Chapter Text
Another day, another few schillings. Matthew sipped at his beer at the local pub. He was in Glasgow now. As a restless wanderer he had travelled all across the British Isles in search of the next good time, and the next cold pint.
The locals were almost always the same. Working men, like him. Only difference was that Matthew didn’t have a group of friends to join as he entered. Always the newcomer. Barely managed to form friendships before he was on his way to the next job, the next quaint town or bustling city. Tonight he wanted peace and quiet, so he had put himself in the most isolated booth in the entire pub.
It was a Friday, so Matthew didn’t bother to look up when he heard a ruckus coming from outside. It’s Friday, after all. He resonated, before he emptied his glass. He didn’t even flinch as the door bust open behind him, and hurried steps approached the bar – which was for the moment untended.
The hurried steps changed direction, towards Matthew’s booth, before suddenly, a stranger plopped down in front of him. It was a man, wearing a cloak, which he quickly dismissed, and tossed over at Matthew’s side of the booth.
For a man wearing a cloak, he had oddly recognizable characteristics, Matthew thought to himself. But then again, maybe that’s exactly why he needed to wear a cloak. He looked to be about Matthew’s own age – his early or mid-20s. Despite this, the stranger had shock-white, half-long hair, and was generally pale.
“Pretend we know each other.” The stranger hissed at Matthew, with a thick Scottish accent.
It was more a hissing plea than a demand really, and Matthew shrugged as he stared down at his empty glass. “It’s your turn to buy.” Matthew remarked casually, seeing an opportunity to get a free pint out of the bargain, while also playing his role.
The stranger quickly slipped a hand in his pocket, and tossed a few schillings in Matthew’s direction.
Despite the pints being only a few pence, Matthew nodded in thanks, and got up to order. When he returned to the booth with the two pints, he noticed that the stranger was hogging his empty glass. Whatever suits him, Matt thought as he placed the pints on the table and sat down.
“So. How was work? I think I must’ve shovelled 10 wheelbarrows’ worth of shit today.” Matthew shared casually.
The stranger locked his ice blue eyes with Matt’s for a good few seconds, before he burst out into laughter. “Same here, brother. At least it feels that way.” The strange lifted his glass, and invited Matt to a toast. “It seems like it’s calmed down now, though. I think they might have lost my trail. My name’s Ewan, by the way. But if strangers are asking, it’s Ronan.”
“Noted. Name’s Matthew, but Matt for short if strangers come asking.” Matthew nods while revelling in his own brilliant comeback. “So who’s chasing you? The brothers of a girl you treated wrong? Tax collectors? The husband of a woman you seduced?”
Ewan chuckles. “I sense a theme here. Speaking from own experience?” He takes a big sip of his pint.
“I might.” Matthew shrugs nonchalantly – or at least whatever passes as nonchalant in Matthew’s rather unsubtle body language.
Ewan smirks and shakes his head in disbelief. “Neither. I’m afraid my personal life isn’t as interesting as yours. Though, I might be able to help if you’re currently having trouble with any of the above.”
“Seriously?” Matt snorts. “You could fix the English tax collectors for me?” He cocks an eyebrow, looking at the newcomer with both disbelief and curious interest.
“I might.” Ewan retorts cheekily.
*
It took barely a week before Matt received a letter from the tax collectors, simply stating that his debt was cleared. It surely was a weight off his chest. As soon as the letter was read, he was determined to thank Ewan for the help. He had the name of an Inn where Ewan was supposed to be staying, and with a little bit of luck, he’d still be there.
Matthew bent down to look himself in the mirror with a sigh. No matter how much he tried to get his matted brown hair to lie down properly, it would never stay in place. Not even with products, which annoyed him. I suppose I’ll be permanently messy-haired then, Matthew sighed as he stared into his hazel eyes. As he straightened back up, he bumped his head in the wooden ceiling beam that stretched across the room. Ugh! I never get used to these Tudor-fucking-rooms! Matt cussed internally. But to the room’s defence, Matt was a tall man, standing nearly 2 metres tall barefoot.
He had been a lanky and gangly teenager - but as he entered early adulthood he had filled out his shape a bit more with long, lean muscles. He was a handsome man by all accounts, but his size and relative attractiveness would also attract a fair bit of unwanted attention: Mainly from other young men, feeling threatened by his presence.
And a big man has a big appetite. The Bed-and-Breakfast where Matt was currently staying had regretted to inform him that they’d have to charge him an additional schilling, so he wouldn’t eat them out of the house. Matt didn’t contest this. He knew that most guests didn’t devour the amounts of eggs, bread and ham he did. He had no qualms about it.
After having his fill of breakfast, and making sure that his messy hair was within reasonable bounds, Matthew headed outside. Now he were to find the inn Ewan was currently was staying in, by the name of The White Stag Inn.
After some helpless aiming, and some helpful pointers by passer-by’s, Matt found the part of Glasgow where he presumably would find the mysterious Ewan. Though, it did surprised him that it was in the more poor and run-down part of the city. He didn’t really know Ewan, but he had gotten the impression that he had money to stay someplace better – at least judging by his decent clothes, and generous tip for the beer.
Matthew politely declined the advances of two “working ladies”, before he found himself standing in front of The White Stag. The place looked like it had seen better days. The windows were filthy, you were completely unable to see through them, and there were all sorts of shady-looking characters lurking around the entrance. Still, the sight didn’t put Matt off as he headed inside.
After a quick exchange with the innkeeper, Matt was pointed in the direction of Ewan’s room. He was glad that Ewan was still checked-in, meaning he hadn’t made this rather uncomfortable trip in vain. He knocked the door optimistically. No reply. He knocked again; a little bit harder. Still no reply. It was 11 o’clock. By all reason he should be awake. Matt pounded the door with his fist one final time.
“Who is it?” An annoyed and muffled voice replied from within.
“Matthew.” Matt replied cautiously.
“Oh!” The voice replied, clearly more chipper now. “Come in!”
Matt opened the door carefully, and soon found himself a bit surprised at the scene he was taking in. In front of him sat Ewan. The young man was on a chair in front a mirror, chest bare, with shaving foam slathered all over his cheeks and his chest.
“Please close the door behind you, will you?” Ewan utters with a stiff expression as he takes the razor to his face, carefully shaving the stubble away.
“Y-yeah, sure.” Matt mutters, closing the door behind him. Fair enough the man was shaving, but he’d never seen a man shave his chest before. What sort of vanity was this?
“I’m afraid I don’t have much in term of chairs in here, but you could sit down on the bed if you wish.” Ewan continues as he shaves, continuing onto the other side of his face.
Matt casts a glance at the bed. It was made to perfection. It almost felt like a crime to sit down on it, but still he did.
“For what do I owe the pleasure?” Ewan sighs as he cleans off his smooth-shaven face. His chest was next.
“Oh, err.” Matt scratches the back of his head. “I got a letter from the taxman. It said my debts were settled.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Congratulations.” Ewan hummed as the razor scraped against one of his pecs.
“No, eh-.” Matt sighed. “Thing is-. I didn’t clear the debt myself. Now – last we met you jested, saying you’d fix it for me. But I didn’t take it seriously.”
“Why?” Ewan retorts with a deadpan expression, looking at Matt through the mirror.
“Why?!” Matt laughs at the ridiculousness. “Well, you were a stranger I just met, and I didn’t mean to ask you seriously to clear my debts! I mean," Matt pauses to gather his words. "I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I am grateful. But what does this mean? Do I owe you something in return now? Or-. I just don’t quite understand how you did this and why you did it.” He sighs.
The hand holding the razor halts for a moment, before Ewan resumes shaving his chest. “Well. You did me a favour too that night. Don’t forget that. It was probably not a big thing for you - but trust me when I say clearing your debt was not a big thing for me either.” Ewan gives Matt a crooked smile through the reflection.
“Huh.” Matt ponders for a moment. “Well thank you. I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” He clears his throat. He doesn’t want to come across as rude or invasive. Still, he looks up, meeting Ewan’s icy gaze through the mirror. “Sorry if I’m out of line by asking-. I don’t mean anything by it. But-. Are you some sort of criminal?”
At this, Ewan laughs. He laughs heartily, and for a good long while. The young man wipes off his pale, shaved chest with a towel, and turns around in his chair to meet Matt’s gaze proper. “And what if I was?” He teases.
“Not much.” Matt replies in all honesty. “It just made sense in my mind, I suppose.”
After a moment’s consideration, Ewan presents a confident grin. “I like you, Matt. And to answer your question: To some I might be, but generally speaking, no. I’m not a criminal.”
Matt nods thoughtfully. “Thanks. I like me too.” He smirks at his own retort. “Listen, I don’t really have many friends in town, and I’m missing the company of other people. Would you join me for a pint tonight?”
Ewan’s cocky grin softly disappears, as if he looks at Matt in a new light. “Yes, Matt. I’d really like that. “