Chapter Text
“A pair of cap-toe Oxfords, Crockett & Jones, ASAP.”
The phrase was still ringing in Greg’s ears when Lucinda dropped off the box half an hour later. The packaging just screamed expensive and it filled him with a dread like no other when he thought of how he was going to be able to pay Tom back for these. He slipped it into a drawer and decided to wait until his lunch hour to even see them.
When the time came, he took a deep breath and fiddled with his hands. The imposing black box sat before him unopened. Why was he scared of a pair of shoes? Was it because of the price? He had already glimpsed the number 7 and had ignored the fact that there were clearly two digits after it. Maybe it was because Tom had accurately guessed his shoe size, leading him to wonder if WayStar didn’t have a secret file on him detailing everything about his life down to his favorite flavor of jello.
He shook his head. No that wasn’t it. Could it be that he hadn’t been given a gift since his dad had mailed him a card full of cash on his 18th birthday? He’d spent the money on weed and was stoned off his ass for an entire weekend so it's not like he hadn’t enjoyed it. But this? He knew that Tom wasn’t just giving them to him for free, but Greg couldn’t help but think about how it didn’t even take two seconds for Tom to decide to help him out.
The box was soft under his touch, almost like velvet. Suede shoe boxes must have been just another perk of being rich. He waited a moment longer before opening the lid. They were gorgeous, well as gorgeous as shoes could be—full grain leather in a dark mahogany, laces that were one shade lighter, a perfectly shaped body, and a smell akin to a new car. He ran his fingers over the burnished surface of one and admired how it shone in the light.
He was about to grab a shoe when the phone on his desk rang, causing him to jump and scramble to answer it. He hadn’t even thought that the thing was plugged in so a call came as a surprise.
“H-hello? This is Greg speaking?” he said, pressing the receiver to his face and hoping his breathing wasn't too loud.
He heard a chuckle in response. “Are you asking me or telling me?” Tom asked.
“Uh, telling? Telling.”
“Mm-hmm. Very good, Greg. Did you get the shoes?”
He glanced over at the open box and smiled. “Oh! Yeah I did. They’re like, really nice dude.”
“No shit. They’re Crockett & Jones for crying out loud! Were you expecting something from Target? Walmart perhaps? You cheap fuck.”
“Honestly I wasn’t expecting anything. I don’t even know how I’m going to be able to pay you back.”
“Pay me back?” he laughed again, louder this time. “Oh Greg, Greg, Greg. Silly little boy. They were a gift. You don’t have to pay for anything.”
“But…dude these were really expensive? And I don’t know how I feel about having you spend so much-”
“Greg, I spend more than that on my breakfast. Don’t worry about it.”
“But-”
“What's the point of having a fuckload of money if you can't show it off and shower it on those that are less fortunate? Think of yourself as my charity case, Pigman.”
That was followed up by the distinct sound of snorting pig noises and what sounded like a hand slapping on someone’s thigh as if Tom thought he had just said the funniest thing in the world. Greg chose to ignore the insult, his brows furrowed in utter confusion towards this weird man.
“Alright. If you insist, I guess. Thank you, Tom.”
“Don’t mention it. I couldn’t have you walking around looking like a Park Ave hobo. Did you try them on yet? I’m pretty sure I got your size right. You looked like you were a bit bigger than me.”
“No. No I haven't. I had just opened them when you called.”
“Well shit. Stay right there. I can’t miss this monumental occasion can I? Greggy gets his first pair of Oxfords!”
Greg was about to go off on a tangent about how that wasn’t necessary, but Tom had already hung up. He set the phone back down and sighed. First day at work and things were already weird. How the hell had he gotten himself into this?
He pulled out his phone and played a round of solitaire until he heard someone walking up to his cubicle. Without looking up, he knew it was Tom because of how loudly he was talking to those around him. You didn’t even have to be looking at him for him to shout at you about the business grind or how great the weather was. Greg thought he preferred it to the first conversation he had ever had with the man. Weather was a much better subject than kissing your cousin’s husband-to-be.
A knock near his head had him looking up and seeing Tom with a fake grin plastered on his face.
“Hey buddy,” he cooed.
“Hey Tom. I, uh, waited up for ya.”
“I can see that. Scootch over so I can help you.”
“There’s really no need. I think I know how to take shoes out of a box.”
His hands went up for emphasis, but Tom just rolled his eyes and pushed him and his chair. A silence fell over them as Tom grabbed one shoe at a time and removed the shoe trees. Even those were made from a stained wood and topped with little golden knobs. Did he want to know if that was real gold? He decided he didn’t and continued watching him pull out the laces and brush some imaginary dust off a sole.
“Okay, shoes off,” Tom said, turning to him.
“Tom. Come on.”
He raised an eyebrow in response. A silent challenge to stop him from whatever he was going to do. Greg lowered his shoulders in defeat and went to undo his laces. He had to admit that he was grateful for the gift. His own shoes were practically falling apart.
Tom kneeled down in front of him and grabbed the back of his calf to lift his leg higher. The firmness of his grip caught Greg off guard and sent a chill up his spine. Luckily he was too busy with slipping the first shoe on to notice.
“Jeez man, I should've gotten you some socks too. Are these from 1940? The war is over, you know.”
“N-no I know that. I just don’t have a lot of pairs? I didn’t know there was a sock dress code here.”
Tom laughed and grabbed the other shoe. “You really are something, Greg. Don’t worry, We’ll fix you yet. In time I’ll have you naming off every luxury sock brand there is.”
He grabbed the cuff of a sock and let it snap against Greg’s leg for emphasis. Greg felt like the energy in their space was changing into something else, but he couldn’t place it. All he knew was that he felt strangely cared for, but also kind of scared? The last shoe tightened as Tom finished off the laces. They were a perfect fit, go figure.
His hands retreated and he looked up at Greg. From his place on the ground, Greg briefly wondered how this could look if anyone walked by and saw them. Tom smiled as if he could read his mind.
“There. Now people will take one look at your shoes and know that you are mine,” He said, patting his calf before standing back up.
At his full height and hovering over him, Greg noted that earlier feeling was moot. Tom held the power here and he seemed like he wanted him to know that. They shared one last glance before Tom turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Greg more lost than ever. A few minutes had passed by when he realized that his lunch hour was up and he hadn’t eaten anything.