Burr is blushing wildly, as they fuss over him. He's never had a fitting before--even as a child, it seemed at odds with the Edwards values. Standing in front of the mirrors is an arresting egoism that cannot be avoided--himself blown up to an unnatural degree, all around him, looking painfully inadequate in an apparently unstylish plum, in a worm, hole-worn sweater, surrounded by lush excess, suits, and is Thomas eating smoked meats?

He is an escort, and he does brush elbows with these people, but normally he's confined to being pushed face down into a mattress and fucked in a nice hotel.

"You--you look well, Thomas," Burr stutters by way of greeting. "Mr. Mulligan, pleased to make your aquaintance."

Doesn't know much what to do with himself, standing there. And his eyes drift naturally to Thomas's sprawl. Yes, he looks nice here. At home. Elegant. He forces himself to look away.