The next day, Vanya makes sure to be early, but Jason’s already outside the department store, leaning against a wall like he’s been waiting a while.

“Keen,” Vanya teases, so caught up in Jason’s warm grin of welcome that he almost hugs him, like he would a close friend, arms outstretched before he slams his mental brakes on. “Sorry.” He backs up, grasping Jason’s hand to shake instead of hugging. “Wasn’t think.”

“No problem.”

Jason sounds neutral about their near miss, but his handshake lingers, lasting long enough to leave a tingle once he lets go.

Vanya’s voice comes out unsteady. “A-are you ready?”

“I’m always ready.” Jason pushes away from the wall to stand straight and tall, the grey in his stubble glinting when clouds part over Bond Street.

“Will see,” Vanya says quickly rather than stare. Under his stubble, Jason’s plainly handsome this morning, especially when his eyes crinkle like he’s pleased to see him. Vanya leads the way across the street rather than watch those crinkles deepen. Jason follows, both of them dodging black cabs that honk. Vanya only stops walking briskly when Jason grinds to a halt outside their destination.

“Wait. This is what I’m paying you for?” Jason gestures at the Marks and Spencer signage. “You know this shop is on just about every single high street, don’t you? I could have come here myself.”

“I’m think you could have but you didn’t.” Vanya enters the store and checks the floor plan by an escalator. “Or you wouldn’t need me.” They travel upwards to a menswear department. Vanya heads for a section holding the last of end-of-summer clothing. “I’m chose this store after research,” Vanya admits over his shoulder, not mentioning that research took place in a library before he returned to a squat Jason helped him locate without knowing. “Computer put this store at top of search list.”

“What the hell search terms did you type in?”

“Boring clothes. Older man. No diamonds.”

“I’m not old. I’m forty-four. That’s nowhere even close to past it.” Jason stops dead, blocking the way for impatient shoppers.

Vanya tugs him out of their way into the sale section. “Was joking.”

“Very funny.” The way Jason’s expression shifts is slight, yet common on this island. Vanya translates it with hardly any trouble now that he’s spent so long people-watching—Jason’s pissed off at his comment, but he won’t call him on it, his faint smile a pale imitation to his bright grin of greeting.

For the first time in forever, Vanya doesn’t shy away from provoking anger.

Instead he selects a polo shirt from a sale section in palest primrose and confronts Jason’s annoyance head-on. “What is worst search term? Boring? Or older?”

“You make me sound old enough to draw my pension.”

“Still feel young?”

“I am young. Well, I’m not old. Fuck.” Jason scrubs a hand through hair that’s still mostly black. “I definitely don’t feel old enough for this place to be my only shopping option.” He pauses by a full-length mirror. “Is old really how I look to you?”

“To me?”

Jason’s nod is fleeting. He doesn’t meet Vanya’s gaze in the mirror.

“Want me to tell what I see?” Knowing that Jason’s gay as well makes it easy to be honest. “I’m see one of the best men I meet in Britain.”

Jason raises a hand to the last of the bruising around his eye. “You can’t have met many people.”

Refusing to take a compliment is very British as well. Vanya simply ignores it. He selects a pair of black jeans from another rail and insists, “One of best men I meet, and very, very good brother.”

“Stop it now.” That faded bruise competes with a sudden flush of rose pink.

“No. You ask so I’m tell.” Vanya chooses a belt—unadorned and simple, this time—and continues being truthful. “I’m see someone who tries when he doesn’t have to.” He ignores Jason’s demurral. “Someone spending money to make best impression for family. This all tells me more than I see on surface. Now, take clothes. Try on.”

“You’re not coming?”

“No.” This is a family store in the heart of London, after all, appealing to the masses, not a tiny boutique where no one thinks twice about personal service. “Will wait here.”

Jason takes longer than seems necessary, given he’s only trying on three items. Vanya fills time by retrieving a shirt that’s fallen from its hanger. He also refolds a sweater as if he’s helping Kaspar, but hearing a woman’s voice nearby—Russian and dearly familiar—has him frantically peering between garments. He shoves them apart, hangers screeching and shirts slipping to the floor all over again as his heart quits beating.

It’s—

It must be—

No.

Disappointment is a solid thump to his chest.

The woman on the other side of the rail looks nothing like his mother. She’s a complete stranger, not a relative he misses with every fibre of his being.

Loss should hurt less by now, he’s sure. Pain shouldn’t slice quite so neatly through him. He shoulders grief like Atlas does his globe, as heavy today as on his first day of exile, almost missing when Jason calls out to him from the changing room doorway.

He calls his name a second time, smiling when Vanya turns to face him.

Jason’s the most familiar person in this building.

The only man here who isn’t a complete stranger.

Vanya stamps down on a second urge to haul him into a hug that’s almost overwhelming, not trusting his voice when Jason asks, “What do you think?”

His polo shirt isn’t too different to any of the ones Vanya’s seen him wearing. All it lacks is ingrained dust and dirt stains, or frayed holes where nails have snagged it. The real change is the colour, which might make other men seem sallow. It’s a great shade for his colouring, Vanya’s relieved to notice—a lucky guess that contrasts well with his dark hair. The cut is exceptionally good on him; tight in all the places Vanya appreciates most—chest, torso, and biceps. Coupling it with a pair of black jeans is another stroke of blind luck. They’re far less baggy than his others, updating his own style without making major changes. The new belt adds a simple touch of smartness, pulling his look together.

“Look good,” he gets out and means it. He sets aside the disappointment that almost swamped him moments before. This is something positive to focus on instead of loss he has no hope of changing. He straightens Jason’s collar until he can speak without sounding choked up. “Do you like?”

“I do.” His surprise is audible.

“Shouldn’t be shock. Personal shopper only chooses favourite colours.”

Jason looks down like the fact that he’s wearing black and yellow somehow escaped him. “Oh.” Then he touches a palm to his stomach. “You don’t think this is too tight?”

“No.” Vanya points to a full-length mirror. “Is slim fit, not tight. Smart. Best for countryside date. Maybe not the best for breaking buildings.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“I’m know. You already tell about being restoration consultant,” he says carefully, “who has own business and wears shitty clothes for no reason.”

The fabric stretches over his biceps nicely when Jason crosses his arms, and his shoulders are knockout.

“See?” Vanya insists. “Now all assets on show for fiancée.”

“I don’t want to show her my assets.”

“Maybe not, but new clothes show you care enough about your brother to try.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.” Vanya’s truthful. “Looks like you, only better.”

“And everything here is half-price today. You’re really great at your job.”

Vanya closes his mouth with a click. It doesn’t matter that his fashion know-how is amateur. All that matters right now is that this man is happy. His earlier sadness loosens its hold when Jason smiles almost shyly, that soft expression lingering long after they select more clothes together. Soon they have enough to replace half of Jason’s wardrobe, at least. From casual clothes to formal, both of their arms are laden as they stand in line at the cash desk.

“Shouldn’t smile so much,” Vanya murmurs as other shoppers shuffle forwards with them. “People will think something is wrong with you.”

“Oh, I know there’s something wrong with me.” Jason passes over his new outfits to a cashier—far more items than he ever imagined needing. “I take advice from someone who thinks I’ve got one foot in the grave already, who says my style is boring, and who talks me into buying loads more clothes than I intended.”

“Didn’t really need help,” Vanya admits as Jason unfolds his wallet, selecting a card to make his purchase. “Could have come here for free.”

“Oh.” Jason pulls out some cash, passing it to Vanya like it’s nothing. “I almost forgot.”

Vanya clutches the banknotes tightly as they leave, the pavement outside busier already, bustling and full of people. Jason’s swamped with bags he holds close like they carry rare jewels instead of mid-range high-street fashion. “I guess this is it, then.” He takes a few steps backwards as people pass between them. “Thanks, again.”

Vanya’s blank for a moment, only mentally rebooting when Jason says, “Goodbye.”

Now he’s got what he needs, they won’t see each other again.

This is the end of their transaction.

More passers-by separate them—families, friends, and partners, enjoying being together in Britain’s biggest city.

Jason’s last smile is smaller. He says, “Take care,” before turning.

“Wait.”

Jason swivels back in an instant, not blinking when Vanya closes the distance between them fast. He doesn’t flinch either when Vanya raises a hand to his face.

“New clothes will make good impression….”

“But?”

“But could be best impression with shave and hair cut.” Vanya can’t help sounding fervent. “Should meet one more time to make sure.”

* * *

They next meet quite early on Friday morning. Vanya sees Jason in the distance from his spot in a barbershop doorway. He watches him text as he walks from the tube station exit, utterly focused on his phone, unaware of Vanya staring. The pale yellow of his new polo shirt is even better in daylight, a judgement that strengthens as he draws close. “Wait,” Vanya orders, instead of saying good morning. “I’m check black eye.”

“Fill your boots,” Jason says, submitting easily, tilting his head this way and that as Vanya makes a close inspection, their eyes at the same level for once.

“Fill boots?” Vanya’s fingers feather over skin that’s almost done healing.

“It means help yourself.” Jason tilts his head some more, closing his eyes as Vanya’s thumb traces his cheekbone. “It means I’m all yours. You can do whatever you want with me.”

That’s a lot to take in.

Vanya swallows before speaking. “Looks better today.” He lowers his hand, fingertips dragging lightly across stubble.

“Did you get a shave here already?” Jason leans in and takes a slow sniff. “Lime. Nice. I wondered what smelled so good.” His breath is a warm tickle that does something to Vanya’s stomach, only it’s not skipping breakfast that prompts its slow flip—it’s a shaft of interest that’s only getting stronger.

It’s stupid, he knows.

Jason’s phone buzzes again—another business call, no doubt, another sign that this meeting is only part of a busy life instead of its entire focus, like it feels for Vanya. He stifles a sigh as he steers Jason to a seat. The lushly bearded barber he traded laundry favours with for this appointment listens to his instructions before he gets busy adding oil to a bowl of steaming water.

“Do you know every Russian in town?”

“A few.” It’s much easier to barter with people who understand him. “But barber is Estonian who speaks Russian, like Kaspar.”

“The friend you work with?” Jason asks as the barber brushes his stubble with oiled water to soften it for shaving.

“No. I’m never work with him.” Vanya’s aware that must sound weirdly abrupt. “We live together.”

Jason’s quiet as his face is wrapped in a warm towel.

Vanya fills the silence.

“He was first roommate. Now we share a new place with his girlfriend.” It doesn’t matter that Jason can’t talk when the barber lathers his face; his eyes are expressive, asking yet more questions that Vanya answers. “Girlfriend is new. She is good for Kaspar. I want him to be happy, so….” He shrugs.

“So she moved into the new place you mentioned?” Jason asks the moment he can speak. Understanding softens his tone. “And now things aren’t the same between you and your friend?”

“No. Not the same.” Vanya presses his lips together rather than admit all the ways it’s awkward. The space they now share is so much bigger than their room at the hostel, but somehow it feels smaller, the walls closing in a fraction each time he notices their relationship progressing.

Jason nods like Vanya spoke aloud, his quiet hum of understanding a sign of support Vanya had no clue he needed. It helps him focus on the good of his living situation. “New place is temporary.” He omits the truth of how he found it. “But is better than last place. And new girlfriend is not difficult to live with. She is kind.” And generous with her needle and thread, making his clothes appear far more stylish with skilful additions. He touches the braiding she’s added to his collar. “Living with her is….” He considers his words. “Is adjustment?”

Jason stops nodding when the barber begins to shave him, the rasps of his razor blade swift and steady.

“But adjustment is a pain in my arse.” Vanya apologises when Jason snorts out a burst of laughter that nearly costs him his nose. “Is true. Used to spend all our free time together. Now I’m feel… I’m feel like….”

“A gooseberry?” Jason offers when the barber finishes shaving one side of his face. “You feel like a spare part?”

“Feel….” It’s hard to explain without sounding needy. He pictures the immigration centre. “Feel displaced.” Then he studies his mismatched shoelaces rather than meet Jason’s eye. When he raises his gaze, a different man looks back, clean-shaven for the first time, and oh so sympathetic.

“I get it.”

“Is stupid.”

“It’s natural.” Jason’s jaw clenches a little, square and so strong now it’s free of stubble. “It sounds like we’re in the same boat.” He clarifies quickly. “Like you said, it’s an adjustment after there’s only been two of you for so long. You’ve got to trust your friend’s judgement, but that’s….” His reflection is pensive. “Well, it turns out that’s not always easy.”

The barber stands between them, offering a range of lotions. Jason selects one before settling back for his haircut. Vanya folds towels while waiting, watching from a distance as another transformation takes place.

A scruffy guy might have walked in, but it’s a brand-new man who emerges once his haircut is finished.

Jason looks so much better.

It’s a thought that lingers when Jason argues about paying.

Vanya stands his ground, sticking to a decision he made this morning while counting his earnings—grateful for the most money he’s had in almost a year, despite all his misgivings. “Shave and haircut is included in personal shopping service.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Jason’s pleased despite his grumble. He’s more relaxed than Vanya’s seen him yet too, his smile wide and easy until it falters. “Seriously. I feel bad. You already charge less than a third of other personal shoppers I looked up. I actually wondered if you were giving me a discount based on the way I looked when we first met… I guessed you thought I couldn’t afford the going rate, and that’s why you took me to Marks and Spencer instead of those designer places. You could have, you know? You could have charged me three times as much as you did.” He rubs at the bare skin at the back of his neck where curls used to tangle, head bowed so he misses Vanya’s wince.

“I’m charge plenty.”

Jason shrugs into his jacket as they leave. “Well whatever the cost, you’re definitely worth it, but now I really should get a pedal on if I’m going to make my train.” He adds a quick translation, “I should hurry.” Still he lingers outside the barbershop.

“I’m walk with you?” Maybe Jason’s about as keen to catch his train as Vanya is to go home. Neither of them hurry towards the station entrance.

“This is my stop.”

Vanya can’t keep from brushing a stray hair from Jason’s shoulder, which is warm and firm under his palm, his head bowed again as Vanya says, “Have good visit with fiancée. She will be stupid not to like you.”

“Listen,” Jason glances around before ushering him backwards. “I need to tell you something.”

Vanya doesn’t even notice that Jason guides him into the mouth of a dim alley. The shadows don’t set off panic; Jason is his entire focus, smart now and smelling so good.

“I can’t lie,” Jason admits. “I can’t say that I feel good about Andrew marrying again, but”—he moves much closer—“I’m in a much better headspace to at least meet her, and that’s down to you.”

“Was pleasure.” Vanya means it. He waves away the money Jason offers again, guilt adding an edge of brusqueness. “Already said. Today is all part of deal.”

“This isn’t for the haircut. Listen, I wouldn’t have bothered going to see Chantel without these appointments. I would have fudged it again and cancelled. However this meeting turns out, you deserve a bonus.”

“No.”

“Why?” It’s a one-word question that demands a simple answer.

Vanya’s silent for a long moment.

There’s no easy way to convey that getting up every morning is easier with a purpose, these meetings a focus, even if they’re laced with drops of deceit he’d change if only he could.

Perhaps his words hold that same conviction. “You want to know why? Because you are doing this thing—this difficult thing—for family. For free, even though it costs you.” Vanya does what he’s resisted twice already and pulls Jason into a hug, sure this will be the last chance he gets to take one.

He moves back before he wants to, still surprised to see a man who’s clean cut. “Now you look….”

“Like what?” Jason’s barely audible above the sound of traffic. “How do I look to you now?” His pupils are so wide they almost eclipse each iris. “Still older and boring?”

Vanya doesn’t take a second to think. “No. Like someone cares for you.”

It’s a simple statement. Jason reacts like the words are complex, checking they’re intended for him. He raises a hand to his chest as if to ask, “Me?” Then he asks another question aloud, breathless like he’s run miles rather than taken the single step left between them. “You?”

Vanya’s nod is instinctive, as is standing on tiptoe when Jason crowds close and asks, “Can I?” His body is as solid as the alley wall behind Vanya, his hands rough where they cup his face, his lips soft—so soft—as they embrace. Vanya’s held in place somewhere that would usually leave him rigid, only it doesn’t matter that he’s in an alley today—he melts instead of freezing the moment their tongues touch.

It’s an electric sensation—a slick slide that tingles—everything he imagined and nothing he dared to hope for.

Vanya clings, squeezing biceps that fill his whole grip, holding on even tighter when Jason seems about to pull back. Like the plants that climb the scaffolding in search of sunshine where he now lives, Vanya stretches upwards to wind both arms around Jason’s neck. He deepens the kiss from below, desperate to prolong it.

They stand half in shadow, commuters only a few feet distant, and kiss like no one will notice.

They stand half in sunlight, and Vanya feels bone-deep warmth for the first time in ages.

Jason groans as he puts an inch of space between them. Then another distinct chiming sound registers. “Shit.” He fumbles in a pocket, his gaze searching Vanya’s before it drops to his phone. “It’s Andrew.” When he lets out a huff of laughter, the crinkles edging his eyes deepen. “He’s checking I haven’t bottled meeting Chantel. And…. Oh.” His voice drops. “He says he’s really chuffed I’m trying.” Then he curses again. “Fuck, I’ll miss my train if I don’t go right now.”

“Should.” It’s the last thing Vanya wants. “Should go right away.”

“I really don’t want to.” Jason’s words are almost lost as he backs away.

Awareness crashes back along with the sound of passing traffic.

This really is goodbye.

He hears Jason say so before he takes off, glancing back once before he jogs down the steps to his Tube station, swallowed up by London.

He’s gone, and whatever just happened between them is well and truly over.

Loss is sharp like the scent of citrus aftershave that lingers. It’s tempered by his next thought.

Vanya touches his lips.

At least his first kiss was perfect.