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Roach fussed with his hair in the reflection of the tailor’s shop while Izzy fiddled with his phone. It was early morning and the shop wasn’t open yet - not because they were late, but Izzy tended to consider arriving ten minutes early to be on time, and arriving on time to be late. As it was, they still technically had two minutes to go.
The shop assistant appeared from behind the glass doors, her face slightly obscured by the ornate lettering proclaiming ILARIO MANNA, MASTER TAILOR. She peered out at both of them, plastered on her most convincing smile, and opened the door.
“Nice and early today gents?” she said, waving them in, “are we here for a fitting today?”
“Just picking up,” said Izzy.
Roach nodded silently in agreement. He’d barely said a handful of words in between the initial consultation and the fitting, and there was something about the place that seemed to make him fold in on himself like he could somehow make himself smaller.
“Pick up for the Bonnet household?” said the assistant, peering at the list, “it says there’s two suits ready.”
“I thought we were just picking up the one,” said Izzy, frowning, “let’s have a look.”
Izzy sat down on one of the plush armchairs in the waiting area while Roach paced, feigning interest in the various fashion plates that decorated the walls. He bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, then checked his watch.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” said Izzy, keeping his voice low and quiet.
Roach nodded jerkily and stuffed his hands into his pockets, hunching over. It was too quiet in here, silent but for the ticking of an antique wall-mounted clock.
The door from the storeroom clicked open and Roach jumped, whirling to see the assistant coming back in with a suit in each hand. One, the black tuxedo, was clearly for Roach. The other one was in a deep blue, and… was tiny .
“This one’s for a Mr. Roach?” said the assistant, holding up the tuxedo, “and this one appears to be for an Alma Bonnet?”
“Oh, of course,” said Izzy, “that’s right, we can pick up both.”
“Would you like to try the tuxedo on while you’re here?” said the assistant.
“No,” said Roach.
“ Yes,” said Izzy emphatically, “the sleeves were too loose at the last fitting, we’d better just make sure.”
Roach nodded, then trailed after Izzy as they went into the changing area.
“I’ll leave you two gentlemen to it,” said the assistant, “call me if you need anything!”
She closed the door, and then the two of them were alone.
It was a fairly spacious room, with more velvet couches and a large mirror set into a baroque arch that nearly took up half the wall space.
Roach wiped his hands on his pants before reaching for the smooth black fabric of his new jacket. His hand paused, fingertips just grazing the lapel.
“I don’t want to ruin it,” he said softly.
“It was made for you to wear it,” returned Izzy, “there’s no other use for it except putting it on.”
He nudged Roach out of the way and took the shirt off its hanger, handing it over.
“This one first.”
“I know how to dress myself.”
Irritation made heat flare in Izzy’s cheeks, but he kept a lid on it. Roach was just nervous.
Roach put the shirt on, then his eyes widened as the sleeves dangled long past his wrists.
“Izzy,” he said, his voice wavering with panic, “the sleeves-”
“It's alright, they’re french cuffs,” said Izzy, “you're supposed to fold 'em back. But we forgot to get cufflinks. Put the other stuff on, I’ll be back in a minute.”
“They’re french cuffs, he says,” muttered Roach, “like I am supposed to know what the fuck that means.”
Izzy rolled his eyes as he slipped out into the main area of the shop.
They had a wall full of cufflinks and tie pins and lapel pins, ranging from discreet gold and silver pieces to gaudy nonsense full of gems. Izzy looked over some of the plainer cufflinks, circular and square ones with little designs etched into the surfaces. There were a number of them with flower designs, little swirls, a compass rose that caught his eye - and then his gaze landed on a set of brass circles with little bugs etched into them.
Perfect.
He picked up the box and wiggled it at the shop assistant, who gave him a thumbs up and typed something into her computer.
When he went back in, Roach was standing there in shirt, trousers, and suspenders. He looked almost comical, his tie held loosely in one hand and his sleeves open and drooping over his hands.
“Come here,” said Izzy, unable to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile.
He took the tie from Roach, draping it over his shoulder while he folded Roach’s cuffs and pinned the cufflinks through one, then the other.
“I do not want to even think about how much money this is all costing,” murmured Roach. Izzy slid the back of the cufflink into place, then lifted Roach’s hand so that he could press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.
“Don’t think about it then,” said Izzy, “it’s Bonnet’s money anyway. He wanted you to have a suit, you’re going to have a fuckin’ suit. Come on, let’s have a look at you.”
Roach took a step back, and Izzy swallowed. The shirt hugged his shoulders, and the fabric sat perfectly across his chest and around his waist. His long legs were accentuated by the line of the trousers, and there was something about the way his delicate wrists were encircled by those cuffs-
When they’d first done the consultation, Ilario had asked whether Roach wanted to opt for a three piece like Izzy’s, or a two piece. In a moment of weakness, Izzy had suggested the two piece. Roach would definitely be more comfortable in something a little simpler… and he’d been desperate to know what the man looked like in suspenders.
And now, Izzy had his answer. It wasn’t an answer he could put into words, but he could imagine himself biting it into the sliver of collarbone currently peeking out from Roach’s open collar.
“Do we need to try the tie?”
Roach’s voice cut into his thoughts and he blinked, grabbing the tie off his shoulder.
“Depends. Do you want to see the whole effect, or would you rather get out of here?”
“Out,” said Roach softly.
“Alright. Just the jacket then.”
Roach nodded, then grabbed the jacket. Izzy had made the suggestion of a deep burgundy lining, because Roach decked out in all black without any little glimpse of colour to him simply felt wrong. He was glad he’d made the choice - the colour had a slight lustre to it that looked beautiful against Roach’s skin tone.
Roach pulled the jacket on. It sat just as perfectly as the rest of the clothes, accentuating the lines of his shoulders, laying flat along the planes of his body.
“I think it is too small,” said Roach, moving his arms experimentally, “it feels too tight.”
“It’s perfect,” said Izzy, a little too emphatically.
Roach was staring at him, his expression inscrutable.
“I - I mean - I just mean,” he continued, stammering, “there’s no bunching or stretching that I can see.”
“Then I think perhaps I hate wearing suits,” said Roach, shrugging the jacket off again, “I do not know how you can stand doing this every day.”
“I don’t know how you can stand dressing like a fuckin’ fifteen year old every day you’re not on duty but you don’t hear me complaining about it,” grumbled Izzy.
It was a testament to how much Roach wanted to get the fuck out of there that he didn’t respond, instead putting the clothes back on their hangers with precision and care, and a slight tremble in his fingers.
For purely selfish reasons, Izzy had been glad when Stede had announced that he was going to put on a special dinner for Roach in honour of all the wonderful work he’d done. He’d insisted on paying for Roach to get a new suit for the occasion, and had hired a very expensive private chef to cater for the night.
Which they were grateful for in theory, except that Roach had had to fit all the tailor’s appointments into his already busy schedule, and had spent hours the other night with Izzy and Lucius deep cleaning the kitchen lest the private chef, whoever it was, find it unsatisfactory.
It had been a stressful couple of weeks. But Roach insisted that Bonnet was catching on, and that had to count for something, so Izzy kept his mouth shut about it (although he was unable to control the scowl that his mouth twisted into every time Stede mentioned the big day. )
“Will that be all, gentlemen?” said the assistant, ringing up their total.
“Yes,” said Roach with a tired smile, “thank you for all of your help.”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Lovely! In that case, that will be-”
“Put it on Bonnet’s account,” said Izzy quickly, “thank you.”
Neither of them needed to hear how much everything had cost. It was bound to send Roach into a panic, and Izzy into a rage.
*
Izzy knocked on Alma’s bedroom door.
He didn’t particularly want to. She’d been strange lately, alternating between chattering excitedly at him and then going quiet and glaring at him like he’d done something to offend her. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what , but then again he’d never been too good at knowing what to say to children.
“It’s Izzy,” he said, “I’ve got your suit.”
The door was flung open to reveal a furious-looking Alma Bonnet.
“Don’t say it so loud,” she hissed, grabbing the suit bag off him.
“A thank-you would be nice,” he said irritably.
Alma stood there fuming silently, and for several moments Izzy thought she might finally tell him to fuck off. Instead she nodded stiffly.
“Thank you,” she said, then slammed the door in his face.
Izzy lifted his hand to try and stop her, but in that split-second realised that she would probably be even madder at that. He opted for knocking on the door again once it was shut.
“What now?” she whined.
“You tell me,” said Izzy.
Izzy heard the rustle of the suit bag being thrown somewhere - he prayed it was onto the bed and not the floor - and then the door opened a crack.
“You swear you won’t tell dad?” she whispered.
Izzy knelt down so that he was closer to her height, biting back a groan as his knees protested the movement.
“I don’t work for your dad, remember?” he said.
She pondered this for several moments, then nodded.
“I told dad I was outgrowing my old dresses so he gave me some money to buy new clothes.”
“I know for a fact you’ve barely grown in the time I’ve known you, or else you’d be able to reach Roach’s spice rack by now,” said Izzy.
“I guess I take after you more than dad,” snapped Alma.
“Alma,” said Izzy, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please.”
Alma took a deep breath, and exhaled angrily.
“So now you’re paying attention then?”
Izzy dug his nails into the palm of his hand to stave off an angry retort.
“When was I not paying attention?” he said, keeping his voice steady and even.
“You fell asleep during John Wick three!”
The accusation didn’t have quite the effect that Alma intended, and it was only by a truly superhuman effort of self control that Izzy managed not to laugh and get the door slammed in his face again.
“Did I… miss something? Mostly seemed like a lot of shooting, that film.”
“Asia Kate Dillon’s in it.”
“Asia-”
“You never pay attention when I’m trying to show you stuff! I was trying to tell you about Sam Smith and then you went on a half hour rant about ‘fucking twinks in harnesses’. I googled that, by the way, and Sam Smith isn’t a twink!”
Izzy raked his hands through his hair in frustration, trying to put together exactly what she was getting at.
“So - so you want me to pay more attention to your music and your movies?”
“I’m not a fucking child, Izzy!” growled Alma, and with that she slammed the door in his face.
Izzy stayed there kneeling on the floor, wondering what on earth he’d missed.
“And yeah, before you say anything, I’m hanging up the fucking suit!” came one last muffled shout.
*
“And then she just slammed the door on you?” said Roach, unable to hide the laughter from his voice.
“Yeah,” sighed Izzy, “yeah, just like that.”
“Give her some space to breathe. When you are hurt, the same pain finds you over and over in unexpected places.”
This time, Roach’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Izzy took his hands, kissing the knuckles of one, then the other to show he understood.
The two of them were getting ready together in Roach’s little bedroom - the agreement had been silent but clear. Neither of them particularly wanted to arrive on their own and play awkward third wheel to Stede and Edward, so the conclusion was obvious.
Right now though, the most pressing matter was Roach’s tie.
“Hold still,” said Izzy, “this bit’s tricky.”
“I feel like I’m being strangled,” said Roach. He swallowed while Izzy tightened and adjusted the bowtie knot.
“You get used to it,” said Izzy, soothing a thumb over Roach’s jaw, wishing he could ease some of the tension in the poor man’s posture.
Roach looked at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, turning this way and that. He stood awkwardly, like he didn’t quite know how to move his body while he was in the suit. He was acutely aware of the ridiculous sum of money that had been paid for him to have it, and the thought of ruining it with one wrong move had him terrified.
“I do not understand how people in movies just rip these things off each other,” said Roach, “do they have no shame?”
“Christ, yeah. I hate it when they do that.”
“Mmm, I think that it would be like a personal insult to you, yes?”
Izzy tweaked Roach's bowtie, then smoothed his hands over his jacket front and nodded.
With the whole ensemble on, with an earring dangling from one ear and something gold and shimmery swiped over his eyelids and high on his cheekbones, Roach looked - he looked-
“What?” said Roach, peering at Izzy, “you are staring.”
“You’re… a lot to take in,” said Izzy.
Roach’s cheeks darkened a little and he ducked his head, and Izzy was seized by a swell of affection so strong he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. So he reached up and cradled Roach’s face between his palms instead, and when Roach relaxed into his touch he pulled him down, crushing their mouths together.
Roach usually kissed viciously, sucking lips and biting teeth and scratching nails that all entwined into a flurry of intense sensation. But tonight there was something muted about him, something tentative in the way he opened his mouth for Izzy to nibble at his lower lip but didn’t bite back.
“You’ll be alright,” whispered Izzy, bringing their foreheads together and letting the words fill the space where they shared their breaths, “I’ll be there.”
“I know,” said Roach.
He covered Izzy’s hands with his own and held them there, against his cheeks. They lingered there for as long as they dared, and when Roach finally pulled away, Izzy let go immediately.
“Okay,” said Roach, adjusting the hem of his jacket, “okay.”
“Are you ready?”
Roach shook his head.
“No. But give me your arm, Izzy Hands. We’re running late.”
Roach slipped his hand into the crook of Izzy’s elbow, and together the two of them made their way up to the dining room
*
The six of them - Edward and Stede, Izzy and Roach, and the two Bonnet children - were seated in the main dining room. It was a frankly ridiculous use of the space, and they’d all been seated slightly too far away from each other to make comfortable conversation. Everything anyone said echoed around the vast, ornate room and only emphasised the absurdity of the size of the place.
The private chef had dug out silverware that even Stede seemed surprised to see, setting out a ridiculous and extremely intimidating spread of cutlery. Izzy wondered how many courses of food they were about to be brought - from the sheer amount of forks and knives and spoons on the table, it seemed like dinner was all set to go on for hours. He shuddered at the thought.
“Your new suit looks very nice Alma,” said Stede with a tight smile.
“Thanks,” she said flatly, not looking at him.
“Did you… buy any other clothes?”
“Nope.”
She glared at him, challenging him to ruin the evening by getting into an argument about it. Izzy had to admit, she was good.
“Well then,” said Stede, then selected a fork and started in on his plate of grilled, herbed, multicoloured tomatoes.
Edward was studying his own cutlery, and Izzy sighed internally. Edward had decided long ago, after a particularly nasty altercation at some sort of gala dinner, that his preferred dining method was to select his favourite fork and his favourite knife from the lineup, and deal with the consequences. According to him, there seldom were any. That he cared about, anyway. Anymore.
Stede’s gaze was torn between Edward and his children, who had their heads down and were seemingly focused on remembering the mechanics of how to eat politely in company. Which was ridiculous, because they’d all eaten together plenty of times. Izzy and Edward had shared greasy Chinese takeout standing up in the kitchen. Roach had fed him and the children spoonfuls of rice laden with dates and oranges straight from the pot, burning their mouths from the steam.
“I’ve not had tomatoes done like this before,” said Stede, putting another one in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
“Yeah, they’re good,” agreed Edward, “I like the colours.”
“Me too,” said Louis shyly, and the two of them shared a small smile before awkwardly returning to their eating.
It seemed like Stede was about to call it - he kept pressing his lips together like he was preparing to say something, but at the last minute it seemed that his words failed him. Izzy could almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing up the evaluation of how important it was for his kids to learn proper table manners versus the absolute farce of whatever the fuck was going on right now.
By the time the third course came out, poor Roach hadn’t said a single word, and Izzy made a decision. He cleared his throat emphatically, grabbed a fork at random, and stabbed it into a slice of the neat little pieces of grilled fish they’d been served. He barely tasted it as he chewed, watching Bonnet out of the corner of his eye.
“Right you are,” murmured Stede, “it seems a little, er, redundant to insist on the proper etiquette when it’s just the six of us, doesn’t it?”
Edward let out a long exhale of relief.
“Mate, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”
Stede beamed at him, satisfied at having made the right choice, and Izzy mentally rolled his eyes.
Now that the floodgates had opened, however, there was no going back. While Stede and Edward chatted amicably about The Gala Incident (heavily embellished on Edward’s part, but what else was new), and Alma and Louis focused their attentions on building a tower out of the slivers of pickle neither of them particularly wanted to touch. Roach watched them with an expression of faint amusement, and it was only when he offered a few pointers on structural integrity that Izzy felt himself finally relax. And when they rolled out thin crepes with sliced duck and vegetables and sauce, Izzy watched in amusement as Stede hovered in confusion, fork in hand. Roach sighed quietly, folded the whole thing up, and ate it, and everybody else quickly followed suit.
“It is a little exciting, you know,” said Stede, trying and failing to be surreptitious about licking a drop of sauce off his thumb, “eating with your hands.”
Roach shrugged at that.
“It is quite normal where I am from.”
“Where are you from, Mister Roach?” said Alma. She was now kneeling on her chair, her elbows on the table while she propped her chin up with her hands.
“Ah ah ah, it will not be so easy an answer as that,” said Roach, waggling a finger at her.
Alma huffed, then turned to her father.
“He says we have to figure it out from clues,” she said, “but we’re only allowed three guesses all up.”
“I already used one,” said Louis.
“Yeah, on China ,” said Alma exasperatedly.
“He said people ate a lot of rice where he was from!”
“Places other than China eat rice too, idiot.”
“Now now, let’s not resort to name calling,” said Stede.
“Okay, I was sick of calling him Louis anyway,” said Alma, “now what’s for dessert?”
*
By the time dessert had come and gone and they’d all enjoyed cups of tea, Roach’s leg was jiggling uncontrollably under the table, and the children were much quieter now, the meal having stretched well past their bedtimes.
“Alright my darlings, it’s time for bed,” said Stede.
There was warmth in his voice, a tenderness that Izzy was seldom privy to. Alma blinked blearily at him, and Louis appeared to have nodded off completely, so Stede crept up to his side and picked the boy up.
“Come on Alma,” he said, “let’s go so my favourite girl can get her beauty sleep.”
Stede was too busy fussing with Louis to notice, but Izzy caught it, the way Alma frowned, gaze flickering to the ground.
And then it clicked.
Izzy knew that particular form of disappointment well. In fact, he was intimately familiar with it.
Edward went with Stede to put the kids to bed, and so he and Roach retreated down to his bedroom. As soon as they were in there, Roach shrugged the jacket off his shoulders, tossed it on the bed, then sagged forwards into Izzy. Izzy smoothed a palm over his back, luxuriating in the feel of the dips and angles of him through the thin fabric. He dragged his nails lightly across Roach’s back, enjoying the way Roach groaned under the touch and melted further into him.
“You did it,” said Izzy, “you survived.”
“Barely,” muttered Roach, “who knew you could get so tired from just eating a meal.”
“Oh yeah, Edward’s fuckin’ wrecked after some of those weird ponce dinner parties,” said Izzy, “trying to act like a posh twat really takes it out of you.”
Roach huffed out a laugh.
“Must be a hard life.”
He straightened up, stretching out muscles that had grown stiff and sore from how tense he’d been.
“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable,” said Izzy, “I’ll be back in a bit. Just got one last thing I’ve got to do.”
Roach nodded, already unbuttoning his shirt. Izzy pondered staying to watch.
But no. This was important.
*
This time, when he knocked on Alma’s door, he heard a quiet “come in” and hesitated.
“It’s Izzy,” he said softly.
“Oh. Okay. You can still come in.”
Izzy opened the door a crack, and shook his head at the sight of Alma using a flashlight to read a book.
“Not a word,” Alma said primly.
Izzy nodded, then floundered, wondering what he should say.
“Mister Hands?”
When he’d been young, he’d been desperate for someone to just say something . Any kind word at all. Perhaps he didn’t need it to be perfect.
“Is there… anything else you’d prefer for me to call you?” he said.
Alma froze.
Curious eyes looked him up and down, and Izzy knew that the child suspected, that there was some recognition there between the two of them, even though neither of them had realised what precisely it had been.
“How did you pick Izzy?”
Izzy’s heart began to race. So he was right.
“Opened a phone book and picked the first thing I saw. Never had much imagination for stuff like that.”
“That’s insane.”
Izzy shrugged.
“It’s a name. It stuck. I like it.”
“Well, I think I want to give it a bit more thought than that.”
The flashlight was lowered, tapping against one palm thoughtfully.
“Lucius has a friend, though. Jim. He has them over sometimes. And they’re - they’re a they. And I think - I think I want that too. For now.”
Izzy nodded slowly.
“They. Okay. I can do that. And do you want your dad-”
“No,” they snapped, “not yet. He’s going to be so weird about it.”
“Is he weird about Jim?”
They pondered this for a few moments.
“Actually… no,” they said.
They looked like they wanted to say something more, but they remained silent.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” said Izzy, “just… when you’re ready. If he’s weird about it, I’ll deck him. I’m-”
“Yeah, we all know you do that martial arts thing.”
Izzy bristled at the way that particular comment was accompanied with an eye roll, but he was becoming slightly better at leaving things be when they came to Alma Bonnet.
“One last thing,” he said, “did you really think John Wick three was good?”
Alma pulled a face.
“Not really,” they said, “I liked the first one better.”
“Thought so,” said Izzy, “now go to sleep. Actual sleep, please.”
“Whatever.”
Alma was smiling though, and as Izzy closed the door, he heard the click of the flashlight being turned off.
*
Roach was in a huge t-shirt and sleep shorts when Izzy got back. He was sitting on the bed, his knees tucked up to his chest, watching some sort of concert on his phone. Izzy caught a glimpse of a man dancing with a lamp.
“You should get some sleep too,” Izzy said, beginning to remove his own suit, “you look exhausted.”
Roach shrugged one shoulder.
“I will soon,” he said, “my brain is just - it keeps replaying flashes from tonight. I do not know why, but I - I cannot turn it off.”
Izzy nodded, and hurried through the rest of his undressing. Edward was staying the night, so he was too. He pulled on a pair of pyjama pants that he kept here for the purpose, then on a sudden whim grabbed one of Roach’s ridiculous t-shirts, a big green one that proudly proclaimed NUTS FEED MILLIONS.
Roach watched him as he climbed into bed too, propped up and ready to watch the video with him. Instead though, Roach switched his phone off and leaned over, further and further until he was curled on his side, his head in Izzy’s lap. His eyes were still open, and stared off into some indeterminate point in the distance. They stayed like that for a while, quiet and unmoving, until Izzy placed a hand on Roach’s head and stroked the curls out of his face.
Roach’s eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, and he let out a soft sigh of contentment. Izzy did it again, then threaded his fingers through Roach’s hair and began to knead gently at his scalp. The feeling of Roach relaxing under his touch reached Izzy as a lump in his throat and a fierce, protective warmth in his chest.
Roach drifted off not long after. He fell asleep more easily whenever Izzy was around.
Izzy, however, remained awake for a long time. Watching. Listening. Committing the moment to memory.