Chapter Text
Ed is running late for his appointment with his new accountant, Jeffrey Fettering. As he makes his way through the building lobby, he spots an open elevator car and dashes towards it. Shit, fuck, the doors are closing just as he approaches. He sticks out his arm to stop them, knowing he’ll probably annoy the fuck out of the passengers, but hey, Ed’s pretty annoyed already himself. You would be too, if you’d found out that the jackass managing your chain of successful bars had been skimming off the top, thereby necessitating the hiring of a forensic accountant to sort all that shit out. Jackass indeed, emphasis on the Jack. Ed’s been kicking himself for letting his on-again, off-again situationship blind him to Jack’s nefarious dealings. Now he’s got to spend the better part of his morning trying not to feel like a fool while going over his books with Jeff the Accountant to try to put things to rights. So, yeah, these other passengers? They can deal. He does mumble an apology as he enters and presses the button for Floor 32 though, because his mama raised him right.
And boy oh boy, is Ed glad to have caught this particular ride. Near the back of the car stands an absolutely radiant rectangle of a man, decked out head to toe in a three piece teal suit. He’s practically glowing. He’s got the most magnificent head of blonde hair Ed’s ever seen, with one errant curl that seems to refuse to stay in place. Ed wants desperately to push it back and watch it flop back down over the man’s forehead. He doesn’t, of course. See above re: being raised right. But Ed does strategically position himself near the back of the car, as close to the man as elevator etiquette will allow. He justifies this to himself by reasoning that he’s riding nearly to the top of the building, so best to give everyone else some space to enter and exit.
As the car begins to move, Ed can feel the man’s eyes on him. Not in a creepy or lascivious way (and to be sure, Ed’s experienced plenty of that in his lifetime to know the fucking difference). Ed isn’t vain, but he knows what he’s working with. Doesn’t hurt that he went for the full-on leathers today. He’d chosen them as a sort of armor to help him face today, but if the side-effect is that his ass looks great…well, that can’t be helped. He sneaks a glance at the man, who is gripping the handles of an empty cardboard box (what’s that about?) like his life depends on it. Just as Ed is working up the nerve to make a little small talk, his phone buzzes.
The frown that appears when he sees Izzy’s name on the screen is practically Pavlovian at this point. He fires off a text with plenty of middle finger emojis to confirm that, yes, he’s on his way to the fucking appointment, and no, he doesn’t have the foggiest fucking idea where in the wide world Jack might be in order for Izzy to have him served with papers. And all the while that he’s scowling and typing, Ed can still feel the stranger’s eyes on him. Just then, the car pauses on the fifth floor. He wonders, with a touch more anxiety than is probably warranted, if the man will exit. But no, he doesn’t. Instead, a woman steps on. She’s dressed all posh and Jesus, fuck, apparently bathed in a gallon of some kind of floral perfume that bizarrely reminds Ed of his this grade teacher. Ed takes the opportunity to shuffle back a bit more and, hey, why not give the hot blonde a little eyeroll since they’re stuck in here together?
Blondie’s face turns a delicious shade of pink, and he arches an eyebrow oh so bitchily and smirks and…oh god. There. Is. A. Dimple. Ed wonders if there's a fine for pressing the emergency “Stop” button on the panel. He’s just about to open his mouth and say something really smooth (just, trust him, okay?) but then his phone buzzes again because Izzy is clearly intent on ruining the one good thing about this day.
Perfume Lady mercifully exits a few floors later, and the air begins to clear. As Ed continues his journey up, he keeps shifting a bit closer, his movements so minute that they could hardly be detected by the naked eye, until he’s breathing in the scent of woodsy lavender radiating from the blonde. Ed reckons that his last therapist would be glad to know he remembers all those deep breathing techniques she’d taught him. This is surely their intended purpose.
The rest of the ride up is punctuated by repeated stops and starts. And even though Ed had been anxious to get to his appointment and get this all over with, he’s now wishing the car would stop on every floor just so he can spend a little more time in Dimple Blonde’s presence. Ed glances down and clocks how close their feet are. So close. Like all he’d have to do is slide his boot a few inches to the right, and they’d be touching. What does the elevator etiquette manual have to say about playing footsie with a fellow rider, Ed wonders. Just a friendly little tap. Surely that’s fine.
Ding. The elevator arrives at Ed’s floor before he can test his theory. The man doesn’t make any sign that he’s going to move, so clearly this is the end of the line for Ed only. For a moment, he considers just riding up the rest of the way until the blonde disembarks. Find out his name, find out where he’s going with an empty box, find out everything else about him. But, he’s late as it is, and Jeffrey seems like a good bloke, it would be rude to keep him waiting any longer, his mama raised him right, etc. Ed reluctantly steps out of the car, but can’t help himself. He turns around once he’s out and locks eyes with the blonde.
Ed has locked eyes with a lot of people in his life. See above re: he knows what he’s working with, and he’s spent more than his fair share of nights in a crowded bar or club trying to feel just a little less lonely. But never has his heart screamed oh so very loudly, “This is the one!” as he does. His brain scrambles to catch up, and just as the doors close, it forces him to wink and say, “Love the suit, mate.”
For the next six months, Ed will wonder if he imagined the astounded, joyful laugh on the other side of the elevator doors.