/~/~/~/~/
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Wednesday morning, Rux emerged from their bedroom wearing a three-piece suit Mabon hadn’t seen in fifty years. Charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, paired with a waistcoat that probably cost more than most people’s cars. His shoes gleamed and his diamond cufflinks caught the light.
He looked like he was attending a royal wedding for an actual king.
“That’s your definition of coffee casual?” Mabon asked.
“You said dress well.”
“I meant don’t wear gardening clothes with soil stains.”
“That’s Urien. My flavor is more of an apron covered in flour. But this…this is impressive.” Rux adjusted his tie. “Humans respect visible wealth.”
“Some humans. Other humans think conspicuous consumption is gauche.”
“Sam will appreciate the effort.”
Mabon had his doubts, but he’d assigned the strategy. He might as well see how it played out.
/~/~/~/~/
Rux returned forty minutes later, loosening his tie as he walked through the door.
“Well?”
“He asked if I had a special event.”
Mabon waited.
“A wedding or a funeral or something.”
“And you said?”
“‘No, just coffee.’” Rux collapsed into an armchair. “Then he looked confused and asked if I wanted my usual.”
“Did he seem impressed?”
“He seemed like he thought I was overdressed for a Wednesday morning at a coffee shop.” Rux pulled off his tie entirely. “Because I was overdressed for a Wednesday morning at a coffee shop.”
“You looked very distinguished,” Urien offered.
“I looked like I got lost on my way to a corporate merger.”
Mabon made a mental note:Excessive formality creates confusion, not attraction.
“Your turn,” Rux said to Urien.
Urien left an hour later, wearing his usual jeans and flannel but with a determined set to his shoulders.
“Remember,” Mabon called after him. “Be mysterious, not mute.”
The door closed.
Rux poured himself whiskey even though it was barely noon. “This is torture.”
“Courtship often is.”
