His worry was squashed, however, when as soon as the pair of store attendants behind the front desk had seen Damon – who, of course, had changed into one of his signature suits – they’d all but laid out the red carpet. The owner of Bianchi’s, Miles Bianchi, had even come out the back to tend to Micah himself.

Micah had only ever had occasion to wear a fancy suit twice in his life – once for senior prom and once when his best friend, Scott Larsen, from high school had gotten married. Both times, he’d been able to get away with buying a suit off the rack.

When he’d mentioned this little fact to Mr. Bianchi, the man had turned bright red and sputtered. Then he’d proceeded to take every conceivable measurement of Micah’s body sans the length of his dick. Regardless, Micah had felt violated by the time the man was finished, and he knew he would never look at a roll of measuring tape the same way ever again.

He’d then been made to try on roughly twenty different suits. During this process, he’d learned that he had a cool skin tone and was naturally more suited towards greens, blues, and purples versus warmer colors, wide lapels looked clownish on his frame and should be avoided at all costs, and that while he could pull off ties well enough, bowties were “magnifico” – Mr. Bianchi’s words, not his.

Frankly, Micah never knew so much work went into making people look good, and he didn’t know how anyone could stand it. He told Mr. Bianchi as much.

“I can’t believe people undergo this torture willingly,” Micah muttered, wincing when Mr. Bianchi poked him in the calf with a safety pin. He was tapering the bottoms of some navy pants that paired with the only jacket that fit him well enough to need only minimal alterations.

Damon was custom ordering everything else with Micah’s measurements.

“‘Tis art, not torture,” Mr. Bianchi scolded him. “Look at Mr. Romano, for instance. He is masterful, no?”

Micah couldn’t help but scrunch his nose, hearing Damon referred to as “Mr. Romano”. Regardless, he glanced Damon’s way. The man was busy on his phone. “Well, yeah, he looks good, but have you seen the man in a t-shirt?” Micah had – just that morning. “He’d look just as enticing in a sweatsuit from Costco.”

Mr. Bianchi grimaced, looking pained, and Micah had a feeling another poke was coming his way. It was worth it, though, when he saw a hint of a grin pulling at the corner of Damon’s mouth – the only sign the man was paying them any attention.

In the end, Damon had ordered eight full suits. Micah had no idea why he needed more suits than there were days of the week, but when he’d attempted to point this out, both Mr. Bianchi and Damon had looked scandalized.

Since all the suits except one were being tailored specifically to his measurements, and the one that wasn’t still required alterations, he and Damon left the shop with only three boxes of dress shoes. Apparently, everything else would be ready by the end of next week – rushed, of course, for one of Bianchi’s most prestigious customers.