would have live up to? Doesn’t matter anyway, he decides, as he closes the app and plugs in his phone. He has an early-ish appointment with Jeffrey tomorrow to finalize all the details. Might as well just get some sleep. If he dreams of elevator cars and boots touching brogues and fields of lavender, that’s between him and his brain.
Ed awakes, showers, dresses. He doesn’t need the leather armor today. He pulls on his favorite black jeans (they make his ass look just as good as the leathers but with significantly less wriggling required to get them on) as well as his new-favorite purple tshirt. It’s soft as fuck and the color really does make his skin pop. He’s glowing. He sweeps his hair up into a messily styled bun, pops on a bit of eyeliner because who the fuck says he can’t. He feels good. Once he signs these papers with Jeffrey, he gets to start over, reset. A clean slate for Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill (and Other Delicacies and Delights), Inc. More importantly, a clean slate for Ed. Maybe he can shift everything over to Izzy, retire. Get a boat and become the fishing supplier for his own chain. He can do anything.
But first he’s gotta sign the fuckin’ papers.
As he walks through the lobby, Fang’s comment about lightning striking twice echoes through his brain. But in all the visits he’s made to this building, he’s never again caught sight of those golden curls. He takes the same elevator car each time anyway, just in case. Today he’s a lone passenger, straight shot to Floor 32. He signs the papers, shakes Jeffrey’s hand. Thanks him--outwardly for his professionalism and expertise, inwardly for his kindness and the delicate way he handled what Jack had so spectacularly fucked. Ed makes his way to the elevator, feeling every bit a new man, ready to take on whatever comes next.
The doors open, and there he is.
“What have you done with your face?!” Dimple Blonde screeches at him.
Well, fuck. Not bloody optimal, that reaction.
“Hell of a thing to say, mate.” He goes for an attempt at casual indifference as he steps into the elevator. Meanwhile his heart is pounding wildly, every beat screaming “it’s him, it’s him, it’s him!”
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. It’s just. You look so different.”
Yeah, Ed knows he looks different. That was the fucking point. He brings his hand to his chin and rubs over the few days’ stubble that’s grown in. “Needed a change,” he says, a bit defensively. “Thinkin’ about growin’ it back in, especially if that’s the reaction it’s gonna get from everyone.”
He stands next to the man, arms folded over his chest. He glances over.
“No, please,” Dimple Blonde says, hazel eyes full of sincerity. “You look lovely. Truly. I was just startled.”
And okay, yeah, Ed can understand that. He was startled too, to have those doors open and reveal the man who has haunted his--wait. Lovely? Did he just say Ed is lovely? Ed’s had a lot of adjectives tossed his way over the years, but lovely has never been one of them.
“Lovely? Really?” He goes for dismissive but knows instantly he’s missed it by a country mile.
The blonde quirks his mouth, and oh, hello, there it is. Dimple. “Well, yes.” He waves his hand, indicating toward Ed’s…well, his everything, really. “It’s all very lovely on you.”
Ed feels a shiver run down his spine that has nothing to do with his naked chin or the AC. “Thank you,” he says, around a lump in his throat. He swallows, clears it. He finally takes in the entirety of the man standing next to him. Skinny jeans so tight they could be painted on. Black tshirt with rainbow font declaring Woke Up Gay Again. “You, uh, you seem different too, ya know. Not as fancy today. But, it’s, uh, good.”
Ed’s mentally kicking himself for landing on “good” but Blondie chuckles. “Yes, well, I figured it would piss my horrible father right off to know I’d signed away his company while dressed so casually. And queerly. I’m sure he’s spinning in his grave.” The man gasps and brings his hand up to his mouth. “Oh god, that sounds awful, doesn’t it?”
Woah, there’s a lot to unpack there, and Ed’s brain races with it. First he laughs. And then, because if he understands nothing else in this world, he understands not feeling a single iota of grief when a horrible father is finally, permanently, out of the picture, he says, “Nah, mate.” He turns to face the man full on. He decides to run with it. “In fact, ‘m Ed, founder of the Shitty Dead Dads Club.” He sticks out his hand.
Elevator Blonde doesn’t hesitate. He takes Ed’s hand in his and says, “Well, Ed, it’s nice to meet you. Stede Bonnet. I’ve only recently joined.”
He has a name! A cool one that Ed definitely wants to know more about. But first, he decides, he’ll continue the bit. Ed loves a good bit. He has a feeling Stede will play along.
“Gotten your kit yet? Buttons, stickers, tshirt?”
Stede smiles and shakes his head as their hands remain clasped together.
“Well, that won’t do.” Ed has made it his mission (in the last thirty seconds) to have Stede’s number by the time they reach the lobby. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “Better put all your details in there so I can get that sorted for ya.” He winks, and he gets to see Stede’s face go all pink again like it had six months ago.
Stede takes the phone and Ed watches as he enters his contact info. Then, Stede pauses. In that brief instant, Ed panics. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe Ed’s coming on too strong. Maybe he’s actually disgusted by Ed’s naked chin. But then Ed sees that Stede is typing again. He finishes and hands the phone back over.
He’s sent himself a text from Ed’s phone, and Ed can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him when he reads: This is Ed from the elevator. Please ask me out.
Oh my god, this is happening. Ed raises his brows at Stede and makes a “well, go on then” gesture with his hand.
“Are you busy right now, Ed? There’s a lovely cafe around the corner from here.”
And yeah, technically, Ed’s busy. He’s supposed to meet up with Izzy, let him know it’s all done and dusted, get started on their plans for moving forward.
But Ed says, “Let’s go.”
The elevator doors open. Ed holds out his hand. Stede takes it. They step out together and life begins again.