Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Epilogue

"Here," Tim muttered as he walked into the spare bedroom that he and Roger still shared, holding a dress from Nana's heyday in one hand and a pair of matching heels in the other. "Try this on."

It had been a few weeks since Brian's funeral, and though the sun shone brightly that day, it had yet to rise again, with winter taking over London shortly after the burial. Clouds loomed high in the sky, and there was a bitter chill that nipped everyone who dared to venture outside. That chill had seeped its way into Roger and Tim's relationship too, reverting the pair to the dynamic they adopted when the blonde first mentioned leaving New York to go back home, except this time, there was an additional aspect to their curt exchanges—Roger's anticipated rendezvous with Timothée.

The blonde—wearing nothing but a pair of knickers that could barely pass for such and perched at the vanity, leaned forward so he could get a better look in the mirror as he dragged the dark, cosmetic pencil underneath his eyelid—glanced over his shoulder. His wide eyes fell upon the garment that appeared as though it hadn't seen the light of day since 1929. "Where'd you find that?"

"Buried deep within one of Nana's closets," his boyfriend answered casually, tossing the shoes to the floor and joining Roger at the vanity, standing behind the blonde and looking at him through the reflective glass. Tim smirked, grateful to see his old friend returning. The same couldn't be said for Roger, who resented the person looking back at them. He hadn't seen her since New York, probably because he didn't resemble her as much as he used to. However, she was slowly coming back, bit by bit. All she needed was a bit of makeup, a nice, form-fitting outfit, and a wig, and it would be like she never left.

"You couldn't find anything else?" the blonde mumbled, unimpressed by the shapeless, drop-waisted, chiffon and silk number.

Tim quickly snapped out of the daze he'd fallen into and sniggered, "Sure, but none of it would look good on you."

"How would you know?" he asked with furrowed brows.

"Because I've been dressing you since we were teenagers and I know a thing or two about what sells." The brunette pinched the blonde's cheek and missed the elbow shot back in retaliation by just a hair, sliding to the side and saying, "Now get up. We need to see if this fits."

Roger rolled his eyes and picked himself up out of the chair, watching as his boyfriend squatted and held the dress out for him to step into. He placed his hands on the brunette's shoulders and put one foot in after the other, standing as still as he could as Tim brought the layered dress up over his waist and his chest. He slipped his arms through the thick straps and turned around, staring at the reflection that twisted his stomach in knots while Tim zipped him up and met his gaze through the mirror.

"Like a glove," he whispered into his ear, his soft, lowered voice sending a shiver down the blonde's back.

Roger squirmed beneath the brunette's hands that found their way to his hips and reclaimed his seat in front of the vanity, shuffling through the borrowed makeup in avoidance of his boyfriend's analytical stare.

"We're missing something," Tim pointed out, rubbing his chin as if the gesture would help him determine what that something was sooner. The blonde only looked up at him, refraining from making any comments that would worsen his situation. For all he knew, his snide remark about missing a feathered headpiece or a string of pearls would result in him looking and feeling even more ridiculous than he already did. He hated himself for wishing that he hadn't left everything behind when he and Tim left for America, but he felt absolutely silly wearing Nana's vintage frock. It wasn't right. It wasn't Liz.

Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"I got it!" the brunette exclaimed, bolting out of the room before Roger could convince him otherwise.