The bell chimed above the door, signifying that there was another customer; your eyes flickering up from the stitch you were currently sewing. The sound of the rain outside flooding in for a few seconds, dark clouds hiding all signs of the sun.

Simon walked in, balaclava over his face, dressed in dark clothing. “Here for a fitting,” his voice low and distant.

You nodded, standing up after checking your appointment list. “Simon?”

He gave a curt nod, having him follow you to the back of the shop where the fitting room was already prepared.

You pulled a sleek black suit from the rack and looked at him, your eyes meet his before you start unwrapping it. “For tomorrow, right?”

His jaw ticked under his balaclava, another short nod as he stared at you. His body language was tense and stiff, unease settling in his bones.

After he dressed into the dress shirt, you helped him slip on the suit jacket - fingers brushing over the coarse fabric of his shirt.

You started making temporary adjustments; fingers working diligently in silence - it felt cold between you two.

“A friend?” You asked quietly, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah,” his voice barely a whisper. “Johnny— he would’ve hated this. Never wanted a big funeral.”

Your heart dropped, the weight of the room got heavier; you let the silence settle in between you two again. There was nothing you could say to make it any better, there never was.

With each adjustment you made, you caught his eyes in the mirror; his eyes distant as if he wasn’t even seeing his reflection - but something beyond that.

This wasn’t just fabric and thread, but something he would wear to honor his best friend. You adjusted the last thing and took a step back, giving him a small smile; despite the tension.

“Fits you well,” you said softly, putting down your tools. He stepped up to the mirror, looking at the suit and smoothing it out a bit with the back of his hand.

“Do you ever get used to this?” He asked suddenly, his eyes shifting to you in the mirror.