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Fadel feels something hit the side of his neck, and it jolts him from his sleep. As an occupational hazard of his former job as a hitman, he’s a very light sleeper. His body tenses instinctively, muscles coiled for a threat before his mind even catches up.
He blinks his eyes to adjust to the dim morning light filtering through their curtains, the room still shadowy and soft with sleep. Just as he lifts his head off the pillow then just as suddenly, another object barely misses his head.
The fuck.
His pulse picks up, a rush of adrenaline sharpening his senses. He forces his eyes to focus, scanning the room for danger- only to see his boyfriend, Style, standing in front of the full-length mirror.
Style regards his own reflection with a critical gaze, fingertips lightly adjusting the hem of the crop top he’s wearing, smoothing invisible wrinkles. The faint glow of dawn outlines his figure, casting a warm halo around his disheveled hair.
"Style." Fadel croaks, his voice rough from sleep. He rubs the side of his face, fingertips brushing the spot where whatever Style threw had struck him. Slowly, he sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist. "What are you doing?"
Style glances over, lips quirking into a small, distracted smile. "Good morning krub." His voice is soft, but there’s a restless energy in the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot.
"Good morning, love." Fadel replies, then his gaze drops to the foot of their bed, where a small mountain of clothes is heaped haphazardly, fabrics spilling onto the floor like a colorful landslide.
"What’s all this?"
Right then, Style peels off the shirt he’s wearing and flings it toward Fadel. It sails through the air, missing his head by inches. Fadel’s eyes widen as he twists to watch it land on the pile near his pillow. Realization dawns. That’s what hit me earlier.
"What are you doing?" Fadel asks again, more baffled than annoyed. By the time he turns back, Style has already swapped into another crop top, this one tighter, the fabric almost clinging to his torso.
Style studies his reflection, lips twisting in displeasure. After a beat, he turns to Fadel. "Does this shirt look good on me, Fadel?"
Fadel looks him up and down, taking in the way the fabric stops just shy of his waist, the sliver of skin exposed above his hips. He nods, genuine approval in his expression. "Yeah. It does."
But Style’s frown deepens. He turns back to the mirror, fingers tugging at the hem. "I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m still feeling any of my old clothes."
"How come?"
Style ruffles his bangs frustratedly, his reflection mirroring the conflict in his eyes. He hesitates, debating whether to voice the real issue.
Fadel glances at the wall clock- 5:15am- and he yawns, stretching his arms above his head. "What are you on about this early in the morning, Style? Come back to bed." He holds up a forefinger, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. "We have one hour to cuddle and sneak in a nap before I leave for the market."
Style smiles back, tempted, but the unease in his chest won’t let him relax. "I can’t sleep right now," he grumbles. Instead, he walks to the bed and climbs onto Fadel’s lap, straddling him. Fadel’s arms circle his waist automatically, holding him close as he gazes up, waiting.
"Apparently, I stopped wearing crop tops since dating you," Style admits, fingers playing with the collar of Fadel’s sleep shirt. "Did you notice my style changed?"
Fadel thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "You look great in everything you wear. What does it matter?"
"Crop tops are my thing, my style," Style insists, poking Fadel’s chest for emphasis. "They’re what makes me cool."
"You’re cool without them," Fadel reassures, chuckling softly. His hands slide up Style’s back, warm and steady.
"I’m known for that. I’m kind of invisible if I’m not showing off my sweet waist."
"I see you."
Style feigns a long-suffering sigh, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. "Stop being sweet. Not the time."
Fadel kisses his cheek. "I’m just trying to get us to the part where we cuddle."
Style’s fingers curl gently in Fadel’s hair, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. Their lips move together, unhurried, familiar. Style’s tongue caresses Fadel’s, the kind of kiss that makes the world narrow to just the two of them, the bed, and the quiet morning.
When they pull apart, Fadel brushes his thumb under Style’s left eye, where a faint purple shadow lingers. "You have dark circles. Did you sleep at all?"
Style tilts his head, looking pitiful. "No. To be honest, someone told me I lost my sweet sense of Style recently... since dating you." His voice drops, vulnerability seeping in. "You know how they say people lose themselves in relationships? I don’t want to stop trying. I want to look as hot as I did in that blue crop top when we first met, the one that made you fall in love with me."
"I didn’t fall in love with you the first day we met."
"Of course you did."
"You texted and drove, then rammed into my car. I thought you were an absolute menace."
"And utterly sexy. I could see it in your fiery eyes. My gorgeous looks and amazing sense of style mesmerized you. Admit it. That’s why you were so angry. You were mad about wanting me so bad."
"Are you writing a fanfiction story?"
"You pinched my nipple the second time we met. That says it all."
"By accident."
"It was no accident. You wanted to punish me for being naughty." Style bites his lower lip, eyebrows lifting. "Kinky."
Fadel turns his face away, but it’s too late. The blush is already spreading, his smile betraying him.
Style laughs, pushing off Fadel and returning to the mirror.
"I don't want to look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I just want to go back to my signature style and enjoy it while I still have the waist for it." Style's voice carries a rare vulnerability as he stares at his reflection, fingers tracing the hem of his crop top nervously.
Fadel watches the subtle tension in Style's shoulders. "We exercise together. I think your waist will be fine." He keeps his tone light but reassuring, remembering how Style always beams with pride after their workouts.
Style shrugs a shoulder and makes a noncommittal sound, "Things might change after I get pregnant. You know how it is."
"I can't say that I do. I never saw a boy get pregnant, so." Fadel deadpans, watching for Style's reaction.
Style's pout is immediate, his glare sharp enough to make Fadel chuckle. The morning light catches the dust specks swirling between them as Fadel finally gets out of bed, the sheets rustling softly. He comes up behind Style, wrapping his arms around that famously slim waist he loves so much. The scent of Style's shampoo - something fruity and expensive- fills his nose as he presses a kiss to the nape of his neck.
"You barge into my kitchen at random times of the day to force me to make food for you and you still look this good. You'll be fine." Another kiss, this time where neck meets shoulder, before gently turning Style around by the waist.
The fabric of Style's crop top feels soft under his fingers. "I don't want to see you sad. Since this means a lot to you, I'll support you. What can I do to help?"
Style's entire face lights up like sunrise, hands immediately cupping Fadel's face. The kiss he puts on Fadel's lips is equal parts grateful and triumphant. "Take me shopping. I need new crop tops."
Fadel's smile falters. The fluorescent lights of clothing stores, the endless racks of nearly identical items, Style's irritatingly meticulous examination of every stitch and seam - it's his personal version of hell. "Any chance I could just give you the money?" Fadel tries, already knowing the answer.
Style shakes his head, that knowing smile playing on his lips. Fadel groans dramatically, throwing his head back while Style's laughter rings through their bedroom.
"I want to go shopping with my boyfriend." Style insists, fingers playing with the hair at the back of Fadel’s head.
Fadel looks back up. "As in...where I'll sit down and watch you try on clothes?"
"Just like in the movies." Style grins, wicked and bright. "Oh and you'll be standing up. The store I frequent doesn't offer you a seat."
"Sounds hectic doing all that standing." Fadel mutters, already resigning himself to his fate.
"You can handle it." Style steps closer, mischief dancing in his eyes. "The way you pick me up in the shower when we do it- I’ve never heard you complain.” The wink he gives Fadel's reflection is downright sinful.
Heat creeps up Fadel's neck despite himself. He scratches the back of his head, typically turning away from the mirror. Style's already seen the reaction, already victorious. It’s barely 6am and Style has already managed to make his beautiful man blush. Twice. The day is definitely looking up.
Now he just needs to manifest a sale at the clothing store.
***
Two days later finds them in Style's favorite boutique, the air thick with the scent of new fabric and faint floral perfume.
Fadel can't help but smile at how Style immediately transforms into his natural habitat, fingers trailing over fabrics, eyes critically assessing each potential purchase, already making a mental map of the store layout. He moves through the racks with the confidence of a general surveying his troops.
True to form, Style enlists a poor sales assistant into his clothing crusade. Within thirty minutes, the young woman looks ready to collapse, her polite smile growing increasingly strained as Style asks to see the same shirt in every available color.
At one point, she locks eyes with Fadel over Style's head, her expression clearly asking how he deals with this energy daily. Fadel just gives her a proud, slightly smug smile in return - this whirlwind is his whirlwind, after all.
The assistant brings Fadel a bottle of water in what he assumes is either sympathy or a peace offering. Just as he's twisting the cap open, Style emerges from the fitting room in yet another crop top, this one a vibrant orange. He spots the water in Fadel's hand and immediately commandeers it, drinking half in one go while Fadel watches, amused and helpless.
At least Style remembers to hand back the remainder, their fingers brushing in the exchange.
"What do you think of this one?" Style asks, doing a little turn. The orange fabric catches the store lights, nearly glowing against his skin.
Fadel's brain has officially reached its limit for fashion assessment. "I hate orange." It's the most honest feedback he can muster at this point.
"Oh." Style blinks, momentarily thrown. "I thought you only hated orange juice." Then he snaps his fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet store. "I think I saw this same shirt in blue. I'll go check." He's off before Fadel can respond.
"Are we almost done?" Fadel calls after him, knowing it's useless.
No answer. Style has already disappeared into the jungle of clothing options, his mission clear.
When he returns, it's with an armful of clothes that Fadel quickly realizes aren't all for Style. There are darker colors, simpler cuts - unmistakably Fadel's style.
"You thought we'd leave without picking up anything for you?" Style asks, as if the idea is completely absurd. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs Fadel's wrist and drags him toward the fitting rooms, the clothes draped over his other arm.
Inside the cramped fitting room, Style immediately gets to work, his fingers making quick work of Fadel's buttons. The shirt slides off his shoulders with deliberate care, Style's hands lingering just a second too long on Fadel's biceps.
"This brings back some memories." Fadel murmurs, staring directly into Style's eyes as his boyfriend's hands roam over his torso. The fitting room mirror reflects their position perfectly - Style standing between Fadel and his own reflection.
Style suddenly turns uncharacteristically shy under Fadel's gaze, but it doesn't stop his hands from exploring. "You know," he says, voice dropping to a whisper, "I think they don't have cameras in these rooms." His palms smooth over the hard planes of Fadel's stomach, trailing upward with deliberate slowness.
Fadel shakes his head, but his smile gives him away. "I don't think our assistant will appreciate it if she catches us."
"We'll tell her we're a newlywed couple trying for a baby and utilizing any opportune moment." Style counters, fingers now toying with the waistband of Fadel's pants.
"I doubt that explanation will work."
"Why not?"
Fadel catches Style's wandering hands, bringing them up to his lips. "We have no wedding bands on. She won't believe we're married."
Style's face falls comically. "Oh you're right. She won't believe we're trying to make a baby if we're not married. That's senseless."
"Exactly." Fadel's lips twitch despite himself, the grin breaking through.
Style grins back, and suddenly they're both laughing, the sound muffled against each other's shoulders in the tiny fitting room.
Fadel kisses Style soundly on the lips. Style melts into it for a brief, perfect moment before remembering where they are.
Outside, the assistant clears her throat loudly, making them laugh even harder.
Style's fingers dance over the clothing racks with practiced ease, pulling out shirt after shirt for Fadel to try. The fitting room mirror reflects their ongoing battle - Style's enthusiastic grin versus Fadel's stubborn resistance. Each new garment easily becomes a negotiation.
"Just try this one," Style pleads, holding up a deep red button-up that catches the store lights like embers. "The color would make your skin glow."
Fadel shakes his head, reaching instead for his third identical black shirt. "Simplicity works."
The real battle begins when Style produces a stack of crop tops, his eyes alight with mischief. "You looked hot wearing one that night you spent at my place." His voice drops to that particular teasing tone that makes Fadel's ears grow warm.
"Are you buying me more to wear to bed then?" Fadel counters, crossing his arms over his chest. The memory of that night surfaces; the way Style's hands had lingered on the strip of exposed skin, the way the fabric had ridden up further with every movement. "Cause I'm not wearing these out in public."
Style dramatically sighs. "With all my beautiful sense of style, how did I end up with a boyfriend who won't even put on some color?" The fluorescent lights catch the sparkle in his eyes as he pouts.
Fadel can't help but smile at the familiar complaint. "To be fair, you're as big of a pain to me as I am to you."
The pause that follows is filled with the distant chatter of other shoppers and the rustle of clothing tags. Style considers this, then nods decisively. "True." He grins
Just when Fadel thinks their shopping ordeal is over, Style spots the sunglasses display. His grip on Fadel's wrist is unrelenting as he drags them both toward the spinning rack of frames. "Just five minutes!" he promises, already plucking a pair of aviators from the display.
To Fadel's surprise, this turns enjoyable. They make ridiculous poses in front of the mirror - Style tilting his head like a movie star, Fadel attempting to keep a straight face behind oversized frames. Their reflections keep catching each other's eyes in the glass, smiles breaking through despite themselves. Style's laughter is contagious as he stacks three pairs of sunglasses on his face at once.
Outside, the afternoon sun bathes the parking lot in golden light as they load their bags into Style's car. The heat radiates off the car, mixing with the scent of new fabric from their purchases. Style adjusts his new green round-rimmed sunglasses, the lenses casting a subtle emerald hue over his features when he turns to Fadel.
"I know I can be insufferable when I'm shopping." His voice is softer now, the earlier excitement mellowed into contentment. "Thanks for putting up with it. It was an awesome day." The smile that spreads across his face is genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes behind the tinted lenses.
Fadel leans in, the car door still warm under his palm. The kiss he presses to Style's lips tastes like shared laughter and the iced coffee they'd grabbed earlier. "As long as you're happy. I love you."
"I love you too." Style's fingers find Fadel's, intertwining naturally.
As Fadel steps back to close the trunk, he can't resist one last tease. "Do you feel better now that you own an unhealthy number of new crop tops?"
Style's answering grin is blinding as he slides into the driver's seat. "Yes. And I will wear them everywhere," he declares, starting the engine with a flourish. "Even to the Temple if I have to." The wink he throws Fadel's way promises this is far from an empty threat.
-END-