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Elliot was running late. Again.
His final delivery of the evening was for Chance—who, if nothing else, would be relieved to finally get his food. February 14th was always a nightmare for delivery drivers, but this year had been something else entirely. He saw it coming, sure, but knowing didn’t make it any easier.
With a practiced motion, he pushed open his car door and reached for the insulated sleeve holding the pizza, handling it with ease and care. The door swung shut with a dull thud behind him from a bump of his hip. Parking had been a pain, forcing him to leave his car a block away from Chance’s house. An inconvenience, but nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.
The evening sky stretched overhead, deep blue bleeding into black, stars beginning to freckle the horizon. Elliot glanced up with a small, fleeting smile. His shift was nearly over—soon, he’d be home, curled up with his cat, watching some overly dramatic rom-com. Just the thought made the exhaustion of the day a little easier to bear. And God, now that he wasn’t in his car, he could really feel the cold. His fingers tapped absently against the pizza box, the warmth seeping through just enough to remind him how much he needed to get inside.
Approaching the front steps, he moved carefully up the grand staircase leading to Chance’s front door. Big. That was always his first thought when he saw this place. Everything about Chance’s house radiated luxury—so pristine, too dramatic, almost like something out of a movie. Even the doorbell had an air of extravagance.
He pressed his free thumb against it. The chime that rang out was soft but rich, a melody that carried through the house. Even from outside, Elliot could hear it.
Now, all that was left was to wait.
And wait…
And wait?
Elliot blinked twice, a frown creeping onto his face. This wasn’t like Chance. He knew how much Elliot hated waiting—especially when it came to something as simple as getting food.
With a sigh, he reached out to knock instead, but just as his knuckles were about to meet the door, it swung open.
Chance stood there, polished to perfection. His suit was a striking crimson, accented with light pink and off-white, tailored to fit him like a glove. The matching dress pants were crisp, leading down to spotless black dress shoes. A single rose sat neatly pinned to the left side of his chest.
Elliot blinked a few times. Valentine’s theme, huh?
“Sorry for the wait, Chance,” he started, frowning slightly. “Shit piles up on days like these, and—”
“No, no kid. It’s fine, truly.” Chance cut in smoothly, just as Elliot tore the velcro free from the sleeve and slid the pizza box into view. “I’m just glad you made it.”
Elliot let out an airy laugh as he passed it over. “Ahaha. Why wouldn’t I? There’s no snow?” he quipped, then added, “Hot on the bottom,” as Chance took the box with practiced care.
For a moment, it seemed like the exchange was over. But then—
“Well.” Chance hesitated, holding the pizza to his side. His voice dropped, casual but a little off. “I have nothing to do, you know.”
Elliot blinked. He was expecting payment, maybe a quick thanks—but instead, they stood there, trapped in a silence that felt heavier than it should have.
Chance cleared his throat. “I mean—no one to—to like, be around tonight.”
The words tumbled out awkwardly, and the second they hit the air, they sounded even more desperate than before.
Elliot’s gaze drifted to the side. Social cues were never his strong suit—especially the indirect ones. Invitations, passive-aggressive gestures, anything that relied on reading between the lines tended to fly right over his head.
Meanwhile, Chance wasn’t the kind of guy to outright say what he wanted. It made him feel selfish. Greedy, even. He bit his lower lip, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a weight before finally blurting out, “Maybe you could come in?”
Elliot nodded, a little slow on the uptake. “Sure. It’s freezing out here.”
That was all Chance needed to hear. A smile broke across the man’s face. He stepped aside, letting Elliot into the house.
It was as impressive inside as it was out. A grand high arch framed the entryway, splitting off into two paths—one leading straight into the kitchen, the other curling upward into a polished wooden staircase. Chance nudged Elliot forward with his elbow, already moving past him across the gleaming tile floor. “Take your shoes off! Or don’t, if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”
Elliot’s fingers drummed idly against his hips as he patted down his pockets. “Ah, yeah, I will.” His hand brushed against his keys, and a few blocks away, his car gave a soft click—locked. Just had to be sure. The hours? He could fix those later. Perks of being his own boss.
Kicking off his shoes, he padded down the hallway in socked feet, following Chance and the unmistakable smell of pizza—one he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sick of.
The kitchen was sleek, modern. An island sat at its center, smooth marble gleaming under warm lighting. Chance had already set the pizza down, popping the box open to reveal neatly cut slices. He gestured for Elliot to help himself.
Elliot shook his head without hesitation. “I get enough of it at work.”
They both smiled a little—comically, almost.
And then there was silence.
A little too much silence.
The air felt heavy, and Elliot leaned against the island, studying Chance. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but—Chance? Alone? On Valentine’s Day?
Girlfriend or not, the guy was rich. He could go out. With anyone. Anywhere. Elliot wasn’t the social type himself—his idea of fun was winding down alone. But Chance? He was a wildcard.
Chance shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers drumming against the countertop. His usual confidence, the easy charisma he carried himself with, was nowhere to be found. Instead, he hesitated—lingering in the space between words, between actions.
Elliot, oblivious as ever, just raised an eyebrow. “You good? You’re acting weird.”
Chance let out a weak chuckle, but it died fast. “I’m fine.”
Elliot hummed, unconvinced. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. “You sure? ‘Cause if you invited me in just to stare at me like that, I gotta say, it’s a little unnerving.”
Chance exhaled sharply and turned away, pretending to busy himself with something—straightening the pizza box, fixing a non-existent wrinkle in his sleeve.
This was stupid.
This was so stupid.
Why couldn’t he just say it? It was easy. Just ask. Just say it outright. It wasn’t that serious.
Heyyy, Elliot, do you wanna—
His stomach twisted itself into a knot so tight he thought he might throw up.
“—so, what? You just gonna stand there all night?” Elliot’s voice broke through the spiral, amused, but expectant. “You invited me in, dude. If there’s something you wanna do, let’s do it.”
Chance swallowed. His mouth was dry.
This was his shot.
“I, uh—” His voice cracked slightly, and he immediately wanted to die.
Elliot tilted his head, waiting.
Chance exhaled sharply. “I just figured it’d be nice to have someone around tonight. You know. Since neither of us have plans.”
Elliot blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Man, I have plans. They involve me, my cat, and a shitty fucking film.”
Chance tensed. “Ah,”
“I mean, the cat doesn’t really watch it, but—”
“No, yeah, I get it.” Chance nodded quickly, clearing his throat. His fingers tightened around the counter’s edge.
What the shit?
Elliot’s eyes darted to the side, his own fingers tapping idly against the counter. This was getting worse than awkward—it was crawling into some kind of weird, suffocating tension that he wasn’t sure how to navigate. Chance looked like he was about to self-destruct, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, like something was rattling around in his head but refusing to come out.
Elliot sighed through his nose, straightening up before stepping around the island, bringing himself to Chance’s side. He wasn’t really the best at... whatever this was. But if Chance was acting weird, there was usually a reason.
So, he did what felt natural—he bumped his elbow against the other’s side, just enough to jostle him. “You know it can wait,” he said, flashing a smile. “What’s up with you? Why don’t we watch something together? I think Cheese’ll survive without me tonight.”
Chance tensed at first, then blinked, like Elliot had just spoken to him in a language he didn’t understand.
Elliot tilted his head. “Unless you had plans or somethin’?”
“No! No, I—” Chance cut himself off, exhaling sharply, pressing a hand to his temple like he was physically trying to reset his brain. “No, I don’t have plans.”
Elliot gave him a look. “Okay? So?”
“So, yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool. That’d be nice.”
Elliot nodded, satisfied with that answer, and stretched his arms over his head. “Cool. So, what’re we watching? ‘Cause if you try and put on some artsy, three-hour silent film, I will walk out.”
Chance let out a breathy chuckle, looking slightly more relaxed now that the conversation had shifted. “I was thinking something actually good. Maybe action? Horror?”
“Horror?” Elliot smirked. “What, you planning to cling onto me when it gets too scary?”
Chance scoffed, grabbing the pizza box. “You’re the one who screams when jump scares pop up, man.”
“That’s slander,” Elliot shot back, following him as they made their way downstairs.
The basement was dimly lit, warm, and instantly inviting. It was nothing like the usual cramped basements Elliot had seen before—this one was fully renovated, with plush carpeting, walls lined with film posters, and a massive screen mounted on the far wall. A deep red velvet sofa stretched across most of the space, looking so absurdly luxurious that Elliot almost felt bad just thinking about sitting on it.
Chance set the pizza box down on the coffee table between the couch and the screen before plopping onto the cushions beside him. Elliot hesitated for only a second before sinking into the velvet. He ran a hand over the cushion, then leaned back and shifted against it, getting comfortable. “Damn. This is—man, I don’t think I can move ever again.”
Chance let out a quiet laugh, leaning back himself.
Elliot hummed, already feeling himself settle into the atmosphere. The warmth of the space, the scent of fresh pizza lingering in the air, the soft flicker of ambient lighting—it was all nice. Comfortable. Too comfortable, honestly, in the way that made his thoughts wander if he let them. He glanced at Chance out of the corner of his eye, watching as he scrolled through movies on the screen, brows furrowed in concentration.
It was funny. Just a few minutes ago, Chance had been completely on edge, practically vibrating with nervous energy, and now he looked .. a lot more himself. Not completely relaxed, maybe, but not wound so tight that he looked like he was about to implode. Elliot leaned his head back against the cushion, tilting toward him slightly. “So? What’s the verdict? You picking something actually good or are we gonna suffer through another one of your ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ movies?”
Chance huffed, not looking away from the screen. “You loved the last one.”
“I tolerated the last one. Barely.”
“Uh-huh,” Chance muttered, clearly unimpressed with his attempt at slander. After another second, he made his decision, clicking on something and placing the remote on the cushion.
Elliot quirked a brow at the title as the movie loaded. “Horror? And sci-fi? Alright, I see you. Solid pick.”
Chance shrugged, a hint of smugness in his expression. “Told you I know what I’m doing.”
Elliot snorted, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box as the opening scene played. Yeah, sure, he was tired of pizza; but he might as well try enjoy himself. He let himself settle further into the sofa, warmth seeping into his back. It felt good—this, sitting here, Chance next to him, a movie playing on a screen way too big for just the two of them. It was easy, casual, but beneath that was an awkward lingering feeling. One Elliot couldn’t quite shake.
He took a bite of his pizza, glancing over at Chance again. He thought about earlier, about his comically red suit, the rose, the nervous energy that hadn't quite left his system. Maybe he'd been wrong to let the topic drop so quickly.
No, Elliot decided he won’t bother. He’ll just let the movie play.
The movie droned on, a messy blur of flashing lights and splattered gore. Elliot wasn’t paying attention anymore, not really. His eyes were still on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere—hovering over the unspoken weight in the room, the way Chance kept shifting beside him, the way the heat of his knee pressed subtly against Elliot’s own.
He didn’t move. Neither of them did.
It wasn’t intentional, he told himself. The couch was big, but they’d naturally drifted closer at some point—probably when they got comfortable, probably when Chance leaned just a little too far to one side and Elliot never bothered to move away. The contact was there, noticeable but not overwhelming, the kind that made him hyperaware of every small shift, and every time Chance adjusted his posture, and every time his leg almost pulled away but then didn’t.
Elliot swallowed, eyes flicking toward him briefly. Chance was stiff, arms crossed loosely, staring at the screen with an expression that was hard to read. Was he actually watching? Or was he stuck in his own head the same way Elliot was?
Elliot licked his lips. Cleared his throat. “Dude, what is this?”
Chance startled slightly, like he’d forgotten Elliot was there. “Huh?”
“The movie.” Elliot nodded toward the screen. “This is, like, the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”
Chance let out a breath of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s, uh. It’s bad.”
“Like, bad bad.”
“I didn’t know it’d be this bad.”
Elliot huffed, running a hand through his hair, still very aware of the way their legs were pressed together. Neither of them moved. He didn’t know why he was so fixated on it. It wasn’t like they hadn’t sat next to each other before, hadn’t had casual, easy moments like this before, but this—this felt different.
The room was warm. Too warm, almost.
Chance shifted, finally moving to grab a slice of pizza, but in the process, his elbow brushed against Elliot’s. It wasn’t much, just a brief, fleeting thing, but it sent a sharp little jolt of awareness up Elliot’s spine.
“Sorry,” Chance muttered, voice quieter now.
Elliot forced a shrug, willing himself to stay relaxed. “You’re good.”
But the air had changed again. It was heavier, charged in a way that made something tighten in Elliot’s chest. He could hear Chance breathing—steady, controlled, but maybe a little too controlled. Like he was thinking too hard.
Elliot exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against his knee. He wanted to say something, break the weird tension curling between them, but the words weren’t coming. And Chance—Chance looked like a deer caught in headlights.
Something was up.
Elliot barely had to think about it when he sat up a little straighter, stretching under the guise of adjusting his position, and then—without hesitation—he let himself settle in closer.
Not dramatically, not enough to make a statement, but enough that their sides pressed together. A deliberate shift. Warmth seeping through fabric. Close enough to feel the subtle rise and fall of Chance’s breathing.
Chance went a little rigid. Not a full-body flinch, but close. His fingers twitched against his thigh. He didn’t look over, didn’t react—not immediately.
Elliot stayed put, unmoving, like he wasn’t testing the waters at all. The weight of Chance’s hesitation stretched between them.
Then, finally—Chance exhaled. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic, but Elliot felt it. That second of tension leaving his body, the way he hesitated and then—almost imperceptibly—relaxed into it.
Elliot shifted forward, about to readjust—maybe stretch his legs out, maybe shift back against the sofa—when something stopped him.
Not something. Chance.
Before he could settle into his new position, Chance moved. Smooth, like he’d been debating it for a while, his arm slipping around Elliot’s back. He didn’t grip tight, didn’t yank him closer, just let his fingers settle—shy of clothing at first, hovering like he was afraid to touch. But then, a squeeze. Gentle, almost unsure, but firm enough to be felt.
Elliot blinked. His brain stuttered for a moment, processing the shift, the warmth of Chance’s palm against his waist, the way his fingers pressed just enough to send a sharp awareness through his nerves.
That was new. A new feeling, almost. Altogether.
He huffed out something that was almost a laugh, not in mockery, just—surprise. He felt his face warm up inexplicably fast. His body had gone still for a second too long, and he realized he had to make a move, had to respond.
So he did.
He leaned back into it, slow and easy, testing, just to see what Chance would do. And Chance—oh, Chance—he didn’t pull away. If anything, his fingers curled just a little tighter, like he was anchoring himself, like he’d just made a decision he couldn’t take back.
Elliot let the moment breathe. Let the tension settle, let the heat of it build. Then, low and quiet, he murmured, “Wasn’t expecting that.”
Chance let out a breath—shaky, barely audible over the droning hum of the movie. “Yeah,” Chance muttered after a beat. “Me neither.”
Elliot huffed out a small laugh, tilting his head to glance at him. “So what, your own body just—decided?”
Chance shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.” He exhaled through his nose, like he was trying not to laugh himself. “I dunno. Felt right.”
Elliot shifted slightly, not pulling away but settling in just a little closer. He could feel Chance tense at the movement, his fingers twitching at his waist before squeezing again—just briefly, like he was grounding himself.
“Did it?” Elliot teased, voice lighter, but not without hesitation. He was still feeling it out, still waiting for a sign, something that told him if this was just a passing moment or something more.
Chance was quiet for a second too long. Elliot could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
“Yeah,” he admitted, softer now. “It did.”
Elliot swallowed. His chest felt warmer than it should, heavier than it should. He wasn’t used to this kind of weight—not in the silence, not in the space between words.
He shifted again, this time leaning just enough to let his weight settle against Chance’s arm.
Chance didn’t say anything, but his breathing was a little too measured now, a little too careful, like he was hyper-aware of the contact. Elliot wasn’t exactly sure why he did it, just that it felt natural. The room was warm, the lights were off now, and there was something oddly grounding about feeling someone next to him like this.
For a second, nothing changed. The movie kept rolling—some grotesque scene flashing across the screen, an over exaggerated alien creature or something, but it might as well have been white noise. Chance still wasn’t moving. Elliot almost thought he might pull away entirely.
Elliot let his head tip just slightly, enough that his temple brushed the fabric of Chance’s shoulder sleeve. He could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing now, could hear the way it stuttered slightly, almost imperceptibly.
“Comfortable?” Chance finally murmured, voice quieter than before.
Elliot smirked, keeping his gaze on the screen. “Yeah. You?”
Chance hesitated, then let out a breath of a laugh. “Uh. Yeah—Yeah, I’m good.”
Elliot could feel the warmth of him through his sleeve, the way he was trying not to move too much, like he didn’t want to ruin the moment. It was kinda funny. Kinda nice.
As time progressed, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck, pooling in his face, but he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, resting lightly against Chance’s arm, feeling every little shift, every slow breath. It was ridiculous how aware he was of it—of him.
Chance cleared his throat, barely moving. “You ever think about how weird this is?”
Elliot blinked, his head still tipped slightly against Chance’s sleeve. “What’s weird?”
Chance hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he should say it. “I dunno. Us? Sitting here, like this?”
Elliot huffed a quiet laugh. “Guess I never thought I’d be in your basement, watching whatever the hell this movie is.” He finally glanced up at Chance, just to see him looking anywhere but at him. “Then again, I also didn’t think I’d meet some gambling addict because I messed up his pizza order.”
Chance groaned, running a hand down his face. “That was one time.”
“You were such an ass about it.”
“I was not.”
“You literally made me go back and remake the whole thing.”
Chance scoffed. “Yeah, because I don’t half-ass my pizza. And, y’know, I paid for it.”
Elliot shook his head, biting back a grin. “Unbelievable.”
Chance shot him a quick glance, and Elliot caught the way his ears were going a little red. “Yeah, well, you got me back.”
“For what?”
“Dude, you know exactly what.” Chance let out a breath, shifting slightly but not pulling away. “You were such a dick that next time, you put extra sauce on purpose.”
Elliot laughed, warm and a little breathless. “Hey, I just followed your instructions perfectly. Not my fault you nearly drowned in marinara.”
Chance exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but his lips twitched into a smirk. The tension in the air didn’t leave, but it shifted slightly, settling into something lighter.
They lapsed into quiet again, but Elliot felt Chance shift his arm ever so slightly, letting him lean more comfortably.
Elliot swallowed, still feeling the warmth burning at his ears, his chest. He shouldn’t feel this nervous. They’d hung out before. They’d had dumb conversations like this a hundred times.
But something about this—it was so different.
“You remember that time you got banned from that one place?” Elliot asked, mostly just to fill the silence.
Chance groaned. “Dude. You’re gonna have to be way more specific.”
Elliot snickered. “The sandwich place. You pissed off the guy at the register.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay, that wasn’t my fault.”
Elliot shot him a look. “You literally tried to haggle for like .. a bulk order of sandwiches.”
“Listen, I was broke at the time. And, like, really fucking hungry!”
Elliot grinned, still feeling warm and flustered, but leaning into it now. “I think he wanted to fight you.”
The conversation drifted from memory to memory—late-night hangouts, stupid dares, quiet moments where it was just them, walking around, talking about nothing. Elliot hadn’t really let himself think about how much time they’d spent together before, how natural it felt, but now, with Chance’s arm warm against his side, it was impossible not to.
The room was quiet except for the low hum of the movie, the sounds of whatever mess was unfolding on-screen drowned out by the thudding of Elliot’s pulse. His breath felt uneven, every nerve on high alert.
And then, at the same time, they turned to look at each other.
Elliot didn’t know what made him do it, didn’t know what pulled his gaze to Chance in that exact moment, but suddenly they were facing each other, close, way too close, and—
His breath hitched.
Chance wasn’t wearing his shades anymore. When had he taken them off? Elliot had no idea, but without them, there was nothing in the way—just Chance, looking at him with an expression Elliot couldn’t quite read, his eyes dark and uncertain and just as hesitant as Elliot felt.
Neither of them spoke.
Elliot wasn’t sure who moved first, or if they moved at the same time, but in a few heartbeats, his lips were pressed against Chance’s.
Heat shot through him, all of the nervous energy, all of the lingering tension between them snapping like a string pulled too tight. He barely thought—and barely breathed—before he abandoned everything else, throwing his arms around Chance’s neck and pulling him in.
Chance made a small sound, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let Elliot drag him sideways, let himself be pressed into the couch, his hand falling naturally to the small of Elliot’s back.
His touch was gentle—warm, grounding, like he knew Elliot was flustered out of his mind, even if the delivery boy didn’t say it.
Elliot could feel it too, the way his own hands trembled slightly where they clutched at Chance’s suit, the way he practically melted into him despite every ounce of nerves firing through his body.
This was ridiculous.
And yet, he didn’t stop.
Chance exhaled sharply against his lips, the warmth of it sending a shiver down Elliot’s spine. He didn’t know if it was the tension or the heat between them, but his head felt light, and his whole body was burning like he’d been dropped into something dangerous, something consuming.
And he didn’t care.
Chance’s fingers twitched against his back before finally pressing in, pulling him closer, his grip firmer now. It sent Elliot reeling, breath catching as Chance’s other hand came up, tentative but deliberate, cupping the side of his face. The way he touched him—as if he were made of glass—only made Elliot kiss him harder, heat collecting in his chest.
Their lips moved together, slow at first, almost testing, but it didn’t take long for restraint to slip through the cracks. Elliot tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and Chance met him in kind, their mouths parting just enough for warmth and breath to mix. It was dizzying.
Elliot barely noticed when Chance’s grip adjusted, fingers skimming along his spine before resting firm at the dip of his lower back.
He felt it then—slick and slow, the faintest press of Chance’s tongue against his bottom lip.
Heat coiled in Elliot’s stomach, his grip tightening, and he let him in without thinking, the kiss turning heavier, wetter. A small noise caught in his throat as their mouths slotted together, as warmth and saliva mixed between them in the dark of the room. Chance was still gentle, still hesitant, but now there was something bolder in the way he moved, in the way his fingers flexed against Elliot’s back.
The warmth between them was overwhelming, and Elliot didn’t know how long they stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, drunk on the moment alone.
Eventually, though, the need for air won out.
Elliot pulled back first, barely, just enough to break the kiss, his forehead resting against Chance’s. His breathing was uneven, his lips slick and tingling, and he knew he was flushed—knew Chance was too.
Silence hung between them for a moment, the only sound their unsteady breaths in the space between them.
Then, finally, Chance let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. “Shit.”
Elliot swallowed, blinking hazily. “Yeah.”
Neither of them moved, both of them still caught in the weight of it, the heat, the mess of whatever this was. But then, Chance's hand gently pressed against Elliot’s back again, just slightly, a silent reassurance.
Elliot felt himself smile, lips still tingling, still warm.
Yeah. Whatever this was, he could figure it out later.