Simon watched Zech, eyes moving down for a moment, and back up. "Aye, ser, if yer actually interested in our fishing techniques. I could... deal cards instead, if ye prefer..." he looked at Zech just a little too intently as he said that.

Zechariah blushed from his head to his feet.

“Uh – heh – how about...”

He knew that was a euphemism for something but the university men had been a little subtler.

“Show me around.” The redness stayed in his face, but he seemed less flustered.

Simon could barely keep himself from smirking.

Virgin.

Quite different from Hurley then.

"Alright then. Let's go to the harbour first." He started walking, while rolling up his sleeves. Wasn't it warm?

Zechariah was still in a tophat, suit coat, waistcoat, tie, gloves, and long sleeves. While the clothes were lighter in color and fabric for the summer, it did not change that they were, indeed, layers.

His eyes followed Simon’s sleeves up in open fascination. A glance to Simon’s face, and then he undid the top buttons of his jacket as he followed. So scandalous!

“Are you from around here?”

Simon smiled to himself when he realized he was being stared at. Meijer was so different. Hurley gave orders. Simon followed if he wanted his money. But now he felt like for once, he had a little bit of power. And it felt good.

"Aye, ser, born and raised 'ere. Yer not from England yerself at all, are ye?"

He shrugged his jacket open, fingers teasing across waistcoat buttons before settling in his pants pocket.

“What gave it away?” he asked, the arm’s length between them shrinking a couple centimeters.

Simon watched as the man's fingers trailed accross the buttons, wondering what it would be like to slowly open all those layers of clothing and - right, best not think about that too much in public. Would he be able to get Mr. Meijer to pay for certain services? He was all eyes alright. "Where are you from, ser?" It was not his place to ask questions. But then, it was not his place to spend time around a gentleman in the first place. Meijer had slowly moved nearer and suddenly, Simon stepped a little to the side so that his shoulder and arm bumped into Zech's. He stepped back with a startled expression. "I do apologise, ser." But he didn't mean it.

The sun was setting in candied, sweet pink and orange. It brought out the streaks of red in Simon’s hair. The strength in his jaw. He was his age. Was he unattached? Were the ladies blind enough to pass him up? … The gentlemen?

Zechariah thumbed the first button of his vest open just before dropping his hand, eyes on him as he did so.

“Prague, Mr. Ward.” There was a teasing note to his address.

All it took was the miniscule brushing of fabric against fabric for him to be red again. It was Zechariah’s fault, he was certain – he had been seeing how close he could get. He held a hand up to stop the apology.

“My fault,” he said … though he did not apologize, watching him intently.

Simon brought up a hand and ran it through his hair - which was a little too short for him to need to do that. "Never mind it then... Ye needn't call me owt but Simon..." He looked Zech in the eye for a moment. Simon's eyes were hazel, framed by reddish brown lashes, and they looked at Zech intently, almost challenging, for a moment, before Simon looked down.

Zechariah met his gaze, smug now.

“I will keep that in mind...” he casually bumped his shoulder against Simon’s in stride. “Mr. Ward.”