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“Oh,” James says, stepping back and examining his handiwork. “Oh no.”
“It’s a bit…”
Tight, Peter thinks but never says it out loud. Instead, he offers James a sheepish smile, much preferring to look at him (always preferring to look at him) than himself in the mirror wearing the new dress shirt James bought him. It was the second one he bought him this month. Right after the lacy top that reminded Peter too much of the dresses he was forced to wear as a boy.
This new one was plain enough as is. Perfectly to Peter’s style. It’s just…tight in all the areas Peter wanted to hide.
“Well, I guess I could…Maybe I can…” James tries to offer a solution, but he fumbles when he can’t find it. It leaves him a little red-faced when the words just spill out of his mouth.
In another life, Peter Pan would have loved to see the terrible James Hook squirm under his watch. (And sometimes, in this life, Peter Darling loved it too.) But it felt cruel to enjoy it when James was only thinking of him. Caring for him. Loving him.
Peter closes the gap between their mouths. All while unbuttoning the dress shirt, eager to get it off him.
“I hear the post boy needs something nice to wear to his sister's wedding,” he says.
This time, James is the one giving a sheepish smile.
No more dress shirts were bought that month.
--
Peter didn’t understand fashion. The idea of it conjured one too many memories of his mother dragging him to the dressmaker and putting him in gowns of the latest style. Whatever would impress his father’s co-workers, his mother bought. Whatever was lovely enough to display, Peter had to play mannequin for it.
He supposes this is why he thought fashion to be frivolous, if not a little stupid. Not that Peter would ever tell James, who seemed to live to surround himself with all things handsome and fine. (Him included, James assured. Even when Peter fell out of the apple trees and broke his nose)
While a painter’s income couldn't afford all the satin and silk Hook owned, James certainly acted like it. He styled what he had to his pleasure and presented himself as if he had someone to impress. Peter assumes it came with the territory of simply being sure of yourself. He doubts James ever had to worry about his hips looking wide in trousers. He probably didn’t dream up scenarios where the shopkeepers give him odd looks whenever he asks for suspenders.
And so Peter contents himself with borrowing James’ clothes. Not that he minded, of course. They were comfortable, if not a little scratchy due to the frills, and they did their job by keeping Peter covered. Best of all, they smelled like James. Even if the man sat just one room away with his paint thinner and flowers.
“I got something for you.”
When Peter looks up from his typewriter (his clever hero mid-parry with his rather dashing villain), James is back from town with two bags balanced in one arm. The first one overflowed with bread and produce, while the other was notably lined with delicate wrapping tissue. The kind one gets with purchases from a boutique.
Oh, Peter thinks. Oh no.
“I’ll stop if you want me to,” James interrupts, cutting through all the noise in Peter’s head. His grip on the bag tightens, and it’s clear that James refuses to let up. At least, not until he makes his case.
“If it makes you unhappy, I’ll stop. But I think you deserve things that are not just borrowed but are your own. Things that make you feel like you.”
Well.
How does one say no to a case like that?
Peter crosses his arms in front of his chest and feigns petulance. It’s the only thing stopping him from pulling James into an embrace and telling him he could never make him unhappy. Not with all he's given him in this life as well as their last.
Instead, Peter settles for relenting. James then happily shares his spoils from town.
--
The hazel shirt hangs loose and lousy on Peter’s body. It certainly hid all the areas Peter didn’t want to see, and it was a better fit than anything he's ever borrowed. But its size made Peter feel like a boy dressing up in his father’s clothes. Only playing a game. Only pretending.
Peter’s mouth twists, unsure what to make of his reflection in the mirror. He can't even name the feeling sitting in his chest. It wasn’t old dysphoria per se…Just disappointment.
So much for the matching waistcoat and cufflinks. Peter was actually excited to try those on. So much for having things that made him feel like himself.
“It’s a bit…” Peter begins, but the words fall short. He turns to James hunched over on a chair, watching Peter intently with narrowed eyes, and hopes he simply gets what he means. James always had a talent for getting him.
Suddenly, James makes his way to stand by Peter in front of the mirror. His hand carefully lands on the small of Peter's back and tugs on the shirt’s fabric, adjusting it. Refitting it.
“We can fix it,” he promises. And then asks to be sure: “Do you want us to fix it?”
Peter smiles. His short-lived excitement for the waistcoat and cufflinks quickly sparks again.
It takes them a week or so to alter the entire ensemble. They even adjust an old pair of trousers to complete the outfit, and in between all the sewing and finishing his latest story, Peter swears his fingers have never felt so raw.
When he stands in front of the mirror again, Peter finds that he still can’t make sense of what he sees. It was nice to have clothes that fit, he supposes, just as it was nice to have things that were just his. Nothing fully clicks until James stands next to him, wearing his favorite shirt full of dramatic sleeves and ruffles.
He looked ridiculous, Peter concludes. Especially in comparison to his simple altered outfit.
But James looked like himself. Just as Peter looked like himself in his tailored waistcoat.Not like a girl or a boy playing pretend. Not even looking like James dressed him up for his pleasure.
The two of them breathe in the sight of each other in the mirror as James’ hand quietly falls on Peter’s waist.
“You’re looking rather dapper this afternoon, Mr. Darling,” he comments, and Peter stands tall to practically preen.
Later, he asks James if they can go to town and buy a matching tie. This time, it’s James who preens. He can never say no to a shopping trip.
--
“I got something for you.”
When James looks up from his latest painting (his subject — wildflowers that were picked alongside wild apples), Peter is halfway through unwrapping the second bag he brought back from town. Tearing through the delicate tissue, he pulls out a dark mustard coat lined black on the inside. It’s no pale gold coat made of spider silk and black velvet. It’s probably not fit for a pirate king, but Peter hoped it would do for a former one instead.
Peter didn't understand fashion — at least, not like James understood his own style. And so the silence and lack of response are a little unnerving.
But then James grabs his face and kisses him senseless. The faint smell of linseed oil and paint makes Peter's nose crinkle.
“Love,” James calls to him, his smile audible in his voice. “I absolutely adore it.”