Enabling The Master At Every Turn :)

ao3 tag search function: excellent choice, sir! how would you like it cooked?

me: explicit. with a side of hurt/comfort

ao3: lovely! and may i suggest a drizzle of mutual pining?

me: of course, and can you add a spritz of angst? make it a 100k slowburn for good measure

ao3: coming right up, sir

me: thank you. oh, and waiter?

ao3: yes, sir?

It was probably five years ago now.

I used to get on the train after work sometimes and just go to center city. And there was a dress shop I'd stop in front of. The kind you don't walk into unless you know beyond a doubt you've got the dough to buy something.

There was a floor-length dress on a model in the window that I was taken by. It was stunning. With bead work enough to fill a craft room.

It glowed down at me from up on its pedestal of perfection, and I felt down my body, trying to imagine if I'd ever look good in something so magnificent. My pitiful excuse for self-worth was eating at me as I mentally checked every reason why, even if I could afford something so nice, it be wasted on someone like me.

I heard him before I saw him. The jingling of a wallet chain and the heavy thump of black work boots.

He stopped next to me, a big fucker, probably 6'8 or 6'9, in all black except his face which was done up with white and black grease paint. The lines were crisp, and the colors didn't bleed into one another at all. To finish the look, he was wearing an ICP tee, the sleeves cut off at the shoulders. He looked every bit the stereotype.

He looked down at me, them to the dress and then back at me.

I don't know what he saw but he spoke to me, with warmth and conviction the likes I'd never received from a stranger before.

"That dress would look beautiful on YOU."

I could only nod and give him a thank you. He shook his head and pointed at the dress then me.

"You aren't listenin. That DRESS," he pointed again for emphasis, "would look beautiful on YOU."

I thought I understood then what he was trying to say then. That I would be the one assigning the beauty. Not the dress, not the clothes. But me, the person wearing it. I nodded and thanked him again, saying it with more confidence.

Then he kept walking. I never saw him again. The interaction took probably all of twenty seconds. But I'll never forget.

The dress looks beautiful on YOU. Not because the fabric is nice or the materials or fine. But because it's on you. And you make it beautiful.