Work Text:
Ed’s got no particular reason to hurry home.
He started bringing in his work laptop to Jackie’s diner back when he was sorting his life out. Dumping Jack’s ass for good, leaving the day-to-day management of Blackbeard’s Books and Conferences and Other Designs and Delights to Izzy and Fang, and only taking on the projects that inspired him. When he realised he was staying up till 4 a.m. playing with the designs for those projects, and missing early morning meetings with the team, he hauled himself out to Jackie’s for lunch. Got set up in a booth, got to taste test Chef Roach’s dessert creations before anyone else, and got a good night’s sleep each night.
Then he met Stede, and suddenly had even more reason to hang out at the diner. Like, as Jackie said, laughing, “a dirty-ass orphan”.
Stede teaches history at the local public school. Stede wears suits of gold and turquoise that seem more suited to Ed’s favourite drag theatre downtown, where his friend John appears once a month as Calypso. Stede eats his dinners at the diner because—
Well, that part Ed isn’t certain about.
He’s only known Stede for a few weeks, after all, even if it feels like longer, because Ed suddenly finds his every waking thought—and quite a few of his dreams—consumed by Stede.
Stede’s swoops and curls of red-blond hair. Stede’s hazel eyes, that sparkle as if Jackie has sunlight streaming in rather than industrial white lights overhead. Stede’s easy laugh at Ed’s nonsensical banter, bringing out the dimples in his cheeks.
Ed would just scoop up this ginger and bring him home forever if he could.
That’s another part of the mystery—where Stede lives.
Ed finishes up a slice of Roach’s key lime pie, giving the spoon an extra lick, to make sure he hasn’t missed a single dollop of cream, then minimises his work tabs and opens up his secret Fascinating Stede document. All he has so far are a few disconnected notes.
--history teacher, same school as Frenchie, Lucius, and Pete
--only started there last year—got his teacher’s certificate while still working in family business (insurance) (and property holdings?)
--happy to talk about clothes, moths, 18th century pirates—never about himself
--but! he’s divorced and has two kids (when does he see them?)
--eats dinner at Roach’s MWF (where does he go on TT?)
--what does he do on the weekends???
Swede brings him a cup of tea—and a second one. That means Stede’s arrived. Instead of closing his windows or logging off, like a relaxed person, Ed panics and slams his laptop shut, rattling the cups.
But Stede doesn’t seem to notice. He’s shoving a bag under the table, looking, if possible, both rattled and furtive.
Ed makes a point of glancing at the bag—a bulky duffel of some sort—then not saying anything about it, and that seems to put Stede at ease.
Ed tells him he’s got to taste the pie, and they do the song and dance they always do, Stede insisting he ought to watch his diet, Ed scoffing and waving his arms up and down to indicate Stede’s overall hotness, Stede blushing, then pulling out his phone and typing something, before he agrees to dessert.
Ed didn’t ask about the bag, but he’s tired of wondering about this. “What’ve you got there, mate? Calorie tracker?” Like they’re back in the ’90s or something.
“Oh.” Stede fumbles his phone and plops it facedown on the tabletop. “No, it’s...”
His blush is warm, pinkish. It makes Ed want to slide around the half-circle booth, over to Stede’s side, and curl up next to him, put his cheek to Stede’s.
Instead, he offers Stede a way out. “It’s okay. Sorry for being nosy.”
“You aren’t. You—you always give me space, Ed. Thank you.” Stede squares his shoulders. “I’m not actually watching what I eat that carefully. It’s more of a... I’ve got a spreadsheet. For, um, expenses. Trying to stick to a budget, you know.”
Ed’s mortified. He’s going to sink under the table and leave a sticky puddle of shame on Jackie’s pristine floor. All these afternoons, he’s been pushing desserts on Stede, both before and after dinner, and they’ve been splitting the bills and— “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t—”
“You didn’t know,” Stede says smoothly. “No blame to you and, well, I do need to eat. Dinners are the only—” He clams up.
Ed watches his face for a couple seconds, sees the tiredness about his beautiful eyes, the pout to his soft lips. “Drink your tea,” he says softly. “Before it gets cold. I’ll treat you to the pie.”
“Oh, Ed, I couldn’t ask—”
“You didn’t.” He ducks his head, suddenly shy. What if this doesn’t work? He’ll be even better acquainted with Jackie’s tiles. “If I offer to get you the pie...and dinner... Could be...a date?”
“A date? With me?”
Ed laughs, slides his gaze to Stede’s left. “No, with your shadow.”
“Oh!” Stede looks beside him. “No way, he’s not muscling in on my date.”
They laugh together, and it’s so, so easy to be with Stede. He invites Stede to John’s next show, and tells him about Jim’s brand new act, and how excited Jim’s crew are, Olu and Archie and Zheng and Auntie. And he gets to hear all about Stede’s day at school, and the latest gossip among the teachers (the principal, Buttons, never seems to notice anything as long as the schooldays run smoothly), and Stede’s kids’ latest accomplishments at their own school.
They gravitate towards each other in the booth, Ed’s work forgotten, tapas-style plates passed back and forth between them. They draw closer than at any other dinner before, closer even than the night they met, when Ed bumped into Stede in the doorway, on his way out, and Stede cried, “I think you broke my nose!” and Ed lingered, buying Stede a hot toddy, sitting with him at the bar, to make sure he wasn’t really hurt.
Now they’ve got their feet pressed together beneath the table, and it’s Friday, and the night is young, so he asks Stede if he wants to go out, maybe to a movie, insisting that he’ll treat him.
But Stede looks shifty again, suddenly. Glances at the door, where Jackie’s waving at them both, on her way out. Then his gaze shifts to Roach, wiping down the bartop.
“I, um, might stick around.” His hands ball into fists on his lap. “Don’t let me keep you, Ed! If you need to get home.”
Ed’s got no particular reason to hurry home. Hours of putzing about, or reading, or getting to sleep early—then waking up early tomorrow with no plans for the day beyond faffing around. But he looks around the half-full diner, at the noisy patrons and their cheerful but loud conversations, then at the mess of empty plates on their table. “Stick around,” he echoes. “Here?”
Stede’s foot slides away from his. Stede’s head turns away from his. “I might do.”
“Okay,” Ed says in a drawl. He thinks of his Stede list, tries to figure out the angles. Is Stede regretting calling this a date? Or maybe Ed’s being selfish. This might have nothing to do with them; maybe there’s something going on with Stede’s kids. But then why can’t he tell Ed?
He glances up to find Roach watching them. He’s got a cleaver in his hand and he meets Ed’s gaze and shakes the cleaver, both hands together, like he’s trying to tell Ed something. Sharp knife? Cut your losses?
He turns back to Stede, who’s looking down, arranging olive pits on the side of a plate with a butter knife. “Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, richman, poorman...”
“Stede? Is there, um, anything I can help you with, mate?”
“My father disowned me,” Stede mumbles. “When I finally told him about coming out, and the divorce, and everything. I haven’t spoken to him in a year, and to my mother only in the sense that, if I post something about Alma and Louis on social media, she likes it.”
Ed’s alluded to his own shit dad before; Stede’s hinted at parts of his past, but not this. Still...
“Could be a good thing?” Ed ventures.
“Oh, it is, for my sanity.” Stede chuckles. “It’s been brilliant, actually. Did you know—scandalous!—once your parents’ voices start to fade, you feel...”
“Happy? Never apologise for that. We’re alive, they’re—not here,” Ed says diplomatically, in deference to their mums, who faced their own struggles. He’s glad he had some good years with his mum before she got ill. “Now is your time. For if not now, when?”
“Mary said sort of the same thing before the divorce. ‘All we have is this one life; we have to try don’t we?’ I thought I was trying...” And back Stede goes to counting olive pits.
“Looks like you’re trying damn hard from where I’m sitting,” Ed tells him, as softly as he can. “Quitting the family business and going after the job you wanted. Shaking up your family—for the better.” He rests his hand on Stede’s shoulder, gives him time to shrug it off, but Stede leans in right away.
“Thank you, Ed. It’s hard to see sometimes that I’m not failing at everything. Especially at night, when—”
And he clams up again, and makes to pull away.
Ed’ll let him go, if that’s what Stede wants, but his body can’t help, for half a second, gripping at him. His arm tightens about Stede’s shoulders; their hips are pressed together.
Stede shudders—then leans in again.
“Nights are long,” Ed offers, and opens up a bit about Jack. The way they kinda stuck together, once they weren’t young anymore, and stopped heading out at night all the time to parties or for random hookups. The way Ed never really wanted random physical affairs, but was always searching for...something. A spark, a connection. Sticking it out with Jack had been his way of settling, assuming that he had no other options left. Like the fable of the frog, slowly boiling in a pot as the water temperature rose, and the question and answer: Why doesn’t he get out? —It doesn’t hurt enough yet.
“Last year, I realised it finally hurt enough,” Ed says, remembering yet another night of Jack passing out from drink on the other side of the bed. No soft whispers, no cuddles, no sharing anything of value. “And I got out.”
“I wish I’d planned my boiling pot leap better,” Stede says. “Then I wouldn’t—”
Once more he stops. Ed wants to know. But he hesitates; Stede said he was grateful that Ed gave him space. He doesn’t want to ruin that. But he really, really wants to know.
Obliquely, coming at it side-on, he asks, “Why don’t you want to go out with me tonight?”
“I do!” Stede says, quick and adamant. He turns into Ed, but his gaze is straying, back to the bar.
Has Ed missed something involving Roach? Was Roach threatening to cut his head off with a cleaver for flirting with Stede?
“Ed, you’re panicking.”
Stede reaches for his hand, but Ed snatches it back. “I’m not panicking. Alright?” Should he get out? He should get out, go back to his apartment, back to putzing about. “And here’s the news, I’m leaving.”
“What?”
Forget his flat. He’ll head to the seashore, listen to the waves in the dark. “I’ll hop on a little fishing boat and sail away. I’ll become a fisherman.”
“Ed, I can’t go out tonight because I don’t want to get back and find the doors locked.”
“At your house?” he asks, trying to catch up, trying to hear Stede clearly past his own drumming heartbeat.
“No, here. At the diner. I’ve been sleeping here.”
“You—” He stops. Shakes his hair back, gets the loose strands out of his eyes and really looks at Stede. At his tired face, at the duffel hidden beneath the table, at his hands, balled up again, as if looking for something to grip onto. So this has nothing to do with Roach, or Stede’s kids, or with Ed. It doesn’t sound like a good situation but, selfish again, Ed thinks it’s maybe one he can help with, a circumstance that’ll let him keep staying close to Stede. Quietly, he asks, “How come?”
Stede lets out a sigh. “When we agreed on the divorce, I moved into the cottage— Sorry, Mary’s art studio. It’s got a kitchenette and tiny bed, and we thought it’d help ease the transition for the kids. But all the paperwork was finalised last month, and it was starting to get weird, me being there with Doug, and Mary said she couldn’t concentrate on her art with me coming and going—”
“Doug?”
“Mary’s painting instructor. And, well, fiancé.”
Stede doesn’t seem upset in the least by how quickly Mary appears to have moved on, and it feels like there’s maybe a story there, but Ed files it away to add to his list for later. “You said last month...”
Stede goes for the olives again, but Ed intercepts him before he can pick up the knife. He twines their fingers together and gives Stede a squeeze.
Stede’s smile is a small thing, but he hauls in a breath and goes on. “I was apartment hunting long before that. But there aren’t that many options, you know? To stay close to the kids, and their school, and to my school, and have a park or a hiking trail nearby, and...” Stede waves away amenities with his free hand. “The real problem is... I should’ve squirrelled away more when I had the chance. But I’ve only got one account that’s not linked to the family accounts—which I’ve been cut out of—and I’m still covering half the kids’ tuition fees and— Oh, Ed, you don’t want to hear the sorry details of my life!”
Stede tugs his hand away, but Ed won’t let him go. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, trying to sound as reassuring as he can. Being low on finances isn’t new to him—it took some time after his dad’s death, for him and his mum to get on track. “But I do want to know about you, Stede. Whatever you want to share.”
“It’s a long story. I told Mary that I found a flat, but that it won’t be fully furnished for another month. So I go around for family dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, because otherwise I wouldn’t see the kids. But I don’t have a flat. Not even the prospect of one. I can’t afford the deposit.” He pulls again at Ed’s hand, but it’s half-hearted.
Ed holds on. “That wasn’t a long story at all.”
He’s about to offer what he can, whatever suggestion falls out of his mouth, but at that moment the door opens, and Jackie returns.
“Oh no,” Stede whispers. “I thought she’d left for the night.”
“Jackie doesn’t know?”
Stede shakes his head. “I was here late one night, and Roach let me vent a little, and he’s the one that mentioned the cot in the back, and the shower in Jackie’s gym space and...She doesn’t stay past the dinner rush,” he says, quieter than quiet. “Leaves Roach to lock up.”
They both look up, to where Jackie’s ensconced on a bar stool, Swede—her husband—beside her, laughing at some story Roach is telling.
“What are you gonna do tonight?” Ed asks.
“Tonight?” Stede deflates completely, fingers limp in Ed’s hand. “I don’t know. I don’t want to get Roach in trouble. Maybe I’ll just crash in the trees or something.”
“Well, I mean... If you wanted to... You could stay at mine, you know...”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
“Uh, might be nice.”
“Great!” he exclaims, so loud that Jackie, Swede, and Roach all turn and stare at their booth.
Ed gives them a cheerful grin—Stede said yes!—then returns all his attention to Stede. “Is this your only bag? Or do we need to swing by the school or something, pick up more stuff?”
Stede’s blush is back. “Nothing at the school. But I’ve got a storage space; I dip in and out of there. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a clothes horse.”
“No worries, mate. We can get whatever you need.”
“I’ve got enough for tonight— Oh.”
“Oh.”
He catches Stede’s eye. He didn’t mean only for tonight, but he didn’t not mean that either. He only wants more if Stede does.
Roach swings by their table with a tray and begins to clear up. “One more for the road?” he asks Stede loudly, eyes on Jackie and Swede at the bar.
“It’s all right, Roach,” Stede says. “Ed knows.”
“You know it’s killing him, right?” Roach says, as if Ed isn’t doing all he can to try to help.
“We’ve discussed it,” Stede says, reassuring. “It’s fine. Ed’s offered me space at his flat.”
Roach’s demeanour flips from worried to excited. “Brilliant! You’re moving in together? Does Lucius know? Does Fang? Let me just—” He hoists the full tray in one hand and whips out his phone with the other, already tapping away as he moves off.
“Sorry,” Ed says quickly. “I should’ve—”
“No, I—”
They stop, again, and look at each other, again. Stede’s hair is swooped about, this way and that, and Ed’s fingers tingle with the urge to thread through the strands, mess them up or straighten them out, whatever Stede chooses. He looks better already, less tired, more easy about the neck and shoulders, as if he’s shucked off a heavy load.
“I’m only offering whatever you want,” Ed clarifies. “Door’s open, mate.”
“And, um, the bed situation...”
“Well, there’s only one.” In all their dinners, Stede’s never brought up dating or other adventures or any references to anyone but his past with Mary. Ed does have a pullout couch—
“Ah. Good,” Stede adds, before Ed can ask. “That’s good.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Mate—”
“I know, you said this can be whatever we want it to.”
“I’m not trying to rush anything. We can take it slow.”
“So... Is a date tonight still on the cards or...”
Is that what the issue is? Stede wants to be wooed? Well, Ed does, too. “Definitely. We can even start having dinners at home. I make a—”
Stede collapses. Like, far from having eased up when weights were lifted, he’s only now fully let go, and he falls right into Ed, crumples against his chest.
“Whoa, mate,” he says softly, wrapping his arms about him. “Stede. You okay?” He gets to nose into those curls a bit, pick up the wildflower scent of Stede’s shampoo. “I promise I’m a good cook.”
Stede chuckles into the open collar of Ed’s shirt, breath warm on his skin. He doesn’t pull away. “I believe you. And Roach is, too. It’s just the thought of eating something that isn’t tied up with my past, or my current messes, of having time to linger over a meal, is...” Now he straightens up, hands at Ed’s chest, and looks at him directly. “Thank you, Ed. For...for the headbutt that brought us together.”
“Yeah, throw that back in my face,” he says, but they’re laughing together again, as easy as before.
They settle up, hang out at the bar for a few minutes with Jackie and the others, then collect Stede’s bag and Ed’s long-forgotten laptop, and head out.
Stede’s car is still parked at the school, up the road a way, and Ed’s flat is down the other way, but closer, so it’s easy to suggest that they drop by Ed’s first, to dump their stuff.
He’d also flirtatiously suggest that they linger, but he wants to do this wooing thing right, so he doesn’t even turn on the lights in the entryway; they leave everything and Ed herds them right back out again.
Down an alley, through a short cut, and there’s the boardwalk and the beach. He treats Stede to ice cream, and Stede wins them matching keyrings at the arcade, and they sit on the same side of a high table at a cocktail bar built on piers, out over the water, and sip from each other’s elaborate drinks.
With their backs to the town and all the lights, as they talk and laugh quietly, Ed can pretend the rising moon is shining, full, only on the sea, and on them.
Later, back at his place, they weave in and around each other as they learn their bedtime routines. They both wear only their boxers to bed, and prefer multiple layers of blankets on top. Stede takes forever with his skincare routine, but at the same time, Ed has a whole system for going room by room, tidying up and sorting in his mind what needs doing in the next day or two and what he can ignore. He pictures Stede’s things—what might he have? Model ships? Even more books than Ed?—gradually moving from the storage space and onto Ed’s shelves, and fizzes a bit at the idea of blending his and Stede’s stuff.
They meet up in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Slow,” Ed reminds him, taking Stede’s hand. He doesn’t know—yet—the parameters of Stede’s coming out, what the journey has been like so far. What Stede might have done—or what he might want, with Ed. “We’ve got time.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Stede says, but he’s searching Ed’s face as he speaks, as if seeking a reply to a different statement. “I’ve been saving what I can for a deposit—”
“No.” Ed answers the unspoken question. “This is an open-ended invitation. We can just...see how it goes.” Already, being in the same space as Stede is easy, like breathing. “These past few weeks have been the most fun I’ve had in ages, years. Maybe ever. So... So, uh, I reckon, you can stay, as long as you want.”
“Ed...” Stede surges into him.
Pressed together, they gravitate towards the bed. Ed heads for his usual side, and Stede pays attention, peels away and gets in on the other side. A long-drawn sigh escapes him, almost a moan, and he splays all his limbs at once beneath the blankets. “Finally.”
Ed doesn’t know whether to laugh or kiss him senseless—or both.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been in a full-sized bed?” Stede adds. Then he freezes, shoulders tightening. “Sorry, I shouldn’t— I starfish, and even Mary—”
“It’s okay.” Ed scoots closer under the covers, puts his hand on Stede’s arm. Then he takes a chance, slips his hand across and sets his palm to the centre of Stede’s chest. He wants to curl up, curl in, nothing better, and maybe for the first time, Stede is someone who’ll want it, too. Someone he’ll be safe with. “I could be the— What do starfish live on?”
“Well, if they’re coastal, they might inhabit a tide pool—”
“Seems temporary—”
“Or a coral reef—”
“Too much danger from humans—”
“But they can live far, far down, by the sea floor.”
“On the sand?”
“Yeah.” Stede’s gaze roams over his face, lands on his hair, which he hasn’t tied up tonight. “Or a bit higher, maybe, in a seagrass meadow...”
“That’s the one.” He rolls over, onto his back, propped up on a couple of pillows, splays his limbs like Stede did. “Seagrass. This is who I am. This is me.”
“And I’m the starfish?” Stede inches closer, tucks himself under Ed’s arm, and lays his cheek on Ed’s chest.
“We’re the symbiotic relationship, I guess. Maybe... I think?” Too much, too far, dial it back— But Stede’s reaching for his hand.
He intertwines their fingers, resting over Ed’s heart. Then suddenly flings his leg over Ed’s, beneath the covers, lets go another stretching-out starfish moan. “What about this? Is this alright?”
“This? Perfect.” He looks down at Stede’s hair, and the curve of his cheek, at his golden pinkness in the city lights filtering through the curtains and beneath the moon, shining on them from the highest point. “You’re so bright, Stede,” he whispers.
“You found the light in me that I couldn’t find,” Stede whispers back. “I’d love to stay here, with you.”
They shift again, rustling against the sheets, until they’re lying face to face. Ed leans in and Stede’s eyes flutter shut, and he presses his mouth to Stede’s, the latest in the line of questions he’s been asking, one he dared not even add to his list because it seemed to be wishful thinking.
But Stede kisses him right back, an answer made up of a soft exhale and a bump of his nose to Ed’s, a hand that comes up and cradles his head, holds him close. Ed’s got no particular reason to hurry away from home—not when Stede shares home with him.
They kiss, and they kiss and, in between, he whispers, “Stay?” and Stede whispers back, “Yes. I’m here now. At sea.”
And they giggle about it, and keep kissing.