Work Text:
“I’m just saaaaying, you’re gonna catch a cold in that silly shirt!!”
“My shirt is fine! I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion so fuck off already!”
Samatoki is stubborn to a fault. This is, very unfortunately, a fact of nature. Which is why Ramuda is grumbling to himself as he painstakingly sketches a jacket into his sketchbook, with more notes than necessary scribbled on the sides.
Around him are other such notes, written in excruciating detail about the stitch types and belt loop location and materials used in various types of vintage clothing. He didn’t really need to be putting all this effort in, but to do anything less would be a failure to him.
After all, Samatoki may be stubborn to a fault, but so is Ramuda. And in his case, he knows exactly what would get Samatoki to fold.
It isn’t even a matter of concern at this point. Samatoki can go and catch himself a cold for all Ramuda cares, but this is a matter of Ramuda’s pride. If he can’t get Samatoki to yield over something as simple as putting on warm clothes, then what good is he?
Sketch, resketch, and sketch again. Each detail must be perfect down to the millimeter. For everything else, issues can be fixed at the production stage. But for the jacket and pants, he refuses to allow a single detail to be forgotten. Refuses to allow even the tiniest risk that he’d make a mistake that vintage clothing lover Samatoki can spot.
Dusk crawls through the windows by the time Ramuda’s finally satisfied with the dimensions of his designs. Still mind-deep in his flow state, he rushes around getting the materials he needs. It’s foresight on his part that he has the fabrics and threads for it.
Time is irrelevant as he focuses solely on carefully drawing out the patterns he needs, on measuring the lengths to the precise numbers he needs, on slowly cutting out the patterns. Samatoki’s measurements are etched in his mind, constant enough for him to have faith that his precision is more than enough.
While his sewing machine has saved much time for him for clothing, he knows he won’t be able to use it this time. There’s no setting on it that would allow him to replicate the stitches that marked the uniqueness of Samatoki’s beloved clothing.
He’ll need to do everything, from the jacket to the pants to the gloves, by hand. It’ll take so much time and effort.
Samatoki had better be fucking grateful.
His only signs to take care of himself are the occasional texts from his posse and ladies, when the buzzing of his phone is too much for him to ignore. Though he responds back only in vague reassurances, it’s enough to get him away from his work. Just enough to eat, and sleep.
And then it’s back to work he goes, clothing forming into shape beneath his hands and perfection pieced together with each stitch of the needle.
He finishes the undershirt, cares for each careful stitch of the gloves, double checks the placement of belt loops in the pants, neatly brings together every little bit of the jacket, and—
And—?
There’s… nothing left. The outfit is complete. He checks, double checks, and triple checks his work, looking for mistakes when there are none. And finally, finally, he slumps over as his single-minded focus is brought to its end.
Exhaustion weighs down his head and eyelids, but he resolutely ignores it and puts his tools away. The state of his body after working is nothing new, and he has more important things to attend to.
Refreshing himself in the shower and styling his freshly damp hair carefully, he decides it’s the rare occasion to put on makeup, if only to hide his eyebags. As for clothes… something warm befitting the weather outside. White isn’t the best for warmth, but the fabric and fluff makes up for it. Ramuda knows he looks better in white than black, anyway. Carefully folding and packing the clothes he made away, he grabs a pink shawl to cover himself before heading out.
Maybe he should have checked the time before he headed out. There was light outside, though, so he figured he should be fine. Samatoki tends to stay in two places, so it’s just a matter of going to the most likely place he’d be.
Just so he doesn't have to deal with the hassle of being unwelcome, he sends Samatoki a text once he’s on the train. Nothing informative, just a statement of fact that he’ll be dropping by, welcome or not. Beneath that, an implication that if he’s stopped, he’ll simply take care of the poor underlings that tried.
He slips his phone back into his purse, uncaring of any potential texts he’ll get.
The path he takes is leisurely. He didn’t bother telling Samatoki when he’ll drop by, and he feels no need to hurry. Luckily, it seems that Samatoki took the hint, because no one stops him as he makes his way into Samatoki’s headquarters.
Like usual, he flings open the door without knocking and with a wide, wide smile. Samatoki, of course, is wearing that disgustingly thin shirt, completely unsuited for the season. Ramuda doesn’t let that show on his face, though.
“Hi hi~!” He waves childishly, kicking the door closed behind him. “Ramuda-chan is here~!”
Samatoki’s gaze flicks over to him, in that narrowed sort of way that suggests that he’s going to yell something. He does not. Instead, he just stares, and Ramuda can just see the way Samatoki’s gaze goes from his hair to his dress and away and—haha, is that a bit of a blush Ramuda can almost see coloring his cheeks~?
This outfit really is the right choice~!
“The hell are you wearing?” Samatoki mutters, and Ramuda can’t hear the usual sharpness in his voice.
Not deigning to answer that silly question, because Samatoki can see just fine, Ramuda skips over to Samatoki’s side. Their gazes meet again, and Ramuda can see the way Samatoki’s eyebrow raises in a silent question.
Damn, did Samatoki notice his makeup? He doesn’t bother to answer, because he doesn’t want unnecessary comments about his lack of self care when Samatoki clearly does the same, and shoves the bag of clothes toward Samatoki.
“Here!” Ramuda chirps out, “A present for you, Sillytoki~!”
He doesn’t miss how the look in Samatoki’s eyes changes, a cautious look down at the bag as he takes it. Ramuda watches and rocks on his heels impatiently, waiting as Samatoki slowly takes out the wrapped package. Would the softness of the interior tip him off?
The package is opened with little fanfare, and Ramuda’s pleased to note a slight widening of Samatoki’s eyes when he notices the details of the clothes.
Does Samatoki see the careful stitching in every seam, the way it’s styled perfectly for his tastes? The effort Ramuda put into creating something for Samatoki and Samatoki alone? The hours and days of planning and love and single-minded focus because Ramuda’s emotional enough to care about Samatoki’s health?
Samatoki says nothing, so Ramuda’s only left to wonder.
No thanks is given, which is rude, but Ramuda expects it well enough and considers the thanks to be the almost gentle way Samatoki handles the clothes. The seconds pass by, as he watches the way Samatoki eyes the stitching and zippers and everything else.
Samatoki finally gives a small grunt, not bothering to look up. “Not bad.”
Hearing that, Ramuda can’t help but give a satisfied smirk, because this is one of those instances where Samatoki doesn’t say what he actually means, and he knows exactly what the message is.
“Thank ya, thank ya, you’re suuuuuper welcome~!”
Without further warning, he slides onto Samatoki’s lap. Any growls or protests are ignored as he takes the clothes and sets them on the desk.
“I’ll be taking my reward now~” Hands set on Samatoki’s shoulders, Ramuda leans in to bite the lobe of his ear. Hearing an answering hiss, he presses a gentle kiss to the spot, and in the same moment slides his leg between Samatoki’s and grinds against him. He giggles at the resulting shudder, and moves to murmur in Samatoki’s ear just as he feels hands rest on his hips.
“A shame that your clothes are going to be ruined, so you’d better thank me for preparing that in advance~”