A Tailor-Made Short Story

I've been working and reworking this short story an exorbitant amount of times. For the last week, every day after I finish work, I'll add a bit, then take some out, and honestly, I'm feeling like Sisyphus right now. So I'm just biting the bullet and posting the short story here. It is a whopping 3.5k of pure indulgence that is functionally more character study than a real short story. No hard feelings if you just want to enjoy the little sketch I made for it and skip on the reading.

Also, just a reminder, while I like to think I'm not bad at writing, I am very out of practice and have never taken a creative writing class in my life. I took journalism once in middle school. That a writer does not make. But we're on a creative high and sometimes you just think you can do anything, so fuck it, here we are. It's also definitely in dire need of a beta reader and editor that is not me and the shitty, free version of Grammarly that just taunts you with a notification that you have 99+ mistakes that only the premium option will deign to tell you about. Fuck you Grammarly, you don't even recognize the "deign" as a word.

I'm both just copying and pasting it here as well as including a PDF and EPUB version for those who'd prefer having it as a file to download for yourself. Hell, have it on your kindle! Holy shit that is so embarrassing to think about. Whatever the case, you'll have to scroll down to get to the attachments I believe-- I am very, very sorry for that.

A Tailor-Made Short Story

Lucian had to wonder what led him to this moment, sitting on one of Raffaele’s leather chairs in his exquisite penthouse in the middle of the city, wearing nothing but a borrowed shirt and a spare pair of briefs as he watched the man’s hands perform what could best be described as magic. They flew with such precision across an expanse of gauzy white fabric, pinning and sewing and cutting with practiced ease. Just half an hour ago, Lucian hadn’t even known this room existed, let alone that Raffaele even knew how to sew. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to find exactly how he’d ended up like this.

Maybe he should be starting from their first encounter.

Raffaele often told him that when he’d first seen Lucian, his immediate thought had been how startlingly pretty he was when he smiled, and how striking his yellow eyes looked under the dim candlelight. It wasn’t long before those thoughts shifted gears to a quickly forming plan on how to woo the man. It was all very romantic.

Lucian’s first thought was to lament how poor his luck was to have a customer not-so-subtly flirt with him on a late Wednesday night, just after the big dinner rush they tended to have. Perhaps it had to do with the risty nature of the restaurant he was at. Those who tended to patronize it were quite literally out of his class. He’d seen the menu. He hardly knew how he was getting by without one of them sniffing out how little he really knew about vintage liquor or whatever brand of caviar was on the table. This was a job courtesy of Gil, one he certainly would not have been able to get otherwise. He was reminded as such by his manager often and with an imperious look shot down at him. So, when the admittedly handsome man threw him a suggestive comment or appreciating glance here and there, he’d laughed along politely, too worried about pissing his manager off to do anything more.

Needless to say, their first meeting was not ideal. The only thing that made Lucian more amiable to him was the very hefty tip he’d left. He’d docked points off when Raffaele had winked as he handed the bill back. Overall, Lucian had decided while he was easy on the eyes, he was a pain in the ass. He’d hoped their meeting would be a one-time occurrence, a funny story to tell his friends that faded with time until the experience became wholly uninteresting.

It seemed his luck wouldn’t hold on in this matter either.

Raffaele didn’t come often enough to be a regular, but he came frequently enough to be recognized by some of the staff, Lucian included (he’d be hard-pressed to admit it to the man himself though). Every time he came, there would be a new, somehow more embarrassing pick-up-line. It always edged somewhere between suggestive and cinematically cheesy, but never crossed the boundary. Admittedly, over time as the embarrassment faded, it became endearing. Lucian’s initial opinions would slowly shift. Though he wouldn’t anticipate Raffaele’s visits, his polite smiles and laughs had become more genuine. Eventually, he found himself amiable enough to give the man his number. He’d relished the wide-eyed stare he received as he’d written it down on his receipt.

Things fell into place quickly from there. It was almost scary how natural it was to have Raffaele in his life. He was a reliable and respectfully distant partner. For as much as he would lavish him in sweet praises and adoration, he never offered any insights into his personal or private life, nor did he ever probe about Lucian’s. It was one of many silent rules they followed, though Lucian suspected it wouldn’t cause any serious issues if broken. There were a variety of rules they’d wound up with, slowly introduced with each new interaction. Raffaele would almost always contact him first, they would meet no earlier than 8 pm, and it would always be at his penthouse on the corner of West Street. Occasionally, if days had gone by in which they hadn’t spoken, Lucian would be the one to initiate, but even then, it would always be through a roundabout way. Everything followed certain steps, fell into patterns, and overall held a rigidity that was wholly separate from any functional reality. Strangely, it was liberating. It made it easier to throw caution to the wind and be more carefree knowing that anything beyond those silent boundaries was free game. When he was not known as intimately as by his other partners, it made it easy to act however he pleased.

That didn’t mean he was used to it, or even particularly good at handling certain scenarios. The habits of the filthy rich, all indulgence and pleasure, filled to the brim with opulence and excess always left him feeling off-put, like he didn’t belong in such a scene. As if he could sense Lucian’s discomfort, Raffaele often took pains to make him comfortable with luxury. Never had someone spoiled him so rotten with sumptuous meals and lavish clothing. You could hardly fault him then for indulging Raffaele when he requested him to wear this or that. It had started rather innocuously with a well-tailored suit, then a lacey shirt, and then finally a dress that hugged his body. Every new outfit was always accompanied by heaps of praise and admiring, almost worshipful touches. It boosted his ego; he could be honest about that much.

It wasn’t as if others didn’t make him feel appreciated, but how Raffaele looked at him when he wore another new outfit made him feel so intoxicatingly powerful. In the man’s bedroom, where only the two of them existed, he was no longer Lucian. Every new brush of cloth against his body was a new mask to wear and play with alongside the man that led him. So used to leading, caring for, and coaxing, having it done to him was near euphoric. He would allow himself to fall into step in whichever play Raffaele had prepared and forget himself in it. Whoever Lucian was outside of that closed door ceased to be, the only thing remaining being something that simply brimmed with confidence and beauty.

The least Lucian could do to pay the man back for the experience would be to give him something himself. He’d never done so before, comfortable in this role of being taken care of. However, the part of Lucian that always itched with the impulse–the need–to give and be proactive couldn’t tolerate it any longer. He simply had to do something in return. This proved to be more difficult than he’d expected. Sure he now knew how to wear almost any form of lingerie there was, but he’d never actually bought any himself. Where had Raffaele even gotten them? Were there stores for these kinds of things? Of course, there were, was he an idiot? But he couldn’t possibly go into one himself. Did Raffaele go into them? There were too many questions and as comfortable as he had gotten in his skin, he still wasn’t risking buying lingerie in person. So he’d settled for the second best thing: idly scrolling through shady sites searching for a suitably affordable outfit to surprise his partner with.

One look at his little surprise and Raffaele had valiantly tried not to laugh. He’d nearly fallen on the floor cracking up at the shoddy thing snuggly hugging Lucian’s body. It wasn’t the worst, but anyone would be hard-pressed to call it good. Still, the sentiment had done enough for Raffaele and they’d enjoyed each other’s company. Lucian had considered it a tentative success while sprawled on his partner’s bed, freshly bathed and blissed out. What he hadn’t expected was for the man to drag him up and usher him to another room. He held the remains of the tacky outfit in his hand.

Were they going to burn it together? Give it a Viking funeral after it snapped midway through. Rather than heading to the kitchen to fetch a lighter as he’d expected, he found himself in an entirely new room. He’d never dared try to explore even when offered the chance. It was one of Lucian's own personal rules made out of concern and respect. Even when Raffaele was the one holding the door open for him with a smile, he felt like an intruder. It didn’t stop him from walking in.

It was as if the very air in the room was different, rushing him and leaving him breathless. He blinked as he adjusted to the bright, white lights set up–far brighter than the subtle, warm mood lighting that filled the rest of the penthouse. Whatever he had expected from the space, it was not… a studio? He wasn’t well-versed in anything artistic, but he was certain this was some kind of tailoring studio–what with all the mannequins, clothing, and sewing machines. He knew for a fact this wasn’t his main job. That was unless tailoring was a high-risk job that required bulletproof glass and an extensive security system and Lucian had just missed the memo.

Raffaele waved him over and motioned towards a free seat next to the table he stood next to. Still dumbstruck, Lucian did as he was silently told. They hadn’t spoken a word and once the sounds of snipping and sewing filled the air, he couldn’t bear to disturb the atmosphere even as he brimmed with questions.

That was what had led him to the present moment.

“Come here, Angel, I’d like to make sure I’ve gotten the sizing right,” Raffaele finally said.

Unsure what else to do, he obliged the man. As he padded over, Raffaele brought a gauzy white piece of clothing to his hips. If he hadn’t felt out of his depth before, surely he did now. The expression on Raffaele’s face held the same kind of keen focus he’d grown accustomed to seeing. However, where there was often desire in his gaze, there was only a craftsman’s scrutiny now. His brows knit together in concentration as he began to spread the fabric just below his navel. Giving a single nod, he let the fabric fall loose once more.

“Perfect,” he looked up with a satisfied grin, “Will you do me the favor of putting it on?”

“Yeah, of course, I’d love to,” Anything to do something with his body besides vibrating with nerves.

It was odd. He knew logically that he was overreacting, but for some reason, he couldn’t keep a grasp of his emotions. This should’ve all been fairly innocuous. Everyone had rich interior lives. Raffaele having a hobby couldn’t possibly have been this surprising, so why did he feel so out of his depth? Had he relied on their pattern of interaction this much?

Still, this he could do. This was a similar enough dance to one they’d done before. It wasn’t long before he’d twisted and fumbled enough with the newly remade outfit and gotten it on himself. The original outfit he had bought was a simple white two-piece set with various ruffles and a poorly made heart-shaped hole in the middle of the top half. What he wore now kept the same general idea, but he wouldn’t have believed they were one and the same. The heart had been entirely redone, made wider to reveal more skin save for the ribbons that crisscrossed underneath the open space. The bottom piece was similar, but the small ruffles that had broken off were now replaced by a long white train of fabric that trailed behind him, vaguely mimicking the shape of wings. It almost seemed to glitter under the light. The impulse to spin and sway his hips just to feel the airy fabric brush against his skin was overwhelming. Normally, he would’ve indulged the idea, but now he found himself almost shy under Raffaele’s gaze.

“Do you like it?” the man asked.

What an absurd question, even if it were rhetorical. Lucian felt incredulous at the very notion that someone wouldn’t like it. Even if it weren’t to their tastes, they could at least appreciate the craftsmanship. The quality was exquisite for how quickly thrown together it was. Even if he hadn’t liked the look of the fit, the intimacy of the gift was not lost on him. Expensive clothes bought, even if they were custom ordered, was one thing, but a personally crafted item was another. From start to finish, Lucian was the intended owner of this gift. It didn’t matter how little time or effort it took. The fact that even this small portion of Raffaele’s craft was so easily given to him felt humbling. What could be a greater declaration of care and appreciation? What could he find unlikeable about it?

“I love it.” He brushed reverent hands over a strip of lace, “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“You make all my clothes beautiful, Lucian.”

His head snapped up, “All your clothes?”

Realization crashed into him like a wave that left him momentarily stunned. Oh, he’d done this before. Raffaele had made clothes for him before this.

“How many have you made and not bought?”

“All of them in the last few months.” It was said so casually.

Too casually.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed and he looked up to scrutinize his partner’s face. Raffaele gazed down at him with a newfound softness in his expression he’d never seen before.

No, that wasn’t right.

He’d begun to look at Lucian like that for some time now. He’d simply ignored it out of fear of seeing it disappear before he could even figure out what it meant. The gentleness of the man’s touch as he brushed the top of his hand spoke of the answers to his little puzzle.

“I’ve thought this for a while,” Raffaele’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, “but you deserve far more love than I can give.”

Lucian wanted to speak up, indignation and disbelief ready to make themselves known. The older man wouldn’t give him the chance.

He continued, the gentle touch on his hand growing more firm, “I never did understand what it meant to be someone’s significant other. It seems arbitrary to differentiate these things–to me, you’re either important or not important.  I couldn’t find it in me to see the worth in a romantic relationship.”

He began to fuss with the edges of the skirt, puffing it out here and smoothing it out there. There was restless energy in his movements that Lucian had never seen before. Raffaele was always so confident and sure. His hands never hesitated, let alone shook. Yet when his fingers brushed against Lucian’s skin, he was certain he felt a slight tremble.

“I’ve long since accepted that I don't work with romantic relationships, even if I do feel affection for partners,” his hands finally stilled,  “We are far from being friends, but I find myself enjoying your company more and more. It’s why, even though I cannot give you the kind of love you deserve, I still wanted to do more to show my interest in you.”

Stepping back, he gestured around the room, “This was my way of doing so.”

“Raffaele, I… I don’t know what to say,” his voice sounded terribly hoarse. He’d wanted to go for awestruck, or at least tender, but clearly, he’d lost any finesse in managing his emotions since the moment he stepped into the room.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Raffaele said softly. “Or, if you don’t want to do this anymore, I can take you back home. We–you–can do whatever makes you comfortable.”

Instinctively, Lucian felt the need to hold onto him. Ever since their relationship had begun, Raffaele had been the one to initiate most anything. Though he always led Lucian with great consideration, he was still the one guiding him. If he wanted their conversation to go one way, then Lucian would be expected to smile prettily and go along with it. Now it felt like Raffaele had not only let go of the lead but shoved it into his hands as well. Lucian grasped his wrist and tugged him closer again. They stood looking at one another for what couldn’t have been more than a minute, yet time seemed to slow to a crawl around them. Lucian blindly grasped for the right words to say, but there were no expectations like all their previous interactions had. Before, he’d anticipated sweet praises in an even more dulcet tone. There would be surface-level bantering and he’d play at being a coy, coquettish partner. It was like following a script.

It had become stifling. That’s why he’d gone through the effort of setting up this surprise. That’s why he felt so unmoored in this room, feeling for the first time like he was being seen, just as Raffaele had allowed him to see into his private world. He quite liked what he saw. Without it, he was realizing he didn’t want to have established lines with Raffaele anymore. He wanted spontaneity–he wanted Raffaele in his life, not just in this liminal space behind closed doors. And it seemed as if Raffaele wanted something similar.

The fingers wrapped loosely around Raffaele’s tan wrist began to shake. It must have been the floor tiles under his bare feet and the harsh AC blowing in the room that made him tremble. That’s what he would tell himself at least as he gripped Raffaele’s arm a little tighter and pulled him close. A free arm came to snake around his waist and a warm hand rested comfortably there, its weight a welcome anchor.

“Would you like to come to my apartment next time?” Lucian blurted out. It seemed to surprise both of them and they looked at one another in wide-eyed silence. Then, Lucian continued to speak, the words rushing out all at once, coming out breathless and desperate. “Vigil doesn’t like the smell of smoke so as long as you can smoke outside, then I think he’d be happy to have you over. He also likes the outfits you’ve made for me and–you know both of you would probably get along. Ixia would like you too I think. We’re not really cooks and we’re on a bit of a budget after paying the bills so I can’t offer anything fancy, but we could have dinner or something when you’re free?”

There was only a beat of stunned silence before Raffaele grinned at him, boyish and eager, and said, “I’d like that.”

EXTRA - Raffaele mini-POV

Raffaele was wholly incapable of lying to those he cared for. He was a stringently moral man for all the egregious and immoral things he often did. Perhaps he was more moral because of, rather than despite it. He could lie through his teeth and rob a competitor blind without losing sleep, but if one of his partners asked if they were lovers, he’d find himself struck temporarily mute. Those sickly honeyed words would stick to his tongue tasting rotten in his mouth. The irony was not lost on him. Even saying so much as “I love you” felt unnerving to him. It was a heavy phrase for how simple and innocuous it should’ve been. That was why it terrified him when he found himself whispering it into Lucian’s hair. It had nothing to do with the idea of lying to Lucian. Rather, it was the opposite, and just how much of the opposite it was. He found the idea of loving Lucian in the way particular to him so easy.

Lucian’s arms around him tightened, “I love you too.”

He felt like he could melt into that embrace and those words, entirely certain for once in a long time that he’d be accepted wholly and completely. For as much as he tailored outfit after outfit for Lucian, it seemed as if the man was tailor-made for him with how readily he accepted him. It left him filled with a sense of wonder as a warm, buzzing tenderness filled his chest. When was the last time he’d felt comfortable enough to say he loved someone and be certain they wouldn’t hope for romance? It startled him how liberating it was. Now that he’d tasted the words on his tongue, he wanted nothing more than to say them again and again.

“I love you, Lucian,” he repeated in the crook of his neck, and when that was not enough, he said it once more as he cupped his reddened face.

He could continue with a dozen different confessions, a hundred times more for each kind to make up for all the years he felt too wary to utter the words. However, Raffaele was a patient man and he didn’t want to see the pleasant flush on Lucian’s face disappear any time soon. So, instead, he closed the gap between them and kissed him.

And that too was a quiet utterance of “I love you” as fervent as any he could have uttered.