Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Get out.”

Mother wouldn’t look at him, her eyes an angry red.

“M-Mum?” the young man said, looking deep into his mother’s eyes, searching for the tiniest ounce of sympathy, but found nothing. He fought back the tears, trying his best to remain strong.

“Stop calling me that. I don’t know who you are anymore,” the older woman said, voice shaking with tension.

“I—I’m your child. Your so—”

Slap.

Then suddenly, there was silence. Silence as the man reached up to touch his cheek, and felt the warm blood running down. He looked to the woman, begging, pleading for any ounce of sympathy, but all he found was a cold void. He internally screamed at himself, angry that he even thought this was a good idea.

“I. Don’t. Have. A. Son.” She stared daggers into the young man’s soul. “I had a daughter…” she managed before the tears overtook her. They poured like water down her cheeks. “A beautiful daughter, whom I loved with all my soul.”

Her eyes hardened as she looked down at him. “Who is now dead because of you.”

Those cold eyes brightened again, with pure fury.

“Why!” she screamed. “Why did you kill her?! You wretched thing!”

The man tried to speak, tried to say something, but she was right. He fought the tears, but they won.

As much as he wanted it to be wrong, it wasn’t. Eden was dead, and here he was, walking around in her corpse like some sick, twisted creature. He deserved to be hated, to be despised. He looked down at her and tried to reach out to comfort her, but she slapped his hand away.

“Please, just leave! You—you disgust me. I can’t even bother to look at you.”

The words stabbed into him like knives, knives that went straight through his flesh into his very soul.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say anything that would convince her to love him as he was. Anything that would make her reconsider. But what could he say that would change what she thought of him, that would change the truth?

The boy could only nod and turn to go upstairs into his room, where he solemnly packed. As he slowly took down every item that reminded him of the life he once had, he felt the grief crashing over him like a tsunami, destroying all his inhibitions and leaving him a crying, hyperventilating mess on his bedroom floor. He wanted to scream, wanted to empty his lungs, and yell until his voice was hoarse. But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t let his mother know that he was affected; he couldn’t show his weakness. So he did everything—anything he could to distract himself from the immense feeling of everything and nothing and ‘yes’ and ‘no’ that overwhelmed him. He punched himself, clawed at his flesh, and dug his nails into his disgustingly soft flesh until it bled. He hated everything. Hated that he made his own mother hate him, hated that he thought that this was a good idea, hated that because he made a stupid fucking decision that he lost everything that ever mattered to him.

He was looking around for his blade, hoping that it would calm down the racing nature of his thoughts, when he brushed against something cold. He looked up, tracing the coldness with his hand, only to gasp in horror.

Its skin was a deep blue, and its neck was a twisted, broken thing, barely connected to its head. Pieces of flesh were hanging off and falling to the floor. It was a corpse. But not just any corpse. It was his corpse, swaying in the breeze. His breath hitched in his chest, and his eyes widened as he opened his mouth to scream—

Edwin woke up screaming, with tears streaming down his face and his chest heaving. He wanted to breathe calmly. He wanted to focus on anything other than the memory of the putrid smell of his own decaying corpse and the look of pain on his mother’s face when she learned who her ‘daughter’ really was.

Edwin gripped his legs, digging his nails into the painfully soft skin, and screamed. He screamed until his throat was sore, and until his lungs were empty, then screamed again. He hated everything. Hated the feeling of his skin, hated that he made his own mom hate him. How horrible must he be for his own mother, the person who brought him life, to despise him? He was about to scream again when his alarm distracted him from his thoughts.

“I simply do not have time to cry; I must put myself together,” he thought, before wiping his eyes, and getting up from the bed.

He stepped into the bathroom, turning the shower on the highest heat. He stepped into the hot water, letting it cascade down his body. It burned, a red-hot searing pain that made him feel awake, feel alive.

He always hated this part of the day, when he was forced to look at his own naked form. Forced to look at the scars and curves, it made him sick, literally. The first time he looked at his own body, what he did to it, he threw up.

He stepped out of the shower, watched as the steam covered the mirror, and swallowed. This meant that he wouldn’t have to see it—see them. He brushed his teeth and left the room to put on the outfit he had planned last night, before he received a call. He rolled his eyes, already knowing who it was.

“Oi, mate! You alright?” Charles greeted.

“Yes, Charles, I’m quite fine,” he said, slipping on his sweater. “May I ask for the purpose of this call?”

“Oi! Wait a tick! Can I not just call ya? We’re best mates!” he said, chuckling. Edwin rolled his eyes.

“I concede that point. However, you are aware that I am incredibly busy during the mornings, Charles,” Edwin said, putting down the phone and entering the kitchen. He felt a familiar sting of pain, but he wouldn’t fall victim to it. Edwin knew what would happen if he did, and he dreaded it. So he decided to just make beans on toast, with a cup of Yorkshire tea.

“Yep, busy at your fancy ass corporate job. How long've you been there again?”

Edwin made his tea as he called Charles, keeping the call active as he opened up his fitness app. Tea, unbeknownst to most people, is two calories a cup.

“Three years, as of today.”

“That’s a long while to work for him, innit? Surprised you haven’t killed him yet,” Charles said.

“Charles, don't be daft. I would be caught immediately.” Edwin said, finishing preparing his tea.

“Hah! Mate, you do have a sense of humor!” Edwin scoffed at the response and rolled his eyes.

“Anyways, Crystal and I want to invite you to something today. How free are ya, mate?”

“Not free at all, Charles. You know, some of us have actual jobs to do.”

“Aw, who pissed in your tea today, mate? You got a ten-foot-long pole up your arse?”

Edwin paused and remembered the dream before exhaling.

“It's nothing, Charles. I just… I did not sleep well,” he said, pouring his tea into a thermos and leaving the house.

“Another nightmare? I told you to talk to a shrink—”

“And I told you—” he interrupted, perhaps a bit too loudly, “that I am not crazy. I’m fine, I assure you, Charles.” He slammed the car door, turning on the engine.

“Right, just checking on ya, mate.”

The call went silent for a minute before Charles piped up over the phone. “Have you been liking the new b—”

“Charles!” Edwin said, voice laced with venom. Was Charles really about to mention this right now? How much audacity did the man have?

“Sorry, mate! How has it been fitting you?”

Edwin bit his lip nervously, staying quiet, trying to find the words to say.

“It is quite adequate. Still have yet to get over the…look of it all.” He paused, searching for the words. “I look different, wildly so,” he answered painfully.

“A good different, I hope.” Charles chuckled.

Edwin adjusted his shirt, thinking about its fit.

“Yes. It feels…more like me. Like who I want to be rather than who I am, I suppose.” He mumbled.

“That’s mint! See, I knew you would like it!”

“I still don’t enjoy it. It’s far too tight, and breathing is rather difficult.” Edwin said harshly.

“Really?” Charles said, groaning. “Bollocks! I thought I got the right size.”

Edwin’s stomach churned. He knew that Charles didn’t have a full time job, but here he was forcing Charles to spend more money on items that he didn’t even need, for what purpose! So he could feel comfortable? He felt the panic start to seep into him as he gripped the wheel tighter.

“'ll just have to get the next size up then,” Charles said. Edwin panicked.

“No!” he yelped, before taking a calming breath. “No, that is not necessary. You mustn’t buy a new one. I’ll be fine, Charles.”

“It’s a reward for not killing your boss, then!” Charles chuckled, sounding quite proud of himself.

“I’m not even going to entertain that thought, Charles.”

“Edwin! Let me spoil you this one time,” Charles said in a pleading tone.

Edwin wasn’t fazed. “Charles, you and I are both aware that this is not the first time, and most certainly will not be the last.”

“Edwin, mate, please?” he said, begging.

Edwin finally acquiesced. “All right! But this is the last time, do you understand, Charles?”

“Yep!” Charles answered, undoubtedly lying shamelessly.

Edwin smiled before ending the call and being forced to deal with the silence. He used to love the silence and enjoy the peace and quiet, until the silence stopped being silent.

“Three years,” he heard over the music.

“Three years since you inherited this sinful flesh by killing your mother’s daughter.”

He felt his vision blur, but he steadied himself. After all, he couldn’t get mad at the truth. And the truth was that he did kill her. He killed his mother’s daughter, and then left the bleeding corpse to fester and rot. And no matter how many years passed, he would never forget that. Never forget his mother’s face. The way that the tears fell. It haunted his dreams like a ghost.

He left; he ran and ran and ran until he was at Charles’ house, tears streaming down his face. He half cried, half screamed, and within a few months, he was in a new city, with old friends. Edwin felt better, cleaner, but he was still…empty. He hoped that all these new clothes and this new name would fix things, but he still felt nothing. Felt this profound sense of loneliness, even when around his friends. And whilst he loved Charles and tolerated Crystal, he hated feeling like a burden; he needed his own apartment.

But how would he get the money? Who would hire him? He had a degree in a different name, in a field that he would never pursue. He had no references, no previous employers, no family members that could vouch for him; he had nothing. When he first moved to America, he spent most of his days sobbing, debating crawling back to his mother, wondering if he’d ruined his entire life just because he wanted to be free.

But a part of him, so far deep down that he barely could acknowledge its existence, told him, no, screamed at him that anything would be better than the life he lived with her.

Back then, his life was a muddled haze; back then, he had nothing.

But now he had friends, people he cared about, people who cared about him, and he wasn’t about to lose them because he wanted to give up. He refused to.

Then he met him.

His name was Thomas Carlisle King. A well-known socialite and head of Edwin’s favorite fashion and literature-based magazine, The King’s Palace.

Edwin didn’t think much about it when he applied, expecting just another rejection letter. What was he thinking, expecting to work with the head of the King’s Palace!

But then he got a callback, which turned into an interview, which turned into three long years of working for Thomas. And in those three years, he’d learned a lot.

One: that Thomas loved his coffee sweet, tooth-achingly so. With almond milk, since he was lactose intolerant.

Two: he maintained his public persona with the precision of a surgeon, often vetting any charity that he would make a donation to multiple times, or doing background checks on anyone he would be seen with.

And, three: that he, with the entirety of his being, despised working. Well, more accurately, despised running a business. Thomas loved the art, loved giving voices to underrepresented youth, but meetings? It was near impossible to get him to attend one.

He hated the math, hated that he couldn’t do everything he pleased, and seemed to hate that he had so much work. Half the time, it seemed like Thomas would be a million times happier in his bed, which was no doubt made of down feathers. Edwin hated this, hated having to remind a grown man that he had to come to work and do things other than sleeping and mindlessly doodling.

But this job paid. Far more than anything else he would make anywhere else. Thomas gave him unlimited PTO (and not the fake ones that had to be taken during specific dates), and gave him and his friends a free subscription to the magazine, as well as, often, free pieces. To the point where Crystal refused to let Edwin quit—often saying that she would kill him if he quit—so he stayed. Not happily, though; he would often mumble under his breath that he hated Thomas.

He parked his car, took his employee card down, and put it on around his neck.

Since he was often the first person to arrive, he was given the highest level of access to the building. This way he could enter and set everything up for the rest of the staff. Whilst this wasn’t on his list of duties, it was a job that he prided himself on doing. He quite enjoyed the look on the other workers’ faces when they saw that the coffee machine was on and full, or that the printer was stocked with ink and paper.

So he did just that: he ran the coffee maker, filled the printer and the copier, tidied up where necessary, and did whatever other little tasks came to hand, until he went upstairs to prepare for Thomas.

As usual, Thomas arrived two hours late, with a cup of coffee that Edwin knew had alcohol in it, and he was messily dressed. Edwin would’ve sighed if this weren’t a regular occurrence for the man. He smiled sweetly and opened the door so that he could enter his office.

“Good morning, Thomas. You are late; you almost missed a meeting,” he said, coldly.

“Good morning to you, too! Can I have a minute before you start bothering me?”

Edwin rolled his eyes. “You must not be late for the sake of your own company, Thomas. I can only prepare you so much if you continue arriving late. Additionally, your stockholders do not enjoy waiting.”

Thomas chuckled, and Edwin scoffed.

“They can pull out if they want to!” Thomas said. “I started without them, and I guarantee that I can finish without them!”

Edwin groaned. So it was going to be one of those days.

He noticed that Thomas was improperly dressed and stepped closer to remedy this. “Regardless, it's rather important that you maintain a semi-professional relationship with them. Unfortunately for the both of us, that can only be done by adequately stroking their egos.”

As he reached Thomas’s side, he looked down to maintain eye contact. “Furthermore, if you are going to arrive late, it is imperative that you arrive professionally dressed. It is, truly, the least you could do.”

Thomas looked away, shifty, as Edwin adjusted his collar and smoothed his lapels. “Anyway, when’s the meeting, Bowtie?” he asked.

Edwin stepped away, proud of his work. “In ten minutes. May I recommend that you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth? I can still smell the alcohol on your breath.”

It was now Thomas’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Come on! Loosen up, Square!” he said as he entered the bathroom, preparing for the meeting. Edwin did so as well, adjusting his bowtie and collecting his files.

Edwin quite enjoyed the meetings, enjoyed having the opportunity to show off his abilities, to prove that he wasn’t just some college dropout. However, he also still felt that pang of discomfort whenever he was stared at. Scared that even now, with all of his clothes and practiced mannerisms, that they knew. That everyone knew. He knew that this was unfounded, that there was no way that they could tell he was, well, who he was, but he was scared regardless.

“So, that went well,” Thomas said, sitting down at his desk.

“With no assistance from you.”

“Hey! I helped you make the slides and helped with research, Bowtie.”

Edwin rolled his eyes before placing the files on the table. “You have proposals to approve, as well as another meeting scheduled for three.”

“UGH! Another one! It seems that that’s all I do, Bowtie!”

“This one is a group interview with potential charities.”

At this, Thomas perked up. “Okay, great! I already have everything planned. Did you get their information from them?” He looked focused.

“Yes. Queer Youth Pakistan is a group focused on assisting queer youth from Pakistan, and then there’s No Excuse Domestic Abuse, which assists people from across the globe to escape difficult home situations. Finally, there is Free Me, which assists people in escaping conversion camps both locally and abroad.”

“Ugh! So many hard choices. Can’t we partner with them all?”

Edwin shook his head. “Unfortunately, we do not possess the overhead for that, sir. But whomever we choose not to partner with today, we can simply choose to partner with them on a later date.”

To Edwin, this seemed obvious, and like a rather good compromise; to Thomas, it apparently wasn’t.

He made a face. “I guess we’ll just talk to them during the meeting. See what the various prices are, and how long they can wait.”

Edwin smiled. During these moments, he remembered why he loved working. Because whilst Thomas was a major spoiled brat, he also had a massive heart, and was actually rather intelligent when he tried to be.

“Excellent! And may I ask why you could not show this much enthusiasm in the investor’s meeting?”

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. “Because they don’t deserve it, Bowtie. They give me money, sure, but only to use it as a tax deduction so they can gain more. They are nothing to me.”

Edwin felt his heart beating against his chest, but he ignored it. “Regardless, they deserve common decency, do they not?” Edwin asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I’ll go with not, Bowtie.” Thomas tapped his fingers idly on the folder of proposals. Then he looked at Edwin again. “I need to cancel all my meetings on Friday, since I have something planned for then.”

Edwin sighed. “Must we do this on day one of the week?” He paused to think. “We may be able to reschedule them for Wednesday, which is when you usually spend all day on your editorial. Perhaps this week you can write it before the last possible moment.”

“That's am amazing idea, Bowtie!” Thomas shot him a bright smile. “See, this is why I pay you the big bucks!”

“No, sir, you pay me the big bucks because nobody else can tolerate you.”

“Ouch! Why so cruel?” The older man gripped his heart, feigning hurt.

Edwin rolled his eyes. “Regardless, thank you for that,” he said, reminding himself that his employer’s unprofessional antics were no reason to be impolite himself. “The high pay. You didn’t have to be so kind, and yet you are.”

Thomas chuckled, a deep belly laugh that made Edwin blush. “I only pay you what you deserve. I pay you the best, because you are the best, Bowtie.”

Edwin smiled, and would have replied, but his phone’s alarm chirped at him.

“We should leave for the meeting with the charities now; are you ready?” Edwin collected the files on the desk, and prepared to leave.

“Sure, time to break some hearts,” Thomas said, his face contorting into an unhappy grin.

“And that is why it would be in your best interest to partner with us, Free Me.”

Edwin nodded, quickly finishing his note-taking. He had agreed with most of the points; however, the amount of funds they were asking for seemed, quite frankly, impossible. He had already communicated with the finance department, and they agreed that Thomas could only reasonably donate $5,000 for this type of partnership. They were asking for almost twice that over the span of a few months. Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas responded first.

“That all seems great! What percentage of the money goes towards upkeep?”

There was a sharpness to Thomas’s tone that made Edwin pay close attention.

“Only six percent!” The representative, Christine, gave Thomas a simpering smile. “The rest goes towards outreach, and to various sister charities.”

Edwin’s eyes narrowed. According to his research, many organizations chose to boycott them because 80% of their funds went to upkeep, and their financial plans verged on opaque.

“That is concerning,” Edwin said. “During my research, I was able to access your public finance records for last year, where it states that 80% of all funds went towards upkeep of internal expenses. How did you manage to get it so low?” Edwin finished, offering them the copy of their finance records.

“U—Um well,” the representative started, fidgeting nervously. “Your information is inaccurate! And even if it were true, we have restructured the organization, so we require far less to stay afloat.”

Edwin rolled his eyes, confident in himself. “There is no problem with being an organization which pays their employees adequately and supplies them well. I was hoping you might be able to elucidate further how that money was spent. But the fact that you felt the need to lie about it does not speak well of your organization. Now. These financial records were found on your official website, and they are dated from January of this year; it is April. Please do not lie to my face.”

Christine scoffed, clearly not expecting them to do so much research, or for them to call her out using said research. “This is slander! You need to treat me with some respect, young ma—”

“No!” Thomas interrupted. “You need to treat him with more respect. Get out, now.”

She continued yelling in protest, to no avail. Within seconds, there were guards escorting her out.

By the end of the meeting, they had decided to support Queer Youth Pakistan, and to send a small donation to No Excuse Domestic Abuse. It was a hard decision, with Edwin being the voice of reason, constantly reminding Thomas about their $5,000 budget.

Inevitably, they still went over by a few thousand, but Thomas had already agreed to take it out of his paycheck. All in all, it was an incredibly successful, but also tiring, meeting. So much so, that immediately after it ended, Thomas asked Edwin to get him some coffee. Never mind that it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

Edwin rolled his eyes before complying, going downstairs to fulfill his boss’s caffeine addiction.

He was halfway through making the coffee, when he felt vibration in his pocket—he was getting a call. He took out his phone only to realize that it was Crystal.

“Oh! My! Fucking! God! You will not believe who I just got tickets for!”

Edwin winced in pain at the loud volume. “Crystal, is it at all possible for you not to scream directly into my ear?”

“Shut up, fun-ruiner! Anyways, you have to come over after work, we need to plan~” she said in a sing-songy tune.

“Plan what, exactly?” Edwin asked suspiciously.

“It’s a surprise!” Crystal said enthusiastically.

Edwin hummed. “I have a sneaking suspicion that I will not enjoy this surprise of yours.”

Crystal scoffed. “You never do! Anyways, come by, smart ass! Oh, I almost forgot! Make sure you keep your Saturday evening clear!” And Crystal hung up without waiting for a response.

Edwin sighed, not sure what the younger woman was up to now. He had grown to tolerate her over the years, but he still didn't get her insistence on trying to get him to leave the house. Edwin was quite fine with staying home and reading, it was his favorite thing to do. But apparently, according to Crystal, that was ‘lame shit for lame asses.’ He rolled his eyes. Regardless, the coffee was done, and he had much more important things to do.

“Here you are, Thomas,” Edwin said, offering him the cup.

Thomas took a sip, almost moaning in delight. “You're really good at this, Bowtie!”

Edwin smiled, happy that he had done well. “You pay for the best, sir.”

Thomas chuckled. “Right you are.”

“Regardless, that was your last meeting of the day. Would you like to review the circulating copies of last week’s issue?”

Thomas’s eyes lit up. “There's nothing I'd like more!” he said.

And there they sat in comfortable silence, reading over their first issue of the month. It was beautiful, with a focus on more masculine outfits and silhouettes. This was odd for the magazine; Thomas often preferred to include dresses and corsets, but it was a pleasant change of pace for them.

After a few minutes of reading, they decided to start preparing Thomas’s next editorial. That was, until Edwin's alarm went off, alerting him to the end of the workday.

“Thomas, do you require any assistance in cleaning up?” he asked, standing and surveying the room.

Thomas was on the floor, surrounded by various papers and sketches for outfits. “Your work day is over, Bowtie,” he said. “Go home.”

Edwin opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas wouldn't let him get a word in sideways.

“Go home. I'll leave eventually.” Thomas waved him off.

And with that Edwin left, and went off to visit Crystal and Charles.

Crystal’s enthusiasm for socializing with Edwin was perplexing. Some days it seemed the only thing they had in common was that they both loved Charles.

“Hey, Edwin!” she greeted him at the door, beaming. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been looking out for a good show to bring you to, and oh my God, you are in luck, I got us the best tickets. I’ve been dying to see him, but he never has concerts.”

“What…” Edwin didn’t know what question to ask first. “I’m sorry, who?”

“The Cat King!” Crystal said, with a glowing smile.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Edwin asked.

Crystal’s enthusiasm was undimmed. She got out her phone, tapped a few times and then shoved the screen in his face. “This guy,” she said, “is The Cat King.”

Despite the context of bright lights, flashy costuming and a stage full of instruments and equipment, Edwin had an odd sense of familiarity. “He reminds me of my boss,” Edwin realized.

“What? No way.” Crystal laughed and pulled the phone back towards herself, squinting at the image of the masked man. “Your boss is like, a standard corporate suit. The Cat King, on the other hand? Rockstar rizz, killer voice, rocking bod.”

Edwin’s brain stalled for a moment over the thought of Thomas juxtaposed with the phrase ‘rocking bod.’ It was — well. Edwin wouldn’t be the best person to judge.

“He’s not—not so far off,” he defended. “I mean. Inasmuch as I can speak to such matters.”

Crystal side-eyed him briefly, but seemed more interested in scrolling through more images on her phone. “Oh, you have to see this look,” she said. “Not many guys can really pull off a look like that, a little bolero shrug with no shirt, but uff, he rocks it.”

The phone was once more thrust into Edwin’s face, with a shocking expanse of skin on display. Something about it made Edwin’s insides squirm.

He pushed the phone away. “If you brought me here to look at half naked men, I am going to leave.”

“No, come on,” she pleaded. “We’ve gotta pick out our outfits for the show.”

“Can’t Charles accompany you to this concert, instead?” Edwin asked.

“I got three tickets,” Crystal told him firmly, steering him further into the house. “You, me, and Charles. We need some hangout time. You need to get out of the house more often. It’s a win-win, right?” She sighed. “Come on. You never come out with us.”

Under his breath, Edwin muttered, “Yes, well, there’s a reason for that.”

“Hey, what?” Crystal asked. “Didn’t catch that.”

Edwin rolled his eyes. “There’s a reason for that,” he repeated. “Your idea of a good time can be quite loud.”

“Come on, please,” Crystal said, pouting. “I really want you to come to this one. You’ll see what I mean, The Cat King’s stuff is soooo worth it. Please give it a chance. One chance. Okay?”

Sighing, Edwin said, “Fine. On one condition.” He gave her a stern look. “I get to choose what I will wear.”

Crystal groaned. She made a face. She gave a little helpless shrug. “If that’s what’ll get you there,” she said, “then yeah. You can wear whatever you want.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll even take you clothes shopping. Whatever you want, it’s on me, as long as you come to the rave with us.”

“Hang on, this ‘concert’ is a rave?” Edwin narrowed his eyes. “When were you going to tell me that?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Crystal argued. “We’re just going for the music, I swear. So. Outfit shopping. You, me, tomorrow night.” She pointed at him. “Oh, come on. Don’t make that face.”

The thought of trying on clothes in a public store, in the company of Crystal, who would comment on everything and draw attention, made Edwin want to shrivel up and blow away across the landscape until he’d never be found again. But he didn’t know how to say that.

Charles wandered into the room then, clearly having overheard some of the conversation. “Crys,” he said, “don’t make Edwin go shopping with you.”

Crystal scoffed. “Charles,” she said, “just because you’re fashion illiterate doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have a good time trying on hot new looks.”

“It’s not about that,” Charles told her. “Look, he doesn’t want to go.”

Turning to Edwin, Crystal said, “What, you’re afraid of nice clothes? Come on. Suck it up.”

Edwin felt ill.

“Crystal. Seriously.” Charles stepped in between the two of them. “Edwin has a rough time trying on new clothes. You can understand that, yeah? So drop it.”

His tone brooked no argument.

“Ah, shit,” Crystal said, wincing. “Wasn’t thinking about it that way. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Edwin.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” Edwin hedged.

“But it’s a no,” she guessed, sighing. “Yeah, gotcha. Can we at least go raid your closet for something a little more appropriate for the concert?”

Edwin released a breath. “That would be acceptable,” he allowed.

“Is now a good time?” she asked, eyes lighting up again in a way Edwin wasn’t sure he liked.

But there was no better time than the present.

“Now will suffice,” he agreed.

Crystal chattered on as the three of them made their way outside. “This is gonna be so much fun, just you wait,” she told them both. “I’ve been dying to see The Cat King. But good outfits are mission critical.” She gestured at Edwin. “We’ve gotta find you something just right.”

“I have my doubts about the clothing typical of these events,” Edwin told her.

Crystal gave him an amused look and said, “Hey. Don’t knock the fishnet top ’til you’ve tried it!”

Edwin froze. His “No!” came out as a strangled shout.

“Edwin?” Crystal frowned at him for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Shit, sorry. My bad. Didn’t realize how that would sound to you.”

Just the thought of wearing such a garment had Edwin’s heart racing like mad and his brain screaming that he would be exposed, that everyone would know.

“You’re all right, mate,” Charles said, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “No one’s gonna make you do anything you don’t want to.”

“I really am sorry,” Crystal continued. “Like, of course you wouldn’t want to actually wear that. I get that. It was just supposed to be a joke. But it really bothered you, huh?”

Edwin managed a noise that sounded enough like agreement.

“Hey, see, look, I'm making a note in my notes app, no fishnet tops for Edwin, no jokes about fishnet tops for Edwin, not now, not ever.” She showed him her phone, and gave him a long look. “Are we good?” she asked.

Edwin closed his eyes for a moment. “I suppose,” he said.

“You good to drive?” Charles asked, and Edwin nodded. “We’ll meet you there, then,” Charles continued, moving off in the direction of his car.

Edwin calmed down as he drove. By the time he pulled into his usual spot, he was breathing easier, and he could recognize that Crystal really hadn’t meant anything by her joke.

He even managed to smile at her as she got out of Charles’s car. She gave him a relieved smile in return.

As soon as they came in the door, Crystal made a beeline for Edwin’s closet.

She took things out, frowned at them thoughtfully, then either put them back or tossed them onto the bed.

“Must we do this?” Edwin asked. “Surely I could simply attend in my usual attire.”

“Well, yeah, you could,” Crystal agreed, eyeing a couple of sweaters before hanging them back in the closet. “But you could also have fun with your outfits!” She raised her eyebrows and brandished one of his oversized nightshirts at him, the one that had ‘Mozart’ emblazoned across it in the shape of the Metallica logo. “You know, this wouldn’t be half bad if you cut it off into a crop top,” she pondered.

“Don’t you dare,” Edwin told her.

She pouted.

Edwin sighed. “Clothing is not fun for me,” he told her. “But I enjoy my suits. I like the way I feel in them. And that is enough for me.”

Crystal looked at Charles, who gave her an empathetic look in return.

“You can wear whatever you want,” she told Edwin. “We agreed on that. Just, let me do a little more hunting around in here, just give this a real chance, all right?”

“Very well,” Edwin agreed, crossing his arms.

There were a lot of things in Edwin’s closet that he’d tried out when he was just beginning to understand what he wanted out of his clothing. None of them were awful, or he wouldn’t have kept them, but Edwin gravitated to a very specific subset of his clothing, the most comfortable. The clothing he felt at home in.

Crystal pulled a pair of olive green shorts out of Edwin’s bottom drawer and eyed them critically. “We can maybe work with these,” she said, and set them on the bed with the other things she’d pulled out. She arranged a black sleeveless undershirt to match with them. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think I am not wearing that undershirt without anything on top of it,” Edwin responded.

Crystal hummed, narrowing her eyes at the options. Then she pulled a short sleeved button-up with green and blue stripes out of the pile.

“Layer this on top,” she said, “but leave it unbuttoned. See what I’m getting at?” She laid it out with the shorts and undershirt.

Edwin could, in fact, see. It made sense.

It didn’t sit altogether well with him, but it made sense, and it wasn’t completely awful. He gave Crystal a begrudging nod.

“Hah!” she said, face breaking out in a grin and raising her fist in the air in triumph. “I think we’ve got a winner.”

“Yeah, that’s not bad, is it?” Charles said, looking the proposed outfit over.

“Glad you approve, honey,” Crystal said, patting him on the arm. Then she turned to Edwin. “This guy would go with literally anything you picked, he once tried to wear one of those polyester shirts with flames and skulls on it out of the house and I had to hold an emergency intervention.”

Edwin laughed. That did sound like something Charles would do.

“I still don’t understand what was so wrong with it,” Charles added with a helpless shrug.

Crystal and Edwin shared a look.

“Right, enough about my clothes,” Charles said. “That feel okay to you, Edwin?” He gestured to the clothes on the bed.

“It’s not awful,” Edwin admitted.

“Yeah, I think that’s as good as we’re gonna get,” Crystal said with a crooked smile. “So we’ll meet at eight on Saturday, right?” She started putting the rest of the clothes she’d pulled out back into their places. Charles grabbed a couple of things on hangers and hung them back in the closet.

“Saturday at eight,” Edwin agreed. He took the outfit and set it aside neatly.

Perhaps it would grow on him.

He dreamed of Thomas. He dreamed of the fact that everybody had naked bodies, under their clothes. He dreamed of The Cat King. He dreamed of mesh, of sheer stockings, of skin.

Edwin dreamed of Thomas’s skin.

He dreamed of his own.

He woke gasping, sweat drenched, confused, feeling a thousand things in a thousand directions.

He could not control what he felt.

He could not control…

Edwin clung to his pillow, feeling his body’s reactions spiral out of control. His pulse raced, his breathing would not settle.

He could not control anything!

Despair swamped him.

He let the tears come, and eventually, they washed him back down into sleep.

Edwin’s alarm woke him, and he got up, going about his usual morning.

When his phone pinged, he thought little of it, focused as he was on preparing his tea, toast and egg with the most optimal timing he could manage. Tea perfectly brewed, toast perfectly browned, and egg no longer runny but still delicate in texture.

The pinging, however, continued.

Edwin checked his notifications. It was all Crystal.

Just a reminder to put the concert on your schedule!

We’re meeting Saturday at 8.

Write it down, I mean it!

Pics or it didn’t happen.

Edwin sighed loudly, but he got out his planner, wrote the rave on his schedule, and snapped a picture of it to send to Crystal.

She replied with a 😁.

Can’t wait! she continued.

Of course, replying had only encouraged her. Silly of him to think that complying with her requests might mean she would leave him to breakfast in peace.

I’m aware, he told her. You’ve said so. Incessantly.

Crystal sent a 🖕.

Edwin replied with a 🙂, and sat down to his breakfast.

The egg on toast was indeed perfectly cooked, and the tea exactly right.

He had some things under control, at least.

Still, his thoughts lingered on the dream, which was just a silly waste of time. Dreams were only dreams, they didn’t mean anything. The human brain would latch onto anything and infuse it with tension, tension caused by chemicals, hormones, endorphins — full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, in the words of the Bard.

There was no need for any other explanation. No reason to think — well.

He put it out of his head, and left for work.

Once Edwin had done his usual morning rounds, making sure the office was in order and all the little important things were done, he ventured into Thomas’s office.

The ridiculous man was asleep, his head on his desk, resting amongst a mess of papers. He must have worked late.

Edwin couldn’t help but smile at the softness of Thomas’s sleeping face, at the look of the man without pretense.

Well. That was enough of that. Edwin cleared his throat loudly. He waited for Thomas to stir, and then began talking.

“You would not need to work until you drop if you would simply come in promptly in the morning,” Edwin said. “And the alcohol can hardly help. I do wish you would take your job more seriously, Sir.”

Thomas groaned softly, rubbing at his eyes. “You’d be surprised what a little alcohol can help with,” he countered, with a tiny twist of a smile. “But yeah, not doing me any favors right now.”

Edwin rolled his eyes, but he offered Thomas a hand up regardless. “If you are going to sleep,” he said, “at least move over to the sofa.”

Taking the offered hand, Thomas stumbled over to the sofa, collapsing into the cushions. “Thanks, Edwin,” he said. “What would I do without you?”

The smile on his face softened as he drifted off again.

Edwin could feel his face heat at the compliment.

Not at all in response to the lingering warmth of Thomas’s hand in his, no, definitely not.

He took a breath and turned back to the desk, setting his attention on the mess of papers atop it. He sat down at the desk, neatening and sorting it all into piles.

The charity list was near the top, and so were several pages of notes about each one that hadn’t been in the file yesterday.

Edwin gave a long sigh. “You are a confounding creature,” he muttered, more to himself than to Thomas. “Unfocused, unmotivated, drunk during office hours, but then afterwards you seem to transform into an entirely different person.” He tapped the notes and the conclusory rankings. “Not bad work at all.”

His eyes darted to Thomas, where he lay motionless, snoring softly.

“I don’t know what to think of you,” he continued. “There is so much about you that I am inclined to despise, but…”

No, the rest of that thought didn’t warrant his attention. Edwin bent his head once more to the work.

The feedback on the articles was progressing nicely, as well. Edwin read over what Thomas had done, organizing it and making his own notes here and there.

It was interesting enough that Edwin didn’t notice that the noise of office hustle and bustle was no longer limited to outside the office doors.

Not until Thomas cleared his throat. Right in front of the desk.

Edwin jolted, dropping the paper he was holding.

Thomas, who was sitting in a chair in front of the desk and apparently had been for some time now, chuckled softly and asked, “Why are you jumping, Bowtie?”

“You startled me.” He fixed Thomas with a look. “What other reason would I need?”

“This is my office,” Thomas countered. “You shouldn’t exactly be surprised to find me prowling around.”

Edwin glanced at his watch. “Yes, well, I’m impressed to see you upright again this early. It’s only nine thirty.”

Thomas raised a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded,” he said. “It can’t be that unusual to see me walking around at this time.”

Edwin smiled in amusement and opened his mouth to reply, but something in the tilt of Thomas’s head, in the way his hand rested against his own chest, reminded Edwin of the dream.

How thin the fabric was between civilized life and the chaos of uncontrolled humanity.

He cleared his throat, and reached for his planner. “We have a great deal to accomplish today,” he reminded Thomas. “Only one meeting, with the printing and distribution departments to go over our options going forward in terms of suppliers, but there is the article feedback to complete and sponsor proposals to approve, and of course your editorial to work on.”

Thomas wrinkled his nose, groaning. “What time is the meeting?”

“Eleven thirty,” Edwin said, “so we have a couple of hours before then. Shall we start with sponsor proposals?”

Thomas gave a noisy sigh, but then said, “All right, bring ’em on.”

After the meeting, Thomas took a long lunch. When he returned, Edwin was relieved to see that he’d taken the time to get changed and properly freshened up.

When they got back to work, Edwin asked about Thomas’s editorial.

“I wanna go edgy,” Thomas said.

“Don’t you always?” Edwin commented. Thomas’s editorials were never run-of-the-mill.

“They’re never boring, if that’s what you mean,” Thomas said, “but no, I mean I want to push the envelope of what I’ve been doing.”

“In what way?” Edwin asked, poised to take notes.

“I wanna cover alt stuff. Maybe take a deep dive into goth, to start with.” Thomas lounged in his chair, gesturing at the air as he spoke.

“I don’t know if that’s wise,” Edwin cautioned, “given the way the magazine has thus far cultivated an appearance of high fashion.”

“You think I can’t do both at once?” Thomas scoffed. “You lack imagination, then.”

Edwin couldn’t help but chuckle at the sheer mad confidence Thomas could radiate when he got one of his wilder ideas.

“Give me a few days, you’ll see I’m right,” Thomas continued with a smirk.

Edwin shook his head. “All right,” he allowed. “Tell me how you intend to make this work.”

Thomas gathered photographs of recent pieces from various designers, and together they made notes on the concept. The packet was sent off to the photography department, so they could begin preparing for a shoot.

“Tell me about the article itself,” Edwin prodded.

“I want to get across the influence the subculture has had on mainstream fashion, and vice versa,” Thomas explained. “If we could get quotes from designers about how subcultures influence their design, that’d be great. I really want to get into what elements have gotten picked up by big designers, and why.”

They chatted about strategy, how to find out what designers wanted to say on the subject and where to start researching.

“So, you still think I’m nuts for going this direction?” Thomas asked with a raised eyebrow.

“This approach certainly has its risks,” Edwin warned, “but I am willing to see where the concept goes.”

Thomas grinned. “That’s good enough for me,” he said.

Edwin’s phone chirped not long after that. It was five, the end of the day.

“Shall we get this all tidied away for tomorrow?” Edwin prompted.

“No, I’m gonna keep working,” Thomas said. “Just a couple little things I wanna get down before I forget.”

“Then I shall stay, as well,” Edwin said. “To assist you.”

“You don’t have to,” Thomas said, his voice unusually earnest. When Edwin just looked at him blankly, Thomas continued, “I mean, if you want to, sure, but it’s gotta be because you want to, not because your boss is keeping you late. Got it?”

Edwin frowned. “It is my job to assist you,” he said, “and so I will assist you, until your work is completed.”

“I mean, yeah, you’re my assistant,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes, “but that’s not all you are. I pay you to be here nine to five, right? That’s when you’re my assistant. But now it’s past five, so all you have to be is Edwin.”

“But I am your assistant,” Edwin insisted, slightly lost.

Thomas hummed, tapping his fingers against the edge of the desk. Then he looked at Edwin.

“In that case, you should go home,” he told Edwin. “If you can only be here as my assistant. I don’t have an assistant after five, got it? I can do this stuff myself.”

Edwin wanted to argue, wanted to stay here with Thomas. But Thomas had made it clear that it was no longer his job.

If he were to stay here as just Edwin… what would that look like?

Edwin’s dream flashed through his mind, the feelings that he had awoken with threatening to intrude again.

“Go on,” Thomas said, unlocking his desk drawer and pulling out another folder. “I’ve got this. Promise.”

He winked at Edwin.

Edwin fled with as much composure as he could manage, hoping against hope that tonight, the dream would not return.

As Edwin lifted his phone to turn off the alarm, he saw that he had a text from Charles, just a simple good morning.

Charles and Crystal’s sleep schedules were a mystery at the best of times. Sometimes they stayed up late and slept well into the morning; other times, they woke before he did.

This morning, Charles had probably woken early to meet with one of his clients, but if Edwin had to guess, yesterday’s succession of early morning texts from Crystal had been an indication that she hadn’t yet been to bed.

The reminder that Edwin’s friends were thinking of him was a pleasant thought, but the morning took a turn for the worse as soon as Edwin set foot in the bathroom.

There was something about the way his brain was behaving recently that wouldn’t let him ignore his own body, the way he usually tried to. As he showered, he was preoccupied with the thought of his own skin.

Wanting and wrongness tangled together, until his thoughts pulled tight into an awful snarl.

He finished as quickly as he could manage, toweling himself vigorously, as if he could scrub the thoughts and feelings away with the force of it. But the snarl still pulled.

On mornings like this, he knew to avoid the sight of the mirror at all costs. He knew he would not like what he saw. But today, he was still horribly aware of it all, of the shape of his body, and how much he wished it were different.

Once he had put on his undergarments, his brain quieted a bit, but it still took him longer than usual to get dressed. He could focus well enough to work, he supposed, but not well enough to cook. A plain cup of Earl Grey and a protein shake would have to do.

Today, when he entered his boss’s office, he saw that Thomas had made it to the couch last night before falling asleep, so Edwin elected not to wake him.

The sight was so… sweet.

No! That was inappropriate, for any number of reasons.

Edwin tore his eyes away from Thomas, and back to the work at hand.

He tidied quietly, so as not to wake his boss.

The odd blank folder that Thomas had gotten out of the drawer the night before was sitting on the desk.

Edwin set his hand on it, flipping it open, but before he could register much about the sketches inside, Thomas’s phone rang, vibrating against the surface of the desk. Edwin watched the screen light up and display the contact name, ‘That Asshole.’

Edwin looked over, but Thomas didn’t wake, so Edwin simply made a note of the call in his planner, and continued setting the workspace in order.

The blank folder had no indication of what issue it was connected with. From a brief glance, the clothing Thomas had sketched was lovely, but certainly not connected with the goth-focused editorial. This must be a personal project. Guiltily shutting it, Edwin set it aside.

Thomas’s notes for his editorial were no less enthralling.

He’d taken images of top designer pieces from both men’s and women’s collections, plus the stray unisex line, and combined them into his own sketches, and somehow it all made sense — as menswear with feminine elements, as goth aesthetic statements, as high fashion looks that would be right at home on the pages of King’s Palace.

Edwin realized he’d been wrong. That this was not just a concept that had a chance of working, but that Thomas was actually making it work.

There were going to be practical concerns, however. For one thing, they were a menswear magazine, and some of these pieces would need to be altered to properly fit their usual models. Edwin made a few notes on how to accommodate those potential problems.

He scanned in the sketches and emailed the new information to the photography department.

At nine thirty, he could no longer justify letting Thomas sleep.

He went over to the sofa, and cleared his throat pointedly. When Thomas stirred, Edwin said, “Sir, you have a meeting with the advertising department in half an hour.”

Thomas blinked up at him blearily, then groaned, covering his face with his hands and rubbing vigorously.

“You’d better get cleaned up,” Edwin continued, eyeing the clothing from yesterday, rumpled by the office furniture Thomas had slept on two nights in succession. At least he’d gone home over the lunch hour yesterday and wasn’t still in Monday’s clothes. Honestly.

Thomas swore quietly to himself as he pushed himself up and made his way to the powder room.

Edwin sat back down at the desk, giving the editorial plans another look, and taking a few more notes.

“What do you think of the outfits?” Thomas asked, looking a little more awake and much neater as he returned from the washroom.

“They are inspired,” Edwin admitted.

Thomas smiled entirely too widely at that compliment, so Edwin added, “You do good work, when you can bring yourself to work at all.”

The light flickered out of Thomas’s eyes, but he recovered quickly, grinning again and putting a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, Bowtie,” he said, throwing his head back dramatically. “I work all the time, but I’d rather spend time on the creative stuff, not all the planning, budget approvals, and all the interminable meetings.”

Edwin rolled his eyes, and said mildly, “You’ve just described the work of a CEO and Editor-in-Chief, which are your titles. If you hate those jobs, perhaps you should quit and go into a creative field, instead.”

This time, Thomas’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, he laughed brightly.

He shook his head, and said, “And give away my baby? I’d rather die.”

Thomas seemed to mean it quite seriously, but there was something bittersweet and wistful in his tone.

Edwin didn’t know how to reply, so he looked back down at the desk, where Thomas’s phone still sat.

“Ah,” Edwin remembered, “you missed a call while you were asleep. Someone who you’ve given the name ‘that asshole.’ I know it’s not my business, but might I inquire…?”

“Oh, she’s a dear friend,” Thomas said, still with that bittersweet twist to his smile. “I’ll call her back later.”

“How dear can she be, with a name as crass as that?” Edwin asked.

The way Thomas laughed then, like he knew things, like the world was a puzzle and he understood the joke that lay at the heart of it.

Edwin’s heart lurched in his chest at the sight of it.

(Sympathy, and nothing more, no, nothing else at all.)

“I’m friends with her, sure,” Thomas said, shrugging, “but she can sometimes be insufferable. You know the type?”

Edwin immediately thought of the way Crystal could get sometimes, when she was insistent on getting her own way.

“I’ve grown to tolerate my friend Crystal,” Edwin admitted, “but sometimes it is very difficult.”

“See, you understand,” Thomas said with a sly grin. Then he took a breath, straightening his clothes again. “Anyways, am I ready?” He spun in a slow circle for Edwin’s inspection.

“You’ll do,” Edwin said.

He was still a bit rumpled, but Thomas always managed to make it look intentional, somehow.

On the way out of the meeting, Thomas took a call and disappeared into the stairwell, waving Edwin off. A personal call, then. He didn’t look alarmed enough for it to be any kind of emergency. Yet he remained in the stairwell, leaving Edwin to return to the office alone.

Edwin rolled his eyes, but he supposed it was a CEO’s prerogative to take personal calls whenever it suited him. He sat down at his own desk in the outer office, checking in with the interns about how their research tasks were progressing, and making notes about its implications for Thomas’s editorial.

Thomas strode through the outer office and into his own office. “Edwin,” he said, and Edwin stood to follow him. “I might have to duck out early on Thursday.”

Edwin closed the office door behind him. “And why might that be?” he asked.

“Just a thing,” Thomas said, waving his hand vaguely as he sat down behind his desk. “Meeting up with someone. Don’t worry, I’m gonna get my editorial finished tonight, even if I have to stay a few hours extra.”

“Then the final approval of this week’s proofs?” Edwin ventured.

“Will be up to you,” Thomas said.

Edwin’s eyes widened. “Me?” he asked.

He was not, strictly speaking, editorial staff. He did his fair share, he did whatever he could to help Thomas run the magazine, but he was an administrative assistant.

Thomas leveled Edwin with a serious look. “I would never leave the business in the hands of someone I didn’t believe in fully with my heart and soul,” he said. “You understand this business better than I do. You’ll do great.”

Edwin felt his face heat, and couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Are you blushing? Just because I said you’re good at your job?” Thomas grinned. “That’s adorable.”

Edwin cleared his throat pointedly, and consulted his watch.

“Speaking of the job before us,” he said, “you’re needed in another meeting in… twelve minutes.”

Thomas groaned, looking up at the ceiling despairingly. “What is it this time?”

“Don’t worry,” Edwin said. “You’ll actually enjoy this one. We need to go down to the studio and see what garments they’ve managed to source for the photo shoot to be paired with your editorial. You’ll be confirming the final choices of outfits and models.”

“That could be fun,” Thomas admitted. “Especially if they’ve managed to put this one together.” He flipped through his folder of sketches, pulling one out.

Edwin had seen it before, of course, and made his notes on it before sending it to the proper department. But it struck Edwin all over again how beautifully Thomas managed to put his vision to paper.

He could be a designer, and a great one.

The tight turnover of a weekly magazine, combined with Thomas’s constitutional inability to plan ahead, prevented him from getting garments custom made for these shoots, but Edwin saw the potential in these sketches, in the words of his editorials. Thomas knew fashion. He had a profound talent for it.

Thomas was clearly meant to be an artist, not a businessman. Edwin wondered again why he hadn’t quit this job that so obviously stifled him.

Edwin traced the lines of the drawing with his fingertips, the stark black of the corsetry and the frills of red that trailed around it. The drama of the heeled shoes. It should, by all rights, have added up to something entirely feminine, and yet somehow it did not.

He could feel Thomas’s eyes on him.

“Glad you like that one,” Thomas said softly. “I’m pretty proud of it.”

Edwin closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. He was — this was too close.

“It is more than adequate to the purpose, Sir,” he said in his most businesslike tone, and set the sketch down on the desk.

It didn’t seem to faze Thomas, who simply laughed and said, “Okay, you don’t need to be like that, all… formal.”

Edwin ignored the way Thomas’s laughter threatened to make him giddy, and replied, “Someone here has to be work-minded, and it clearly won’t be you.”

And there was that laugh again.

“I am work-minded,” Thomas objected. “With the important things, and to the important people.”

“As I’ve said too many times already,” Edwin said, “every person you interact with in the running of this company is important. Their contributions help the business function, whether it be to provide sponsorship, supplies, research, or the writing and photographs we print.”

“Ugh. Even the shareholders?” Thomas grumbled.

“Yes,” Edwin insisted. “Even the shareholders. They provide funds that keep the business afloat.”

“Whatever,” Thomas scoffed. “I made this business successful without them, and I’d do it again if I had to.”

Edwin elected not to dispute that, and they left for the photography studio shortly after.

Thomas started flagging after lunch, and they still had another meeting to get to. So Edwin went to get Thomas another coffee.

A couple of interns were gossiping in the kitchenette, talking about The Cat King’s return to the stage and how he always wore a mask onstage and in his videos.

“I wonder what the mask will look like this time?” Alice wondered. “They always have such cool designs.”

“Forget that, the big question is, what’s behind that mask?” said Jasmine. “Why’s he so secretive? Who is he?”

So this Cat King seemed to be something of a local phenomenon. Edwin still had his doubts that he would enjoy the event.

The newest intern, Monty, scoffed at the other two. “Just let the guy live his life,” he said. “He’s probably just a normal dude who doesn’t want to have to deal with the press every day.”

“You’re no fun,” Jasmine said to Monty, and went back to her desk.

“Well, I think that’s a very sensible attitude,” Edwin told Monty. “There are all kinds of reasons for people to want to keep aspects of their lives private.”

“Yeah,” Monty agreed. “I mean, I definitely get that.”

Monty had been in the press from a very early age, Edwin knew. His parents’ divorce had been public and extremely messy. Perhaps that experience had contributed to his gift for marketing, despite being only seventeen and a first-year college student.

Edwin didn’t generally follow celebrity gossip, but being friends with Crystal granted one a certain level of knowledge of the going drama, regardless. He wondered if he would have known that Monty was Thomas’s son, otherwise. But because Edwin was unimpressed by celebrity, it didn’t matter to him who Monty’s parents were. He was simply a friend.

Edwin chatted with him about Monday’s meeting on charity partnerships, and the disaster one representative had made of it. He must have lost track of time, because before he knew it, Thomas was calling from his office door, “Edwin! Did they make you pick the coffee beans yourself?”

Edwin hurried over, apologizing and giving Thomas his coffee, but once he had the coffee in hand, Thomas didn’t truly seem upset.

Their next meeting was a follow-up with the advertising department, discussing strategies in more detail.

It was a productive meeting overall, but the liaison for one of their largest accounts, a popular cosmetics brand, was stirring up trouble.

“I still think we should be focusing on fragrances here,” the man said. “Makeup ads? In a men’s fashion magazine? I just don’t see it paying off.”

“Clark,” Thomas said, shaking his head, “we’re a high fashion publication. Your average guy, the ones who would never be caught dead using moisturizer, they already aren’t reading any fashion magazines, let alone King’s Palace.”

“So what audience are we catering to, then, exactly?” Clark asked.

“Guys who like to look pretty,” suggested the head of the advertising department. “They’re reading our magazine, and so are trans and nonbinary people.”

Clark scoffed. “I really don’t think it’s worth trying to cater to a few deluded freaks.”

Edwin stiffened, pausing in his note-taking to watch the man nervously.

“Okay, Clark?” Thomas said, his voice icy cold. “Insulting our readership is not going to get you anywhere here, but more importantly, that kind of hate? That’ll get you put out on your ass. Understand?”

“What?” Clark gaped. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Get out of my sight, now,” Thomas snapped.

“All right, if that’s how you wanna be,” Clark said, gathering his things and stepping out.

Edwin breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

The sight of Thomas, defending him—

It wasn’t about Edwin specifically, though, Edwin reminded himself sternly. And there was no reason to get flustered about it.

There was no reason to feel giddy and light at the thought of Thomas firmly drawing a line.

Especially as it could have real consequences for the magazine.

As they walked back from the meeting to Thomas’s office, Edwin ventured, “That was rash. Clark is our liaison with one of our largest accounts, and if he were to make a fuss, it could mean much less revenue, not only from the company that he represents, but from others who may hear rumors of your… bellicose leadership style.”

Thomas looked at Edwin out of the corner of his eye. “Do you agree with what he said?” he asked.

“No,” Edwin said immediately. “I found it absolutely abhorrent. But there are some things one must tolerate if one wishes to be successful.”

“If I can’t be successful and push back against hate when it’s in my conference rooms,” Thomas said, “I’ll still push.” He gave Edwin a tiny smile.

Edwin returned the smile, feeling a great wave of emotion welling up in his chest.

Oh, he was going to cry.

He excused himself to the restroom, just trying not to look like too much of a mess in front of his boss.

That night, Edwin dreamed.

He was with Thomas in a field of wildflowers, an entirely nonsensical image. Thomas belonged at work. Wherever Thomas was, things must remain professional. And yet here he was, standing among goldenrod and queen-anne’s-lace, smiling at Edwin.

“We need to get back to the office,” Edwin told him. “There is work to be done.”

“I like this better,” Thomas said.

“That is quite irrelevant,” Edwin said.

“Maybe,” said Thomas. “Maybe the question is, do you want to be here? With me?”

Edwin opened his mouth to answer that he wanted to return to the office, but no words came out.

“Cat got your tongue?” Thomas asked with a crooked grin.

Edwin glared at him. Stuck out his tongue, to prove it was intact.

“Unprofessional, I like it,” Thomas said. He took a step closer to Edwin. “So why do you think we’re here?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Edwin admitted.

“Can you show me?” Thomas asked, looping an arm around Edwin’s waist, pulling their bodies close together.

Edwin heard his breath, noisy in his own ears. He held onto Thomas, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He wanted —

Thomas leaned in, breath warm on Edwin’s cheek —

Edwin woke, worked up, confused, and out of sorts.

How was he going to face Thomas today, when that image still lurked in his mind? His hands shook as he prepared for work, and his eyes threatened to spill over with tears, but Edwin could not allow himself to be anything but professional. He would go to work. He would act normal. He would manage.

Somehow.

Thomas wasn’t in when Edwin arrived, of course, but the reprieve was briefer than Edwin expected.

“I canceled the thing this afternoon, so I can do the full day today after all,” Thomas told him, coming through the outer office to stand beside Edwin’s desk. “Might be able to come in tomorrow, too, we’ll see how things go.”

Edwin told himself sternly that this did not mean Thomas was lying about trusting Edwin with the final proofs. And anyway, that was simply an objective business decision and shouldn’t affect Edwin’s feelings either way.

Still, he was a little brusque, perhaps, when he responded, “It’s not professional to simply ‘see how things go.’ This magazine’s operations depend on your decisions, you cannot just do whatever you please.”

“Sure, sure,” Thomas responded, waving Edwin’s concerns away. “Did the photos from yesterday’s shoot come in?”

“I have them here,” Edwin responded, handing him a folder.

“Great, come on, I need your help deciding what I want to go with the article. Gavin always works miracles, I know there are going to be like three dozen shots in here I want to use.”

Thomas went through the door into the inner office, and Edwin followed, feeling unaccountably awkward. Pleased that Thomas still clearly valued his opinions, unbalanced by the abrupt change in schedule, still dreading that Thomas would see, would know, what sorts of thoughts had been rotating in Edwin’s head, showing up unwelcome in his dreams.

The photographs were indeed all beautiful, but Edwin helped Thomas select the handful of shots that best illustrated the points in the editorial.

Thomas’s phone chirped a few times during their conversation, but whatever it meant, Edwin wasn’t privy to it. He barely had the bandwidth to wonder, between the work before them and the thoughts swirling in Edwin’s head.

His brain felt like a washing machine full of filthy clothes.

“What do you think of the editorial?” Thomas asked. “Pretty good, right?”

“There are some strong opinions put forward in the article,” Edwin said. “Not that I personally disagree with them, but it might alienate some readers. For the sake of readership, it might be better to soften them somewhat.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna put out a bland magazine.”

“No, you never do,” Edwin told him. “Even when it might behoove the CEO of a company to prioritize sales and profits.”

Thomas made a face, but before he could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and sighed. “I gotta take this,” he said. “Be right back.”

He stood in the corner between the window and the sofa, but hadn’t told Edwin to leave the office. Edwin went over the editorial’s prospective layout, but couldn’t help keeping a curious ear out for the conversation.

It wasn’t his business. Thomas’s life outside of the magazine was not Edwin’s business. Who he chose to spend his social hours with was not relevant to Edwin.

Thomas kept the conversation quiet, but when he raised his voice a little, Edwin’s ears pricked up.

“Honestly, you think that’s kinky, you got a kink and that’s your issue. Not mine.” Thomas sighed sharply, almost a laugh. “The design stays. That is final.”

He ended the call, and came back over to the desk.

Edwin burned with curiosity, but it was not his place to ask.

“So where were we?” Thomas asked.

Edwin explained the layout he’d thought up, and they discussed the pros and cons of the decisions.

“I think it’s ready,” Thomas said at last. “You think it’s ready?”

Edwin thought about trying to argue further for blunting the edges of the editorial for broader marketability. But it was undoubtedly magnificent as it stood.

“It’s ready,” Edwin agreed. “I’ll take it down to the typesetter.”

Thomas grinned. “Excellent. I’m going to lunch, see you after!”

Edwin watched him leave, those tumbling emotions threatening to spill out again. Admiration, annoyance, awkwardness. And something gut-twisting and unthinkable.

He didn’t know how to deal with it all.

After lunch, they considered ideas for next week’s editorial. Thomas floated the idea of covering the hippie subculture, and while Edwin was skeptical, he’d been skeptical over the prospect of a goth article when he first heard it, and that had turned out beautifully.

When the proofs came in, they went over it all together, with an eye towards any glaring errors. Thomas wanted Edwin’s opinion on the aesthetics and flow as well, but Edwin felt ill equipped to have an opinion on that, at the moment.

It had been a long day, and a confounding one.

After the proofs had been approved, Edwin went home. He was tired, and didn’t have much of an appetite, and anyway there wasn’t much in the place, as he hadn’t gotten groceries since last weekend.

He thought about getting takeout, but nothing sounded appealing, so he just curled up in bed with a book, and let it carry him to sleep.

Edwin knew that Thomas had said he might be in today, but Edwin had not expected to see him awake and upright as early as Edwin chose to arrive.

Yet here he was, before Edwin had even entered the building.

Sitting in his car, audibly yelling at his telephone.

Edwin approached, wanting to know if Thomas needed help, but as he was standing beside the car, he remembered that he was simply an assistant. Whatever Thomas was yelling about, there was a reason he wasn’t yelling about it in the building, where they did their work.

It wasn’t Edwin’s business. He shouldn’t care.

Caring about Thomas on a personal level was—

Oh, Thomas had stopped yelling and gotten out of the car.

“Whatever might have kept you from work today seems not to have,” Edwin ventured.

Thomas smiled widely, and said, “Oh, yeah, I took care of all that. I’m all yours for the day.”

He wasn’t exactly fresh as a daisy, Edwin thought. Thomas only generally looked this much of a mess on his most hungover days. His smile was manic and rang false, his hair looked like a bird’s nest, and he had deep, dark circles under his eyes. Why on Earth was he in so early, if he was in this sort of shape?

“How much sleep have you had since yesterday?” Edwin asked.

Thomas laughed, and the tone of it was still not reassuring. “Hey, it almost sounds like you care or something,” he said.

It wasn’t Edwin’s business. Personal connection here could be disastrous. He could not care. “I—I don’t,” he stuttered. “Forget I asked.”

Thomas’s manic cheer dropped off his face, leaving him looking exhausted and careworn. “Three hours or so, you know how it is,” he said. “But I’ll be fine. Ready to work.”

Edwin narrowed his eyes at Thomas. “Go in and lie down,” he told his boss. “I’ll bring you coffee in half an hour. We can begin after that.”

This time, Thomas’s smile looked genuine, even warm. “Okay, you don’t have to admit out loud that you care about me,” he said, putting both hands to his chest. “Just. Thank you. For doing it anyway.”

“Yes, well,” Edwin said, nervously licking his lips, and then trailing off uncertainly.

“Right,” Thomas said, clapping him on the shoulder. “See you in half an hour, then.”

Edwin started a pot of coffee, then went and did his usual rounds of the office, making sure everything was in order.

When he came back to a full coffee pot, Alice and Jasmine were nearby, but they were focused on choosing items from the vending machine.

“You know,” said Alice, “I’ve gotten so many people from the other departments warning me not to get on Mr. King’s bad side, but he seems like a pretty okay boss to me so far.”

“You want the tea?” Jasmine asked.

Alice hummed affirmatively.

“I heard from the photography department head that he used to cut work all the time and get in really bad moods,” Jasmine said, “but he’s gotten a lot better recently. Like, in the last couple years, since Edwin got promoted from intern to assistant.”

“Huh, I wonder why that is,” Alice said.

“I think maybe the boss has a crush on his assistant,” Jasmine said in a knowing tone.

The two girls laughed.

Edwin became so flustered that he fumbled the half full cup of coffee he’d been pouring, splashing it down his front and causing the cup to fall to the floor with a clatter.

The interns turned to see him, and Alice sheepishly said, “Oh, sorry, Edwin. We didn’t see you there.”

Hiding her face, Jasmine ducked out of the room, pulling Alice with her by the elbow.

Sighing, Edwin mopped the worst of the coffee off of his suit and shirt and the floor with paper napkins, before pouring another cup. The shirt was still visibly stained, but Thomas would be awaiting his coffee.

Edwin hurried to bring it to him.

After what he’d just heard, he could not look Thomas in the eye. He set the coffee down on the desk and made to step away.

“Thanks, Edwin — oh,” Thomas said. “Little bit of a mishap, huh? Let me help you get that clean.”

Edwin didn’t know how to refuse — Thomas was his boss, Edwin represented Thomas in business interactions, and if Thomas felt the blotch of spilled coffee was unacceptable, well, then it was unacceptable. So Edwin just murmured something noncommittal.

Thomas ducked into the washroom and came back with a handful of wet paper towels.

“You know, it just occurred to me that this might be easier if you just took off your shirt,” Thomas said with a sheepish smile.

“That won’t be necessary,” Edwin said, a little too forcefully, but it didn’t dim Thomas’s smile.

“Right, unbutton your jacket, then,” Thomas said, “we’ll just get what we can this way.”

A buzzing began in Edwin’s brain, making the world seem flat and strange. But he obeyed nevertheless, and soon Thomas was wiping at the coffee stain, gaze focused on Edwin’s chest, frowning in concentration.

The images from the dream reared up again, so vivid that Edwin would not have been surprised to see wildflowers spring up from the carpet around them. Thomas was touching him, standing close, leaning in, breathing on him.

Edwin shivered, closing his eyes. But that only made his imagination rush into overdrive. He could feel himself blushing, surely he was bright red as a signal flare, and he fidgeted, looking down at where Thomas was blotting his shirt dry with more towels.

“Are y—” he began, then stuttered to a stop. “Are you finished?” he managed.

Thomas laughed lightly. “Just about,” he said. “What, we finally found something that gets you worked up, Bowtie? Just so you know, I’d clean coffee off you anytime.”

“No,” Edwin said, “I’m simply… it’s chilly, the evaporation, and…” Edwin trailed off. It wouldn’t exactly help matters to describe how it felt when Thomas breathed on the damp fabric that sat over the skin of his collarbone.

Thomas gave him a wink, and said, “Okay, if that’s how you wanna play it.”

Thomas finally left his side and Edwin could breathe without feeling like that. Like he was going to snap and do something impetuous, dangerous, unforgivable.

God, what had Edwin become? If he couldn’t do his job, what was the point of him? And worse, if he was constantly on the edge of acting in ways that might offend Thomas, disgust him?

Thomas was a powerful man, (oh God, why did the thought of those words in that order make Edwin’s heart pound?) and making an enemy of him could destroy Edwin’s prospects in unimaginable ways.

Edwin?

He was going to fuck this up, he couldn’t help it, he was weak and hopeless and couldn’t help wanting things that would disgust normal people—

A hand came down on his shoulder, and Edwin spun, raising his hands to shield himself—

It was Thomas.

Just Thomas, of course, trying to get his attention, because Edwin was at work, Edwin had a job to do, only now his boss was looking at him with eyes wide as saucers.

“Hey,” Thomas said. “Edwin. You okay?”

“I’m fine, really,” Edwin said, forcing himself into a more relaxed posture. “Just a bit tired.”

Edwin usually tried to be more aware of his surroundings than this. He knew that this could happen, if he wasn’t. That one perfectly innocent nudge to his shoulder could bring it all back, his mother getting impatient, the screaming and the rough shove to get him moving, leaving him with an ache in his shoulder and a ringing in his ears.

With a rough breath, Edwin dragged himself forcibly back to the present.

“You know, you say you’re fine,” Thomas sighed, “but you’re clearly not all here. Go home, get some rest.”

“I am fine,” Edwin argued. Thomas didn’t look convinced. “Although perhaps I would benefit from a nap at some point. Right now, we have work to do.”

“I can see right through you, you know,” Thomas said, shaking his head and tutting.

“Is that right?” Edwin asked.

He tried to sound lighthearted, but with the adrenaline still coursing through Edwin’s system, the thought that Thomas might truly be able to see through Edwin like a pane of window glass sounded incredibly disturbing.

“You worked so hard on this issue,” Thomas said. “You always work way too hard. Frankly I don’t know how anyone can stand being that driven all the time! What is your secret?” he asked, leaning in close to Edwin as if he could hear the answer leak right through Edwin’s skin if he just listened intently enough.

“I endeavor to be professional,” Edwin answered, a little tightly. He was aware that he hadn’t quite managed that, as of late.

Thomas paced across the room, seeming to consider that, then turned to Edwin again, changing tacks.

“You know, when you try to pretend like it doesn’t get to you, like you’re above needing a break,” Thomas said, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head, “at some point, it’s just sad.”

“What is your point?” Edwin asked.

“You need to get out of this office,” Thomas insisted. “I know I do sometimes, and you’re here a hell of a lot more than I can stand to be. It feels like a trap. Doesn’t it feel like a trap to you, sometimes?”

“No,” Edwin lied.

Thomas laughed, an unhappy noise. “I cannot believe you,” he said. “I am your boss, this is my office, can you please just admit that just maybe you’re not at your best today? And maybe you need to go home?”

“Let me at least take a look at how the new issue printing turned out,” Edwin countered.

The mention of the magazine’s release made Thomas beam. As little taste as Thomas seemed to have for actually doing the work, he was clearly proud of the result.

“Of course!” Thomas agreed immediately. “Oh, and I set your usual number of copies aside, so you can take them with you. I hope your friends enjoy this one.”

An hour later, they’d gone over the magazine from cover to cover.

“Right,” Thomas said. “That’s it. Really great issue, thanks to you. Now, will you let me send you home?”

“Don’t make me leave,” Edwin said, perhaps too earnestly.

Thomas gave him an assessing look.

“At least rest,” he said, sighing. “You said you needed a nap, right? Sofa’s comfortable.”

“Yes,” Edwin agreed dryly. “I have seen you lounging about on it often enough to know.”

“So how about it?” Thomas raised his eyebrows.

“I have pressing work to do,” Edwin said. He knew he must. He always did.

Thomas chuckled. “What work?” He waved his hands around the room. “I’m your boss, right? I decide what your priorities are while you’re here. And right now, nothing is more important than you getting some real rest. Okay?”

Edwin considered the offered sofa.

Well, he didn’t want Thomas to make him leave.

He supposed it couldn’t hurt to lie down for a moment, if it was what his boss required of him.

“Very well,” he said, and stiffly, he sat on the sofa, and made himself lie down.

It smelled of Thomas, of his favored fragrance, of coffee and cheap takeout and sweat.

It should have been offputting.

Instead, Edwin found himself breathing deeply, and letting himself sink into the comfortable fabric of the sofa.

And then, quite accidentally, he slept.

The office was deserted, except for them, sitting and chatting over the magazine as always.

Then Thomas fixed Edwin with a look.

“I can see right through you, you know,” Thomas said, shaking his head and tutting.

“Is that right?” Edwin asked.

“You’re a bore because you don’t have any personality in there worth showing off. Isn’t that right? Frankly I don’t know how anyone can stand being around you!”

Edwin could only stare, wide-eyed and appalled.

“What is your secret? Let me see.” Thomas stood and walked around him to view him at another angle, as if Edwin was made of glass and Thomas was trying to find an angle without glare reflecting off him, trying to see in.

Then Thomas stopped, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head. “Oh. Now that’s just sad. You poor, disgusting little creature.”

“What?” Edwin asked, dreading the answer.

“You need to get out of this office. I know what you are.”

“No,” Edwin pled.

“I know everything,” Thomas said, his voice growing louder, angrier with every word. “All your filthy little secrets! You think you can hide them from me? This is my domain!”

“Let me explain,” Edwin tried.

“No! Get out! Get out NOW!”

Edwin jolted awake.

On the sofa in Thomas’s office.

Thomas striding over, looming over him.

Edwin felt ill, clammy and sweating.

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Edwin insisted, but he couldn’t look at Thomas as he said it.

“Bullshit. You look like hell,” Thomas told him. “You’re gonna get out of here, now, get some rest, none of your tricks like before. I know you’re not okay.”

“But I—” Edwin began, and Thomas cut him off.

“No. Get out of here,” Thomas said. “I mean it!” He pointed to the door.

Shaken, Edwin obeyed.

All the way home, the words of the real Thomas and the dream Thomas echoed in his head, blending together until he couldn’t sort out what was true and what was only the dream.

He felt ill, and useless.

Once home, Edwin made a beeline for his bed, wrapping himself in blankets, and cried until he felt that he was going to shake himself apart. Rattling like ill-fitting clockwork mechanisms that drove themselves to ruin.

It was his own fault, all of it, the mess he was making of everything. His life, this job. God, he’d been utterly unable to even pretend at being functional today. Small wonder Thomas wanted him gone.

Thomas wanted him gone. The echoes of the dream rose up like spectres.

If he couldn’t do this job…

If Thomas decided he was no longer suitable…

Edwin’s pulse raced out of control, his chest burned; full-on panic at the very thought of what he would do without this job. The terrible thought consumed him.

Would not let him go.

The attack burned through all his energy, and he fell into restless dreams.

As Edwin woke the next morning, he remembered with a wince that it was Saturday, and that he’d agreed to go out to one of Crystal’s raves that night.

Why on Earth had he done that?

What was he going to do at a rave? Crystal’s insistence that it was essential to ‘let loose every once in a while’ made absolutely no sense to him. Raves and the like were messy, and that was the last thing Edwin needed.

He contemplated cancelling, but no, he had made a promise, and he would keep it.

Edwin went about his household chores, scrubbing everything until it gleamed, trying not to think about that evening.

When the time was approaching, he showered, put on his underthings, and reached for his work clothing out of habit before he remembered.

Edwin contemplated the outfit that Charles and Crystal had helped him to select.

It looked… breezy.

He had thought, perhaps, that it would grow on him, that the mood of the evening would take ahold of him and he would find it easier, more natural, to wear such a thing. To have elbows and knees and neck all uncovered and open for viewing.

It had not.

When Charles and Crystal arrived, Edwin was wearing his usual work attire.

Edwin opened his door to Crystal in a sequined purple dress that barely covered her rear, carrying a bottle of champagne, and Charles in a sleeveless undershirt and black jeans, with his usual jewelry.

Charles frowned. “You’re not ready,” he said.

“I am,” Edwin said.

“See, I told you we’d need to meet early,” Crystal told Charles, and wandered into the kitchen.

“I thought we’d worked out a pretty good outfit,” Charles said. “Changed your mind about it?”

Edwin sighed. “In the abstract, it is a perfectly serviceable outfit for the sort of event we will be attending. It would fit in well with yours.” He waved his hand at them. “But the thought of — actually putting it on. Me in that outfit.” He winced and shook his head. “And anyway, it’s a bit chilly tonight for that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

“Not once we get there,” Charles told him. “We’ll be in a room with two thousand other people, all dancing and jumping about. And the air conditioning in that place is, like, barely limping along, to be honest.”

Edwin thought about that.

He liked his suits! He felt that he was himself in them, and that feeling was hard-won.

From the kitchen came the sound of a champagne cork popping, and Edwin felt the sense that he was going to have to surrender to at least some part of the spirit of the thing, if he didn’t want to spend the entire evening getting prodded by his friends.

He went into the bedroom, and hummed as he gave his closet another look. Took off his jacket and hung it up.

His fingers brushed across his bowtie, but he wanted that. If he was going to be doing all of these uncomfortable new things, he wanted to keep that.

And the shirt, well. There was a reason he preferred to wear something over it.

Edwin picked out a lightweight knit slipover, a cotton cashmere blend in a rich blue, that he had always liked the feel of but hadn’t yet found the right occasion to wear. He pulled it on over his shirt, and surveyed his reflection.

Yes.

Yes, that might do nicely.

He walked out to his living room, where his two best friends in the world graced his sofa in their shimmering getups, Charles’s elbows propped on the back of the sofa, while he fondly watched Crystal, leaned against the armrest with her legs draped over his lap, drinking champagne directly from the bottle.

With the right photographer, it would sell magazines.

Charles turned and saw Edwin, and grinned even wider.

“Hey!” he said. “Got you a little bit loosened up, eh?”

“Just a little,” Edwin conceded, smiling back. “You know, I think this isn’t half bad.”

“I’m glad you found something you like,” Crystal told him. “I just want you to feel comfortable in what you’re wearing.”

“And it does a good job of hiding th—” Charles began, until Crystal poked her elbow into his side. Charles turned to her, opening his mouth, but Crystal gave him an absolutely poisonous glare, and he subsided.

Internally, Edwin wilted. He didn’t belong with these social butterflies, and he didn’t want to make them have to walk on eggshells around him, he didn’t want to keep them from having a nice, relaxing time at their event. He didn’t want them to have to worry about him. But the fact was, if he had to hear Charles mention the accursed thing again, Edwin might just lose his entire mind.

“You know,” he stammered, “perhaps you should go without me.”

“No, hey,” Crystal said. “Sorry for making a deal about it. We want you there, it doesn’t matter what you wear. That is a really nice sweater, though.”

Charles nodded agreement, and gave a thumbs up, and did not open his mouth.

Edwin sighed. “I want you to be able to enjoy yourselves,” Edwin said. “And I am not… the best at fun.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Charles said, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Crystal agreed. “We go out and have fun plenty of times. Today, we want to make sure you have fun. Since it seems like you haven’t had the best week ever.”

Edwin rolled his eyes.

“Seriously,” she continued, standing up and walking over to him. “I know I’m not always the best at getting over my own shit well enough to see other people’s, but I do try. And you? You deserve to go to a party and just have fun. No worries, just for one day.”

The week had had its ups and downs, certainly. And while Edwin had his doubts, there was also the possibility that they were right, and this might help.

“Fine,” he told Crystal, with just the ghost of a smile. He looked at the clock. “How much extra time did you leave, exactly? It does seem to be getting on.”

“We should leave here around nine to be safe,” she said, “but the main event doesn’t really start until ten.”

“If it begins that late,” Edwin exclaimed, “when does it end?!”

“We usually stay until about two,” Crystal hedged, “but it's not, like, a hard end time.”

Edwin groaned loudly. “I changed my mind, I am staying home to sleep,” he told them.

It was lighthearted, so when Charles protested, “You promised, though!” Edwin quickly acquiesced.

“I have enough books downloaded to my phone to get through such an ordeal, at least,” he said.

They both ribbed him good-naturedly about that as they all went out to the car.

“You guys want any?” Crystal asked, gesturing with the champagne bottle.

“I’m designated driver,” Charles said, “but save me some for right when we get there and I’ll have a little, yeah?”

“Sure thing, babe,” Crystal said. “Edwin?” She made a face. “No, right, you don’t drink.”

“Thank you for the offer,” he said, “but no.” He turned to Charles and said pointedly, “You remember last time. Probably better than I do.”

Last time, he’d gotten blackout drunk and apparently come out to Charles. He didn’t like the idea of what else he might do or say while under the influence.

“Oh, oof, yeah,” Crystal said. “Hope you don’t mind if I feel like celebrating, I’m just so glad we finally got you to come out with us!”

She smiled brightly at him.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Edwin told her. And it was true.

The bonhomie lasted through a surprising amount of the drive. But by the time Charles’s car rolled into the parking area, it had once more devolved to bickering.

“Really, I hardly think I will learn to appreciate so-called ‘dance music,’” Edwin said with distaste. “Speaking of which, what a name. It is a definition which says nothing. Other genres of music are associated with specific dances. Specific formulas for motion. That is dance. This genre would perhaps be better defined as ‘wobbling about aimlessly music’.”

“You are hopeless,” Crystal told him.

“The man’s got a point,” Charles argued as he found a spot and parked. “There’s an awful lot of wobbling.”

“Not you, too!” Crystal gaped at him, betrayed.

“Not saying I don’t appreciate it, mind,” said Charles, grinning sideways at her. “But yeah, maybe not the most descriptive name.”

“Fine,” Crystal huffed. “But that’s not the point. The music is good.”

“It’s not proper music,” Edwin insisted as they all exited the car. “Whenever a car passes by with their stereo at an ungodly volume, or I’m outside one of these places, all I hear is the thudding. I do not understand the appeal of such godawful thudding.”

“It’s different once you’re inside,” Charles promised.

“Yes,” Edwin agreed ruefully, “I would imagine it’s even louder.”

“Whatever, old man,” Crystal said, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, good music is wasted on you, huh?”

“I could say the same of you,” Edwin quipped back.

Crystal growled.

“Hey,” Charles said. “How about this. Edwin, I bet you thirty dollars that you’ll have fun tonight. And no lying. If I catch you smiling even once, you owe me.” He pointed a challenging finger at Edwin.

“You have a deal,” Edwin agreed easily. This so-called concert was going to be a test of his endurance, and no more.

Crystal giggled maniacally. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” she told Edwin.

“You saved me some champagne, right?” Charles asked Crystal, taking the bottle she offered. He tipped his head all the way back, getting the last of what was in the bottle before chucking it in the trunk.

Edwin squared his shoulders and faced the old warehouse. Time to get this over with.

If all else failed, his phone had the Pride and Prejudice ebook queued up.

The lights were dim, but as The Cat King came out on stage, he shimmered in a gold gown illuminated by a single spotlight. The image was entrancing. The gown glimmered with the performer’s every move. Edwin wanted to meet the person who’d designed such an ethereal piece.

The mask above it glittered with gold as well, but clearly represented the visage of a cat. Richly furred, whiskered, expertly made.

And then The Cat King began to talk.

It was clearly a poem, it had rhythm and intention, but it was also vernacular and casual, as if he were speaking to each individual audience member as a friend. With it came slow, dramatic movements, calculated just so to show off the shimmer and flash of the gown.

He spoke of everyday life, of how it could drag one down, but in a light tone at first, someone trying to make a bit of a dark joke out of their troubles. But underneath that ran a clear thread of profound loneliness.

The darkness of it all became clearer as he continued, as his motions became heavier, more weighed down.

No I'm not crying. There's something in the air
Even if I'm crying, it's not like you really care
I think I need a break
I think I need a nap
I think I wanna go home
But home might be a trap

Each word became visibly more labored, until he was gasping out each line.

I think I need a
Don't you need a
We all need a

The Cat King fell to the stage, sobbing. The spotlight dimmed, winking out.

There was only crying, trailing off into silence.

Then his voice rang out, loud and clear. “But who cares about some sad sob story!”

The lights came up, full and bright, the band behind The Cat King striking up an energetic, heady rhythm.

And The Cat King himself? He’d shed the gown, and the heaviness that had come with it, and was grinning out at the audience.

“Welcome to the realm of The Cat King!” he bellowed gleefully, and began to sing.

He’d been a vision in gold, the flowing gown trailing after him, accentuating the drama of his movements. But now! The new look sparked with electricity, the black and yellow kilt flaring with movement, the fitted mesh top accentuating the shape of his torso and arms. The mask blended with his loose-flowing hair. Rings sparkled on his fingers.

And as he sang, he moved like a flame across the stage, lively and bright.

The lyrics of this piece were brash and flirtatious, and Edwin wasn’t quite sure what to think of the song. But the man himself certainly was eye-catching.

Distantly Edwin noted that there were other band members on stage. The drummer, in their black cat mask, black hair, and tattoos, the bassist, also with a black mask blending with dark hair, the keyboardist with shining silver-white hair and a matching white cat mask, they were all undeniably skilled. But Edwin could hardly take his eyes off of The Cat King himself.

He was breathtaking. So confident, so alive.

Edwin was not once tempted to retire with his book.

The variety of the show was impressive, not simply in terms of genres. Every song came with a quick change, expertly done, a new jacket or skirt or robe hanging above The Cat King’s boots. The mask stayed on as well, but every outfit flowed with it like they belonged together.

All in all, The Cat King had performed perhaps a dozen songs, and each one had been as expertly staged as any classical ballet, as well written as the most revered of poets.

Edwin drank it all in. Although poetry and lyrics did not always speak to him, this certainly did.

As late as it was, he would not have wanted to miss this.

This time, when The Cat King came to the front of the stage again, he wore an indigo and gold shot-silk dressing gown long enough to trail on the floor after him, the colors changing with every shift in angle.

“I call this one Dress Me Up Ugly,” he told the crowd with a smirk, and the drums began a rolling beat, and a low, sweet rock bassline began.

You say you wanna lace up my corset
Gonna pull these strings real tight
Keep telling me it’s for my own good
Well is it meant to be a support
Or
Is it a bruising cage?

Chorus:

Dress me up ugly
Tell me what you hate
I wanna hear your little list of deal breakers
And what I do is break
Give me your red letter
Tell me your last goodbye
You think I’m gonna cry?

You say you gotta break a few eggs
Gotta be the one on top
Keep telling me ‘you’re either poor or bougie’
Mama, the silk gets shot
Rot
Me, I change with the light

(Chorus)

You say look at the world around us
It’s all hanging by a thread
But I can see who made it this way
You told me to go to Hell
Well
At least it’s somewhere else

(Chorus)

You really think I’m gonna cry?
Well
Bye!

As The Cat King sang the final chorus, he sank to his knees, making an expansive shrugging motion, and then, after the last line, in a way that echoed a final bow, he folded and crumpled to the stage, in another mimicry of death.

The stage lights went down, and there was a roar of applause. Crystal and Charles both cheered loudly beside him, buoyed by the energy.

Suddenly, Edwin could understand the appeal of being part of a crowd such as this, a crowd caught up in the collective emotion of a musical experience, too exuberant to be silent. He felt it, he felt their joy, and he screamed, right along with the rest of the rabble.

“Come on,” Crystal leaned in to tell him. “There’s a pretty good DJ doing the post show, but not good enough to stick around for. Let’s head over where it's quieter.”

As they made their way out of the stage area, towards the front of the warehouse, the crowd around them moving slowly, Edwin chattered happily to the other two about how much he had enjoyed the experience.

“Did you see that dress he first came out in?” he asked them.

Charles laughed. “Of course it’s the clothes you notice and not the music,” he said. “Don’t you spend enough time thinking about clothes at work?”

“But don’t you see,” Edwin exclaimed, “the costuming was thematically inseparable from the music! Not to mention the lighting and staging! It was all intertwined! The references to historical costuming intersecting with the political themes!”

Crystal, at least, nodded along. “I felt like they fit,” she said. “The costumes with the songs. I don’t know if I could explain why, though. Tell me what you saw.”

Edwin gave her some of the highlights, and she asked more questions.

“It was the most impressive live performance that I’ve ever seen!” he enthused.

“In that case,” Charles told him with a grin, “you owe me thirty dollars, mate.” He held out a hand.

“Fair enough,” Edwin told him, pulling out his wallet and handing over the bills. “I am glad the show ended when it did, however. I am absolutely exhausted.”

Crystal laughed a little maniacally, and Edwin gave her a suspicious look.

“It’s not over yet,” she told him. “You have to come meet The Cat King.”

“Meet him?” Edwin yelped. “You didn’t say anything about meeting him! Wh — I am totally unprepared!”

“He’s soo nice, though,” Crystal told him. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, it’ll be totally fine,” Charles agreed. “And we’ll be there. Right, Crystal?”

“Right,” she said. She led them to a line of people waiting to get into one of the backstage areas.

As they came through the door at last, they spotted The Cat King, dressed in a fur trimmed jacket, lounging at a small table.

The Cat King seemed to do a double take when he saw Edwin, putting down his glass and patting at his chest, as if he’d accidentally inhaled his drink.

Edwin glanced down at himself. Was his clothing really so unusual for the setting? Well, perhaps it was a coincidence. In any case, he approached, asking, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” The Cat King said, smiling ruefully, and then coughing a little. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, sit down. You two brought a friend, huh? So did they make you a fan?”

“They could not have done it on their own,” Edwin told him, “although they did try. You were the one who made me a fan.”

The Cat King laughed gleefully. “Is that so?” he asked. “How did I do that?”

Well, there was so much to say in answer to that question. Edwin began going through the same catalogue of costume, staging, and lyrics symbolism he’d been raving about to Crystal.

“The lighting, the costuming, all so thoroughly coordinated. But the poetry of the lyrics!” Edwin enthused. “I would love to have a copy, if one becomes available. I thought it would have been rude to take notes, but even just what I noticed! My goodness, the layers of meaning in Dress Me Up Ugly, singing that second verse while wearing shot silk? Genius. And the references to the French revolution! And I don’t know if it was intentional, but the final verse did bring to mind the environmental impacts of the fast fashion industry. Which is. An entirely different topic.”

Edwin’s words slowed to a halt when he realized everyone was looking at him.

“Sorry about this nerd,” Crystal said, visibly embarrassed, “he gets like this sometimes. We shouldn’t take up all your time.”

“No, no,” The Cat King laughed. “I was enjoying it. By all means, talk more about me.” He leaned in a little closer to Edwin. “I like the excitement in your eyes.”

The Cat King’s smile was exponentially brighter, when viewed from up close like this.

Edwin’s heart flipped over in his chest with the force of it.

But that was —

He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, then, the things she screamed, and very quickly, the leaping of his heart went sour, and turned to the familiar, odd little feeling in his chest when things were about to go absolutely haywire.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk, but I need to go,” Edwin managed, standing abruptly.

“You need me to come with?” Charles asked, getting up as well.

Edwin shook his head. He needed to be alone. “Stay with Crystal,” he urged Charles, “you know how much she’s had to drink.”

“At least take the keys,” Charles insisted. “You can sit down and we’ll know where to find you.” He pushed the keys into Edwin’s hands without waiting for an answer.

Edwin nodded gratefully, and fled.

Once he was alone in the car, the world was quiet.

His head was not.

Ugly words bloomed in his head, words he’d heard his mother fling at people like weapons, spit like the most deadly insults.

People like that… nothing good came to them.

His pulse thundered in his ears, but it couldn’t block out the sounds of those words, repeating on an endless loop.

There were things he could not possibly be feeling.

There were things he could not be allowed to feel.

Because the words, like a drumbeat, had been beaten into him. For years and years.

He. Could. Not. Quiet. The. Sound.

He breathed, shallow and shaky, and hung on to the seat back in front of him, trying not to die.

A knock at the window made Edwin jump, but it was just Crystal, with Charles behind her, returning from the event.

Pulling himself together, Edwin got out of the car, standing to face her.

“I am sorry for my uncouth behavior in leaving so abruptly,” he said. “And I hope you extended my apologies to The Cat King, as well.”

“I did,” Crystal replied, rolling her eyes just a little, “even though I explained your snobby ass only showed up as a favor to me. So he said no biggie.”

“And I am sorry for ruining your evening, as well,” Edwin added.

“You didn’t,” Crystal told him, and there was no attitude about it. “Anyway, I’m exhausted. Let’s go home.”

“Little bit of a rough time, then,” Charles said, looking Edwin over. “Guess maybe I should give you that thirty dollars back, eh, mate?” he said sheepishly, holding out the cash.

“No, you were quite right,” Edwin admitted. “I did have fun. It was just… all a little much.” He pushed Charles’s hands back to him, and got back in the car.

The others followed, Crystal twisting from her place in the passenger seat to look at Edwin.

“So apparently there are gonna be more concerts pretty soon!” Crystal told Edwin excitedly. “He said he’s gonna start putting on regular concerts, and wanted everyone at the meet and greet to get the chance to enter a sweepstakes for tickets to the next one. I gave him your number for the contest. Hope that’s okay.” She winced just a bit, perhaps realizing belatedly that it might not have been.

“Yes, thank you,” Edwin said, giving her a small smile before settling his gaze out the car window.

Whether or not Edwin would be able to bring himself to come to another one of these concerts was another question entirely.

His stomach churned with emotions, glee and fascination bittered with panic and guilt.

The unaccustomed sleep deprivation was not helping.

When he finally collapsed into his bed, the relief, turmoil and exhaustion all came out of him in ragged sobs, and after that he knew no more.