Chapter Text
Unforgiving.
Even though the best seamster in the city had been hired to take care of the one and only Jack Box’s wardrobe, some materials were still quite unforgiving, even for your skill. Jack had requested a tight waistcoat, one that would, “make his waist slimmer and sluttier.” His own words, not yours.
Jack had wanted a genuine, dark, denim waistcoat, pinched more in the back and slightly padded at the breast section to exaggerate his anatomy. The expensive fabric worked its way through the sewing machine, your hands softly urging it through as your foot pressed on the pedal below. Slowly and ever so effortlessly, tiny stitches weaved in and out of each of the two pieces. It was almost symbolic, how the machine connected two pieces of a whole, just by using a long line of thread and thick dedication.
Just as you were tying off the end of one of the last pieces of thread, the phone rang; sharp. The stark silence had suddenly been filled with a harsh mechanical beeping, stuffing your head with a short headache. You picked up the yellowed phone, spots slightly sticky from warn labels and stickers fallen off from usage. It was Jack. Before you could even sigh a harsh, “What d’you want?” Jack started talking, rambling proudly about how he needed you in the office, stat. You groaned and set down the scissors; once mere centimeters from clipping the excess thread from his almost-completed coat.
You knocked and entered the foggy, translucent door, not even waiting for a usual, “Come on in!!” or even a grunt. There was Jack, leaning back with his heels on his desk and a paper held above his arched head. His other hand was fidgeting with an increasingly annoying clicking pen. Although his pants were supposed to be matt black, the fabric hit the sun just right and advertised Jack's thighs, restricted by the tight black leather. It would've been attractive if you hadn't sprouted a growing headache.
“What’do you need?” you spoke, rough annoyance under your usual work tone.
Jack rolled his head around, twisting his chair and plopping his slim shoes down to the ground. “Now, that's no way to tone at your boss, isn't it, sweets?” He smirked. “Fix it, would you?”
You didn't fix the annoyance on your face as you strolled over to the side of Jack’s dark, wooden desk. “What did you need, again?” You pull a cheap rolling chair from the corner and sit down, hunched and spread out, with your legs spread and an arm around the back of the chair, fiddling with the branded pin at the end of your tie with your other hand.
Jack’s eyes flicked down. You knew. He continued talking. “Well, I wanted to see how that waistcoat was coming along!” He lolled his head over. “Perfect, as always, I assume?" Jack snickered.
“Nope. It’s horrible. Lost cause.” You said, shrugging. Sarcasm tried to whisk its way through the sentence, although irony was never really your forte, so the words came out serious and flat.
Jack stood, comical brows serious and furrowed, as he walked over and softly, as if he had no ill intention at all, wrapped a fist around your tie. He roughly tugged upwards as you yelped, now suddenly standing on your toes to accompany his height.
“That better be sarcasm,” he huffed in your face.
You shrugged. “Now, it was, but if I knew I could get this reaction,” you looked up and smirked. “I woulda put off the waistcoat earlier.”
Jack gave a pissy, almost disgusted look, and flicked your tie out of his hands, letting you rest back on flat shoes. He grabbed at your neck, silky gloved pointer on your jaw, and forced your face up at him.
“Get it done,” he spat, “By tonight.”
An annoyed, pained look flashed your face as Jack let go. He was always like this; never caring.
Unforgiving