Chapter Text
It was cold out. Edward’s cheeks stung, and strands of hair kept escaping his bun, flying into his face as he trudged his way towards work. His knee ached like a motherfucker, and he’d finally managed to pinpoint the general sense of badness this afternoon to the fact that he’d forgotten to eat again. He paused a few doors down from work and pondered his options.
He could have one of those awful, waxy protein bars that Izzy kept in the office for when he was run off his feet and needed something to shove in his face to keep him going. But that would involve going inside, and he knew he was already late to meet with the fellows from the council about some recent noise complaints. Izzy always handled those anyway, determined to manage the tedium of their work for him out of some twisted hope that it might make things go back to normal.
It had been a rough week. Month. Year. Lifetime. Depended on what your metric was for that sort of thing.
The fog that sometimes laid claim to his brain was back with a vengeance, and thoughts seemed to slide in and out of his brain without anything really taking hold. It made him exhausted and irritable, and on top of Izzy’s stressed-out state the two of them had been awkwardly avoiding each other lest an interaction spiral into an all out fight. Edward knew he’d be spoiling for a fight, just to break the monotony of his treacherous fucking brain.
Edward’s gaze slid across the street to the new… coffee… tea… bakery… thing. It was hard to tell through the gaudy floral window displays and the lavishly decorated interior. It looked like a teahouse, all lace doilies and fine china. The counter and coffee bean collection said cafe. But then there was a whole entire bakery counter as well, boasting sweets and small lunch-sized accompaniments, as well as entire loaves of crusty bread. The selection seemed to be different every day, presumably changing on the whims of whoever manned those ovens.
Edward had had half a mind to wander in one of these days anyway, to run his fingers through the beaded curtain in the doorway and sit at one of those fancy Alice in Wonderland-looking tables with the little floral tablecloths. He took a step towards the place and suddenly became hyper-aware of how loudly his leather jacket squeaked, how his outfit would be a slash of black against the soft pastels and fine china.
He decided he didn’t care.
No, that wasn’t right. He decided that the thought excited him. It looked like a completely alien world in there. Plus there was a little floral display in the window with a rainbow and a trans flag sticking out of a vase, so he wouldn’t be completely out of his depth. Either way, it was better than getting into a shouting match with Izzy.
A bell tinkled when he entered, and the three baristas crowded around the vintage espresso machine looked up as one.
“Oh, hello!” said the first one, older than the other two and with perfectly coiffed hair that could just as easily have been an extremely well styled wig.
Edward raised one hand awkwardly in greeting.
“Take a seat!” said the blonde man with the good hair, “sorry, we’re just… I’m just getting a bit of a lesson here in the ways of the barista - we don’t normally get that many people in around now-”
“Because it’s closing time,” said the man to his left, a young man with sideburns who looked vaguely familiar to him. The man’s mouth twisted into a little moue of discontent, and he narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, shit!” said Edward, springing up from where he’d halfway gotten into his seat, “sorry!”
“No no no, please stay,” Blondie waved him back towards the table, “do you drink coffee? You can be my very first taste tester.”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” said the bald man to his right, “no offence.”
A flicker of disappointment across Blondie’s face was quickly replaced by a beaming smile.
“None taken!”
“Listen mate, whatever you’re about to make, I’ve definitely drunk worse.”
Edward meant it. He’d downed some truly terrible concoctions in his time. He’d even made some of them.
“Well, I’ll try not to take that as a challenge.”
Blondie’s smile had diminished somewhat, his excitement draining away into embarrassment. Edward decided he didn’t like that, so took a seat, folding his hands on the tabletop and waiting patiently for them to be done. He could hear the three of them chattering away in the background, and remembered abruptly that he came in here for food, not coffee.
“So take me through this again, Pete?” said Blondie.
“Alright,” said the bald man, who was apparently Pete, “so you need to try and make sure the coffee’s nice and level before you use the tamper-”
“That’s - Mr Bonnet, can you see how when you hold it up, there’s a very distinct slant-”
“Please Lucius, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Stede- ”
“Look, at least several more because if my brain starts registering you as someone I’m on a first name basis with, I’m going to start being way more honest about how you’re doing. And I quite like being employed.”
Edward drummed his fingers against the tablecloth and jiggled his leg up and down. He wasn’t sure when that council meeting had started, but Izzy had been stressed out of his mind about it all week. They wanted to put a noise limiter on the sound system, something to prevent them from going above the allowable levels, but the fucking thing was picking up the crowd noise too. When people started shouting and cheering, the mic and music levels would suddenly start going down, and there was nothing more mortifying than trying to do a goddamn drag performance to a track nobody could hear.
Still, Izzy had it handled. He didn’t exactly have the best customer service manners, but it beat the fact that Edward simply didn’t give a shit. Even if they did leave the limiter on, he’d just figure out how to cut the wires on the fucking thing later. Izzy was more of a concern than some shitty council-mandated gadget.
“And here we have it, one coffee for the new gentleman.”
Edward looked up to see Blondie - Stede , holding a small cup of steaming coffee. He opened his mouth to say thanks, but then his stomach gave a loud and damning growl.
“Oh-” said Stede, “I just realised you didn’t say why you came in… you must be hungry.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to eat,” said Edward with a nervous laugh, and Stede’s eyes widened.
“Lucius! Do we have anything we can bring this poor man? You must be starving.”
“On it, Mr Bonnet,” called Lucius.
Edward ducked his head, a little embarrassed at being fussed over.
“Yeah, sorry - didn’t think you guys were closing up already,” he said, “I must be later than I thought.”
“You’re right, Jizzy got in an hour ago,” said Lucius, rolling his eyes, and - oh, that was right. That’s why he looked familiar.
“You’re that kid who keeps introducing himself as ‘Fang’s handler’ so you can have a quickie in the green room, aren’t you?” said Edward.
“She needs me to zip up her costumes,” replied Lucius airily.
“Mmhm, it’s got nothing to do with the well stocked bar fridge we keep up there for performers though, right?”
“No idea what you mean.”
Stede looked between the two of them in confusion.
“Do you know each other?” he said.
“Mr Bonnet, that’s Edward. From QAR, across the road? You know, where most of us end up after work?”
“The drag bar?” said Stede excitedly, sitting down next to Edward, “oh, I’ve been meaning to go there for a while now but there have been - ah - circumstances… and there’s so much to take into consideration before one goes into establishments like that… attire, for example-”
“He went in a couple of weeks ago and Jizzy kicked him out because he thought he was taking the piss,” said Lucius. He put a plate with a salad roll on it in front of Edward.
“On the house. To make up for all the free bubbles.”
Edward rolled his eyes, but shoved the sandwich in his mouth and took a huge bite. To his surprise, the crust crackled pleasantly and the bread underneath was so soft .
“Oh god, that’s good,” said Edward around the mouthful of food.
“I’m gay, you know,” said Stede brightly.
Lucius let out a snort of laughter and wandered off to finish cleaning up.
“I mean, given the bar, I suppose you are as well, but since you’ve clearly had it for a while you’ve probably been gay for a while. I mean, I’ve also been gay for a while, but I just hadn’t you know. Figured it out.”
Edward nodded while he chewed, trying very hard to keep a handle on the bubble of laughter that was rising up in his chest. Christ, this guy sounded like a maniac. He decided that he wanted to keep listening to him talk.
“Welcome to the club then. What’d Izzy kick you out for?”
Stede shrugged.
“I don’t know. The man’s a complete asshole. Does he own the place? What are you doing working for an awful little man like that, anyway?”
“Stede thinks literally shouting ‘woo hoo’ from the crowd is how you cheer on Fang when he gets his tits out,” called Lucius, “I mean, Fang liked it but Izzy-”
Edward grimaced. Yeah, he could see how Izzy might interpret that as a heckle. He took in Stede’s appearance, his meticulously pressed button down, the seafoam green sweater that hugged his chest and arms perfectly, the discreet string of pearls peeking out from under his collar. Stede looked expensive , in the real way, and not the kind they parodied on stage with hot glued rhinestones and thrifted pumps, wigs that were on their third or fourth owner and sat atop your head like a blow dried rat. Of course Izzy hated him on sight.
“Sorry about that,” said Edward, “come see me next time, I’ll show you around properly. And I’ll tell Izzy to leave you alone.”
“You can do that?”
Edward smiled and leaned in a little closer.
“‘Course I can. I own the place.”
Stede’s eyebrows raised, and Edward winked at him.
“So when d’you get out of here?”
“Oh, whenever I like,” said Stede, “I own this place too. I suppose that makes things a little easier for the two of us.”
Edward found himself transfixed by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Stede was one of those rare people who positively shone , from the threads of gold in his hair illuminated by the dwindling light, to the warmth in his gaze.
Edward’s mouth suddenly felt very dry, and he gulped down his coffee in a mouthful, only to choke on the bitter, burnt-smoke taste of it coating his tongue.
“Oh dear,” said Stede quietly while Edward coughed, “I suppose I didn’t manage to get it quite right after all.”
“No, I just-” wheezed Edward, “forgot I usually have mine with sugar.”
“Oh! Oh right of course, it didn’t occur to me-”
“Oh my god, he’s a frappucino guy,” said Lucius, not quite quietly enough to not be heard by them, “you’re a frap boy, aren’t you?”
Edward’s head whipped around to fix Lucius with a stare that made him shrink back against the wall.
“Call me that again and I’ll have Ivan boot your ass to the curb next time you try and set foot in my club.”
“Ooh, a frappucino!” said Stede, “right, okay, I’m sure we can whip up something similar here. Do we have a blender? We have a blender, surely.”
He inched a little closer to Edward and fiddled with the cuff of his jumper.
“You’ll visit us again, won’t you?”
“Be a bit silly of me not to,” said Edward, standing up. He really should be getting his ass back to QAR before Izzy had a complete meltdown.
“Right, because we’re neighbours!” said Stede.
He stuck his hand out to shake, and Edward stared at it.
“You’re gay now, right?” he said.
“Uh, well-”
“Here.”
Edward leaned in and kissed the air next to one of Stede’s cheeks, then the other.
“There’s how we do it.”
Stede stared at him, his cheeks tinged pink.
“Right,” he said, “right, I’ll remember that.”
“Important cultural knowledge.”
“Yes!”
Edward snagged the rest of the sandwich for the road, and hurried off. A blast of freezing air hit him as he exited the store and he shivered, not realising how deliciously warm it had been inside with Stede. He tried not to think about the fact that what was likely the best part of his day, was now over.
*
Izzy dug his fingernails into his palms as the guy from the council continued to drone on about noise levels, rehashing the appropriate decibels for the different days of the week. The pinpricks of pain were the only thing keeping him from completely losing it and strangling this fucking guy to death in the middle of the empty club. He’d not been sleeping much lately, kept awake by all the council calls and emails that happened during business hours, which were incidentally the only hours of the day where he usually managed to get some fucking rest.
“Perhaps you could compensate by reducing some peripheral noise. Enforce stricter limitations on patrons, with regards to the amount of sound they generate.”
“Stop people from yelling, you mean?” scoffed Izzy, “yeah, good luck.”
The councilman raised his chin at Izzy so that he could look down at him.
“Other establishments on the street don’t seem to have an issue doing so.”
“Yeah, aside from Spanish Jackie’s, and I know for a fact you haven’t set foot in her place to bother her yet.”
Izzy felt a grim kind of satisfaction when the councilman’s nose twitched into a brief scowl. People usually didn’t bother Spanish Jackie. She had connections .
“Yeah, we talk,” he said, “all the fuckin’ gays in the area talk. We know what you’re doing.”
This was going on for too long. This guy was just repeating himself, they needed to get ready to open soon, Izzy needed to crawl under the desk in the office for a ten minute nap if he was going to make it through the rest of the shift, and - where the fuck was Edward?
As if on cue, the front door opened and Edward stepped in with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand.
“How’s it all going?” he called, waving his free hand at the two of them.
Something in Izzy’s chest loosened at his voice, which had shed the weary monotone of the past week. He was feeling better, at least. And he’d gotten himself something decent to eat. Two less things for him to worry about.
“I think we’re done,” growled Izzy, turning back to the councilman “unless there’s anything you’ve not already covered several times over?”
The man twitched again, a poorly concealed scowl flitting across his face.
“For now,” he said, holding Izzy’s stare for a few more moments before turning and leaving.
When the door closed, Izzy sagged with a quiet sigh. He wrinkled his nose as he realised his shirt was glued to his back with nervous sweat, and pressed a hand to his belly as he felt a faint wave of nausea rear its head.
“Hey, don’t worry so much Iz,” said Edward, “did they attach that thing to the sound system again?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of it. You go get us ready.”
Edward whipped out his pocket knife, and Izzy rolled his eyes and left him to it.
Lately their moods had both been absolutely foul; Izzy from his council dealings, Edward because he was going through one of his… moods . Their interactions had mostly been made up of grunts and terse questions about operations. This was the first time in a while either of them had said anything that might have been construed as caring , and Izzy immediately felt the heaviness of guilt settle in his chest at the fact that Edward had been the first to crack. The two of them had been spread far too thin lately, and they’d been doing a shit job of looking out for each other.
“Got the lineup for tonight?” called Edward, just as Izzy was drawing up the set list.
“Yeah, we’ve got a couple of newbies and then Jim headlining. They’re usually pretty high energy though so I’ve got them on last-”
Izzy scowled as Edward snatched the clipboard out of his hands.
“Mmm, no. Jim’s working with an injury, they’re not gonna be a good closer tonight. What tracks did they send through?”
“Six Blade Knife and that Malagueña Salerosa one they always do. I don’t think I’ve seen that first number before though.”
“It’s a slow song, so put it on first. I get the feeling it’s something we’ll want on stage before everybody gets too drunk.”
Edward went through the rest of the track listing, rearranging the show orders until he was satisfied. Izzy only half listened to his reasoning, checking his watch periodically because they needed to open soon and honestly the order didn’t even matter that much when they usually ended up swapping at the last minute anyway. Who really gave a shit what was happening on stage when the room was full of drunk idiots - and increasingly, annoying fucking tourists who wanted to obnoxiously yas and slay over the top of whoever was performing.
Later that night, Izzy discovered that he was wrong.
Jim might have been unable to work their usual fast-paced magic, but the moment the stage lights caught the fiery intensity in their eyes, they had the audience in the palm of their hand.
They followed the steady pulse of the bass guitar with their hips, swaying in time as the stage lights glinted off the blade of their knife, twirled experly between their fingers before they lay the blade against the tight mesh that covered them from head to toe.
A six blade knife… do anything for you.
The fibres gave way from the slightest press of that sharp edge, opening up slices in the fabric to reveal the skin beneath. Izzy found himself holding his breath as he watched Jim smirk at the audience, opening up more and more gashes while somehow, expertly, managing to keep their own skin smooth and unmarred.
One blade, breaking my heart
One blade, tearing me apart
The entire room had stilled, watching in a mixture of horror, fascination and arousal as Jim flicked the knife from their throat downwards, splitting the garment open at the front to reveal their top surgery scars. They winked as they traced the tip of the knife across each scar, then licked a slow, sensuous stripe up the flat of the blade.
Izzy heard someone behind him whisper ‘holy shit’ under their breath as the song faded out, and Jim strutted off stage. The audience erupted into cheers, and a few moments later Jim re-emerged to take a bow, the confident veneer of performance melted away into a slightly sheepish grin, like they couldn’t quite believe the reaction they were getting.
Izzy only caught a glimpse of it, because he was already on his way to check on the other performers, the brief moment of magic lost to the tide of thoughts spilling through his mind.
*
It was a major design flaw of this place that the green room was upstairs. Izzy swore he should be used to it by now, but he wasn’t getting any younger, and more often than not he finished his shifts sprawled on the steps outside, having a smoke while he waited for his legs to stop aching. He didn’t live too far away, so it seemed like a waste to do anything other than walk home. But sometimes he wondered if it was worth just getting a cab anyway, so he didn’t have to stagger all the way on nights like these.
It was freezing out tonight, and even without taking a drag on his cigarette Izzy’s breath made white clouds in the air in front of him. The streets were empty at four am, only the occasional late night stragglers hopping into the white and teal cabs, and the occasional passing car breaking up the monotony. It had been raining earlier, and the lights made mottled reflections in the wet asphalt.
Izzy sighed and leaned against the cold brick wall, and wondered briefly if anyone would bother him if he napped here for a bit before he headed home. The only things waiting for him there were invoices, bookings, schedules, and more fucking council forms. In spite of the cold, exhaustion blanketed him and made his eyes grow heavy.
A cab pulled up across the road, and to Izzy’s surprise someone got out of it rather than in. It was a tall, lanky man with wild curls that poked out from underneath a beanie. He had a lumpy scarf wrapped around his face several times so that only his eyes were poking out from behind all the knitwear he had on. He also appeared to be wearing several mismatched sweaters and cardigans. Izzy let out a quiet chuckle as he took another drag of his cigarette, the sound of it echoing clearly around the otherwise empty street.
The man turned sharply and narrowed his eyes at him.
“Sorry,” called Izzy, “it’s just - got enough layers there?”
“Oh yes, laugh it up, English,” replied the man in an accent Izzy didn’t recognise, “I will kill you once I get the feeling back in my ears.”
He flipped Izzy off while he fumbled for his keys, and Izzy realised that he must be the baker at the ridiculous new establishment across the road. Edward had mentioned something about it earlier, but he hadn’t really been listening.
“Fuck you too then,” he said, loudly enough for the other man to hear.
Without looking back, the man raised the middle finger aimed at him a little higher. Izzy ashed his cigarette and hauled himself onto his feet with a groan so he could begin to stagger home.