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Elio had been bopping around in the middle of the living room for what felt like hours. He’d gotten really excited when he’d heard Talking Heads come on and pulled Marzia onto the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by kids from his senior class.
As another song faded out, he noticed that the floor was tilting in an alarming manner, and he was forced to admit that maybe the five—or was it six?—drinks he’d downed earlier had caught up with him.
He stumbled out of the mass of bodies and would have tripped face-first into the floor if someone hadn’t caught him by the arms.
“Hey, you okay?” a deep voice said.
He looked up to see Oliver’s face peering at him—“Elio? You okay?”—seeming to assess his level of drunkenness.
Elio blinked, and then crowed, “Oliver! I didn’t know you were here.”
“I didn’t know you were here either, until I saw you tearing it up on the dance floor. You’ve got great moves,” Oliver said with a little smile.
Elio giggled. His legs weren’t feeling too steady. “Tearing it up? Who talks like that?”
“I do, I suppose,” said Oliver, releasing his hold on Elio experimentally. “How do you feel? Do you need some water?”
Elio hummed noncommittally and swayed on the spot. Through the haze of drunkenness he was surprised at Oliver’s concern. “I feel great. I just wish everything would stop spinning so much.”
“Alright, hang in there.” Oliver slung one of Elio’s arms over his shoulder and suddenly they were moving. They ended up in the kitchen, which was quieter away from the thumping stereo. Oliver deposited Elio against a counter and then started opening cupboards.
“You're wasted, aren’t you?” said Oliver with what Elio hopefully interpreted as a fond tone.
“Mmmmm...maybe,” Elio said, unwilling to commit himself one way or the other.
Oliver was smiling. Elio had always thought Oliver had a great smile, since the first time he saw him. And he smiled a lot. Sometimes he even smiled at Elio, like he was doing right now, which made Elio’s chest feel warm.
So okay, maybe Elio had a tiny crush on him, but who could blame him? Oliver Goldstein was attractive and smart and more self-assured than any 18 year old had a right to be.
And right now he was pouring Elio a glass of water and grabbing his arm every time he seemed in danger of tilting too far to one side.
“Even though you’re ‘maybe’ sober, you should drink this,” said Oliver.
Elio thanked him, and when he took the first sip he realized how thirsty he was. More evidence to Oliver being smart.
Oliver was rummaging through the pantry as Elio drank his water. He watched as he grabbed the bread, saw his arm flex when he closed the door. Oliver should wear t-shirts more often, Elio thought.
Oliver found a plate and butter knife on his first try. He certainly knew his way around this kitchen, so Elio blurted, “Is this your house?” He could have kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew this wasn’t Oliver’s house.
Oliver laughed as he gathered everything on the island bench. “No, Scott’s just a good friend. I’ve been here a million times.”
Elio was a little surprised to see that his glass was already empty “I’ve finished my water,” he told Oliver.
“Good work.”
“Thank you,” said Elio, though he had a feeling Oliver may have been teasing him.
Before Elio could get restless, Oliver was rounding the island and handing him a plate.
“For me?” Elio said, looking down at the sandwich Oliver had cut in half.
“Yes, for you. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
It was just peanut butter and jelly, but as Elio took the first few bites his drunk mind concluded that this was the best thing he had ever tasted. Forget latkes or his mom’s brisket. If he had the choice, this sandwich would be his last meal.
It was only when Oliver laughed and said “glad you like it” that Elio realized he was practically moaning in satisfaction.
“It’s amazing,” he said between mouthfuls.
“How are you feeling?”
His legs were a little more stable, but that may have been because he was still leaning against the counter. Now that he wasn’t dancing and was getting some food in his belly, he was a little tired, which he told Oliver.
“Room still spinning?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Elio felt scrutinized with those blue eyes on him, so he hastily took another bite.
“What made you decide to come tonight?” Oliver asked.
“Huh?” Elio said. He was a little preoccupied with trying to look neither too uncomfortable nor too overjoyed that he was currently the sole focus of Oliver’s attention.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a party before.”
Oliver had noticed he didn’t usually go to parties, and Elio was definitely not excited about that. He was very chill.
In truth he had come to the party because Marzia had finally gotten fed up with his reclusive ways and threatened to hide his favorite vinyls if he spent another Saturday night at home with his parents, but he wasn’t going to tell Oliver that he’d been dragged here against his will, especially since it turned out he was actually quite enjoying himself. “Thought I’d try something new.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Elio was losing his battle to not look overjoyed. In his drunk mind he imagined his face looked something like a sunbeam right about now.
He was pleased, but equally bemused by this whole turn of events. One minute he’d been dancing in a sea of flailing limbs and now he was standing in the kitchen with Oliver, of all people, who’d gotten him water and made him a sandwich.
“You’re being so nice to me,” he said as Oliver took the empty plate.
“I’m always nice to you.”
Elio scrunched his brows, trying to figure out if that was true.
They’d never really been friends, but when they’d shared a lab desk for a day in sophomore year Oliver had made him feel smart and funny and interesting. After that day, Oliver did always say hi to Elio in the hallway, sometimes even remembering to ask about Italy after the holidays. One time he helped Elio pick his books up when he dropped them right before fifth period, and Elio’d thanked him before rushing off, worried about being late.
“I guess that’s true.” Why had Elio never noticed before? Had Oliver, just maybe, been trying to be his friend this whole time? There was only one way to find out. “So...are we friends now?”
Oliver gave him a small smile. “Sure.”
“Cool. I’ve always wanted a really smart friend.”
He didn’t realize Marzia had entered the kitchen until she said, “I heard that.” She poked his arm. “I’m about to leave. Are you staying or do you need a ride home?”
“Stay, please.” Elio smiled at Oliver, who looked satisfied.
“Okay,” said Marzia, looking between them and trying to contain a grin. She kissed Elio’s cheeks. “Be good. Thanks for taking care of him,” she said to Oliver.
“No problem, Marzia,” he replied. “Have a good night.”
After she’d disappeared, leaving the faint scent of jasmine in her wake, Elio squinted up at Oliver. “My parents want me to be more like you.”
Oliver looked surprised and a little confused. “I don’t even know your parents.”
Elio shook his head. “Not like you pacifically—I mean, spefi—” It seemed ‘specifically’ was a hurdle he was too drunk to get over right now. “—personally. Just more social, and—and popular and all that. They always say I should go out more, hang out with people my own age, because I spend so much time reading and stuff. But you—you go to parties, and everyone likes you. You remember everyone’s name. Like Marzia.”
“We’re in the same grade,” Oliver laughed.
“You know what I mean.”
Oliver nudged Elio’s shoulder gently. “Elio, this is, what, the first party you’ve been to? You wouldn’t even have to try if you wanted to make more friends, people are always—I mean, you’re so funny, and smart, and with your looks—uh, I mean—”
“But I’m your friend now, right?” He leaned forward and rested his forehead on Oliver’s chest. Being so tall, Oliver made an excellent leaning post.
“Yes, Elio,” Oliver laughed gently, hand coming up to pat Elio's back.
“You’re so comfortable.” He felt Oliver’s chest shake under his head, heard the low rumble up close as he laughed again.
Elio didn’t realize his eyes had closed until he startled awake against Oliver’s chest. “Whoa.”
Oliver huffed in disbelief. “Did you just fall asleep on me?”
“Um—maybe?”
“Geez Perlman, take me on a date first.”
The teasing words gave him a thrill. “Just say when and where,” Elio said before he could consider that this might be taking the joke too far. He couldn’t see Oliver’s face, but his hand was still resting lightly on Elio’s back, which was surely a good sign.
Oliver glanced right over it. “If you’re falling asleep on me, it might be time to get you to bed.”
“No no no no no,” he said, pushing away from Oliver. “This is a party, Oliver, it’s not bedtime yet.”
Oliver smiled, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Okay. You’re the boss.”
With the lack of an Oliver to lean against, standing felt like a lot of effort, so Elio slid to the floor. It was surprisingly comfortable sitting against the cabinets. He looked up at Oliver and patted the space next to him. Oliver just smiled and shook his head before sitting down.
He was even more comfortable when he rested his head on Oliver’s shoulder, his t-shirt soft under Elio’s cheek. He wasn’t sure how much time passed in the relative silence of the kitchen before he sighed and whispered, “Oliver.”
“Yeah?” Oliver whispered back.
“You have really nice hair.”
“Thank you,” Oliver said with humor in his voice.
“I always think you have the nicest hair in the school.”
“That’s a big compliment coming from you.” Oliver tugged on one of Elio’s curls. Elio smiled at the feeling, always a sucker for having his hair touched.
Oliver took his hand away and Elio made a noise of discontentment. Oliver’s hand came back, playing with his hair softly, growing more confident when Elio hummed in satisfaction.
His eyelids were growing heavy, and he may have been on the brink of drifting off again (although if Oliver asked he would have strenuously denied it) when he heard stumbling footsteps.
“Not here,” a girl giggled.
Elio opened his eyes to see a boy and a girl leaning on each other, looking none too sober. The guy spotted Elio slumped against Oliver and said, “Hey, is he okay?”
“He’s fine, just had a bit too much to drink,” said Oliver.
“No!” Elio sat bolt upright, suddenly indignant.
“Oh god, I’ve woken the beast,” said Oliver good-naturedly.
The sudden exertion tired Elio and he went back to Oliver’s shoulder. “I could have more drinks if I wanted more drinks.”
“Of course you could, Elio,” Oliver said with the tone of someone placating a small child.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?” the girl asked.
“Down the hallway, third door on the left.”
“Thanks.”
They stumbled off, leaving Elio and Oliver alone again.
When the music was turned off Oliver said, “I think it’s time for bed.”
“Whaaat? No,” Elio pouted.
“It’s 1:30,” said Oliver.
“Oh.” Elio brought his face to Oliver’s neck, lightly resting the tip of his nose against the skin there. It was soft and warm. Maybe he would be able to find Oliver’s pulse. He moved his nose along Oliver’s neck little by little, giggling to himself.
“What are you doing?” Oliver asked. His tone was amused but he sat very still.
“Nothing,” Elio said innocently. “I’m—I can’t feel your pulse.” His breath bounced against Oliver’s neck. “You might require medical attention because that is not a good sign.”
He had just decided to continue his search with his lips, which were more sensitive, when Oliver stood and said, “Alright, bedtime, you.”
Elio blinked up at him, then sighed and held out a hand. Oliver’s palm was warm against his. Elio swayed slightly once he found his feet.
“You’re staying here tonight, right?”
Elio nodded. “I just need to call my parents to let them know.”
“Now? Won’t they be in bed?”
“Nah, they’re night owls. Probably still up reading.”
There was a rotary telephone on the wall, and Elio had a fun few minutes getting it to cooperate before the call went through.
“Mama?” He twisted the cord around his finger.
“Elio, darling, ça va? Do you need us to come pick you up?”
“Non, je reste ici ce soir.”
“D’accord. Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime je t’aime je t’aime." He hung up the phone and turned back to Oliver, who was looking at him with wide eyes.
“What?” said Elio.
“I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“I am a man of many talents.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said Oliver.
Getting up the stairs was the next challenge, and one that, frankly, Elio would have preferred to bypass altogether. He tried to convince Oliver that he’d be fine sleeping on the couch in the living room, but Oliver was having none of it.
“Elio, there are plenty of spare bedrooms upstairs. Just—”
But Elio’s legs had given up again, and there were so many stairs. He clung to the banister and looked at Oliver balefully.
“Do you need me to carry you up?”
“What? No, I—Oliver!” Elio squawked as he was hoisted into the air and carried bridal-style. He closed his eyes and clutched the front of Oliver’s shirt for dear life.
Oliver was surprisingly strong, and didn’t seem to have much trouble navigating the stairs while carrying Elio, but that didn’t make it less terrifying. “Please don’t drop me.”
“We’re already here,” Oliver replied.
Elio’s eyes popped open and he saw that they were indeed on flat ground, standing in a dark bedroom. “Magic,” he whispered.
Oliver laughed and set him on his feet. “You’re all good now?”
“Yes,” said Elio, flopping onto the bed and sighing happily. “Thanks, Oliver.”
“No problem.”
He couldn’t make out Oliver’s features in the dark, just his silhouette against the light coming through the door, but he could almost feel his blue-eyed gaze. “Where are you sleeping?”
“I’ll be in the room at the end of the hall if you need me.”
“Oh. Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight.” Oliver shut the door softly behind him, leaving Elio in the darkness imagining that the pillow under his cheek was Oliver’s shoulder.
When Elio woke up the next morning, it took him a few moments to get his bearings. He eventually recognized the sparsely-furnished space he was in to be one of the guest bedrooms in Scott’s house, and once he’d established that, physical concerns made themselves known.
His head was pounding, and he felt a little nauseous. His body was stiff, as if he hadn’t moved all night, which wasn’t surprising considering he’d fallen asleep in jeans—not exactly comfortable sleepwear. At least he’d had the presence of mind to kick his shoes off.
He staggered to the ensuite in case his stomach decided to make any unpredictable moves, but after a couple minutes of hovering near the toilet it seemed he was in the clear.
Looking in the mirror, he saw that the curls on one side of his head were smooshed down and he had dark circles under his eyes, but overall it wasn't too bad. He found a new toothbrush under the sink and figured no one would miss it.
He brushed his teeth and sorted out his hair as best he could, and with that out of the way, he was forced to face up to the memories of the previous night, which, to be honest, kind of made him want to lock himself in the bathroom and never come out again.
He had been so drunk that Oliver had spent the end of the party looking after him, and on top of that, he’d acted like a needy, clingy child.
He was just trying to figure out how he could avoid Oliver for the foreseeable future when there was a soft knock at the bedroom door. “Elio?” He had to push down the mingled dread and elation he felt when he heard Oliver’s voice saying his name.
“Yeah,” he replied as he came out into the main room, his voice a little rusty. He cleared his throat.
“Can I come in?” Oliver sounded hesitant.
“Uh, sure.” Please go away, I’m not sure I can make eye contact with you ever again.
The door clicked open and Oliver walked in, and of course he looked even better than he had last night, with his sleep-rumpled hair and bare feet and soft pajama bottoms and t-shirt. He’d brought pajama bottoms. For some reason Elio found this unbearably endearing.
As expected, he could hardly look Oliver in the face as he struggled under waves of embarrassment, and instead focused on the patch of carpet he was digging his toe into. He was sure his face was red, displaying his utter mortification, but Oliver didn’t comment on it. Instead he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Elio grimaced a smile at the reprise of last night’s concern. “Fine. I mean, my head hurts a little, but it’s fine…”
“I thought that might be the case, so I brought these.”
Elio looked up to see him holding out a glass of water and two pills. It took him a beat too long to take the offering, evidence that Oliver’s solicitousness truly knew no bounds.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the pills in succession and downing the glass of water when he realized just how thirsty he was. This all felt very familiar.
“Your head should start to feel better soon. Just rest, I’ll be back,” said Oliver, and before Elio could even formulate a response or a question, the door was closing.
Well, he couldn’t make a surreptitious getaway now. And Oliver was still taking care of him.
He sat on the bed to wait for Oliver’s return, and discovered that pulling his knees to his chest and bowing his head eased the headache somewhat.
In this private dark cave he wondered why Oliver was doing all this. Sure, last night when Elio was drunk he’d said they were friends, but they weren’t really, and Elio nearly falling asleep on Oliver’s shoulder didn’t change that. He couldn’t figure out Oliver’s motivations for being so nice to him.
…Except he could. He’d realized it last night—Oliver had always been nice to Elio. He was a nice person. He’d seen Elio, drunk and about to faceplant into the floor, and stepped in to help because that’s the sort of guy he was. And he was checking up on him now because he felt obligated to see it through.
Last night Elio’s drunk mind had convinced him it meant more than it did, that it meant they were really friends instead of acquaintances who shared a lab desk once.
Before his thoughts could spiral any further, he heard the door open again. He lifted his head to see Oliver, who was holding a plate, frown in concern at the way Elio was curled up. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Elio said as he unfurled himself. “Really. You don’t have to keep taking care of me.”
“Oh,” said Oliver, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, um...too late. I...I thought you'd be hungry, so I made some breakfast.” He set the plate down next to Elio.
It was nothing fancy—just some toast and baked beans—but Elio immediately regretted being so ungrateful. Oliver had gone out of his way to bring him breakfast, to make sure he wasn’t hungry, and his chagrin slowly gave way. It didn’t matter why Oliver was doing this, it only mattered that he was. “Thank you.” He was starting to feel like a broken record.
“You’re welcome.”
He picked up the plate. Oliver wasn’t wrong—now that the nausea had passed, he was starving, and the food smelled good.
Oliver hovered a moment as though unsure whether to stay or leave Elio to it. Elio had trouble reconciling this uncertain Oliver with his usual easy confidence.
Elio shuffled back towards the headboard to make room, and Oliver sat.
“Where’s Scott?” Elio asked as he used the knife and fork Oliver had supplied to cut the toast.
Oliver laughed a little. “He probably won’t be up until 2 at least.”
Scott’s parents were out of town, hence the party, but Elio still thought it was strange how comfortable Oliver felt continuing to raid their pantry. When he said as much, Oliver said, “Trust me, they wouldn’t mind. They’re practically my second family.”
Elio nodded. The toast and beans were exactly what he needed. He was starting to think the secret ingredient to Oliver’s food was Oliver himself. “You keep making me food.”
“Yeah, well, last night you seemed like you needed it.”
“Right. Sorry about that,” said Elio, blushing. Should have kept his mouth shut.
“It’s fine.”
Well, they were talking about it now. “No, really, you probably wanted to—hang out with your friends or something, and instead you were—”
“I much preferred hanging out with you.”
Elio snorted softly and shook his head. “You don’t have to say that. I know you thought I needed help, and that was—really nice of you—”
“Elio,” Oliver interrupted, sounding exasperated and fond at the same time. “Do you really think last night was some kind of...nuisance for me?”
Elio just stared at him.
Oliver shifted a little closer and smiled. “Believe me, it wasn’t. Your drunk shenanigans were very entertaining. And...cute.” His eyes flicked between Elio’s as though making sure he was listening. “I wouldn’t have sat on the floor in the kitchen with the cabinet handle digging into my back for just anyone.”
Elio’s chest got warm. “Oh.” Was Oliver saying what he thought he was saying? He was pretty sure, but he didn’t want to misinterpret anything. “You mean—”
“I thought it was obvious after last night, but…” Oliver smiled ruefully. “I kind of like you.”
There were so many thoughts in Elio’s head, but, absurdly, the one that came out was, “Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Because of the very real chance you wouldn’t remember in the morning.”
Elio leaned in until their lips were almost touching. “I remember everything.”
For a few seconds they were motionless, suspended between one moment and the next. Then Oliver said, “Good,” and pressed his lips against Elio’s.
The kiss was testing, sweet but hesitant, not as confident as Elio had expected, but he’d realized there was a lot about Oliver that he didn’t expect, and the way his lips felt delicate under Elio’s might have been his favorite.
Oliver tasted like mint, and Elio was pretty sure he was drunk again because the only time he’d felt this loose and happy was last when he was dancing.
He pulled away and rested his forehead on Oliver’s temple, nose nudging at his cheek.
One of Oliver’s hands traveled softly up and down his back. “I guess it’s lucky you got so drunk last night, huh?” Oliver said with a languid kind of humor in his voice that told Elio he was feeling the same floaty contentment.
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
“I mean, I’ve definitely seen worse. But you did try to find my pulse with your nose.”
Elio blushed. “Why weren’t you drunk?”
“I was a little, but taking care of someone more drunk than you sobers you up pretty fast.”
Elio pouted, but before he could open his mouth Oliver said, “Don’t you dare apologize again, I already told you I was happy to do it. It…basically made my night.”
“Really?”
Oliver twisted one of Elio’s curls around his finger. “Really. Drunk Elio is great company.”
Elio hummed contentedly. “What about sober Elio?”
“I happen to like sober Elio, too. In fact—” He took Elio’s chin and looked him in the eye. “—I think I’m quite fond of every Elio.”
Elio tried to contain his elation as Oliver kissed him again, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Marzia for threatening him into coming out. Parties weren’t so bad after all.