Chapter Text
“I don’t see why this is such a big deal. It’s just a dance.” They were inside the Revolutionary Arcade due to the frigid temperatures taking hold outside. Cosmic stained carpet blanketed the floors as well as the walls, and the building itself was old and as busted as a New York bar on the bad side of town.
“Of course you wouldn’t mon amie, you’ve never been to an American school organized dance.” The French boy said this as he swung his cup of root beer in the air after he wrapped an arm around him.
Another boy, this time with wild curly hair, plastered himself to the other side of the first boy. “Come on Alexander, it’ll be fun. Think of it: food, girls, jams. Why not go?”
Alex pushed himself out of the grip of his two friends. “Because it’s a waste of time and money. I could be reading a new article or writing a response to one. And John, why the hell would you care about the girls? You’re gay.”
“Tsk. Tsk. Don’t change the subject! You cannot stay inside and wait for a new political story to be released and then fight about it on Twitter every night!”
“Laf is right Alexander, it just isn’t healthy.” The boy who said this was bigger than the rest but held his cup with a careful steady hand. He had a deep voice but kept it low and even as contrast to his other two friends whose voices filled the almost empty establishment.
“Really Hercule? You’re siding with them?”
Hercules nodded and looked over his friends. Even after being pushed away John sat a bit too close to Alex and Lafayette was smirking at the sight or his next idea. Their local Frenchman took Alexander by his shoulders, so he faced John. “If you do not go for the lovely ladies,” Lafayette leaned in close to the shell of his ear, “then you should go for the gentlemen, no?”
John’s attention immediately fell to his cup and Alex held a strong straight face only betrayed by the slight bit of red on his cheeks. “Even if I wanted to go for the gentlemen there is still the matter of the money and what I have to wear. Which is nothing.” He threw his head back to down the rest of his drink and went to get up.
“Dude, the fee to get in is fifteen dollars. I think we can spot you,” John said as he put a comforting hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“I’m sure our resident marinière can help you out in the clothing department,” Lafayette said gesturing to Hercules.
“Unless he has an extra suit lying around I don’t think that’s going to work. Angelica told me it was called the winter’s ball because everyone goes all out.”
Hercules swirled his cup slowly and thought back to his collection at home. “I can see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.” He pushed out his chair and got up with the rest of his friends.
“Excellent I will get the tickets tomorrow!”
From that night it was only a week until the ball and the group found it impossible to find Alexander a good fitted suit. He would always say they were too expensive and when Laf or John offered to rent him a suit he would adamantly turn them down. They stopped after the fifth shop when the salesman told Alex that he would need a child’s size for his height leading to a screaming match and the short boy stomping away in frustration.
Hercules sat hunched over his desk the day before the ball coloring in his sketchbook full of new dress designs. Floral was due for a comeback and spring was only a couple months away, so he wanted to get at least eight new designs done. At the moment he only had five, but his biggest problem was choosing the proper color coordination--
Mmm whatcha say~
“Fuck.” Hercules picked up his phone. “Yes, Alexander?”
“Uh, hey man. I... found a suit.” He sounded slightly out of breath.
“Oh really? That’s cool man, you can come over tomorrow, so I can adjust it. It won’t be perfect, but-”
“Could we actually do it tonight?”
He ignored his friend’s constant cutoffs and glanced at his bedside clock. “Dude, I would love to, but it’s snowing, and it takes a half an hour for you to-”
“I’m already here.”
He sighed and let Alexander in his house and lead him to his room. “You ran all the way here in the snow?”
“Running would be a bit of an exaggeration, but I got here,” Alex answered.
Hercules studied him for a moment. Alexander’s expression didn’t look like he was trying to hide something, but his face wasn’t red from running or the cold. His clothes and hair also looked completely dry. The most interesting thing was that the suit itself looked like it was made for a man with a lot of money. Hercules shrugged and knelt down to take measurements. “So, where did you get this?”
“Consignment store. They just got new shipment.”
“At twelve in the morning?”
“I got it for a great price.”
“I’m not sure how seeing as this is a brand-new Brunello Cucenelli suit.” Very new. As if it was just made and tailored to its previous owner. “You got a boutineer?”
“A what?”
“The flower on the jacket. It’s a very nice purple iris.” It looked to be fresh, but a little crumpled as if it was fiddled with carelessly. Upon further inspection Hercules also noticed the matching blue Cucenelli undershirt along with a silk striped blue tie and matching handkerchief. “You’re not going to tell me where you actually got this suit, are you?”
“I already told you where I got it.”
Alterations took several hours, but it was mostly a matter of hemming. They talked a bit about one of Alex’s new essays and Hercules told him about his new collection. After they were done Alexander left for the library and Hercules decided to get a couple of hours of sleep.
“You look like shit, son,” Hercules’ dad said when he sat down for breakfast in the morning.
“Late night. Anything interesting going on in the world?” He poured himself a bowl of cereal.
“Naw not really. Everyone is going nuts over this old guys death. Names Benjamin Franklin.”
He looked up to the television to the extensive report going over every facet of the older gentleman’s life. From the old camera footage, he looked to be a short man who was pretty heavy, but lost weight dramatically in his last weeks.
“You know, you should really give up this fashion thing in favor of something more in tune to your body type like construction or football,” his father went on.
Hercules grunted not looking at his father in favor of paying attention to the long eulogy for a man he was sure Alex would rave about when they met up for school. “Franklin was buried at Christ Church in Philadelphia yesterday afternoon.” The reporter droned on, “what we have here is his supposedly last picture secretly taken at his open casket funeral.”
In the picture the now much skinnier man was wearing an expensive looking suit, a blue striped tie, and a matching handkerchief. Not only that, but on his lapel was a perfect purple iris.