Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“Because saying not to worry about something always makes me not
worry.”
Nelson sighed. “Focus. Unless you’re good with what you’re wearing,
that is.”
And so they began again as the sun rose, cool light stretching along the
floor and wall.
By the time the second event of note occurred on Wallace’s thirteenth day in
the tea shop, he’d managed to dress himself in jeans and an oversized
sweater, the sleeves too long and flopping over his hands. The boots were
gone. In their place was a pair of loafers. He’d considered trying for one of
his suits, but had dismissed the idea after thinking about it for a long moment.
The right suit was made to show power. If worn correctly, it could cut an
intimidating figure, making a very specific point that the wearer was
important and knew what they were talking about, even when they didn’t. But
here, now, what purpose would it serve?
Nothing, Wallace thought. Hence the jeans and sweater.
The din of the shop was loud around them—it wasn’t quite noon, though
the lunch crowd was already forming—but Wallace was too impressed with
himself to notice. He couldn’t believe that such a little thing as a new outfit
would bring him such peace. “There,” he said, having waited ten minutes to
make sure it wasn’t a fluke. “That’s better. Right?”
“Depends on who you’re asking,” Nelson muttered.
Wallace squinted at him. “What?”
“Some people might have enjoyed what you were wearing more than
others.”
Wallace didn’t know what to do with that. “Oh, uh. Thank you? I’m
flattered, but I don’t think you and I are—”
Nelson snorted. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Don’t always see what’s
right in front of you, do you, counselor?”
Wallace blinked. “What’s right in front of me?”
Nelson leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “What
a deep and meaningful question. Do you ask yourself that often?”
“No,” Wallace said.