hello lovely anon! i’m sorry you’ve waited so long for this!! i hope you don’t mind, but i’d like to dedicate this to my closest friends, without whom this year would have been impossible to get through. i love you girls. ❤️🎄
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Lucas switches off the TV as another headline rolls across the bottom of the screen and a solemn reporter begins grimly recounting the latest in a line of miserable news stories.
“I think that’s enough news for one year!” He says, pulling a throw pillow from behind him and pressing his face into it in order to muffle a loud groan.
“Tell me about it...” Eliott responds, his voice cheerless enough to catch Lucas’ attention and make him raise his head to look at him.
He’s sitting on the other side of the sofa, looking straight ahead, not quite at the empty black TV screen and not quite out of the window. His face is unreadable.
The space between them suddenly feels like an ocean and Lucas feels a familiar tug in his chest that makes him shuffle over to his boyfriend, closing the gap. He feels that same irresistible pull every time Eliott looks a little sad or lost. It’s an instinctual voice in his head that just says, “Protect him. Console him. Love him.” And there’s never been a part of Lucas that wants to ignore that instinct.
When he’s close enough, Lucas slides a hand onto Eliott’s thigh and squeezes, his other hand gently touching his stubbly chin, encouraging him to turn and face him.
This year has been awful, there’s no sugar coating it. One plan after another being cancelled, no social interaction, hugging from six feet away. It all takes its toll, especially if you’re already dealing with your own shit. It strikes Lucas how the latest news that travelling around the country for the holidays is strongly advised against, might be hitting Eliott pretty hard.
“I’m sorry you can’t go home for Christmas.” He says, his thumb tracing the sharp angle of Eliott’s cheekbone.
“Home?” Eliott says, his eyebrows knitting together and one hand going to join Lucas’ on his thigh.
“Yeah,” Lucas speaks softly, “That’s why you’re sad, right? Because you can’t go home to your parents’ place for Christmas?”
“Lucas.” Eliott says, and he says it in that way that still makes Lucas’ heart stutter a little, all eye contact and steady voice save for the hint of a fond chuckle, “I’m not sad. I mean, sure, I miss my parents and it’ll be weird not spending Christmas with them, but I was actually just thinking about how lucky we are, Lu. We have each other. Through all of the bullshit that this year has thrown at us, we’ve faced it together, me and you. I’m just so lucky to have you Lucas, and I don’t need to go anywhere else to have a beautiful Christmas at home, because you are my home. I love you so much.”
Lucas can barely see though the tears filling up his eyes so he just does the only thing he feels able to. He leans into Eliott and kisses his lips.
He kisses him for always being so cheesy and romantic, he kisses him for being so open and honest, and he kisses him for all of the magical memories they’ve made together in a year when the world tried to put a stop to magic. Mostly though, he kisses him because, from the very first time he opened up and let Lucas into his heart, Eliott has been Lucas’ home too.
ahhh mtea at first i was really confused what this was about,,,then i did some ~ snooping and if it’s not what i’m thinking it is,,,,then either way, i hope you enjoy!!!
(unedited, please ignore any typos if you come across any :-))
no. 17 from ‘the way you said i love you’ drabble challenge
eliott has a little notion of the first time he sets to have his heart broken into two. the memory is like a fresh wound - there, with all it’s tenderness transformed into prickly edges of a plant which keeps digging it’s ugly thorns into his chest. he has a little notion - maybe because it’s really not the first time - well, not the first time lucas looks up at him, eyes a striking contrast to the overhanging night sky, little pockets of stars acting like a buffer to reduce the thoughts in his head splintering to nothingness.
maybe it’s not the first time, you see, that lucas has looked at him, with his eyes a reflection of what eliott has always feared. and with each passing breath, plunged the thorns deeper into his flesh. not the first time that eliott has felt a stutter in his words as well as his steps. that he has stared at the ocean pulling him in. that he's felt the tumultuous force of the waves crashing against him and thought, you ruin me you ruin me you’ve ruined me again.
but it’s just that; him and his thoughts on an evening at the start of autumn, taking refuge on a balcony shrouded in darkness, when lucas stumbles with a bottle through the doors in a flood of light - because of course he does - and eliott’s left to feel the tender wound swelling up again.
“hey”, lucas says, words blurring together and feet stammering for purchase before he gets him - before lucas, fueled by alcohol in his system and swallowed in a haze formed from the deepest of eliott’s thoughts, wraps himself around eliott like fragile tendrils of wines, like sun around the leaves, “you disappeared.”
“yeah,” eliott grapples for support then; for the dark diminishing around him, for the fall his heart makes at that very moment, “i needed air.”
you. i needed you.
and it’s not the first time, you see. lucas wrapped around him like this, fingers igniting sparks like goosebumps, and eyes so wide eliott can’t help but drown drown drown. but it does feel like it - feels like eliott’s stepping into water for the first time, his footing loose on the ground and the waves cresting forcefully against him.
“but you need to come back,” lucas says, voice muffled in the lapel of eliott’s jacket. the bottle of whatever liquid he’s sneaked from inside burns eliott’s skin when lucas brings it to his lips and takes a sip. his eyes find eliott’s then, and says, “they’re playing dubstep. it’s no - ‘s no fun without you.”
eliott pries the bottle away from his hands, his fingers working gently against lucas’s wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle. it becomes a difficult feat, with one of his arms steadying lucas by his waist and the other working to loosen the bottle from his hold.
“lucas,” he whispers, hands wrapping around lucas again when he doesn’t relent. eliott’s ribs tighten in his chest, held from bursting into splinters from the weight of lucas’s head over his heart, grounding his thoughts and making them transform into something formless at the same time, “you’re drunk and you need to stop if you don’t want tomorrow’s presentation to suck.”
eliott feels a crack somewhere inside him - a weak branch breaking from a tree - when lucas looks up at him, face undeniably close, eyes blessedly wide and blue blue blue. eliott inhales a breath which gets stuck in his throat and makes his lungs burn in a way he doesn’t want it to end.
“you always do this,” lucas mumbles, the end of his words catching on a hiccup. eliott takes it as a sign and reaches for the bottle again. but lucas knows. he always does.
“what?” eliott asks, voice equally low, brain now clearing the haze and sending a wave of ache through him which makes his stomach coil and heart bleed and the wounds on his skin tingle with the breeze of air passing by them.
“this,” lucas repeats, “this care for me and remembering stuff.”
“stuff?” eliott’s heart bleeds through his chest on his shirt. it stains the material, his hands, his face; all red and ugly and shouting just look at me lucas.
“yeah - that,” lucas breaks apart, stepping back from eliott, taking his warmth and light with him, “you always remember even when - when no one does.”
of course, eliott wants to laugh, of course he would. how can he not, when there’s lucas writing every constellation eliott tells him in the notes app in his phone; when he brings him burgers without mustard and coffee from his favorite cafe; when he talks like there’s sun pooling behind his eyes and moon entwined like silver strings in his words.
“and you would remember nothing if you finish all of that now,” eliott smiles, reaching for the bottle again. lucas looks at him then, and eliott feels a tremor in his bones when the light casts a shadow over lucas as his eyes move from eliott’s face towards his hand. lucas seems to consider it for a moment, and then he reaching out, too, before bringing his free hand to wrap around eliott’s outstretched hand.
eliott’s heart gives a jolt, the part of his skin next to lucas’s feeling like it’s burning and soothing all the same. he looks up at lucas - his eyes now the center of a storm brimming to wreck all that eliott is; all what he holds and cherishes inside his heart - all of him; all of lucas.
eliott watches - fixated - as lucas juts out his bottom lip. it’s that, a delicate and soft contrast to the torment currently eating his insides. lucas squeezes his hand, once, twice, till it becomes a memory ingrained in eliott’s muscle - warm skin against skin, soft ridges and lines he would later remember to trace.
he gulps in a breath, eyes moving to trace the sky looming over them instead. he’s afraid - so, so afraid of lucas reading his face; of lucas finding what he’s so carefully tucked behind his skin after years of practice; of himself ruining every bit of breath he’s exhaled around lucas; of always running, always hiding.
“the bottle, lucas,” eliott’s voice doesn’t quiver like his heart. it’s much stronger, softer, and it gets lucas’s attention, who takes a look too long at eliott’s face before turning his head away.
“eliott,” lucas says, instead. eliott feels the palm of his hand in his, feels the way it clutches tightly onto him. lucas turns to him - eliott sees the pool of light in his eyes - and says, “i want to do it too.”
eliott smiles then, “what?”
“take care of you.” lucas breathes, his other hand coming to join their already intertwined ones following a smash which resounds with eliott. in that moment, there’s the bottle he was holding dropping to the ground, the glass giving it its form now in form of little pieces which littler the floor by their feet. eliott feels a squeeze, the broken glass reminded him too much of his state, and as he looks back at eliott, he feels nothingness in his chest in space of air.
and it’s not the first time eliott feels the words in his mouth. feels too short on oxygen to say anything else. feels like he may burst like the stars above him - forming hundreds and thousands of galaxies by their death. it’s not the first time that he wants to say - wants to tell lucas about the stars over him, about those in his eyes. about the universe and the sky and the daisy he saw on his walk home. and he wants to tell lucas that it would have looked good tucked behind his ear; that we care because we love; and that -
but it might as well be the first for when he thinks - he thinks being cared for by lucas is enough to piece together every part of the stars dying away. eliott’s only a reflection of one.
so he doesn’t. tonight, eliott doesn’t. instead he places his arm around lucas, and with the one clutched in his hold, squeezes lucas’s hand so tight he feels all the ridges, all the lines, and he thinks it shouldn’t hurt this much. it shouldn’t. but it does.
🌈 cant miss the opportunity, can i request an elu cuddling session 😍🥰
of course you can lovely! 💛😘
Lucas wakes to the soft feeling of fingertips brushing over his face sweeping his hair away from where it’s fallen on his forehead. He blinks slowly as he escapes from sleep, his body unconsciously seeking out the warmth he can feel across the mattress. It must be early – the room is still mostly dark, but Lucas doesn’t mind waking up. Not like this, not with Eliott.
As he stirs, he feels the hand above him freeze.
“Sorry, love,” Eliott whispers across the sheets. “Go back to sleep.”
Lucas only closes his eyes and shuffles closer. Even here, caught somewhere in the haze before waking, the only thing he really wants is Eliott.
“Come’re,” Lucas mumbles, blindly reaching out.
He hears Eliott chuckle, the noise bright and gentle, and then a strong hand is grabbing his waist and pulling him in. He doesn’t know how but suddenly he’s enveloped in Eliott – in the way his arms wrap around him, the way their legs tangle together, in the crook of his neck where Lucas now rests his head.
It’s soft and warm and safe here, in Eliott’s arms. It’s the kind of peace that Lucas had never really known before Eliott, a calm that always sounded trivial to him, until his heart no longer needed to hide.
“You have to get up soon, don’t you?” Lucas whispers, as he tries not to disturb the hushed calm around them.
“Not for a couple hours,” Eliott replies, pressing a kiss to Lucas’ hair. “You should go back to sleep.”
Lucas shifts closer, pressing a sleepy kiss to the side of Eliott’s neck and breathing in deeply.
“You’ll wake me up before you go?” he asks.
“I always do,” Eliott says, his fingertips smoothing down Lucas’ arm. It’s soothing and comforting, the feeling of Eliott’s touch grounding him to this moment, to now.
“Good,” Lucas hums, his arm tightening around Eliott’s waist, “because I have to give you your goodbye, good luck for the day kiss. It’s the rules.”
“It’s the rules,” Eliott agrees, still tracing patterns on Lucas’ skin, making his eyes grow heavy again. “I won’t forget.”
before, lucas had friends who shared a total of one (1) braincell between the three of them, a roommate fond of spewing out random shit about things lucas needed not to bother with, and a cat determined to make lucas's life hell on earth. but he didn't have 'failed executioner of plans' on his resume. nor a teeny tiny, almost invisible, perfectly non-existent inkling for the person's he's doomed to make up to up for said failed plan.
or, le gang's dumbassery combines with lucas's lack of good fortune to provide a concoction which might lead lucas to his grave.
part i, part ii
maybe the boy's brain has also short-circuited, maybe his nervous coordination has some flaws, because eliott was expecting a punch, even a slap would have been fine, as the tiny body jumps at him when he's a few millimetres away from eliott.
but there are warm lips pressing at his in a hurry instead of a fist meeting his jaw. and there are small hands wrapping around his shoulders instead of a kick in his stomach.
or, lucas is in trouble, and eliott's at the wrong place at the right time
lucas is a bit overwhelmed by quarantine. an elu social distancing drabble.
(or, 2.6k words of expressing all my feelings induced by social distancing through lucas.)
It’s cold outside.
It’s a little bit misty. The minaret of a mosque and spires of grand churches disappear into a grey-hued nothingness that catches the wind like a kite, spreading like acrid smoke, staining the sky in miserable doom: the red warning of traffic lights less vibrant and severe, less of a demand, an imperative to stop, and more of a weak sign of I still exist; there are still rules to follow. The sun exerts its will the hardest when usually it doesn’t have to do more than rise up from the horizon. Its potent presence and unmistakeable warmth is not quite so disarming. This is a first for the sun. Narrow beams of light puncture through where they might, at the weakest points of the fog’s intent: through slits of wooden floorboards, gaps in rusted blinds — hitting the edge of make-up smeared mirrors and feeding the forest-green leaves of succulents that create canopies on burnished-brown bookshelves.
And Lucas feels it across his bare back as he lies on the sofa in contemplative thought. No one thought plays centre stage, captivating this audience of one in a velvet filled old structure dedicated to entertainment. Or rather, on this blue velvet sofa upon which he is currently lying, stomach down, face resting on his hands as he stares out on the disappearing city. Curtains billowing around windows that have definitely seen better days and could do with a loving touch of paint.
The ocean waves. A fishing boat. The last time he had a cup of coffee. When he should realistically be doing laundry next. A slight head tilt shows an overflowing woven basket. Soon. When Eliott will be done with the commission he’s been working on for the past four days — Lucas is excited to see it. But he’s bias. Everything Eliott does is mesmerising in Lucas’ eyes; he falls a little bit more in love with him every time he sees the creations formed from such a brilliant mind. When will Eliott call the work day quits for today. He wants to see him, touch his hand, which he hasn’t done for the past six hours, because Lucas despises encroaching on Eliott’s space when he’s focusing and doing what he loves. Hates the idea of being a nuisance or disrupting a miraculous train of thought just for the ridiculous reason of him feeling needy and wanting attention.
What would it be like to experience the rain in a rainforest? This thought snags.
It recalls a memory.
At age ten, Lucas’ class was tasked with painting a scene from this famous painting. He can’t quite recall the name, but he remembers a broad canopy of cobalt coloured umbrellas clutched in the hands of men in top hats and tails, and women in petticoats, hair tucked up into chignons under a furious downpour. By the end, each class’ section of the painting would form to recreate an entire tableau of mixed-media, a cohesive mess of blue.
It lends his thoughts to Eliott once more, and they won’t shift. Lucas glances at his watch: 17:33. A sigh. He drops his head back onto his hands and rolls over onto his back, disgruntled by the thumping feet of their upstairs neighbours on the ceiling which is beginning to look worryingly like paper stained by coffee. Their landlord would not be happy.
Stretching out his limbs, the weak sun strokes a long finger down his spine as Lucas climbs to his feet, dragging the ends of his joggers down his calves with his feet. He shuffles towards a small closet slash utility room, turned Eliott’s office, dragging his t-shirt from the back of the sofa with his hand as he goes.
Tiptoeing, Lucas leans in the doorway of the decidedly tiny room, shirt clutched in hand. Observing from a slight distance, holding his breath and his shirt to his chest in the hopes of not letting loose a single sound. As quiet as a moose. As stealthy as a wolf. Serotonin and endorphin boost at just the sight of him, causing the sides of Lucas’ mouth to lift at the human person hunched over a table they saved from a neighbour who dumped it in the bin building. Restoring it from a wood-chipped, faded white-yellow desk, abandoned and discarded, with broken draws to a moon-chilled silver with baby blue accents. The draws reconstructed on a productive Sunday morning after Eliott managed to get several defrosted waffles stuffed into Lucas and a cup of coffee, which Lucas detested but made a ritual of because it was a grown up thing and he always seemed to feel a little tired.
Now, he yearns to run his hands up Eliott’s back and kiss his freckled shoulders. Lie on the sofa, snuggled up so tight they became a sine organism with no way of disaggregating. Permanently etched together like quotation marks; the perfect fit. But, as slient as a mouse, Lucas aimed to be. Even as Eliott shifting in his seat and Lucas saw he had put on jeans of all things. Yes, they were stuck at home but...jeans? He felt a rumble of laughter hit his chest and dashed from the doorway trying to prevent its outbreak, and in doing so, was in all ways unquiet, feet hitting the wooden floorboards hard.
“Lucas?” A sigh was all the response. Though not an unhappy one.
Oh, the wonders a voice could do and make you feel. Sometimes feel never felt like a big enough, grand enough, expansive enough word to encompass what it really meant. Nor could anything compare to one’s name being uttered by the person who made the word feel feel too small a word. His very bones and nerves and fingertips were on fire, but then again that could be logically reduced to the fact that Lucas was quarantined with his boyfriend who he didn’t speak to much during the day — on his own accord and to the reluctance of Eliott — but was separated by a nimbly, hallow wall and he simply wanted to kiss his face off every second of every minute. It was simple really. Not much to it. Except his undying love, of course.
Another soft: “Lucas?”
The person in question returns to the little office and peers in expectantly. Eliott is resting his face in his hand, elbow on desk, hair ruffled and in need of a wash. As soon as Lucas appears his dazed eyes contract a more alert appearance, wistful and quite content with the sight he brings.
“You hungry?”
“Are you?”
“Kind of. I was thinking—”
“That we should have cheese toasties! Brilliant idea, Eliott. You finish up, if you’re ready? I don’t wanna rush you or anything, and I’ll be chefing away.”
“You’re not rushing me, and anyway, if you were, which you’re not,” Eliott replies, voicing rising slightly as he gets to his feet to move toward Lucas who retreats at the idea of imposing his presence on Eliott. “I would love you to rush me, because I’m sick of looking at it all. I’m tired. And I would much prefer to look at you instead.”
Reaching Lucas, Eliott runs his hands through Lucas’ hair till he’s cupping the back of his head, and then drawing it down the scope of his neck and shoulder, skimming lightly over collarbones — leaving an imprint in Lucas’ bones and muscles, a memory of a lover’s touch — and trailing down an arm lined with goose bumps until fingers are slotting together. A gift of warmth and blesséd touch. One Lucas is eternally thankful for. He is at his most appreciative when it comes to Eliott. For him, anything.
“Cheese toasties?” Lucas asks, face flushed from the loving caress of Eliott’s words that fall off his tongue as easily as they cost him nothing.
“Hm.” Eliott raises their entwined hands, lifting Lucas’ hand palm down so he can plant a sweet kiss onto it and then his knuckles.
“And then I was thinking...we, I mean, I, could paint your nails,” Lucas is almost, slightly breathless and it’s all a bit embarrassing. He rushes on, “It’s literally all I could think about this morning until my brain sputtered out from boredom.” He laughs a bit, self-conscious.
“Let me have a hug first, please?”
Lucas can hear the tiredness seeping out of every syllable, Eliott’s shoulder sink slowly down with each words like a deflating balloon left of all its oxygen. He reaches up to cup Eliott’s cheek, the skin soft and pimply behind his hand, he plants a quick peck on it before snaking his arms around Eliott’s hips and squeezing him just enough that he isn’t suffocating him but feels that steading presence of bodily contact, one t-shirt away from skin on skin. Lucas feels the reciprocation instantly, Eliott’s arms around Lucas’ shoulders, and then slipping a fraction further down as Eliott pulls him into the cocoon of his body.
“Ahhh.” Lucas can’t help the sigh of contentment. The verbal confirmation of satisfaction.
Warm breaths hit his neck, Eliott’s chest shakes marginally against his, and his arms tighten around Lucas who pushes at Eliott’s arms, because he is actually starving, suddenly, potently aware of it. He slides down and out of that particular safe haven and walks slowly backwards, eyes locked with the mystery of his boyfriend’s, the secret of their colour claimed by the first atoms of the world that created pigmentation. Sliding his t-shirt on he observes Eliott watching the last stretch of his abdomen disappear from, a slight hand clench is visible as he lifts his hand to rub over his face, and Lucas can’t help but laugh properly now as he enters the kitchen. Lucas is not a seductive person, but he does find pleasure in the way something small he does, not even consciously provocative can affect Eliott so.
Lucas spins around on his heels remembering that Eliott doesn’t, in fact, own a sandwich toaster so he improvises. Cheddar, four slices of toast and in the preheated oven. He’s gonna have to clean the oven afterwards, but it’s not like he doesn’t have the time for that: time he is in an abundant supply of these days.
While devouring their cheese toasties, Lucas and Eliott find themselves wrapped up in blankets on the sofa. Lucas is concentrating like a child trying their hardest to colour inside the lines of a picture as he sits bent over painting Eliott’s index finger a muted blue and his thumb a dusky pink. With a leg stretched over Eliott’s he inches forward as the former skips through a playlist on his phone sending the sound of bass and drums into the far reaches of the room, into the fissures and crevices of the walls decorated in black and white portraits and enticing landscapes of fruitful trees and sandstone buildings.
These photos shake Lucas a little at his core. Lucas dreams of running along cliff sides made of limestone, skimming his feet in the freezing loches of Scotland, picking mangoes from trees in Malawi during October, just before their rainy season commences. He’s been dreaming of far off places for days, wishing to escape from their confinement, daring to live a little wilder, further, deeper. Someday. Though this future he couldn’t quite make out in his head, secure behind a veil, much like the weather outside.
His eyes cloud over and he tries to focus back on the task at hand, sliding the side of his thumb down the corner of Eliott’s pinky finger where the brush veered off course. He wipes his left eye with the hand that was holding Eliott’s in place, trying to be subtle, because he feels stupid. He feels entitled and furious at himself. So he goes back to his task without a word, attempting to sink back into the motions and the music; the swipe of the brush, the sound of Eliott’s contented “this is it” as he finds the right song, settles into the melody of it and throws his phone to the other side of the sofa.
Social distancing has been at once soothing and triggering for Lucas’ anxiety. The beginning was a frustrating time, arriving when he finally thought he had some semblance of a plan formed. For his future. Then it all derailed and he was traversed into an existence of blissful indulgence in seven series TV shows and warm baguettes not reached lukewarm because he had somewhere to rush off to; waking up at 9 or 10am instead of his usual 7; walking around the block, stepping into a park for the daily fresh intake of vitamin c, watching fluffy creatures prance around the forbidden grasslands. Now, he knows he’s on the brink of a tumble downhill, a dip in a deceptively solid surface, and all he keeps hearing from online personalities, from friends and instagram stories is that “this is to be expected.” God, how tired he is of hearing that perfunctory sentence. Frankly, he wishes, fruitlessly, for someone to teach him once more how to cope, to be fucking okay. His ten week course of CBD ended the first week of quarantine and while he supposedly has the tools to rationalise, to acknowledge his thoughts and recognise some of them are to be untrue...it’s not quite so easy, because he can’t debunk them while stuck in a tiny city apartment. He is very literally restricted in space. So he’s on hyper alert for himself and Eliott, tainting the very air with his insecurities and fears. But that’s not quite right; he’s too consumed by himself, selfish, he thinks, you wouldn’t even notice the signs with Eliott. Sometimes he wants to be allowed, allow himself, to feel sad, dispirited, hopeless. He wants to lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of nothing but the way some areas are slightly raised. To sleep. But he hasn’t been diagnosed with depression, he’s not depressed, he doesn’t get depressed. Just sad and vapid, occasionally. The instances are few and far between.
He has his mum to reassure him. He wouldn’t call it comforting though she tries: “We’ll all get through this. You will, Lucas. That job is waiting for you, remember? Take a deep breath with me, okay?”
Today though isn’t as bad as it was two days ago, he feels himself getting out of this cave of darkness, this allocated place of sorrowful isolation, because he also has this. The security of these arms and this chest he rests his face against. That kiss on his head. And this person who can’t fight it all away for him, can’t always find the right words to comfort him, like Lucas cannot be a constant solid presence of stone in the flow of a rapid river for Eliott, he has to be patient and assume the pace Eliott sets.
They can’t always be the right answer, but they can try.
“I think you’re gonna need to repaint this hand, Lu.”
It takes him a moment to gather himself. He’s been resting here for some time, though time is inconsequential here so the length is lost to him. As he sits back up and his face disconnects with heart beat and muscle and skin, it feels flushed on the connect side and his eyes dry. He takes in Eliott’s painted hand, now smudged and clicks his tongue, shaking his head at the same time.
“Give me the polish.”
As Eliott reaches out to grab a mint-green bottle of polish, he responds in kind. “Try this.” Lucas shakes the bottle and glances at Eliott in askance. Eliott shakes his head, a small smile on his lips, not teasing. “Trust me.” No, not teasing. More in expectation of something good, something sweet.
And Lucas complies as he is wont to do, savouring those eyes and the hundreds of thousands of emotions they express in a single moment.
For the ask “ Could you pretty please write something where eliott has a tough day at work and lucas takes care of him? Like basically makes a burrito eliott and feeds him lots of nice food, cuddles him and tells him how much he loves him and how proud he is? “
VENDREDI 20:49
Eliott’s had mostly good days ever since he started his job. He thought he would be overwhelmed, juggling all the change in his life - the newness of university, and now this job, not to mention more perpetual challenges like his mental health, without sacrificing his friendships or most importantly, his relationship. Also, to be quite honest - he loves movies, but it was everything else he was unsure about being able to deal with, like the clients or the administrative aspects.
A lot of his anxieties have revealed themselves to be unfounded. A lot of that is due to his boss, David, being chill personnified. He is pretty easy going when it comes to organization or timing. He hired Eliott because he recognized the same passion in him that he had himself, despite his lack of experience. According to him, there are very few stores of this type left, with how everything moved online. So people who come here aren’t here to just get a movie and leave, often they want the human part of it, they want to be recommended stuff and they want to talk to people who talk, breathe and live movies. Which Eliott totally recognizes himself in. He lucked out, really, and it’s already happened two times that they closed up late because they had gotten involved in a really passionate discussion about visual storytelling or old Japanese movies.
But of course, it can’t all be sunny days. One of the big lessons life seems to want to impart to him.
He was already stressed up about today before it started : David had to leave for the afternoon and left him alone in the store for the first time. At breakfast, he had been snappy for no reason to Lucas and Lucas had been even worse ; in fact he had been grumpy all week, convinced he had flunked his last math exam. So they’d started the day in a very much less than ideal state, even if they had made up and apologized by text later. Then he had had a weird rush in early afternoon that had left him frazzled. Followed by an asshole who had been very insistant on his opinion on Lars von Trier movies, and when he’d ventured the idea that maybe all the brutalized naked women thing was maybe a little misogynistic, the man had reacted almost violently, drilling Eliott about a lot of obscure movie details before declaring him a fake, throwing out some vaguely homophobic insults about ‘political correctness’, and leaving. To crown it all, Eliott had messed up a pile of old DVDs David had been cataloguing, and had to figure out if he had lost one of them or if it had been stolen. And on top of that - he still hasn’t started the essay he needs to turn in on Monday.
In short, it had been an avalanche of little crappy things, and it had pushed him from feeling cranky into feeling completely miserable. It’s moments like these that leave him feeling so embarassed at his lack of capacity to cope with little setbacks. Intellectually he knows that it’s not the end of the world. But his brain is already making up all sorts of vicious scenarios about how David is going to fire him, how he’s never going to be able to keep a job, or talk to people properly, or finish university, how he is a fraud that doesn’t really know movies and his opinions are all childish and pathetic, how Lucas is going to leave him and he is going to end up living under a bridge. He’s completely spiraling so when he gets out of the metro to walk to their appartment, he sends a short text to Lucas to warn him, something like fuck life sucks then today then bad mood i’m sorry. So maybe Lucas knows how to avoid him if he doesn’t feel like dealing with his shit tonight.
He climbs the stairs in their elevator-less building to the fourth floor feeling heavier than ever, thinking of just plopping into bed clothes with the hope his misery somehow would evaporate during the night.
However, when he opens the door, Lucas is waiting for him. In their little entrance, leaning against the wall.
He just says, “Hey,” before Eliott drops his bag on the ground and rushes into his arms. Lucas gets on his tiptoes and wraps himself around him as best he can.
“I’m so sorry.” he whispers into his boyfriend’s neck.
“What for ?”
“I don’t know...I had such a bad day, I feel like a fucking failure...totally horrible and like it’s contagious.”
“Yeah that’s so weird I’ve never heard of a job sucking before.”
Suddenly, Eliott feels like he wants to cry. He doesn’t know why he is like this, it’s ridiculous, and he wants to disentangle himself and disappear, but Lucas doesn’t let him. Instead he kisses him, mouth and then cheeks, and then takes him by the hand and leads him to their couch.
It’s the biggest item in their living room, a gift from Eliott’s parents and the most comfortable item of furniture he’s ever known. Sitting down on it automatically makes it difficult to get up again, and it’s perfect for when their friends come over to play video games. In this very moment, however, it feels like a beacon of safety to Eliott.
Lucas pushes him into the couch.
“Okay, how about you just stay there this evening, okay ? And let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”
“Lucas...I have stuff to do, don’t you ?”
“Yes, right now, you have to commune with the couch. Be at one with the couch. Be the couch.” He says stubbornly before going to their room. Then he comes back - with a mountain of pillows and their bedcovers, as well as their pijamas, the matching ones with little dots. When they’ve changed clothes, he then starts wrapping Eliott in them until he looks like a burrito, and buries him in pillows, just his head peeking out. Eliott feels a little ridiculous, and like he can’t move, but mostly he feels warm, and held. When Lucas disappears again and comes back with the hot water bottle, he can’t help but laugh a little.
“I’m not sick, you know.”
“Yeah, I know, I just like having an excuse to do this.” He puts the thing next to Eliott’s feet, then dims the light. “How about we play a game. The outside world is cancelled. We’re going to order some food, and then watch a movie, or whatever we want, and talk, and I’m going to kiss you, and then...just whatever we want for as long as we want, okay ?”
Eliott squints at him from beneath pillows.
“Isn’t that like always ?”
“Yes but tonight we are doing it extremely on purpose.”
Lucas orders for them - their favorite comfort food, from the italian place nearby, lasagna and ravioli with cannoli for dessert, feeding each other bits of their respective dishes. Eliott tells Lucas all about his asshole customer, and delights in the creativity of Lucas’s insults.They watch one of Eliott’s favorite Ghibli movie, Kiki’s Delivery Service, after which Eliott sighs about wanting to run away and leave in the forest to paint. Lucas says he’ll just have to become a lumberjack, then, which is definitely not the Ghibli vibe, but he can’t help but think his boyfriend would look good in plaid.
After that, they turn all the lights except one - Lucas’s new galaxy lamp, which projects scattered little dots of light all over their walls and ceiling - and just sit. Eliott’s found his place sitting between Lucas’s legs, all envelopped and warm, and all his sorrows feel a lot more distant. He still feels...harried, and extremely tired, but the tension has drained away. That’s often how he feels around Lucas nowadays. The exciting newness of their relationship has faded a bit, but it’s been replaced by a deep sense of comfort and home that being together brings them. Eliott still can’t believe it, some days, that this is his life, that he gets to have this.
Lucas bends forward a little, and starts kissing him - on his forehead, cheeks, lips, so haphazardly it makes Eliott giggle a little. Then he brings Eliott’s hand to his mouth, and his forearm, and Eliott gets it - he’s trying to catch the stars with his mouth, kissing everywhere a little pinprick of light touches Eliott’s skin. He shivers. His boyfriend is so sneakily romantic when he really wants to be, it keeps surprising him.
“It’s the world that should be sorry for making you feel bad.” Lucas whispers in his ear. Kisses him again. “I’m so proud of how you’re handling all of this.” Another kiss, a little more heated the last. “They’re lucky to have you. That moron will feel so stupid when you’re a famous movie director.” He nuzzles into Eliott’s neck and sighs.
Look, Eliott know it’s important for him to take charge of his emotions and work on his mental health, and all that. But god, it feels so good to have someone who is just wholly, entirely on his side. With whom he can be as soft or as wild as he needs, and never makes him feel like a burden.
His lucky guiding star really came through for him, huh.
He turns around and kisses his boyfriend - he’ll never get tired of thinking about him his way, his boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend - and they melt into each other, whispering sweet nothings until they drift off into sleep, and misery is but a distant memory.
Lucas looks at Eliott and then at his bandaged hand, before his eyes drift back to staring into the green pools of light in front of him.
You happened.
He snorts. He can't say that. The wound is too fresh. And no, he is not thinking about his hand.
If he didn't know any better, he'd think that Eliott was concerned, judging by his knitted eyebrows, pitiful gaze and slight lip tremble. But he's learned not to be so gullible by now.
"Gardening accident." He chokes out, looking down again. There's a big brownish stain staring back at him. He couldn't be bothered to change the bandage since Manon wrapped it for him on the night it happened. Manon has been sleeping at Emma's the past few nights, and he couldn't bring himself to ask Mika to help him wrap it. He couldn't face him, not yet.
Eliott's eyebrows shoot up and Lucas' heart does a thing. It's been drumming since he bumped into the taller boy a few minutes ago, but now it twisted painfully at the memory of Eliott doing the same gesture while they were tangled in each other. Lips on lips and skin on skin.
The day he's been kissed senseless and left panting on the mattress. The day he felt more alive and more like himself than he's done in years.
No.
"It's no big deal." He shrugs, trying to play it cool.
Please leave please leave please-
Eliott doesn't. He comes closer, so close that Lucas can smell his cologne. No.
"You need to charge that. It could get infected."
Eliott takes his hand in his, probably to examine the damage, and Lucas shudders at the contact. He suddenly wants to hug him, to bury his head in the crook of Eliott's neck, breathe him in and feel his two strong arms wrapped around him. To be told that everything's going to be okay.
But then he remebers that it's him. He is the reason Lucas feels tears burning his eyelids now. The one who makes him want to pull his skin off and punch another wall. Or maybe a window this time.
He pulls his hand away so abruptly that Eliott is left completely dumbfounded. He looks scared. So scared. And hurt.
Good.
"Lucas-"
"I have to go-" He turns around and bumps into him again. The second time today and the third time ever, at least according to Eliott. He wonders if it felt this electrifying back then. Or maybe that is just one of all the other lies.
Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)
''Stop it.'' Lucas giggled, trying to escape Eliott's lips but the older boy caught him in his arms. ''Stop it, we have to do laundry.''
Eliott rolled his eyes. ''Laundry is boring...'' he whined. ''Come back here.''
Ignoring his complains, Lucas emptied one of the bags of dirty clothes and put all the dark colors in the washer, knowing better than Eliott to put a red shirt with the whites. Now, Lucas has splotchy pink socks.
Once Lucas had put the right settings on the washing machine, Eliott got ahold of the smaller boy and lifted him on one of the laundry tables where you could fold your stuff and kissed him, hand gripping his thigh as his tongue pushed in, licking Lucas's. Automatically, Lucas's hands went up to Eliott's hair, fingers tangling in the locks, making it more of a mess than it already was.
That was Sunday afternoons for them: making out at the laundromat. Sometimes, they'd stop by the bakery and grab some croissants and coffee to go and eat while the laundry was being washed but, most of the time, they were just making out. And, even if someone walked in, Eliott didn't detach himself from his boyfriend. It's 2019, fuck's sake. People need to stop being so shook to see two boys kissing.
Eliott sighed when the washer finished and Lucas had to switched the clothes to the dryer and start a new wash. He reluctantly let Lucas go. ''It would be so much easier if we had a washer and dryer at home.''
''Breaking news, Eliott: washers and dryers are fucking expensive and we can't afford this luxury. We have a monthly rent to pay and, now that you're going to start college, it's going to be extra tight financially.''
''I know... I was just saying.''
''I get your point, though. I wouldn't have to quit our bed and put proper clothes on on Sundays anymore.''
''Erm, that too but, that's not why I was saying that,'' Eliott said with a knowing smile.
Lucas put a black hoodie in the dryer and pulled his eyebrows, looking at his boyfriend over his shoulder. ''Ah. Okay...I see.'' He grinned, biting down his lip.
Eliott crossed the distance to the dryer and wrapped his arms around Lucas from behind, blowing air right behind his ear, sending a shiver down the younger boy's spine. Lucas hummed, leaning into Eliott's touch.
The door opened and Manon walked in the laundromat, carrying her own laundry. She shook her head at the two lovebirds, not surprised to see them making out against a dryer. They were no better when they used to live at the coloc.
''You're lucky it's just me, any old ladies would've called the cops for indecency,'' she teased, making the two boys laugh.
Lucas rolled his eyes, pulling away from the older boy but stayed close. ''You're exaggerating. We're fully clothed.''
Manon raised an eyebrow. ''Maybe but, I saw your hand about to go under Eliott's sweatpants and, by looking at your hair and neck, you've been here for quite a moment.''
Eliott grinned in amusement. Manon always knows what's going on, there was no point lying to her.
