Chapter Text
They look at the bones first. Any tell. They can see through you. Right now, this man was looking at the corner of Charles' mouth, as if that meant anything at all.
“Excuse me, love?” He's made his decision.
Charles pretended to look up from his computer, as if he hadn't been watching the portly bastard through his peripheral the entire time he was standing there. For fucks sake, how can it not be obvious?
“Yeah?” Charles scratched back, lowering his voice an extra octave for good measure. It felt wrong to respond, but he didn't have a choice. He never had a choice.
“Uh, yeah, wondering if you could help?” The man leaned forward over the desk, pushing his form into it like he was trying to cut himself in half. He pointed to something on the leaflet in front of him.
Charles clenched his jaw, looking at the leaflet idly so as not to look at this man’s face. His neck was stiff.
“Yeah?” Charles repeated, not getting up from his desk chair. I won't give this man any more tells, he thought.
The man looked at him reproachfully, clearing his throat.
“Yeah I was just wondering, when do you close the phones?”
Close the phones? What is this, ‘Deal or No Deal’ ? Charles rolled his eyes with a sigh, fully aware of his rudeness.
“Office closes at five, that answer your question?” The smile he offered was thin and fleeting, eyes as black and hard as coal.
“Oh right, cheers love.” The man nodded, and ambled away from the desk. Charles watched him approach a sullen looking woman in the waiting area to relay the information. The woman nodded into a scrunched up tissue, and her bloodshot eyes caught Charles from where he was still glaring from behind the reception desk.
He hoped they were getting divorced.
Charles was still glaring as they shuffled through the pristine glass doors and out into the cold December air. The office reception was mostly empty, just a few sorry looking individuals tucked away as much as the arrogant brown leather sofas would allow them to.
Nothing said: ‘I’m a lawyer with a small cock’ more than brown leather sofas.
The truth was there were two lawyers in this little firm, well, there used to be. “Franklin and co.” had long ceased to be ‘and co’ around a year ago when John Franklin had successfully argued with his business partner, Francis Crozier, harshly enough to make the Irishman fully pack up and leave that very same day. Charles hadn’t been working at that time, but he had heard the rumors. The argument had happened behind closed doors in this very building. The clients had definitely heard it.
According to the other staff, he was a drunkard, and his work was slipping anyway. Charles had never met the man, but already he sounded a far cry more interesting than Mr Franklin.
John was a portly man who always looked as if he was on the verge of either reprimand or of dropping dead from fright. Charles had once observed him opening a rather heavy bill and had been afraid- and partially vexed- at the thought that he might have to call the man an ambulance with the way his face went chalk white in an instant. He was a reasonable man to work for, he never asked Charles questions, and didn’t expect Charles to take an interest in law- thank god.
However, John was old. He wasn’t ancient , but he was of an older generation. John panicked around Charles, he didn’t seem to know how to refer to him, and so he rarely addressed him in conversation. Suited him.
It wasn't a sad feeling when these things happened. After all, they happened all the time. Charles was, unfortunately, used to it. It wasn't sadness, but it was a pulling feeling in this gut, and it felt like disappointment. 'What did I do wrong?' was the feeling. 'How could he have seen through me?'
Although, the point was, and Charles knew this, that there was nothing to see through because people like the portly man before probably didn't even know people like Charles existed, and that's his own ignorance. No, there was nothing to see through because Charles wasn't different on the inside, he was a man whether that guy thought it or not. It was difficult to think like this sometimes though.
When it first started happening, when Charles first started being called Charles, it was painful. It's not much better now, but he's learned not to let it show on his face. After all, men don't go crying in the bathroom at work. If he got upset, that was just another tell.
Working for Mr Franklin was easy money, and good money too. But it did result in a steady stream of interactions like that one, day in day out.
'Yes love' and 'go talk to that lady' and 'I'm talking to this girl' and 'cheers sweet' on and on and on and on.
It made Charles want to scream 'I'm a boy!' and 'what kind of girl is called Charles, dickhead?' but he knew that wouldn't be professional. He knew that wouldn't sound right. He didn't want to sound desperate. He didn't want to have to fight for his comfort, because otherwise it didn't feel like comfort at all. It just felt like pity.
Until one day, something new happened.
"Excuse me, young man."
Charles was crouched down by the stacks of magazines and dusty lawyer pamphlets in the empty waiting room, and upon hearing this voice- this man's voice- his head shot up so fast he might have fractured something.
The gentleman looking down into his face was wrapped in a dark tweed greatcoat, hands firmly in pockets and navy scarf up to his chin. His pale skin was frost nipped and all around him was a draft that told Charles he had just freshly entered the building.
"Uh…" Charles just now realized he hadn't stood up. He glanced at the pile of magazines he was organizing and quickly pushed them into a heap. The whole time those two words were running around his head: young man.
Upon standing, it was curious to Charles that the man didn't adjust his stance at all, instead allowing Charles to stand off puttingly close to him. He was at least a head taller than Charles, and Charles felt a pang of embarrassment at being so short.
"You do work here, correct?" The man raised his brows, he had eyes that were hard to read. Icy blue. They studied Charles' face carefully and Charles wondered if he had something stuck in his teeth.
Charles didn't want to speak. He didn't want to break the spell. His voice was a tell. And this man's voice was so deep and masculine.
"Um…" oh fuck, he's going to know as soon as Charles speaks, then he's going to wrongfully 'correct' himself. A man his age can't know about people like Charles. He must be at least in his fifties.
The man's brows shot up impatiently. He grasped a moment to look around at the pokey little room, and then took a gentle step backwards, away from Charles' personal space, as if he had been trained exactly how to be polite rather than it feeling natural for him.
Charles felt something snap low and ugly and heavy in his gut as he decided he had to speak.
"Yes, I work here."
The man's face didn't falter, the world didn't end. Instead he fixed his steady gaze back onto Charles, sniffing in satisfaction.
"Perfect." The smile that grew on his face looked as natural as plastic ivy and, like fake ivy, it only reached so far.
"What can I do you for?" Charles didn't return the smile. What was he? A shopkeeper from the 1950s? God, get it together Charles. The man called you what you are and you're acting like he just offered you all his money.
"I'm presuming you're not John Franklin, hm?"
Should Charles laugh politely? It didn't look like this man was joking. He had probably the most severe face Charles had ever seen. His bone structure was high and cut with frown lines; lips thin, he held a feline angularity. For some reason Charles was reminded of Shere Kahn from the Disney cartoon. Charles couldn't quite tell if he was auburn or blonde in the dim lighting, but his hair was receding.
"Obviously not." Charles tipped his chin, attempting to pull back some of his authority.
"Indeed." The tall man clipped, low in his throat as if talking to himself.
And then, just as Charles thought this man was going to make his job very difficult, he was almost speared with a hand, presented for Charles to shake.
He considered it for a second, realizing just how odd everything had become, but also not wanting to miss out on something that was so overtly masculine and proper. He clasped the man's hand without knowing what he was shaking on, feeling the cool and soft leather of the man's gloves heat under his palm.
Surprisingly, the tall man didn't go in for a stupidly strong grip. He had nothing to prove. He was already the picture of masculinity, what did he have to flaunt for? Charles tasted bitter at the back of his tongue.
"Dr Stanley." Dr Stanley announced, giving a single firm squeeze before dropping his hand mechanically, once again as if trained.
"Who?" Charles felt a flush of pride at the small falter in the doctor's brow.
"Did Mr Franklin not inform his staff?"
"You do the math, mate."
A flicker announced itself in Dr Stanley's jaw, he carefully tipped his head back so as to observe Charles down the bridge of his nose.
Instead of engaging with Charles, the man ruffled his coat around his shoulders and turned away, striding towards the front desk with careful grace. That made Charles angry, as usually customers rose to his cheek every time, and now that sense of control was lost.
"Mr Franklin hired me." Dr Stanley spoke with his back still turned, pushing leaflets into straight piles with gloved fingers.
Charles wanted to ask 'when?' but then he remembered that he purposefully didn't involve himself with anything other than bookings.
"Right."
Dr Stanley turned and leaned carefully against the front of the desk. There was no sense of swagger about him, more of a quiet observative air. He never once looked Charles up and down, not like everyone else. He wasn't looking for tells.
"You a lawyer then?" Idiotic question, Charles.
Something glinted in the doctor's eyes and Charles realized that was his way of genuinely smiling.
"I would assume that's why I got the job, yes." He spoke as if he were bored, low and tired in the depths of his chest.
Should have known. Only lawyers would be pretentious enough to introduce themselves as 'Dr' to the receptionist.
"Right well, John is in his office." Charles sighed, walking unnaturally back behind the desk. He didn't like being watched.
Dr Stanley turned to face him, straightening up. The man must be over 6ft at least. Yet another thing that Charles envied.
"Would you like me to tell him you're here?"
"Well, that is rather why I'm here." He spoke towards the floor, as if the doctor himself were aware of how pompous he sounded.
Charles glared at him, finding strength in his lack of eye contact.
Just as Charles was about to pick up the phone, the door to his right opened and the face of John Franklin emerged.
Upon spotting the man at the desk, his grey features lit up.
"Oh, Stephen! You made it!"
He blanched with momentary embarrassment, but before Stephen could answer John had slapped him heartily on the back, pulling him in for some horrible display of professional bonding. He risked a glance to Charles, who was making no attempt to hide his snide grin.
"Uh," Stephen pulled away with as much grace as he could muster, clearing his throat and straightening his coat, "Yes, Mr Franklin, thank you for the opportunity."
What a strange power imbalance. Charles almost laughed as he realized that John thought they were buddies, and Stephen only viewed him as his boss. Typical John.
John ignored him, instead zeroing in on his coat as Stephen adjusted it.
"Oh, you didn't think to take the man's coat?" John was addressing Charles, of course, even if he didn't use his name.
Charles felt his face drop.
"Oh, right, yeah." Charles began to rise from his chair, feeling his face heat at being reprimanded in front of the new man.
"It's quite alright, Mr Franklin." Stephen cut in, taking his own coat off and unwrapping the scarf from his neck.
"Oh, call me John." John beamed once more, seemingly forgetting the whole ordeal.
Charles sat down slowly, cautiously looking towards John as Stephen degloved and placed his things neatly on the desk. He was wearing a gold band around his left ring finger and a simple three piece suit that matched his coat. Expensive.
That's the thing Charles had learned about working here, the simpler the jewelry or outfit, the more expensive it always was.
Charles wished he could wear suits as well as this man, or any other man to be exact. It just never felt right on his body, no matter how hard he tried.
Stephen caught him staring and Charles felt his stomach drop, turning his attention instead to his grubby nails under the table.
"Now, enough with all the greetings, come into my office and we'll get you set up." Another uncomfortable slap on the back.
"I never caught your assistant's name." Stephen spoke to the crown of Charles' downturned head.
John faltered, his expression freezing onto his face for a millisecond before the practiced geniality was back.
"Charles." Charles spoke, glaring back up at the man. Of course John wouldn't say his name.
Something flashed over Stephen's face and for a moment it looked like defeat, and then when he looked towards John it twisted into a subtle disdain. Charles didn't understand, but he couldn't stop staring at the cold fire that was going unnoticed behind those eyes.
"Pleasure to meet you, Charles." Stephen spoke as he brushed lint off his collar, blinking a few times towards the floor before he looked back at Charles, and that fire was gone.
John bellowed at nothing, and made towards his office, inviting Stephen to follow. Stephen gave Charles a curt nod and then said:
"Do something about my coat."
Charles felt himself snarl at the order, but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth twisting up.
"Sure thing, Stephen ." Charles bit back, and Stephen tripped slightly over the threshold of John's office before the door was shut behind him.