Taron yawned and blinked, trying to focus his vision back to his fingers. His hands were still jumbling with some needles and spools of green thread that kept coming out of the very full Danish cookie tin. Free, they rolled happily about the counter, putting taron’s patience to a test. A string of curses was sure to break loose –and would have- if it hadn’t been for the distant sound of tiny bells going off. As the front door opened with its familiar cracking sound, a gust of cool dry wind came blowing right into snug store, to envelop his messy curls and put a halt to his fruitless search of the spool of light pink thread. The occupied boy huffed lowly at his clumsiness as he bent over to search not for his English, or Finnish, but for his Swiss cookie tin. The one with little three-dimensional bows protruding all over the lid. Granted, his love for butter cookies almost surpassed that for pastel colours. Almost.
Kneeling behind the counter, taron sang the set sentences aloud while waving an explanatory hand in the air. Pity how people usually prefer face-to-face talk, the boy’s inner monologue noted.
“Hullo, welcome to me showroom. You’ll see here I’ve got…”
“Errrr… It’s me, Egerton. Hi,”
A millisecond, that’s all it took taron to recognize who the stranger actually was: richard madden. His chosen phrase to start dialogues was more often than not that soft, hushed and dragged ‘Errrr’ so it wasn’t really that much of a mystery when, on standing up, taron found himself face to face with the tall, big lad. Plastered on his fluffy pillow lips there was an easy, smile that made the shorter boy think all at once of ivory shells, sea and summer. There was something very California-dreamy in his sweet blue eyes and muscular body, too. His peculiarly annoying fashion style served only to heighten the surreal feeling. Colourful yet classy, the man had amused taron to no extent with his high-quality yet not-so-well-tailored suits, an observation that made taron think the other one was most likely making a start in the male model business. He certainly had the features for it: sharp outlines but not-so-symmetrical contours. Just the type that photographers were now infatuated with: masculine and modern. He wasn’t lacking in attitude, either. A three-piece yellow suit with little white polka dots wasn’t an attire people just walked out the streets in with a puffed out chest and a cheeky cigarette dangling twixt your lips. Taron fought the need to chuckle and cut his gaze back up to those waiting hazel eyes.
“Hullo, dickie.” taron drawled, his mood suddenly lighting up as he dared shoot a small smile at the borderline exotic yet very handsome man “Tell me, what can I help you with today?”
“I….errrr. Can’t believe it, really…. ‘s so embarrassing. I mean…again, y’know?! What are the odds?...Dumb luck. Plain and…”
“Just tell me what you need, love” taron's hands went up the sides of his face and massaged his temples- the scratched, red tips of his fingers making contact intermittently as they spread on his forefront and tried to rub the tension off. The shorter man had a massive headache coming and the rushed babble coming out of the other’s mouth wasn’t really helping his cause. Expertly pulling all strands out of his face and into a bum he leaned over the counter and waited on his elbows for the man in question to speak.
“D’you remember m’ trousers? The white ones, yeah, umm… I think I managed to rip that seam again? They’re a tight fit, I know, but what isn’t nowadays, right?!”
Taron raised an eyebrow in disbelief and richard felt his voice tighten with each little lie slipping out his very dry lips. The smaller lad was making richard unreasonably nervous with his expectant glowing pupils and his playful biting of his thumbnail. That, plus his casual way of addressing him as ‘love’. Richard did need a good deal of things he thought had probably never even occurred to the successful young lad. No, not when you’re dressing up the prettiest baby-doll faces who don’t need parties to give out favours freely. Sweet soft curves and silky hairless skin. That’s what people like taron were surely after: someone as aesthetically pleasing as his fashion collections, someone definitely not richard.
