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Ed was having trouble focusing on the movie. To be fair, he’d seen this one (conservatively) three hundred times, but that was because he fucking loved it. That wasn’t the issue.
Beside him on the couch, Stede wriggled deeper under his favorite of Ed’s (many) throw blankets. He sniffled—nose red and twitchy like a very sad baby bunny.
That was the issue. Ed loved this movie, but he could barely focus because something was wrong with his best friend/the love of his life, and Ed was losing his mind trying to solve the mystery.
Stede wasn’t supposed to be there at all tonight, for starters. He was meant to be on a date. But at 7:41, Ed had gotten a call.
Stede hadn’t provided a lot of details on the phone. He’d sounded a bit damp and breathless to Ed’s ear—trained as it was in all the various shifts and intonations of Stede Bonnet’s vocal range. Like he was trying not to cry, or else he had been crying and he'd only just barely gotten it under control—and didn’t that inspire a white hot desire for violence? But Stede didn’t volunteer any explanation, just said his date had been cut short, and would Ed perhaps be interested in a movie night—if he wasn’t already busy, and no worries at all if he was.
That settled it. Ed was going to have to kill someone, wasn’t he?
Ed opened his door before Stede had a chance to ring the bell. He was standing on the front step looking like a piece of paper someone had crumpled up and discarded, face somehow both pale and puffy red at the same time. His cute little date outfit (the ultra-soft lavender knit top Ed loved to borrow, paired with rich, mustard yellow velvet trousers that made his flat ass look incredible) had gone all limp and rumpled. He looked up from his shoes and stared into Ed’s soul with enormous, damp doe eyes.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, lip wobbling.
Ed wasn’t strong enough to resist. He needed to hold the man.
“Oh, babe.” He pulled Stede into a tight hug right there on the stoop. “Come on, get inside. I’ve already got Moulin Rouge! cued up.”
Which was how they’d gotten here. On screen, Satine descended from the rafters of the Moulin Rouge in her spangled body suit, singing in a low, jazzy tone about how diamonds are a girl’s best friend.
Ed was aware that most people did not look at him and think: now there’s a guy who loves Baz Luhrman’s magnum opus, Moulin Rouge! (2001), but he was a complicated and many-layered individual.
Look, were the racial and/or sexual politics great? Fuck no. Plus there was the whole weird plotline fetishizing a totally white-washed India, which was just…yikes. In Ed’s defense, the first time he saw it, he was twenty-four and going through a miserable breakup with a rancid fuckboy that Ed had (mistakenly) believed was The One until it became clear that the guy was only sleeping with Ed because his apartment was conveniently located near the bar where said asshole worked. Ed had been deep in the ice cream-and-weeping phase of that particular clusterfuck when he'd channel-surfed into a cable airing of Moulin Rouge! and, well…he’d pretty much imprinted on the thing like a baby goose.
Several dozen viewings and twenty-one years later, he met Stede Bonnet.
Ed had been at the farmers’ market, searching for something un-boring to use in that night’s special at the restaurant, when some kind of brawl broke out a few stalls down.
Well, that wasn’t boring.
Ed was too curious not to go investigate, and he arrived on the scene just in time to watch a beautiful blonde man nearly catch a stray punch. The man dodged out of the way, tripped over his own feet, and—before he really knew what he was doing—Ed reached out to catch him.
Which is how Ed ended up standing in the middle of the farmer’s market with his arms full of hazel-eyed Kiwi lunatic—caught in Ed’s embrace like a Hollywood starlet.
“Hi,” the man said in a private sort of murmur, like the whole world around them had gone blurry and quiet for him, too. He was grinning up at Ed like they’d been friends all their lives. Like he’d known before he even started falling that Ed, specifically, would be there to catch him.
And just like that, Ed was in love.
They’d been friends ever since.
(It turned out that Stede himself had basically been the cause of the fight. He’d been haggling over the price of cherry tomatoes—what a freak—and attempted to pit two vendors against each other, unintentionally reigniting some kind of generations-old blood feud the rival farmers thought they’d laid to rest. Ed was so smitten it hurt, sometimes.)
Early on in their friendship, it came out that Stede had never actually seen Moulin Rouge!, so of course Ed had to invite him over for a movie night. He spent the evening eagerly and not-so-covertly watching Stede’s facial expressions out of the corner of his eye—filled with the the thrilling anxiety of please like this, please like this thing I like, please like me. Obviously, Stede loved it (because when were they not in sync about stuff that mattered), so then it went from being Ed’s comfort movie to their comfort movie, and that accounted for at least a hundred or so of those three-hundred-plus viewings because, above all else, what Ed wanted Stede to feel around him was comfort.
(Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Ed was madly in love with his cheerfully oblivious best friend, so yeah—comfort, right up there at the top of the list, but he wouldn’t say no to adoration, or even just garden variety insatiable lust.)
On screen, Satine and Christian were on top of the elephant, singing their All You Need is Love medley. Satine, the courtesan, claimed that she couldn’t fall in love, but already she was softening—lured in by Christian’s irresistible earnestness.
Without his permission, Ed’s gaze drifted back towards Stede again. His attention was rapt on the screen, eyes wide and glossy and full of wonder in the reflected light. And he- fuck. He was mouthing the words along to the song. But just Christian’s lines—the romantic hero, begging the girl to be brave and love him back.
And, like…look. Part of the reason Ed loved this movie so much, long before he’d ever met Stede, was because Ed kinda sorta had a whole thing about over-identifying with Satine. Something about getting so lost in the performance, the mask, that you start to lose sight of the real human bits you still have left in your heart, maybe. Something about thinking you’re not able to love—to be loved—only to get proven wrong in the most devastatingly romantic way possible. Or, y’know. Whatever.
And Stede probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, but the way he seamlessly stepped into the other role, like he was instinctively leaving space for Ed to take Nicole Kidman’s lines, it…fuck. It fucked Ed up, all over again.
He was almost certainly seeing stuff he wanted to see, right? It would be nice to think that little gestures like this were some kind of sign that deep down, Stede was secretly in love with him, too—maybe so deep down that the guy didn’t even realize it, himself.
In reality, the truth was clear: Stede just didn’t see him that way.
Well, maybe it was clear. It might be clear-ish.
Ed had tried to make it clear. He’d flirted with Stede like crazy when they first met, to the point of feeling insane. Foolish. Because no matter how hard he hit, Stede never blinked, and Ed couldn’t tell if it was some posh, ultra-polite form of refusal (so subtle Ed couldn’t even tell it was a refusal) or if Stede was really just that oblivious.
And then! Four fucking months into their friendship—talking almost every day, texting constantly, dropping in on each other at work with snacks from Roach’s bakery, or invitations to wild bullshit like Jim’s knife-throwing competition—four shitting months of being practically glued together at the hip, Stede dropped the bomb into their lunchtime conversation—casual as you please—that he had a wife. A wife!
In point of fact, they’d been talking about Moulin Rouge!.
“I just can’t believe you’d never seen it before, man,” Ed said. “How is that even possible?”
Stede shrugged and dabbed a bit of mayo from his mouth (Ed silently mourned losing the chance to lick it off him). “Mary hates Baz Luhrman, and I just never got to seeing it on my own, I suppose.”
It took a second for this to compute in Ed’s head.
Ed had an impeccable memory, for certain things anyway. Sure, he’d forget any meeting Izzy tried to set up for him unless it was in his stupid work calendar, and yeah—he had to put an AirTag in his jacket pocket because he’d left it behind one too many times. But he still remembered the name of his upstairs neighbor’s dog from when he was nine (a smash-faced sweetheart of a pitbull named Felicity) and the phone number of the used car dealership he and his childhood best mate Felix had liked to prank call (1-424-206-9666) and the fact that gay deer traveled in herds together and were called “velvet horns” because the lack of male infighting left their antlers soft and fuzzy (heard it on a podcast once and definitely didn’t cry about it).
If he was paying attention, information like that just stuck in his head like magnets—and with Stede, he was always paying attention. He remembered what Stede was wearing when they met (that bonkers cute shirt with the rosy maple moth print) and where they were the first time Ed cried in front of him (the picnic table on the bluff outside the ice cream and burger shack on the way back from the beach). He knew how Stede took his tea (dash of milk, two sugars) and that he had a (frankly demonic) affinity for banana-flavored candy but hated actual bananas.
Which is why Ed was absolutely 100% positive that Stede had never, not once uttered the name “Mary” in his presence. Certainly not as someone important enough to be a factor in what movies he had or hadn’t seen.
“Who’s this Mary, then?” he asked.
Stede paused, startled. The little fucker frowned like Ed was the weird one for not knowing. “You know. Mary. My wife?”
For weeks after, every time Ed lay down to sleep, he’d hear those five words on loop in his head.
You know. Mary. My wife.
Mary. My wife.
Mary, my wife.
My wife.
So, Stede had a wife.
And apparently a wife that hated Baz Luhrman?? What kind of joyless snob was this person?? (Of course, Ed eventually met Mary and she was fucking wonderful—so dry and take-no-prisoners with her wit that Ed couldn’t help but love her and forgive her for her absolute shit taste in cinema, and for the fact that she’d fucked Stede before him [he was still a little sore about that one, tbh, but he’d get over it one day, probably.])
Anyway, point is, something had briefly died inside him when Ed found out Stede was married. It had taken a minute to unpack those feelings. Disappointment, sure. Plenty of it. Anger too, that Stede had kept it from him—whether it was intentional or not. Not even just because Ed had stupidly got his hopes up, but…well it felt bad, thinking Stede was his best friend, only to find out that he didn’t know this huge piece of information about him.
Except, the longer he sat with it, the more he realized that wasn’t quite true. Or, not the whole truth.
Maybe Ed had been kept in the dark about Mary, but it was only because Ed was Stede’s safe space to be himself—his real self. The self he was still testing out, learning the shape of. The Stede he might have become if he hadn’t been all but forced to marry a woman he didn’t love. If he hadn’t spent the last forty-seven years shouldering the suffocating twin weights of compulsory heterosexuality and his father’s expectations.
Which brought Ed to the final feeling, the biggest of them all, the one that underpinned everything: sadness. Brutal, aching sadness for his best friend, who was brilliant and amazing and a fucking one-of-a-kind lunatic, but trapped and drowning and still so far from finding the way out.
So, Ed forced himself to take the news in stride. Tortured himself with casual touches and quiet pining all through the last two years of Stede’s marriage. When asked, he tried to offer advice that was neutral and supportive and might maybe nudge Stede in the right direction without just sitting him down, looking deep into those beautiful, unhinged hazel eyes and saying “Babe, you know you’re queer—right?”
(He nearly broke when Stede came to him for sex advice—“Ed! You’re bi! I know you know these things!”)
(Ed had choked so hard on his danish that he briefly considered letting someone call an ambulance, just to avoid the conversation, and the only reason he didn’t go through with it was because he knew Stede would just ask again once Ed was out of the woods and breathing freely—like a maniac dog with a PCP-infused bone)
(What followed was the most excruciating two hours of Ed’s life, and that included the time he’d gone to see Jack in an improv show. He was pretty sure he dissociated through the entire discussion, although Stede pulling up a YouTube video from an octogenarian “sexpert” with advice about getting your partner to squirt was—unfortunately—burned into his brain forever.)
(And no one better fucking ask if he’d ever wanked to the memory afterward—Stede’s voice so close in his ear as he held the phone between them, sharing his thoughts and questions about the technique on display. That was between him and God.)
When Mary asked for a divorce, Ed was the first person Stede told. He came out to him in the same conversation, and Ed was so thrilled—for himself, sure, but mostly for Stede—that he planted a kiss on him, right on the lips. A close-mouthed, smacking sort of kiss, not sexy at all, but a kiss nonetheless.
Ed had jerked back, eyes wide and already opening his mouth to apologize, but he’d paused when he caught sight of Stede’s face sporting the sort of stunned smile that was usually accompanied by cartoon birds flying around your head.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Wow, was right. For once, they were finally on the same fucking page.
Ed thought.
For all of twenty-four hours, he’d been elated. Fucking tap dancing on clouds. He ruffled Izzy’s hair when he showed up at the restaurant the next morning, for christ’s sake. And then Stede swung by on his lunch break, practically mowing Izzy down as he steamrolled through the front door to Kraken & Waif, and Ed felt his whole body light up at the sight of him like a fucking neon sunrise over Times Square. He practically vaulted over the bar, already reaching for the man, ready to pull him into the kind of swoony kiss Hollywood could only dream of—and then Stede delivered the death blow.
“Ed!” He waved his phone in Ed’s face. “I’ve decided to try gay online dating!”
Ed swore he skidded to a stop, brakes screeching.
He blinked once, twice. Played the sentence back in his head.
“What?” he landed on.
“I’m on the apps!” Stede announced, clearly impressed with himself for knowing what “the apps” were. He poked and and prodded at the screen. “Here, look—wait, no. Damn. Swiped right. As though I’d date an orthodontist. Ah, there we go.” Stede held his phone out to Ed, clearly expecting him to take it.
Ed did not take it. The screen now displayed a Hinge profile for Stede (49). In the top photo, he was tits out, sunbathing on a dock.
Ed was going to kill Lucius.
Ed had taken that photo last summer at the lake. It was one of his favorite pictures. Stede was propped up on his elbows—sunglasses on, shirt off. Face (and nipples) tipped to the sun. Golden hair perfectly air-dried after a bout of splash and tackle in the water that had left Ed dizzy and half-hard. A slight sunburn across his nose and shoulders, emphasizing all the places he was most biteable.
(Ed definitely didn’t have the picture saved to a special folder on his phone or anything weird like that.)
“Ed?” Stede sounded suddenly uncertain. That was enough to snap Ed (temporarily) out of his red mist murder haze.
“Sorry man. Yeah, uh, looks great. So when did Lucius get this set up for you?”
Stede looked confused by the abrupt change in conversational direction, but shook it off. “Last night!” He chirped, enthusiasm rebounding in full force. “After our-” here, he faltered.
Kiss, Ed’s mind supplied—unhelpfully.
“After our conversation,” Stede rallied. “I had an epiphany, you see.”
That I don’t want you and never will so I’d better get out there and start meeting other people instead of spending every free minute hanging out with you, sad sack that you are—Ed’s mind supplied, extra unhelpfully.
Stede continued on. “I realized I really am definitely a homosexual, and so I’d better get a crack on exploring the wide world of gay romance!”
Well, wasn’t that somehow fucking worse.
“And sex!” Stede tacked on, because killing Ed wasn’t enough—he needed to piss on the grave, too. “I very much want to explore that, as well. So after you left, I called Lucius and requested his assistance.”
(Later, Ed would come to learn that Lucius had earnestly tried to intervene on his behalf. During their phone call, Stede had relayed the full story of the evening, including the funny feeling in his belly button that he got when Ed had planted a really totally platonic kiss on him, and how that made Stede realize just how badly he wanted to find true gay love. Lucius had asked—tactfully, at first, and then increasingly less so—what Ed thought about Stede dating other people. Stede hadn’t understood the question.)
Ed had helped Stede get dressed for his first ever gay date—impeccably tailored jade velvet suit, midnight blue turtleneck, perfect hair—feeling so nauseous he could cry the entire time. He’d given Stede a pep talk on the way out the door—a pretty good one too, even though most of his brain space had been occupied by intrusive thoughts about kissing/licking/biting the man, all pretty for his date. He’d seen Stede into the car and then headed home, where he pretended to read the same page of a book for two hours before going to bed and staring at the ceiling for a couple more. He had to be at the restaurant for deliveries the next day at 5 AM, but he couldn’t stop tossing and turning and imagining all the ways Stede might fall in love at first sight with Anthony (51).
But Ed needn’t have worried. Stede called him from the car on his way home for a debrief, and it wasn’t a love match. He gave Ed a full play-by-play of the evening—including the handshake goodbye at the end—followed by a dramatic sigh.
“He was nice,” Stede concluded, “but his idea of a perfect day is fly fishing, Ed. Fly fishing! With the waders, and the silly vests, and the standing around freezing cold river beds at ungodly hours of the morning!”
Honestly, fishing didn’t sound so terrible to Ed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to point that out.
He rearranged his pillows on the bed to better prop himself up. “Yeah? Tell me more, mate.”
All of Stede’s subsequent dates followed much the same trajectory. He’d match with a guy, gets his hopes up, and then—inevitably—call Ed on the way home.
Ed loved these calls as much as he hated them. Or maybe it was the other way ‘round, he could never decide. They always went the same: Stede would give him a complete rundown of the evening, punctuated with a sigh and followed by a string of devastatingly passive aggressive notes on the man of the week. One guy chewed too emphatically (not loudly, or annoyingly, but emphatically—god, Ed loved this man). Another talked too much about himself, using Stede as a captive audience. Yet another asked Stede too many questions and offered nothing of himself in return, and wasn’t that weird and vaguely suspicious?
Ed lived for these comments, which made him feel kinda guilty, because Stede was clearly lonely and getting discouraged by his inability to find anyone second date-worthy. But hey, Ed never claimed to be perfect or even especially good, and Stede’s snippy post-date commentaries were the only thing keeping the jealous monster that lived in Ed’s chest from clawing its way out in a spew of blood and gore to claim Stede like a chew toy.
And then came Roger. Roger, who was at least part of the reason why Stede was sitting on Ed’s couch right now, looking decidedly teary-eyed as he watched the two leads laying in bed, giggling and kissing as they fell in love and wrote a very silly play together.
Roger had been the most persistent of Stede’s would-be suitors (and wasn’t that fucking ridiculous—suitors, like they were in an Austen novel or something. No question where Ed had picked up that particular turn of phrase.)
After his first date with the guy, Stede called Ed for their usual debrief. Ed spent the whole call chewing the inside of his cheek and waiting for that bitchy sigh, like usual.
Only with Roger, the comments never came. Stede gave Ed the recap (they went to the aquarium, which—ok—that was a good move, Ed could admit, followed by dinner at some old school surf & turf place, which Ed thought was uninspired but Stede didn’t seem to mind, and he only chuckled half-heartedly at Ed’s honestly pretty clever shellfish pun which…wtf??) and then he sighed (only it sounded more wistful than disparaging, unless Ed was maybe probably totally imagining that???) and then…nothing. Silence.
“So…” Ed ventured after what had to be the single longest pause in their entire friendship to date. “Good date, then?”
Stede hesitated for one second, and Ed relaxed. He could tell from the little inhale that Stede was holding something back, and surely now he was going to lay into this Roger guy (the fuck kind of name was that, anyway?)
Stede blew out a breath and said, “Yes, I suppose it was. Good, that is. The date. Perfectly good.”
Ed narrowed his eyes at the phone, immediately suspicious. And, sure, Stede couldn’t see the face he was making, but Ed knew he could feel it.
Stede swallowed audibly, confirming Ed’s suspicions. But then he simply changed the subject. Started telling Ed about all the marvelous creatures he’d seen at the aquarium, and how he and Ed really must go back there together (which…oof. Ed’s poor fucking heart.) Stede didn’t seem to realize what he was implying, or that—as he described in minute detail every exhibit and display he’d seen that afternoon—he somehow managed to avoid mentioning Roger’s name again for the rest of the call.
Maybe the date was really bad? So bad Stede didn’t want to tell Ed? That possibility made Ed want to find this Roger character and partake in a good maim.
But then. Then. The next weekend, Ed casually asked Stede if he wanted to take a drive up the coast together on Saturday, since it was elephant seal migration season and all the pups would be out sunning their fat tube sock bodies on the beach. Stede’s eyes lit up in that way that made Ed feel like he was melting, Wicked Witch of the West style.
But Stede dimmed just as fast. He flushed to the roots of his hair and grimaced apologetically. “Oh, I’d love to Ed! I can’t this weekend, though. I, um. Well, I have a date?”
Shit. Ed shoved his hands in his pockets. “Oh, right. No big. Who’s it this time?”
Stede somehow flushed harder. “You remember Roger, from last week? The aquarium?”
Ed blinked.
So the date was good then. At least good enough to warrant a second.
This had never happened before.
“Oh, yeah,” Ed muttered. “No worries.” Except. Well. Ed had really wanted to go together. “Could do Sunday, maybe?”
Stede frowned. “You and your mother make brunch together on Sundays, you can’t skip that.”
It shouldn’t make Ed’s heart all fluttery like that, Stede knowing his schedule. They were friends. Best friends. Friends knew that type of shit about each other, right? Didn’t mean anything.
“I can reschedule,” Ed offered. Stede frowned further, and Ed rushed to wave him off. “Supposed to get cold next weekend mate, you think I want to risk missing the miracle of nature that is baby seals? Pfft. I can see Mum any time. Bit sick of her, if I’m honest.”
Stede gave him a wry eyebrow. “You could go without me on Saturday, you know. Take Fang, I bet he’d love that. Or Jim, even.”
Ed rolled his eyes. “You think I’d go without you? Get real man. You’d pout about it for months, I’d never hear the end of it.”
And Stede had given him one of those impossibly soft, fond smiles. “You’re right. I would.”
So they’d gone on Friday. Ed had to rearrange some shifts at K&W to make it happen, but he owned the fucking place—wasn’t that his right? And anyway Izzy could shut up, just generally. Friday had been a better day to go, really. Middle of the workday, hardly anyone was there. Ed and Stede had really felt like they existed alone in the universe—them and a few hundred elephant seal yearlings. It had been nice. Lovely. Romantic as hell.
Stede still went on his date with Roger the next day. And another, the following weekend. Four weeks after that, Stede referred to him as his “boyfriend,” and Ed subsequently spent the rest of the night lying on his living room floor and listening to a Spotify playlist helpfully titled “sad girl bops.”
Ed had met Roger, of course. He was Stede’s best friend, be a bit odd if he hadn’t.
(Although actually, it had taken a weird amount of time for Stede to arrange it. He’d seemed strangely reluctant for Ed to meet the guy, at first. Kept making plans and cancelling, or Ed would suggest drinks, dinner, a movie night and there’d be some perfectly reasonable excuse as to why Roger couldn’t make it—but Stede would love to meet up one-on-one, of course!)
But he had eventually met the guy, a couple months into their relationship. And...look. Ed tried to be normal about it, really he did. He’d shown up to the bar prepared to lie through his teeth that he liked the guy until he tricked himself into believing it. He might be head over heels, ass over tits in love with his best friend, but he wanted Stede to be happy. This was the man’s first semi-serious queer relationship, and that was scary enough without Ed causing drama. He was there to play the supportive friend, that’s it.
(And, okay: sue him. He was still Ed, still a bitch. Obviously, he dressed up for the occasion—just toeing the line between intimidatingly sophisticated and intimidatingly slutty—including the black silk cravat he’d stolen from Stede, tied carefully carelessly so that it draped down the [very] low neckline of his shirt.)
Anyway, he’d shown up ready to be amiable, affable, jovial. His first impression of the guy was…boring. Nondescript. Ed knew he was biased, what with the absolutely raging, out of control emotional boner he had for Stede, but he felt like this was a semi-objective—even charitable!—assessment. Roger was wearing khakis, for fuck’s sake.
So. Ok. Not as cool as Stede, but who was? Stede was basically a unicorn, a living miracle—obviously anyone else would seem drab by comparison. Didn’t mean Roger couldn’t be a perfectly nice guy.
All night, Ed tried. He was decidedly not enjoying himself—sitting across from the guy currently fucking the love of his life and (even worse) holding his hand on the table, but he forced himself to ask (boring) questions and forced himself to listen to Roger’s (boring) answers so he could ask followup questions about insurance adjusting and his drought resistant garden and his turtle, Marvin.
And it was all worth it, because out of the corner of his eye, he could see Stede fucking beaming, looking back and forth between Ed and Roger like he couldn’t believe how well this was going.
But all the while, something kept rubbing Ed the wrong way. Still, he gritted his teeth against those nastier thoughts.
Just jealousy, he told himself. Don’t fuck this up for Stede.
And then.
And then.
At some point, after Roger had finally finished droning on about the book he was reading on World War II (yuck), Ed took the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to turn to Stede and ask, “Hey man, whatever happened with Gladys at the rose gardens?” Stede volunteered twice a week at the local botanical society, and he’d somehow become embroiled in the bitter rivalry between two elderly women, Gladys and Matilda. (Ed was 100% positive they were secretly in love with each other, and Matilda realized it but Gladys definitely didn’t. Stede wasn’t convinced.)
Stede lit up, and immediately launched into a long-winded story about Matilda’s latest shenanigans with Gladys’s pruning shears. He was doing that thing that Ed loved, where he dove down every side road and tangent, a million threads all weaving together into an answer that probably didn’t make sense to anyone but the people who adored Stede the very most, like Ed.
And, he supposed, probably Roger. His boyfriend of two-plus months.
Except.
Except.
At some point—in the middle of a tangent about the naming conventions for IKEA furniture—Stede gesticulated so emphatically that he very nearly took out both his and Ed’s drinks. Ed had chuckled and glanced at Roger, expecting to see him watching Stede with some version of the same fond, rapt amusement written all over Ed’s own face.
Only, Roger wasn’t looking at Stede at all. Looking in his general direction, maybe, but his glazed eyes were fixed somewhere just beyond Stede’s shoulder. He nodded along noncommittally as Stede wandered into a digression on the history of Japanese quilting traditions, but he clearly wasn’t really listening.
It was a look Ed was all too familiar with, and he never failed to find it as confusing as it was infuriating. For reasons surpassing all understanding, people seemed to find it hard to fully pay attention when Stede got going. He’d start in on a subject, and the other person would drift away to some other world, like Stede was speaking in the Charlie Brown teacher language or something.
Ed simply could not comprehend it. He flexed his hand under the table, willing himself not to reach over and strangle the prick. It would embarrass Stede, probably, and he couldn’t have that.
But Stede had also picked up on the vibe. He faltered, trailing off with a nervous laugh.
“Sorry,” he winced. “You know better than to get me going, Ed. I’m sure you two don’t want to hear about all this.”
Ed’s whole body burned white hot with rage. Look, he’d tried. Really. He didn’t want to hate Stede’s boyfriend. Didn’t want to be bitter and selfish. But he drew the line at someone making Stede self-conscious. Making him shrink in on himself like that. That was unforgivable.
“No way, mate,” he took a big sip of his drink, smiling at Roger with cheerful murder in his eyes. “Keep going. I’m dying to know what Matilda thought about Gladys’s granddaughter’s baby shower.”
So, Ed didn’t like Roger. Lots of people didn’t like their best friend’s significant other. Didn’t give you license to be, like, weird about it.
Still, Ed was torn. It had been one thing when he just hated the guy because he was jealous. It was a whole other fish entirely now that he knew just how wrong this schmuck was for Stede. Roger didn’t appreciate him—no, revere him—like Stede deserved. And Ed theoretically knew that this just needed to be part of Stede’s story. He was on his middle-aged baby gay journey. There was going to be some discomfort, some heartbreak, along the way.
But also…Stede had been trapped in a loveless sham of a cishet marriage since he was twenty-three. What if he didn’t realize that it could be better? What if Roger came along, and Stede was like, welp, I’m moderately attracted to this beige man, and I’ve never cried after sex so clearly this is it—true romance! Time to start shopping for ethical, lab grown moissanite engagement rings and picking out names for our rescue cats.
As his best mate, didn’t Ed have a responsibility, nay—a duty—to gently intervene?
Ed was aware there might be a slight conflict of interest here, so he decided to do something he’d sworn to himself he would never do.
Lucius squinted at him judgily over the top of his boba tea. Or maybe that was just how his face looked.
He took a slurpy sip. “So you hate Stede’s new beau, and you’re trying to decide if it’s because he actually sucks, or if you’re just so in love with the man that you might sabotage his first serious relationship in lieu of, oh, say, having an adult conversation. Do I have that right?”
Ed’s face burned. He picked at a peely bit on the edge of the cafe table where they sat. “I dunno. I guess…you’re not, like, wrong. Completely.”
Lucius continued squinting and slurping. Ed was pretty sure. He hadn’t actually looked up to check, but he could feel it.
When it became clear Lucius wasn’t going to say anything else, Ed broke. “So, I mean. Which one is it? Or whatever.”
“Babe.” Lucius reached across the table and laid a gentle hand on Ed’s wrist, stilling his very important work of peeling that loose bit of veneer. Ed risked a glance up at him.
“It’s both,” Lucius informed him, not unkindly. “Of course it’s both.”
“So…so you agree he sucks?” Ed blew out a sigh of relief.
“Um, ok. I guess we’re just going to blast right past the other half of that sentence without acknowledgement, but sure!” Lucius took another sip of his drink. “Pretty much the whole crew thinks he’s way too boring for Stede, and Jim says they actively get bad vibes from him, but they wouldn’t explain why. Frankly, I think that’s just their default opinion on all new people until proven otherwise, so take it with a grain of salt.”
“So…I should say something then?” Ed was feeling lighter already.
Lucius gave him a pitying grimace that Ed really did not like at all. “No, you absolutely should not.” Lucius went on to remind him of all the very smart and correct points that Ed’s better angels had already made in his head—coming out was a journey, Stede deserved the chance to figure things out on his own, etc etc
Really, Ed could have skipped the whole conversation. He already knew all that shit. Should’ve just listened to himself and avoided the whole humiliating bit where he asked Lucius for advice. The boy was what, fifteen years younger than him? Utter bullshit that he was smart and “self-actualized” and had 3+ partners who all thought the sun rose and set on his ass when Ed couldn’t even find one.
But still, Ed kept his mouth shut.
Which was why—three months later—they were an hour into Ed’s favorite movie and he’d barely taken in a single word. Stede had shown up at his house all distraught, and it was driving Ed nuts not knowing why—like an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn’t quite reach.
(That had happened just last week, during a different movie night—Joe vs. the Volcano, one of Stede’s favorites that Ed now loved too because it was just so Stede. Ed had squirmed and twisted in his seat until Stede, without being asked, had reached over absently—eyes still on the TV—and scratched Ed’s back for him. Long, slow, deep scratches, just the way Ed liked it, until he was basically purring. He’d never wanted it to end, but just when there was becoming a real risk of embarrassing himself, Stede had said, “there now, isn’t that better?” in his soft bedtime story voice, and another piece of Ed’s heart had broken off and melted into goo in his chest.)
Ed’s eyes kept flicking over to Stede, cuddled up on the other side of the couch. Stede had barely said a word since he’d come inside, but he’d smiled and laughed at all his favorite parts of the movie, just like usual. Sighed at a few of the more romantic bits, same as he always did. A few times, he caught Ed looking—Ed was not being subtle—but he only offered him a thin smile and turned back to the TV.
What happened on that date?
Was it just a fight? Or did he and Roger finally break up??
Ed didn’t want to push. Stede would say something when he was ready.
And, as usual, they were perfectly in sync.
“He dumped me,” Stede announced halfway through the movie, finally answering Ed’s unspoken question.
Ed whipped around to stare at him. Stede’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen, but there was a tension in his shoulder blades and his mouth was a flat, determined line—like he’d been working himself up to this all night.
He dumped me.
The little demon in Ed’s heart pumped its fists, poured gatorade over its head, shrieked in triumph—and Ed immediately felt like a real shit for it. This was Stede’s first break up from a real relationship that he actually wanted to be in, and Ed was his best friend. No matter how much Roger sucked, no matter how madly Ed was in love with him…none of that shit mattered more than holding Stede’s hand through this.
Ed took a deep breath, then picked up the remote and paused the movie.
“Fuck mate, I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “What, uh. What happened? If you want to talk about it, I mean. Don’t have to.”
Stede hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s for the best, really.” He looked down at his lap, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. He was quiet a while, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Ed waited.
“I’m not sure if love is meant for me.” Stede said it so quietly, so softly, but Ed felt the words like a dagger to the gut. “I think there’s some missing piece, maybe. I thought it would feel different, with a man. But there was still just this…disconnect. Between what I imagined romance would feel like, and how I actually felt when I was with him.” The thread pulled free of the blanket altogether, and Stede just stared at it in his hands.
“Stede,” Ed choked out, utterly helpless. Because what could he say to that, really? It was….well, it was fucking nonsense. There was no one on earth more romantic than Stede Bonnet. No one easier to love than Stede Bonnet, in Ed’s humble (and correct) opinion.
Stede, who had stayed at Ed’s place for two weeks last September when Ed had the flu. Showed up with soup and Sudafed and (inexplicably) the DVD box set of Gilmore Girls Season 3, complete with extra commentary and deleted scenes. Wouldn’t leave no matter how many times Ed swore he was fine, that he could take care of himself.
Stede, who took Ed to the pier to ride the ferris wheel for his birthday, all because Ed had once mentioned offhand that he’d never been on one as a child and always wanted to. Stede, who didn’t laugh when it turned out Ed was afraid of heights—only held his hand and distracted him by telling stories about the local seagull gang dynasty, complete with elaborate backstories and intricate world-building, until they were safely back on land.
Stede, who had seen Moulin Rouge! with Ed at least a hundred times, and still sighed at Satine and Christian’s first kiss—every damn time. Still sang along under his breath, wide-eyed and enraptured. Still cried his eyes out at the end.
Stede could say what he liked, pretend he was fine with it really—that he didn’t need romance. But you don’t get so caught up in an epic love story like Moulin Rouge! unless you’re hoping that some day, someone will sweep you off your feet. Tell you they love you no matter what, come what may.
Ed should know.
“Roger could tell,” Stede continued. “He knew my heart wasn’t in it, not really. Good of him to end things when I was too much of a coward.” He looked at Ed finally, then. Offered him a brave, wan smile, and that…
That was just about all Ed could stand.
Maybe this would all go up in flames. Explode in his face. But Ed could not let one more single second go by allowing Stede to think he wasn’t made for love.
“I love you,” Ed blurted out, then immediately froze. All the air in the room froze with him, as did Stede, who appeared to have stopped breathing. Ed couldn’t be sure, maybe it just looked that way because he had stopped breathing.
Another beat of silence followed as Stede blinked at him owlishly.
“Did you mean to say that?” Stede asked finally, voice squeaky and anxious.
Oh, shit.
Up until this very moment, Ed really had no plans to tell Stede at all. Sure, he’d thought about it. He’d fantasized. Imagined a million different scenarios—good, bad, and fatal. But they were just fantasies, daydreams. The friendship was too important, and Ed was too chickenshit, and that’s all it was ever going to be.
He hadn’t planned to tell Stede, maybe ever, and he certainly hadn’t planned to tell him like this. There should have been flowers, fireworks, meteor showers. Maybe a catchy but heartfelt musical number featuring a medley of classic love songs—never mind that Ed couldn’t fucking sing.
Regardless, it definitely shouldn’t have happened the same night that some prick named Roger had made Stede cry. Ed was supposed to be comforting him, and now he’d totally fucked it.
Did you mean to say that?
Ed could lie. Pretend he’d meant it platonically. They’d said as much to each other before, with pats on the back and firm hugs. But there was something in the way that Stede was looking at him—something open, and fragile, and aching—and now that the words were finally out in the open, Ed couldn’t bring himself to cheapen or diminish them.
“Ed?” Stede’s voice rose higher still, verging into panic.
Ed had to say something. He’d been quiet too long.
He took a deep breath, looked Stede clear in the eye, and answered his question honestly.
“No, I didn’t mean to say it.” Stede’s face fell slightly, and Ed ruthlessly did not allow himself to hope. “But,” he continued, forcing himself steady, “I do mean it.”
Stede stared at him, expression suddenly unreadable. Stede, who had perhaps the most emotive face on earth, like a fucking human emoji, and now Ed couldn’t tell what he was thinking??
“Well, that’s-” he started, frowning slightly, “I mean that’s very kind of you to try to make me feel better, but-”
Actually, fuck this.
Ed leaned over and kissed him.
The angle was awkward. Stede’s lips were completely motionless against Ed’s, his entire body rigid.
Shit. Fuck. Shitting dickfuck shit.
Ed made to draw back, and then Stede just…he just sighed.
The same soft, sweet, helpless sigh he always did during the movie, when Satine and Christian kissed for the first time. Like he’d been waiting all his life for someone to kiss him like that.
Stede sighed, and he kissed Ed back.
And oh, fuck, what a kiss.
Stede made a little noise in the back of his throat and Ed made a little noise in response and before Ed could really think about it he was swinging one leg over Stede to settle in his lap. Twining his arms around Stede’s neck. Scooting in closer, closer. Stede’s mouth was warm and wet and open against Ed’s—silk against silk—and if Ed thought he was in love before he was an idiot because how could he have been, really, when he hadn’t known what this would feel like? Stede’s body solid beneath him, his breath hot and humid against Ed’s stubble. A broad, heavy hand slipped underneath Ed’s t-shirt to stroke down the length of his spine, including that one spot that always—without fail—made Ed moan like a whore. Tonight was no exception.
This was really happening. Ed was in love with his best friend and he was kissing his best friend and his best friend was kissing him back and whatever came next nothing would ever be the same again because Ed sure as fuck would never live another moment of his life without thinking about the precise mechanics and sensory wonders of this kiss. He was shivering, his heart was racing, and this was really absolutely definitely the best kiss of his entire life to date and it was happening right now right now right fucking now. Suddenly Ed felt panicked, like he was missing something before it had even ended. The seconds kept ticking by and he and Stede were still kissing and just as Ed got comfortable with one second—felt ready to live forever inside the specific placement of Stede’s lips and his lips and Stede’s body and his body in that exact moment—that second would pass and turn into the next and he couldn’t remember where Stede’s lips had been just a second ago compared to where they were now and this was important he couldn’t forget this because it was their first real kiss and Ed’s best kiss and each second just kept unspooling one after the next like a kite string slipping through his fingers.
Ed wrenched himself away with a gasp. “Can we take this…slow?” he heard himself ask.
With utter sincerity, what the fuck was wrong with him?
Ed squeezed his eyes closed. Forced himself to say, “I just. I love you. Been waiting for this a long time. Don’t want to mess it up.”
Stede blinked up at him, looking more than a little kisswrecked. His hair was sticking out every which way, and he was breathing heavily, and his lips looked all pink and pouty and delicious. “Yes, of course.” He gave his head a shake, like a golden retriever with water in its ears. “I mean, yes. Of course. We can go as fast or as slow as you like.” Tentatively, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair out Ed’s eyes. Tucked it neatly behind his ear for him.
Ed had a minor stroke about it.
“Also,” Stede continued, hand now cupping Ed’s cheek, “just so you know, I’m in love with you, too.”
Ed was not going to cry. “Oh. Um. Cool. Good. Cool.”
“I want to be clear. So there’s no risk of confusion.”
Ed was very confused about a great many things, but he didn’t think there was any fixing that, at this point. “Yeah, no. Good.”
“Cool, even.” Stede twinkled up at him, all perfect, mischievous innocence.
“Shut up,” Ed mumbled into Stede’s palm, still trying not to cry. Stede loved him. What the fuck.
Stede pursed his lips and frowned, like something had just occurred to him. “So, that time you kissed me…?”
“Not at all platonic,” Ed confirmed. He shrugged one shoulder. “Thought we were gonna date. Wanted to marry you. Have your babies.”
Stede snorted, like he thought Ed was joking. That was okay. He’d see.
Stede smiled at him gently, unaware of what he was doing to Ed’s poor heart. “Well, anyway. Shall we, um. Shall we just continue with the movie, then?”
Ed could only look at him, lost. Stede’s expression was so hopeful, so sweet—like he really would be content to curl back up on the couch and watch this movie they’d already seen seventy dozen times. Maybe hold Ed’s hand a bit.
And Ed was just like…fuck it, y’know?
How much slower could they take things, really? Hadn’t they waited long enough already? To find each other, to both be single? All those times Ed had stretched out sideways on Stede’s bed, watching with hearts in his eyes and knots in his stomach as Stede got dressed to take someone else out on a date. All those nights Ed had spent pining, sick to his stomach, waiting for the phone to ring.
Every night they’d sat here on either end of this very couch, watching this very movie, when Ed had longed more than anything to close the distance between them—to curl into Stede’s side, wrap his arm around his waist, feel Stede’s fingers playing with his hair as they watch Moulin Rouge!. To be so close to him that when Stede let out that precious sigh during the first kiss, Ed would feel it as a gust of warm air against his own cheek. To turn and kiss him then, just softly, so that he knew he was loved—more loved than any dumb character in any dumb movie had ever been.
And like, not to be overdramatic, but—what if Satine and Christian had taken things slow? They had so little time together, in the end. Shit happens, lives change, people die of consumption. Not Ed or Stede, probably, but they didn’t know that for sure, either.
Stede picked the remote up off the couch and went to restart the movie. Ed grabbed it out of his hand.
Stede gave him a curious look. “Ed?”
Ed tossed the remote over his shoulder without looking. It hit the coffee table with a plastic clatter, followed by the sound of the batteries rolling across the wooden surface and onto the rug. Ed paid it no mind.
Ed leaned in and kissed Stede again, picking up right where they’d left off—heated and decadent and aching.
Stede made a noise against his mouth—half desperation, half confusion. “But, um. Not that I’m not loving this! But...slow?”
“Forget that,” Ed murmured, not breaking the kiss. “Stupid idea. I wanna see what happens next.”
Because…this was Stede. His best friend. Ed trusted him. Trusted them together.
Come what may, he was all in.
***
One year later…
Halloween
Ed leaned closer to the mirror, pouting his lips as he swiped on a bright, even smear of blood red lipstick. He blotted and took a step back to get a good look at himself.
Frankly, he looked incredible.
Ed didn’t want to know what Stede had paid John for the custom-sewn replica of Satine’s red gown, but it was a work of art. He’d absolutely be finding an excuse to wear this baby again—maybe Pete and Lucius’s wedding? Probably wasn’t a red ballgown kind of affair, but what did Ed care? The corseted bodice snatched him just right at the waist, and the color made his skin look like it was glowing in fucking candlelight. At Stede’s insistence, he’d decided against a wig, and he had to admit his boyfriend had been right—the cascade of silver curls looked especially pretty against red silk.
The first time Stede had seen him in the dress, he’d walked into a wall. Nearly got a concussion. Ed couldn’t blame him—he looked so good, he’d fuck himself if he could.
Ed fiddled with the straps, adjusting the placement so that they showed off his collarbones just right, not to mention the hint of cleavage the corset had magicked up for him. Behind him in the mirror, Stede emerged from the closet, shrugging on his black tux jacket over a white shirt and red cummerbund.
“Here, let me babe,” Ed crossed the room to help straighten his lapels.
“We could’ve gone as something else, y’know," Ed said as he smoothed down the front of Stede’s jacket, pausing to pick a stray bit of lint from his shoulder. “Something prettier for you, I mean. Feel like you got the raw end of the deal, costume-wise.” Stede’s tux was a perfect match for Christian’s outfit the night he meets Satine. The night they share their first kiss. He looked handsome as fuck, but at the end of the day it was just a black tux with red accents—not half as elaborate as Stede's usual Halloween concoctions.
Stede arched a brow. Gave Ed a long, slow look from top to bottom that made the tips of Ed’s ears feel hot. “Oh yes, I’m truly suffering,” he answered dryly.
They’d been together for almost a year now. Ed’s heart had no business being all fluttery like this. It was embarrassing as hell.
Ed hoped it never stopped.
“We could always skip the party,” Ed dropped his voice suggestively. He was still running his hands over Stede’s chest—his clothes didn’t need any more fixing, Ed just liked the feel of him.
Stede looked downright offended at the suggestion. “And deprive everyone else the chance to see you looking this stunning? Absolutely not. Besides,” he leaned in closer—his lips grazed the shell of Ed’s ear, “I know how slutty Archie’s Halloween punch makes you feel. I’ve been looking forward to fucking you in this dress for quite some time, and I’m betting you can’t make it past eleven before you drag me into the bathroom.”
Ed shivered, eyes falling closed. “Jim will kill us,” he whispered back.
“But what a way to go.” Stede kissed his cheek and drew back, grinning at Ed now. “In any case, we owe them for the Arbor Day incident. Shall we?” He offered Ed his arm.
In the end, Stede lost the bet. At 10:53, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was the one dragging Ed off to the bathroom.
Ed probably wouldn’t be wearing that dress to the wedding, after all—not unless their dry cleaner could work some serious stain removal witchcraft—but Stede had been right about this, at least: what a way to go.
