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“Come here, Zak,” Marjorie calls out, her voice muffled by the door separating them.
Zachary had barely just gotten finished styling his hair in the bathroom, hands slick with hair gel and head full of frustrations — he’s been struggling with making himself look just right for the past thirty minutes, and frankly, he’s now more than ready to give up and let it be. He sighs, taking Marjorie's voice as a sign to stop, and gives himself one last begrudging look in the mirror before obliging with her request.
He steps out into the room, not quite sure what to expect. Did she want to show me something? He wonders, but all further questions die out at the back of his mind the moment he sees her perched on the bed. Her chiseled back faces him, bare and without the fabric of her gown —
Or rather, the fabric has draped down the side, messy and disorganized without the lace keeping it together.
Ah, it clicks for Zachary. Marjorie needs help. He finds the lace strewn on top of the fabric, and it's clear Marjorie wouldn't be able to tie it all on her own. Everything else about her seems dolled up and ready — it's just this pesky gown that's an issue. She turns her head around when she hears his footsteps approaching her, and a sheepish grin quickly forms on her face. “Can you tie it up for me? Please? I can’t do it myself.” She asks of him, gesturing her head towards her back.
For a few seconds, he's flustered. He's never really done this for her before — a silly fact, especially knowing that they've been partners for more than a decade and a half. But their partnership has never really begotten this kind of casual intimacy before, at least not outside the ice. He does his own thing and she does her own, and the years shared between them have simply taught them both to trust each other wholly throughout it all.
But to actually spend time with one another and enjoy each other's company outside the context of competition and ambition? Well, that's a new development (but a development that is welcome nonetheless).
Oh well. There are first times for everything, I guess.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it, I'll do it." Zachary lets out a playful scoff as he sits down and shifts by the bed beside her, earning him a gentle laugh and a quiet 'thank you' from Marjorie. There, he faces her back and adjusts the messy fabric first, properly covering her back with it. From then he takes both ends of the lace, and prepares to tie it up.
“Just tell me if it becomes too tight for your liking.” He informs, wanting to make sure she doesn’t feel discomfort at the very least.
“Mhm.” Marjorie responds in kind, affirmative and appreciative. With a slight nod of her head, she lets him start.
Zachary then takes his time tying the lace up, passing them through each other with utmost care and attention. He’s meticulous with his actions, making sure the lace looks tidy and clean, and it almost feels like he's braiding his mother's hair. A little part of him thinks he could possibly care less about the appearance of the lace, but something drives him to be mindful, to be conscientious.
Perhaps it stems from the desire to retain Marjorie's image of poise and grace (you should always strive to uplift your partner, that's what Scott said), or maybe it stems from the desire to avoid being the cause of her displeasure (which now somehow leaves him with a slight feeling of unease — another new but rather unwelcome development). Either way, the back of the gown must end up looking good. Zachary has decided on that.
Away from his view, Marjorie smiles — she can vividly imagine the scrunch of his eyebrows, the frown tugging on his lips, and the quiet, deep breaths that he takes as he works through this. The air has stilled in the room, with a warm, comfortable silence falling among them both — it feels serene and weirdly sacred to her, somehow. The gentleness and fastidiousness of his hands feel reverent and fond, too — but, after realizing the absurdity of this thought, she decides to bask in the atmosphere of the room instead.
A few moments pass, and now Zachary is almost finished tying the lace up. He unintentionally gives it a strong tug, sending Marjorie slightly reeling backwards. “Oh shit! Sorry. My bad.” Marjorie laughs at the sudden force, guffaws even — then assures him she's alright. "Hahaha, what the hell was that, dude! But it's fine, I'm fine."
"But is it too tight for you?"
She runs her hand across her back, admiring the neat crisscross pattern that he had arranged the lace in. "No, this is great. Thanks a lot, Zak."
"Alright then." Zachary shrugs, then does a quick glance around the room, eventually taking notice of the pair of heels placed near the closet. “Ah, you want me to get your shoes as well?” He offers, and while Marjorie is quick to refuse, standing up to go and grab it— “No, no I can do it myself—” he puts a hand on her shoulder and gently leads her back down on the bed anyway. “Whatever, man. Just- I’ll just get them for you.” He says, walking towards the closet and picking up her heels.
When he does come back to the bed, Zachary kneels right in front of her. Marjorie’s breath catches as she gazes down on him, startled by the sudden and unusual gesture, but that feeling eventually dissipates into understanding of what he wants to do (although understanding it seemingly does nothing to stop the curious case of butterflies in her stomach — no, she ignores this).
As he takes her right leg and gently runs his palm up her calf and then down to her ankle, she relaxes her muscles a bit. He then places one shoe on top of his thigh and guides her foot inside of it, making sure it’s secured. He repeats this process once again.
Now with both of her heels on, Zachary stands up and offers his hand out for her to take. Marjorie accepts the gesture in an exaggerated manner, masking the fact that she's still a little bit flustered. "Why thank you for your kindness, good sir! However will I repay you?! Oh my." She exclaims, donning a fake posh accent that makes him chuckle and giggle. "Whatever, man."
“But seriously, jeez, why’d you become such a gentleman today?” Marjorie teases him, although she's truly curious too — it's not often that he's so gracious and courteous.
“Dunno. Just felt like it.” He grins and sticks his tongue out in jest. She rolls her eyes in response, a bit unsatisfied with his answer, but she matches his smile anyway. Then, she suddenly fixes his tie and smooths his suit jacket out, relishing in his own display of confoundedness soon after. As payback and as thanks, she thinks. She grins. He rolls his eyes. They’re even now.
“Well then,” Marjorie takes her purse and links her arm with his. “Let’s get going now, shall we?”
"Lead the way."