Work Text:
It’s the smallest thing that sends Waylon over the edge.
The new apartment is tiny, floor space eaten up by the piles of cardboard boxes that Waylon hasn’t unpacked yet. It’s been two months since he moved in, but he knows that the moment he takes everything apart, it will make the breakup real .
Waylon stands in the middle of the apartment, holding onto his work badge so tightly that it’s starting to bite into his palm. He can hear his boss’s words echoing in his brain, bad performance, distracted, on his last warning. If Waylon loses this job, then he’ll have nothing left.
He throws his work badge onto the sofa, and goes to fix himself a drink. On the tight squeeze into the kitchen, he trips over one of the cardboard boxes, sending the contents scattering across the floor.
Waylon bends down to pick up the spillage, and finds himself staring down at a photo of Lisa and Waylon from their high school graduation. Both in gowns, both baby-faced, cheeks pressed against each other as they grin at the camera. Lisa’s arm is around his waist. They look so fucking happy.
Waylon can’t help the sob that threatens to escape from his throat. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and dials Lisa’s number. He deleted her contact two months ago, but the number is embedded in his frontal cortex. Waylon doesn’t care that it’s late, and they’ve been broken up for months now, if he could just talk to her, if he could just explain-
As the line connects, a rumble of thunder disrupts the quiet room. Waylon glances out of the window to see the heavens open.
“Lisa?” Waylon asks, and the line crackles. “Are you there?”
“Afraid not darling.” A low voice replies. “Can I help you?”
The storm must have disrupted the network. Waylon squeezes his eyes tight shut in frustration.
“Sorry, wrong number.” He says, and his voice hitches before he can swallow back the tears.
“Are you okay?” The voice asks.
“No,” Waylon replies and gives a bark of laughter. “Oh god – sorry. I should go.”
“You sound upset. Maybe I can help you?”
“Can you get me a better job?” Waylon blurts out. “Where my boss isn’t an asshole?”
The voice laughs. “I don’t know. Can you sew?”
“Nope.”
“Then you wouldn’t do well working for me.” The voice says. “I’m a tailor.”
“Fancy,” Waylon says. He should hang up.
“Indeed. What do you do?”
“I’m a computer programmer,” Waylon says. “The only thing I can do with my hands is type.”
“Did your mother never teach you to darn a sock?”
“Is that a thing?” Waylon asks. “Darning socks? I just let my toes stick out the ends.”
“How uncivilised.” The drawl sends a shiver down his spine.
“If you’re not Lisa, then who are you?” Waylon asks.
“I’m Eddie.” The voice says. “You’ve called my shop phone.”
“Sorry.” Waylon blurts out. “I can go.”
“Mm, I don’t mind,” Eddie says. “It can get a little lonely in the shop all by myself.”
“Why are you working so late?”
“I have a wedding coming up,” Eddie says. “Groom, bride, mothers and maids. I’ve been working late nights to keep up with demand.”
“Sounds stressful.”
Eddie hums on the other end. “I enjoy the work.”
“Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever owned a suit,” Waylon admits.
“Blasphemous,” Eddie says. “Everyone should own a suit. You never know when the occasion might arise.”
“Are you wearing a suit right now?” Waylon asks.
“Naturally,” Eddie replies.
“Aren’t you constricted?” Waylon asks.
“Not with my expert tailoring,” Eddie says. “I have full body movement. You’re thinking of a ghastly off-the-rack garment, where you can’t move your arms without splitting a seam.”
“I guess I am,” Waylon says.
There is silence for a moment.
“Who is Lisa?” Eddie asks.
“My... ex-girlfriend,” Waylon says. “We’re still friends, but...”
“You don’t have her current number.” Eddie finishes. “So not close.”
“Yeah.” Waylon says. “I just... miss her.”
“The relationship? Or the girl?”
“I...” Waylon rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t miss the fights. I just miss... her being around. Having someone at home after a shitty day.”
Eddie hums on the other end. It’s soothing against Waylon’s ear.
“I thought we’d be together forever,” Waylon admits. “Childhood sweethearts.”
“Who broke it off?” Eddie asks.
“She did,” Waylon says. “A few months ago. Said it wasn’t working anymore- and she was right. I’m just grateful we didn’t have children.”
“I always wanted children,” Eddie says.
“Me too.” Waylon looks out of the window at the storm. “Lisa said she wanted to wait until she felt ready.”
There’s noise on the other end of the line, and Waylon pulls the phone away from his ear.
“My apologies darling,” Eddie says, voice slightly echoing. “I’m just putting you on speaker whilst I continue my work.”
“I’m distracting you,” Waylon says.
“Nonsense. I enjoy the company.”
“Are you sewing right now then?” Waylon asks.
“Cutting the fabric,” Eddie says. “For the wedding dress.”
“What does it look like?”
“At the moment? Like a big tablecloth.” Eddie chuckles to himself, and it makes Waylon shiver again. “But soon it will be perfect.”
“How long does it take you to make a wedding dress?”
“A couple of months,” Eddie says. “Not including fittings.”
“Must be nice.” Waylon says, “Seeing people happy.”
“You’d be surprised how little people are happy in the run-up to a wedding,” Eddie says. “It’s a very stressful time. I’ve seen engagements called off more than once.”
“Jeez,” Waylon says. “That must suck.”
“I still get paid, however,” Eddie says. “And the outfits can be reused for another family, so I suppose, I don’t lose out on too much.”
“Very pragmatic,” Waylon says.
A flash of lightning illuminates the room and Waylon can see his blotchy face reflected in the microwave. He runs a hand through his badly dyed hair, tugging at the ends of it. He needs it cut, desperately.
“What are you doing?” Eddie asks.
“Nothing,” Waylon responds honestly. “I need to make food.”
“What are you thinking of cooking?”
Waylon gets up from the sofa. “I don’t know. Whatever I’ve got in. Probably instant noodles and any leftovers I can throw in a pan.”
“I’ve never eaten an instant noodle.”
“Then you haven’t lived,” Waylon says, opening the cupboards.
“Do you like to cook?” Eddie asks.
“I guess. Keeps me alive.”
“What a terrible way to think about it,” Eddie says. “Food is a pleasure.”
“Neh,” Waylon says, ripping open a noodle packet with his teeth. “I think of it as a necessary evil.”
“What a strange boy you are,” Eddie says.
“Hey,” Waylon says. “You don’t know how old I am.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m 27,” Waylon says.
“A mere child,” Eddie says.
“Fuck off.” Waylon snorts. “How old are you then?”
“I just turned 46,” Eddie says politely. “Old enough to be your father.”
“Gross.” Waylon pours the dried noodles into a pot. “Did you hear that? I’m making myself some delicious instant noodles.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Eddie says. “I hate to distract you from such delights.”
Waylon fills the pot with water and turns on the stove. “What did you have for dinner?”
“I made myself salmon with mashed potatoes and asparagus,” Eddie says. “Paired with a glass of white wine.”
“Of course you drink wine.”
“What’s wrong with wine?”
“Fancy people drink wine.”
“What do you drink?”
“Beer,” Waylon says. “Vodka. Whatever doesn’t taste like piss and is cheap.”
“Heathen,” Eddie says. “The youth of today have no pallet.”
Waylon stirs his instant noodles, phone tucked beneath his cheek and his shoulder. “You sound like an old man.”
“I am an old man,” Eddie says. “Alone in his tailors’ shop.”
“It’s a good thing I called then, isn’t it?” Waylon says. “Keep you company.”
“However would I have coped without a strange man on the other end of the phone,” Eddie says dryly.
Waylon figures the noodles are about done and dumps them into the sieve to drain. “I’m about to eat.” He says. “I better go.”
“Ah. Dinner calls.”
Waylon pauses. “I needed this.” He admits.
“I enjoyed talking to you,” Eddie says. “Even though you are a perfect stranger.”
Waylon leans against the kitchen wall. “Maybe this could be a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Maybe I could call you again.” Waylon’s cheeks heat up. “I’d like to keep talking to you.”
He waits, expecting rejection.
“I would... Enjoy that.” Eddie says slowly. “Perhaps tomorrow? At the same time?”
“It’s a date,” Waylon says.
“Wonderful.” Eddie says. “Enjoy your horrible dinner darling.”
Waylon laughs. “Enjoy your dresses.”
He hangs up the phone and looks at the imprint of his cheek against the screen. He tries to bring back the sadness from earlier, but finds that it is dormant in the back of his brain, waiting for his next breakdown.
“Huh.” He says, and splats the noodles into a bowl for dinner.
*
Waylon waits until exactly 8:30 the next day to call Eddie, sitting at the kitchen table and staring at his phone. He holds his breath as he waits for the phone line to connect, and then finally-
“Hello?” Eddie’s deep voice breaks through the silence.
“Hey,” Waylon says, relaxing in his rickety fold-up chair. “It’s Waylon.”
“I guessed darling,” Eddie says. “Nobody else would call my phone this late.”
“Am I keeping you up?” Waylon asks.
“Not at all, I’m working on the wedding,” Eddie says. “You’re keeping me company.”
Waylon smiles. “Thanks for letting me call you again.”
“It’s no problem,” Eddie says. “How are you?”
“Ugh,” Waylon says. “Work is awful. My boss is a dick. My best friend is on holiday so I can’t even complain to him.”
“How dare he go on holiday without you,” Eddie says.
“I know right?” Waylon says. “I can’t believe he didn’t take me with him. I could fold up in his suitcase.”
“A lovely visual image,” Eddie says.
“How was your day?” Waylon asks.
“My day was pleasant,” Eddie says. “I worked. I spoke to you.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It was,” Eddie says.
They fall into silence and Waylon picks at his fingernail as he tries to come up with a topic.
“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks suddenly. “Regarding Lisa?”
“I...” Waylon licks blood off his finger. “I don’t know. Still, miss her.”
“Should I distract you?” Eddie asks.
“How are you going to do that?”
“I could tell you about my day,” Eddie says.
“Go on then.” Waylon’s mouth tastes of iron. “What did you do?”
“I woke up around 6 and worked out,” Eddie says. “Physical health is extremely important to me. And then I opened the shop and had a fitting for a terribly uncouth bridesmaid.”
“Why was she a bitch?” Waylon interrupts.
“She wants to wear hot pink to the wedding,” Eddie says. “But she has the most gorgeous red hair and freckles, and it would just clash horribly. Plus the bride’s colours are forest green.”
“Don’t green and red go together?”
“Exactly!” Eddie says, delighted at Waylon’s knowledge. “She doesn’t understand how beautiful I can make her look.”
“Did you manage to convince her?”
“We’ve settled on light pink,” Eddie says, begrudgingly. “To prevent her looking like a painted harlot.”
“What kind of dress?”
“Off the shoulder,” Eddie says. “Slightly peplum. Will look lovely on her.”
“Sounds it,” Waylon says, knowing nothing about fashion.
“After that fitting, I had a meeting with a new potential bride, who was lovely.” Eddie continues, “Then I worked in the shop on my dresses until you phoned.”
“A busy day.”
“An enjoyable one,” Eddie says. “Even better for talking to you.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Eddie says, and Waylon can’t help but smile.
*
They start to call each other every night, only hanging up when dawn begins to break over the horizon. Waylon finds that he’s looking forward to each day, just because it means he can talk to Eddie again.
(His phone bill is off the charts, but he finds he doesn’t care)
Eddie doesn’t talk much about himself, but he enjoys talking about clothes, and about Waylon. Waylon’s never had anyone who wants to listen to him before, and finds himself spilling stories that he’d always thought he’d keep secret.
They even have dinner dates over the phone, Eddie talking Waylon through recipes until Waylon can create something edible. Waylon has never felt proud sitting down to a meal that he’s created, but with Eddie’s voice crooning in his ear – well it’s a magical feeling.
Miles thinks Waylon is out of his fucking mind.
“I can’t believe that you’re talking to a stranger on the phone every night,” Miles says as they wait in line for overpriced coffee. “Even I wouldn’t do that.”
“He’s not a stranger,” Waylon says.
“You phoned the wrong number!” Miles exclaims. “That’s the definition of a stranger.”
“A stranger is a friend you just haven’t met yet,” Waylon says in his best impression of Lisa, and Miles groans.
“Don’t. If I have to listen to Lisa tell me to live, laugh, love one more time, I’ll throw myself off a cliff.”
“You’re still talking to her then?” Waylon says, handing over his card to pay for their drinks.
“Yeah.” Miles scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ll stop if you want me to, but she wasn’t just your girlfriend, y’know? She was in our friendship group.”
“I’m not going to make you stop talking to her,” Waylon says. “I don’t mind if you’re friends with her. It’s not like we had a traumatic breakup.”
Miles eyes him. “You cried on my kitchen floor for hours.”
“And then I got over it,” Waylon says.
“Of course you have.” Miles nods. “Definitely not still in love with her.”
“Shut up,” Waylon says. “I’m better now.”
“You’ve got your new boyfriend,” Miles says. “Edward.”
“Oh shut up,” Waylon says and elbows him.
*
“Tell me about your family,” Eddie says out of the blue one day.
“There’s not much to say,” Waylon says. “I have a mom, a dad, and an older sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“Rebecca.”
“Pretty.”
“Don’t flirt with my sister,” Waylon says.
Eddie laughs. “I’m not flirting. I’m making an observation.”
“Potato, tomato,” Waylon says. “What about you? What’s the Eddie family like?”
Eddie is quiet for so long that Waylon thinks he’s hung up.
“I have a mother.” He says slowly. “And I suppose a father too. Brothers, also.”
“Sorry if I’m inappropriate,” Waylon says.
“Nonsense. I just haven’t spoken about them in... well years.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“My mother died when I was younger,” Eddie says. “My father is still alive, somewhere. I have one brother in prison and another on remand. Perhaps he’s back in prison now.”
“What was he in prison for?” Waylon asks.
Eddie is quiet. “A little out of line Waylon.” He says finally, and Waylon’s stomach drops.
“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. “I’m nosy – I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “It’s something I just prefer not to talk about.”
Waylon shuts his eyes, terrified that he’s screwed this up for good. “I’m sorry.”
“Mistakes happen,” Eddie says.
They’re both quiet. Then, Waylon hears the sound of Eddie’s sewing machine on the other end, and breathes out a small sigh of relief.
“What are you working on now?” He asks.
“Mother of the bride,” Eddie replies. “It’s a garish blue, but it’s what she wanted.”
“At least she’s not wearing white.”
“Could you imagine? I’d throw anyone out of the shop for suggesting it.” Eddie says. “Traditions must be kept.”
“Would you make your wife’s wedding dress?” Waylon asks. “If the groom isn’t allowed to see the dress before the big day?”
“Hmm,” Eddie says. “I’ve never really thought about it, darling.”
Waylon pushes the idea of Lisa in a wedding dress out of his mind.
“I wouldn’t let my wife be dressed by anyone other than myself.” Eddie continues. “So I suppose I’d have to break that tradition.”
“What about something old, something new?”
“Well, that tradition is a must,” Eddie says firmly. “It’s so wide-ranging that it can be fitted to any wedding.”
“What would you have then?”
“Something old would be my mother’s engagement ring.” Eddie reels off. “Something new would be the dress, obviously. Something borrowed would be the wedding car, and something blue would be the garter.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot then?”
“I’ve had my wedding planned for years,” Eddie confesses. “But I suppose I would let my wife have some input in the day.”
“Dead set on a wife then?” Waylon asks and then holds his breath.
“Of course,” Eddie says, but he sounds confused.
“I meant...” Waylon tries to think of a nice way to ask about Eddie’s sexuality. “It’s always been a bride? Never a groom?”
“Oh,” Eddie says.
“Tell me to shut up if you want,” Waylon adds quickly. “Just because, you know, tailoring is not very masculine, and planning weddings isn’t the average boy, and-“
“I could see myself in love with both.” Eddie interrupts. “But I would be married to a bride.”
Waylon doesn’t want to get into semantics with Eddie so nods his head. “Thanks. For, you know, explaining.”
“No problem Waylon,” Eddie says. “And yourself?”
“Me?”
“I presume you’re asking because you could also see yourself with either bride or groom?”
Waylon goes red. “Uh, yes?”
“Hmm.” Eddie cuts some fabric briskly. “Did Lisa know?”
“Yes,” Waylon says. “She used to.... find boys. For me to kiss.”
“Interesting,” Eddie says.
Waylon can feel himself burning up. “I think you’re judging me.”
“I would never judge,” Eddie says in a judgemental tone.
“Liar,” Waylon says. “You think I’m a bisexual disaster.”
Eddie snorts. “Nonsense.”
Waylon flops back onto the sofa, feeling the springs dig into his back. “You’re kind of mean to me sometimes.”
“You enjoy it.”
“Do I?”
“If you didn’t, you would have hung up by now,” Eddie says. “Yet here you are.”
“I’m just a masochist,” Waylon says. “That’s why I’m still working for Murkoff.”
“You should look for other jobs.”
“But they pay well.” Waylon whines. “I can’t afford this apartment without them.”
“You’re a smart boy. I’m sure you could find something else.”
“Do you need a computer programmer at the tailor’s shop?”
“Not that I know of,” Eddie says. “I don’t even have a website.”
“ Eddie ,” Waylon says. “Seriously?”
“I’ve never needed one.”
“You could have so much more business with a website!” Waylon protests. “More people could find you, you could get triple the customers.”
“It seems a little too modern for me.”
“I’ll do it for you.” Waylon blurts out.
“Waylon,” Eddie says disapprovingly. “I don’t want to distract you from your job.”
“It won’t be a distraction.” Waylon sits upright, excited. “It’ll be a project – like you and your dresses. Something to take my mind off Lisa.”
“I’d have to pay you for it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I’d want to pay you for it.” Eddie corrects himself. “Labour shouldn’t go uncompensated.”
“I’ll need to have a design consultation with you.” Waylon pushes himself off the couch to grab a notebook and pen. “Learn what style you want to go for, what themes you like, etc.”
“You sound excited,” Eddie comments.
“I like making stuff,” Waylon says happily. “Come on. You’ll get more business to the shop, and I’ll have a fun project.”
“I’m busy enough,” Eddie says, not sounding entirely sure in his words.
“Do you want to see the websites I’ve worked on already? My portfolio?” Waylon asks.
“I trust your work.”
“Yeah, but I want to show you,” Waylon says. “Get your laptop.”
“I don’t have a laptop.”
“Seriously?”
“I have a work computer and a landline,” Eddie says. “It’s suited me fine so far.”
“Oh my god, it’s like talking to a caveman,” Waylon complains. “Go onto your computer then. I want to show you.”
Waylon hears Eddie sigh, but then starts moving about his workshop.
“Have you switched it on?” He asks.
“It takes a while to load.” Eddie huffs. “Be patient darling.”
“Ugh,” Waylon says. “I hate being patient.”
He doodles in his notebook as he waits for Eddie’s computer, mindlessly drawing several hearts.
“Here we go,” Eddie says. “Logged in.”
Waylon directs him to his online portfolio and listens to Eddie clicking through the web pages.
“What do you think?” Waylon asks.
“They’re very good darling,” Eddie says. “I like the one with the ghosts.”
Waylon knows exactly the one he’s talking about. A liminal-themed website for Miles’ vlog, featuring images of ghosts. Otherwise known as Lisa with a bedsheet over her face because Waylon didn’t want to pay Getty for stock images.
“That’s for my friend Miles,” Waylon says. “He’s a ghosthunter.”
“A ghosthunter?”
“Don’t ask,” Waylon says. “He goes around abandoned buildings with his friend Chris and tries and find ghosts. It’s incredibly stupid but he needed a website, so wahey.”
“Wahey.” Eddie mimics, deadpan. “And you would create me something similar?”
Waylon nods. “With pictures of your work, and how to find you, and what your prices are.”
“I suppose a website couldn’t hurt.” Eddie muses. “Rather than just word of mouth.”
“Say yes,” Waylon says. “For me. Come on Eddie. We’re friends.”
“Well, I suppose it’s a yes then,” Eddie says. “Anything for you darling.”
Waylon grins with delight.
*
Waylon learns several things in the process of creating a website for Eddie.
1) Eddie’s surname is Gluskin
2) Eddie lives in the next town over
3) Eddie is very particular about colours and images
4) Tailored clothes are very expensive
5) Waylon might just have a crush
It’s stupid, and Waylon knows this, to have a crush on someone you’ve technically never met. Waylon doesn’t even have a photo of Eddie, even after some very deep-dive googling. It’s like Eddie doesn’t exist, apart from a Google Maps picture of Eddie’s Tailoring shop.
(Waylon spends a drunken evening imagining what Eddie looks like – tall, dark, handsome, with hands that know their way around a sewing machine.)
“I can’t believe you never even had a Myspace account,” Waylon says, half asleep in bed with the phone on speaker.
“I never had time for the internet when I was younger,” Eddie says. He also sounds sleepy, voice slow and deep. “Too busy learning my trade.”
“You must have had a boring childhood,” Waylon says, stifling a yawn. “I was messing around on tube sites and watching gore videos.”
“Delightful,” Eddie says. “Are you tired?”
“No,” Waylon says, nuzzling into his pillow. “I yawn as a sign of alertness.”
“Darling,” Eddie says fondly. “I’m keeping you up.”
“It’s fine,” Waylon says. “It’s a Friday night, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Talking to an old man on the phone?”
“Mm, my favourite pastime,” Waylon says. “Sometimes I call up the local old people’s home just to get my kicks.”
Eddie laughs, and the rumble sends a shiver down Waylon’s spine. “I bet you’re blacklisted on every Alzheimer’s home.”
“Don’t you know it,” Waylon says, and then yawns. “Shout down the phone if I fall asleep on you.”
“I would never shout at you,” Eddie says.
Waylon rubs his eyes. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“My day off,” Eddie says. “I’ll still be working in the backroom on the wedding. But perhaps I’ll have a glass of wine at lunchtime.”
“What a rebel,” Waylon says. “Someone call the cops.”
Eddie laughs.
“Have I ever told you about the time I got arrested?” Waylon asks.
“No?”
“I was with Miles and Chris,” Waylon says. “We were trespassing. Cops got called and we got a free ride in the back of a police car.”
“Were you charged?”
“Fingerprints and everything.” Waylon pauses. “It’s why I’d struggle to find another job. Murkoff were willing to overlook that discretion.”
Eddie huffs at the mention of Waylon’s company. “I hate that you’re stuck there.”
“Me too,” Waylon says, and yawns.
They’re comfortably silent on the other end of the phone for a long time. Waylon rubs his face against the pillow, feeling warm and cosy.
“Would you ever like to meet?” Eddie asks quietly as if he’s afraid of the answer.
“I’d love to meet you,” Waylon says sleepily. “You could make me a suit.”
“I could,” Eddie says. “I’d measure you up. Make you beautiful.”
“I’m already beautiful,” Waylon says, his eyes closing. “You just haven’t seen me yet.”
“I know how to google,” Eddie says.
“Mm?” Waylon says, trying to fight the sleep and losing.
“I know what you look like Waylon Park,” Eddie says softly. “I think you’re perfect.”
Waylon falls asleep as quickly as drowning.
*
“You look like shit,” Blake says when Waylon runs into the office, drenched from the ongoing storm.
“Thanks,” Waylon says, shaking his head like a dog. “You look peachy yourself.”
Blake flips him off silently before returning to his laptop screen. “Jeremy’s on the warpath by the way.”
“Why?” Waylon takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat hook.
Blake shrugs, as Waylon sits beside him, pulling his laptop from his book bag. “It’s Jeremy. He doesn’t need a reason.”
The two men work in silence for a while, only broken by the occasional rumble of thunder or sigh from Blake. Waylon’s code swims in front of his eyes, and he rubs them, trying to make sense of the program that Jeremy is making them develop.
Waylon knows deep down, that the Murkoff organisation is not one of the good guys. Nobody wants to be photographed shaking Jeremy’s hand, not even Republican senators. But it’s a job, and it pays well, and if Waylon is creating a code that will destroy the city, then... He’s always wanted to be a mad scientist.
“That storm is crazy,” Blake says, breaking Waylon’s thoughts. He’s looking out of the window, fingers paused on the keyboard. “I can’t believe it’s still going.”
“Global warming.” Waylon offers as a response.
“Maybe,” Blake says. “Do you want a coffee?”
“Please,” Waylon says, pushing his empty mug towards Blake.
“Give me two secs,” Blake promises and vanishes with mugs in hand.
Waylon swipes from his work screen to Eddie’s website which he’s still working on. Eddie had sent some photographs that he wanted to include, badly cropped women in beautiful wedding dresses. Waylon is having to have to do some pretty nifty editing to make the women look human again.
He must have been working on Eddie’s website for ten, or twenty minutes before he feels a hand on the back of his chair.
“That better be my coffee.” Waylon says. “Or Lynn with snacks.”
“No snacks I’m afraid,” Jeremy says, silky smooth. “Only me.”
Waylon jerks in his chair, quickly switching back to his code and spinning around in his chair. “Sorry-”
“That doesn’t look like your work Mr Park,” Jeremy says, “In fact, it looks like personal projects. What are my opinions on personal projects?”
“Not to do them at work.” Waylon mumbles. “I’m sorry, I was just taking a break whilst I waited for Blake-”
“I don’t like your excuses, Mr Park,” Jeremy says. “I don’t like your work ethic either. You signed a contract, which explicitly stated-”
“It won’t happen again,” Waylon says, and Jeremy blinks.
“Interrupting Mr Park?”
Waylon feels the blood drain from his face.
“Tch.” Jeremy looks Waylon up and down. “Do you think that I can’t fire you right now and hire someone this afternoon?”
Blake appears in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee and a packet of biscuits in his teeth. His eyes widen at the sight of Jeremy and quietly steps into the corridor to wait. Waylon feels sick.
“Please,” Waylon says. “It won’t happen again.”
“This is your final warning,” Jeremy says. “I mean it. Your next misdemeanour and you’re out.”
He leans in close to Waylon. “And I mean anything, Park.” He hisses. “You don’t wash up your plate in the kitchen and I’ll kick you out of here faster than you can imagine. Got it?”
“Got it,” Waylon says.
“Wonderful.” Jeremy reaches out and pats Waylon on the head. “So glad we spoke.”
He leaves the room as silently as he arrived, plucking the mug of coffee from Blake’s hand. “So kind.” He murmurs, and disappears down the corridor.
Blake steps back into the room and sets down the remaining coffee in front of Waylon. “Holy shit.”
“Don’t,” Waylon says. “I think I’m going to have a panic attack.”
Blake hands him a biscuit. “He’s a dick. Try not to let it get to you.”
“How can I not?” Waylon says, taking a bite of the digestive. “He’s just threatened me in the office.”
“Try and keep out of trouble?”
“I can’t help it,” Waylon says. “Trouble just finds me.”
Blake drops down into his seat and pulls a face. “Try not to be yourself then?
“Easy for you to say,” Waylon mutters and goes back to his code.
*
“Your boss said what to you?” Eddie’s voice is dripping in contempt as Waylon relays the story over the phone.
“I know?” Waylon says. “I thought he was going to fire me right there and then.”
“He can’t speak to you like that,” Eddie says. “It’s inhumane.”
“That’s Murkoff.” Waylon says. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter spooning peanut butter into his mouth. “Fire first, ask questions later.”
“I can’t believe you have to put up with a man like that,” Eddie says. “Do you have a union?”
“Take a wild guess.”
Eddie hisses on the other end of the phone. “Ridiculous. What do your co-workers think?”
“Blake is trying to keep out of trouble,” Waylon says. “Lynn works in admin so she doesn’t pay much attention.”
“What about your ghost friend?”
“Oh, Miles thinks I’m an idiot,” Waylon says. “If it was up to him, I’d have quit my job months ago and I’d be chasing down Bigfoot.”
“What’s stopping you from doing that?”
“Rent.” Waylon counts on his fingers. “Food. Entertainment.”
“You don’t even like your apartment, I have to force you to eat, and the only entertainment you enjoy is talking to me,” Eddie says.
Waylon rolls his eyes. “Okay, spoilsport. I still need a job though.”
“You could always be a househusband.”
“What, move back in with Lisa and live in her basement?” Waylon says. “I’m sure her boyfriend would love that.”
“I didn’t mean Lisa,” Eddie says.
“Miles then.” Waylon retorts. “We can live in a tent in the woods and go hunting for ghosts.”
Eddie is quiet for a moment.
“Are you still there?” Waylon asks.
“Of course.” Eddie clatters something on the other end. “What are your plans for the week?”
“Work.” Waylon says. “Talk to you. Maybe I’ll even watch a tv show.”
“Truly invigorating,” Eddie says.
“I know,” Waylon replies. “What about you?”
“Much the same,” Eddie admits. “Sewing. Talking to you.”
“I can’t believe you’re my best friend but we’ve never even met,” Waylon says, scraping the empty peanut butter jar. “Miles thinks I’m insane.”
“You’ve told Miles about me?” Eddie sounds vaguely pleased.
“Of course,” Waylon says. ”He thinks you’re a serial killer trying to catfish me into his underground lair to murder me.”
“I am trying to get you into my underground lair,” Eddie says. “Only so that I can fit you for a proper suit.”
“You just want to get my clothes off.” Waylon says, and Eddie chuckles on the other line.
“Maybe so.”
Waylon sucks on the peanut butter spoon. “Miles says I’ve been happier though. Since talking to you.”
“You seem happier,” Eddie says. “Although I wouldn’t want to state for certain.”
“You make me happy,” Waylon says without thinking.
“You make me happy too,” Eddie says.
Waylon smiles, and ignores the fizzing in his chest.
*
The weeks pass by quickly without Waylon noticing. It seems that one day he wakes up, and summer has barged into the city, hot and sticky.
Eddie finishes his wedding outfits and moves on to the next pernickety bride, Waylon finishes one awful project for Murkoff and reluctantly is pushed onto the next. Miles finds evidence of the Demon of Hill Valley and Chris accidentally deletes the video recording. Ce la Vie.
On a rare day off, Waylon lies on his living room floor in his underwear, fan pointed at his face. The phone is on loudspeaker next to his face, Eddie humming under his breath as he sews.
“I think I’m dying.” Waylon says.
“You’re just hot.” Eddie says, mirth in his voice. “Get an ice cream.”
“That would involve moving my limbs.” W says. “And that sounds like torture.”
“You big baby.” Eddie says.
“How are you not melting?” Waylon demands. “We’re in the same climate zone. You should be a sweaty mess.”
“I have unbuttoned the top button of my shirt,” Eddie says.
“Scandalous.”
“I know,” Eddie says drily. “Alert the church authorities darling.”
“Already letting them know,” Waylon says, just as his phone starts beeping with an incoming text. “Oh, hang on.”
He sits up to read it.
PARK
SERVERS ARE DOWN DUE TO OVERHEATING. ALL EMPLOYEES MUST REPORT TO THE OFFICE AT ONCE. NO EXCUSES.
MURKOFF
“Shit.” Waylon says.
“What’s wrong darling?” Eddie asks.
“Murkoff needs me to come in,” Waylon says. “There’s something wrong with the database.”
“It’s your day off.”
“Yeah, I know,” Waylon worries at his bottom lip. “Shit okay. I need to get dressed.”
“Ridiculous,” Eddie says. “It’s your day off, you have things planned, they shouldn’t be contacting you.”
“And if I don’t come in, they’ll fire me,” Waylon says, standing up. “I’ll talk to you in a bit, okay? I need to run.”
“Waylon, you shouldn’t run when they call.”
“Eddie, I need to keep this job,” Waylon says. “Not all of us can run our own successful businesses.”
A pause.
“I’m only letting you go because you called me successful,” Eddie says. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I know,” Waylon says, switching off the fan. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise to me.”
“I’ll call you later, okay?” Waylon says. “As soon as I’m finished. Whatever time that might be.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, and there’s a strange tone in his voice. “See you soon.”
*
When Waylon arrives at the office, out of breath and slick with sweat, the rooms are a quiet buzz of activity. Blake barely looks up from his computer when Waylon sits down beside him, only a raise of his eyebrows to display his surprise.
“Thought it was your day off?”
“Murkoff called me in.”
“We’re handling it,” Blake says. “We don’t need you here.”
“Well, Jeremy thinks you do.” Waylon boots up his computer, kicking off his tennis shoes under the desk. “And I don’t want to get fired.”
“Mmph,” Blake says.
They work in silence for an hour, only broken up by the occasional swear from another employee when their code decides to play hooky. Waylon’s fingers hurt as he manually inputs information into the server, wishing he was back at home under the fan.
He’s interrupted from his thoughts by a hand on the back of his chair. He barely acknowledges it, finishing his line of code.
“Park,” Jeremy says. “Upstairs. With me.”
Nobody who ever goes upstairs survives. Waylon groans internally, saving his file and pushing himself up from the desk. Blake gives him a sympathetic look.
Waylon trudges after Jeremy, who is somehow wearing a suit despite the heat. There’s a damp patch on the back of his jacket, and Waylon internally smirks. He hopes Jeremy is boiling to death.
Jeremy leads Waylon into his office and shuts the door. The room is stifling hot, and Waylon stands awkwardly in the middle of the room as Jeremy takes his seat at his desk. It’s devoid of all personal effects, like Jeremy plucked it from Ikea that very morning.
“Can I open a window?” Waylon asks.
Jeremy tilts his head to one side. “Why?”
“It’s hot,” Waylon says.
“Cope.”
Waylon sits down on the chair opposite Jeremy’s desk, and realises he’s forgotten to put his shoes back on. His big toe sticks out of the sock. If only he’d listened when Eddie mentioned darning needles.
Jeremy steeples his fingers. “We need to talk about your performance.”
“I came as soon as you texted me.”
Jeremy makes a performance of taking his phone from his pocket and opening his messages. “I messaged you at 11:08. You arrived at midday.”
“It’s my day off.”
“You should have dropped everything.”
“I did drop everything.” Waylon snaps. “I have a life outside of Murkoff.”
“Oh yes, I know all about your sordid life.” Jeremy snaps back. “Ghost hunting and pride parades. Murkoff employees should be an example of the company and (promote) the company views.”
“I’m sorry I’m not a robot,” Waylon says. “Or a clone. You can’t stop me from doing things in my free time.”
“You are a worker ant, Park. I control you. If I say jump, you say how high. If I say I need you at the office, you drop everything and arrive. Understood?”
Waylon balls his hands into fists. “Fuck you.”
Jeremy pushes himself up from his desk. “You stupid pathetic little idiot-“
“Don’t you dare speak to him like that.”
Waylon and Jeremy both look to the door at the sudden intrusion.
One of the tallest men that Waylon has ever seen is darkening the doorway, in a perfectly tailored grey waistcoat. There’s a deep scar that slices up the right side of his face, changing the colour of the pupil to a deep green.
“Excuse me?” Jeremy says. “How the fuck did you-“
The stranger crosses the room and pushes Jeremy against the wall, his fist clenched in Jeremy’s shirt. Jeremy makes a noise in surprise, eyes widening in shock as the man presses Jeremy into the bricks.
“I said,” The man repeats. “Don’t speak to Waylon like that.”
Jeremy tries to say something, but it comes out as a winded gurgle. His eyes bulge, and the stranger holds him in the air for a few seconds before dropping him to the floor. Jeremy grabs at his chest, wheezing.
“Waylon,” The stranger snaps, holding out his hand. “Come.”
Waylon stares at Jeremy on the ground, red-faced and trying to stand upright.
“Now,” The stranger says, and Waylon scurries after the man.
The stranger strides down the corridor and Waylon jogs to keep up. He can’t stop looking at the man’s face, especially the harsh scar that carves through his eyeball.
The man pauses at the end of the corridor and turns to face Waylon. Waylon swallows hard, afraid he’s suddenly going to get punched.
“Darling,” The stranger says. “You are never going to work here again, you understand? I won’t let them torture you like that man did.”
Waylon’s mouth falls open in shock. “Eddie?”
Eddie Gluskin, in the flesh, tilts his head to one side. “Yes?” He says carefully.
“You-“ Waylon stares at him. “You travelled all the way here to punch my boss?”
“I couldn’t help myself,” Eddie says. “I had to rescue you.”
“You still travelled all this way ,” Waylon says. “How did you even get into the building?”
Eddie looks vaguely embarrassed. “I messaged your friend Miles.”
“You spoke to Miles?!”
“I found his Facebook account,” Eddie admits. “Asked him for the code to the building.”
“How the fuck does Miles know the code to my building?”
“I didn’t ask questions,” Eddie says. “I just wanted to help you.”
Waylon doesn’t know what to say, so settles on actions instead of words. He yanks Eddie down by the front of his waistcoat (who the fuck wears a waistcoat in this heat?) and collides their mouths together.
The other man tastes of red wine and iron, giving a snort of surprise through his nose at the sudden attack. Then he seemingly melts against Waylon’s lips, hands cradling the sides of Waylon’s face as he kisses him back furiously.
They break apart for air, Waylon breathing heavily. Eddie’s hands are still on his face, his thumbs rubbing small circles against Waylon’s skin.
“Darling,” Eddie says.
“Kiss me again,” Waylon demands, and Eddie pushes him against the wall .
Eddie kisses like he’s trying to leave Waylon a kissed-out mess on the office corridor, all tongue and teeth. Waylon whines against his mouth, letting Eddie take control, his hands roaming Waylon’s body and squeezing at the soft meat of his hips.
“Mine,” Eddie murmurs against Waylon’s mouth. “All mine.”
They kiss for what seems like several minutes before the door to Jeremy’s office opens, and the man himself staggers out. He looks at Waylon like a rabbit in headlights, and Eddie moves to stand in front of Waylon.
“You have five minutes to get out before I call the police,” Jeremy says hoarsely.
“Don’t worry,” Eddie says. “We’re leaving.”
“You’re fired,” Jeremy says to Waylon.
“Oh, I quit,” Waylon says and grabs Eddie’s hand before Jeremy can start yelling at him again.
They walk down the stairs to the main office, Eddie squeezing Waylon’s hand tightly as they walk. Blake looks up from his computer as they pass by and does a double-take. Waylon winks at him.
The two men step out into the street and into the brilliant sunshine. Waylon leans against the broad bulk of Eddie’s side and Eddie drops a kiss down onto the top of his head.
“Where should we go?” Eddie asks.
“My place,” Waylon says. “For reasons. And things.”
“Suits me, darling,” Eddie says and kisses him again.
Three Months Later
“Stay still darling.”
“You’ve just stabbed me with a needle,” Waylon says, folding his arms. “God forbid I flinch at that.”
“It barely grazed you,” Eddie says but kisses the spot better. “Happy?”
“Yes,” Waylon says. “This suit better make me look handsome.”
He’s standing in the backroom of Eddie’s shop, draped in various cuts of fabric of Eddie’s choice. The room is dark but homely, and Waylon has started to put his own little touches into the business. The website is a few weeks from going live, and they’re going to have a party to celebrate.
“You always look handsome,” Eddie says, writing down a few notes on his pad. “Turn to the left for me?”
Waylon turns to the left. “Lisa messaged me this morning.”
“Oh yes?” Eddie tucks his pencil behind his ear.
“She wants to bring her new boyfriend to the launch.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said she could,” Waylon says. “I want to meet him. He sounds... nice.”
“Good,” Eddie says. “And I will get to meet her.”
“I hope you like her,” Waylon says. “I hope she likes you.”
“How could I not like any of your friends?” Eddie asks.
“You think Miles is insane.” Waylon points out.
“That’s because he is,” Eddie says, and Waylon snorts.
Eddie’s phone bleeps and he huffs, pushing himself away to go see what the message is.
Waylon admires himself in the mirror, imagining how the new suit will fit his body. He’s chosen a charcoal grey to match Eddie’s colours, but with a pop of red on the inside lining. He can’t believe he’s the kind of person to know about inside lining.
“ Ah ,” Eddie says.
“What’s wrong?” Waylon asks.
“One of the models for the launch is down with a cold,” Eddie says. “I won’t have anyone to wear one of the wedding gowns.”
“Ugh,” Waylon says. “Is it too short notice to hire anyone else.”
“For my measurements?” Eddie says. “Yes.”
He looks over at Waylon and tilts his head to one side.
“What are you thinking about?” Waylon asks.
“Would you consider being a model for the wedding dress?” Eddie asks.
Waylon blinks, before a grin spreads across his face.
“I thought you’d never ask!”