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It's when he's on the edge of sleep and fingers are still tracing the dips in his spine when Eliott whispers, “What would we do today?”
Lucas almost doesn’t answer because the warmth of Eliott against his back envelopes and pushes him under that much further. Eliott on top of him is something else, something he’s already so familiar with, something he never wants to be without. It’s terrifying in all it’s comfort.
He feels Eliott’s smile against his skin, his hand squeezing his gently, and he breathes out an “Anything” into his pillow.
We can do anything. I’ll do anything with you. For you.
And then he sleeps.
~
Instead of Eliott’s eyes, it’s a raccoon and a hedgehog staring back at him when he wakes up.
He desperately tries not to let the bitterness take hold, but it sneaks up his back as he dresses, erasing the memory of Eliott’s touch. The only other reminder of what happened the night before in the dampness of his clothing littered across the floor. And the drawing.
His room looks the same even though it had been witness to it, to quiet talks of multiple paths and multiple universes and to Eliott’s blinding smile pressing kisses to his mouth, his neck, his shoulder blades, his fingers. Marking every part of him that he wanted but leaving no trace of it.
It had been enough to create a whole world inside Lucas, one he’d hoped would spark brilliantly and spread out towards Eliott, easy and beautiful, like the lacing of their fingers.
He could have stayed there, in that warmth, that light, forever. But it snuck out of his room, joining the rest of the world as he slept.
Except the drawing.
He hides it in his pillowcase before he moves back to the couch.
~
His dad transfers just enough money into his account to cover his rent and nothing more.
Which is just. Fucking fantastic now that he’s sleeping on the couch and gets to use the bathroom last when there’s only cold water left because he’s the distant cousin. He sneaks the tiniest amounts of Lisa’s shampoo so she doesn’t notice, so none of them notice. He gets the short end of the stick when it comes to weekly chores and digs around in the couch cushions for loose change to cover his part of the laundry fund. He can’t buy beer for his friends when it’s his turn, he borrows Yann’s scarf because he doesn’t have one, his shoes are almost falling apart and there's only half a bag of chips on his shelf in the cupboard.
Distant cousin is the perfect metaphor for his whole goddamn life.
His mother texts him about generosity of spirit, how God loves a cheerful giver.
It shouldn’t fuck with his head as much as it does but it sends him into a whirlwind of guilt and anxiety that burns in his chest. Literal reminders of everything he has and how it could be so much different, so much worse.
After an hour with one of the couch cushions pressed over his head and Mika almost sitting on him, he texts her back a heart.
He also texts his dad a thank you. It only stings a little when he gets no response.
~
Manon spends a lot of time locked away in his-her- fuck it, their room, and if he wasn’t sleeping on the couch every night it’d feel like she wasn’t there at all. He never hears or sees her, she’s not even really talking to Mika and Lisa with the amount of whispering the two of them do in the hallway outside the door.
“She’s okay right?”
“She’s tired I think? Should we just go in? Let’s go in.”
He almost tells them not to, to leave her alone, that she’ll come to them if she wants, but it’s not really his place is it?
They never go in.
~
Daphy texts him early Sunday morning about the mural and what timeline, if any, Eliott’s given him about when it’ll be finished.
He sends her back a shrug emoji and she writes back that as the director of the foyer, she should be informed of their progress moving forward.
Yeah, he’d like to be informed of their progress moving forward too.
~
He ignores Instagram posts about parties and ice cream in favor of drafting 24 different text messages to Eliott, everything from a slightly lame, mostly heartsick, Hey dude to waxing pathetically about kisses in the rain and how the feel of Eliott’s hands in his had done more for him than anything or anyone else in his world.
How they could still do anything if Eliott wanted.
The vulnerability of it almost chokes him though and he can’t bring himself to send any of them.
~
In another universe, another Eliott took another path to another Lucas.
~
Somehow he becomes Manon’s taste tester when she decides to turn the kitchen into a bakery.
He’s feeling extra bitchy because he’s not texting Eliott and Eliott’s not texting him. He side eyes her ingredients like he does when Mika makes them watch baking shows on Saturdays and he pretends to play games on his phone.
“Blueberries don’t belong in cakes.”
“Thanks for the tip Lucas. I appreciate it.”
She makes every batch with blueberries after that.
Shit talk aside, the whole thing screams coping mechanism because she hasn’t spoken about Charles and England or when she’s going back or if she’s going back to school or if she’s permanently back in the flat. She’s slept and slept some more and asked about Eliott which fuck that.
Distractions are nice and necessary, he gets that. He gets the baking. He gets the 10 recipes from Pintrest. His fingers itch for a piano more than they ever have.
Her phone remains silent and so does his.
He shoves a whole muffin into his mouth, swallowing the feelings down with it.
~
In the end though he sends Eliott a picture of a baby hedgehog with a flower and a question about Mondays at school or the lack thereof.
The silence he gets in response is overwhelming.
~
In another universe, another Eliott does text another Lucas back.
~
“We need more flour.”
Lucas nods absentmindedly from his spot on the floor, not lifting his head from his homework spread out before him, when Manon clears her throat pointedly.
He sighs, eyes rolling. Gets up and reaches for his jacket.
“Let’s go get some flour then.”
The walk to the store isn’t far and they do it in silence, Manon familiarizing herself with the neighborhood and bumping her shoulder with his every few feet. It’s nice, sort of.
It’s when they’ve got a basket full of 3 bags of flour and sugar that she turns to him. “I’ve been thinking about the room.”
And then it’s not nice. His stomach drops and he’s already crafting a message to Yann in his head about staying with him for a few days when she continues.
“It’s really not fair of me to ask you to keep sleeping on the couch and still pay for it. So… how about I pay the rent for awhile? And you don’t have to tell your parents-“
He's already shaking his head before she’s finished speaking, his heart racing because it feels so much like charity that it makes him want to throw up right there in the baking section.
“No. It’s fine. It really is.”
As they walk through the store, she stares at him in between filling the basket with pasta, rice, and eggs.
“How about,” she begins and he opens his mouth to argue but she holds up a finger and glares at him. “How about we split it then? We’re sharing it so it shouldn’t just all be on you. We split the rent and one week you have it, the next week I have it.”
“So you’re staying then?”
And that’s enough to make her look sad and anxious and Lucas hates it.
“I’m trying to figure that out still.”
He shakes his head. “Mika and Lisa-“
“Let me handle them. I’ll tell them I overruled their vote,” she smirks and tosses a bag of chocolate chips in the basket. “It was yours first and you’ve been really good about it. Let me do this.”
So he does. He swallows down his protests and they make that deal and as they walk home, a small weight lifts from his shoulders.
~
It’s Wednesday when he sees Eliott again. In the foyer.
Lucas was just walking by and there he was, sitting on the floor, leaning back on his hands, long legs spread out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. Just staring at the mural.
It’s quiet in the room and Lucas hates to disturb it, disturb him but. It’s like a magnet, this thing with them. He really can’t help but enter the room, his steps quiet but still sounding far too loud. He wonders if Eliott can hear his heart beating too.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Eliott doesn’t turn, just continues to take in the mural.
“I haven’t seen you.” He tries not to sound accusatory but. After Friday night and Saturday morning, after You’re the first and You’re all I saw, after being so consumed by another person and then to not see or hear from them, that shit stings. Seeing him again, hearing him again, Lucas can finally acknowledge the ache that’s been there since he left.
Eliott turns to him, an apologetic look in his eye and a small smile on his face and just like You can choose the music, Lucas melts.
“I’m sorry. There was something I had to do. But it’s done now.” He pats the spot on the floor next to him. “Promise.”
It's so fucking easy to just fall back into it, to smile and sit so that’s exactly what he does. Together they look at the godawful mural in silence. Eliott scoots closer, his arm bumping Lucas’. And everything is warm again.
“Do you know what it’s going to be? What you want to paint?” Lucas asks quietly, not wanting to break the softness surrounding them.
“Not yet. Still trying to figure that out. Trying to see it, ya know?”
“Not really, no.”
Eliott smiles at him fondly and Lucas almost misses his next words.
“Sometimes I have to wait for the inspiration to strike. For the right emotion, the right vision. And it’s gotta be good. Daphné expects nothing less.”
“But you're good.”
Eliott quirks his eyebrows, smile widening. And then it’s easy silence again, only broken by Eliott moving his hand over Lucas’, tracing his fingers.
“I have a question for you.”
“Okay."
“Would you want to go on a date with me?”
Lucas has to bite down on his lip to keep the smile from jumping out. But. “Lucille?”
“That’s over.”
Looking at Eliott, Lucas knows it's true. That's all he needs. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah."
“Just like that?”
“Were you expecting me to say no?”
“No,” Eliott shrugs, grinning. “Just. Easier than I thought.”
Lucas laughs, surprised and quick, and he kicks Eliott’s leg. “You can fuck right off.”
“I had this big romantic gesture planned out if you’d said no. And now you’ll never experience it." He shakes his head regretfully. "You just get boring date Eliott. Sorry ‘bout it.”
Lucas stares at his lips and softly replies, “I think I could get used to him.”
Eliott drifts closer into his space, brings his hand up to brush his fingers against Lucas’ cheek. There’s a quick press of Eliott’s mouth against his, too quick, but they’re not exactly alone with all the windows and students passing by without warning. It can wait, Lucas tells himself. He’s waited and he’ll wait some more. It's only the beginning. And what a wonderful, terrifying thought that is. To begin with Eliott by his side.
“Not to break the mood completely but. How would your parents feel about this?”
And yeah. Fuck. Mood broken.
Lucas looks back at the mural trying to put his thoughts into words, wanting to convey it in the right way but it’s never been something he’s ever been able to talk about. Only shoved down with alcohol and girls he tries to be interested in and heartbreaking texts at 2 in the morning.
But with Eliott. He can. He can do anything.
“Well… my dad wouldn’t really care. He’s not involved in my life. At all.”
He expects something, the same kind of pitying look he sometimes gets from the guys or his roommates or whenever it’s obvious that he has no idea how to take care of himself sometimes. But Eliott only looks at him like he’s interested, like he wants to know every little thing that’s ever happened to him or will happen to him.
Maybe that's part of this. The beginning. Maybe if they belong to Eliott, they’ll be safe.
“My mom though. It’s hard with her. Communicating is hard right now.”
“Why?”
His eyes sting and he shakes his head a little, because fuck, it shouldn’t be like this. He should want to introduce Eliott to his mother, should want that part of his life to meet this part of his life, but it can't.
“She’s crazy.”
The silence that falls between them is heavy and Lucas swallows against the lump it forms in his throat.
“How so?” He glances at Eliott who’s turned back to the mural.
“She’s in a clinic. She texts me all of these bible verses about the devil and my dad’s sins and. It’s never about me, it's all this stuff in her head. My dad left us and I couldn’t take care of her. It was. A lot. So. Yeah.”
The only thing he can feel is Eliott's hand in his.
"It's just not something I’ll ever be able to tell her.” It’s something he’s never been able to admit to himself but yeah. His parents will probably never know this piece, never fully see him, never meet Eliott, no matter how much he might want it. And the weight of that is almost suffocating.
“What about your parents?”
That’s able to break Eliott’s eyes away from the mural and back down to their joined hands. He smiles softly. “I think that they’d’ve loved you.”
He grips Eliott’s hand like a lifeline, that piece lighting him up.
“Listen,” Eliott squeezes his hand hard, before letting go, and standing. “I gotta get to class.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lucas scrambles to his feet as well. “Okay. Me too.”
It’s quick again, the kiss pressed against his mouth, but insistent, searching. Like Eliott’s memorizing the feel and taste of him. Lucas can only smile into it.
In this universe, their paths met again.
~
The next day the mural’s been painted over in black.
That night Lucas receives a text.
“I think we’re going too fast. I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault.”
No. It’s his.
~
In another universe, another Lucas does toss himself into the void. He wonders if they’re feeling the same things right now.
~
He lays on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, his phone on his chest, where his heart used to be. It’s not his week to have the room, but he just needs it. He just needs to be in that space where he and Eliott had existed together so briefly and beautifully.
He doesn’t know if he should cry or be angry or get drunk off Lisa’s vodka. He’s just kind of. Frozen. In the dark.
Manon wanders in with a bowl of food that she sets on his desk.
“Lucas?”
He doesn't answer. Can’t answer. Can only stare at the ceiling and go over it all again and try to figure it out, figure out what happened, where it went wrong, where he was too much or too little. Too young or too stupid. Not enough. Never enough.
Manon doesn’t leave, lays next to him, her head next to his, her breathing joining his.
He remembers when Manon told him he could go to her for anything, talk to her about anything.
How does he tell her that no one has ever really seen him, that he doesn’t allow anyone to see him, and she’s maybe the second person who’s ever been close enough.
That the only other person he’s ever let closer doesn’t want him anymore. That he left. Just like his dad left him and his mom, just like Manon left Charles, just like everyone leaves everyone at some point. It’s almost too much to carry let alone put into words.
“Are you okay?” She echoes the same words of their brief text conversation. If he could only lie now like he did then but it hurts and it’s raw and it’s heavy.
“No.”
He’s so goddamn tired of lying.
He hears her sigh. “Me neither.”
Guess they both are.