[PRP] Truth is... (Oliver & Elliot)

[saedusk]

The situation was urgent enough, important enough, that Elliot, the very man claimed Chai was his perfect princess, didn't bat an eye at her escape from the room. He didn't bend to her, didn't give her a pet, didn't pick her up. All he did was look through the crack and into Ollie's eyes tired eyes. His own were exhausted in their own way.

"But you did, remember?" Explaining this to him was so strange. It was just like before, that morning he'd picked Ollie up from their old apartment and something was different. It had been since then.

"You told me when it first happened. You were so nervous." He laughed, quiet, affectionate, equally nervous. "It... doesn't change anything, you know?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The door was still, rigid, unmoving. After what felt like eons, Oliver breathed, and the door slowly opened up. The light from his window washed into the hallway, off-blue and dim from the moon. The only obstruction was Ollie's shadow, silhouetted where he stood in the doorway, face twisted up with all sorts of confusion.

"But," The confusion slowly mangled, the car smashed into the guardrail and the metal morphed and distorted and bent with terrible sounds, "This is the first time."

His blood was pulsing in his ears, heart hammering away in his chest, something sick slowly slithering through his veins. It had to be a result of the sigil. It had to be another side effect of this world. It was another reminder that this wasn't his Elliot, and he wasn't Elliot's Oliver, and everything was wrong and backwards and upside down.

"This is the first time." He repeated like a broken record, his eyes turning to look towards the floor, "It is. It always has been. It's." He shook his head, looking more like a shell than a man.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

If anything was going to ruin Elliot it was that look, that droop of the shoulder, that focus on the floor. Seeing Oliver like this reminded him of what, only a few months ago, had felt like a distant past. He blinked and they'd gone back a year, two, who knew. It was like they'd just met all over again.

Arguing felt pointless. Eli was sure of the story he knew and Oliver seemed just as set in his own. The two versions couldn't coincide. It was totally impossible.

There was nothing else to do but this, he thought as he moved. He wasn't smart enough to come up with anything else, wasn't quick enough. Whatever had wedged itself between them was beginning to push them apart and Elliot didn't want to let go, couldn't let go.

Without any fanfare, none of the usual Elliot Labelle flair, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ollie, hugging him tightly and unapologetically.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The Elliot of old was a very affectionate man, if you were counting his physical attention. There were lots of tiny touches, lots of shoulder pats and brushes and hair playing; of course the occasional hug, the kiss. Ollie wasn't really affectionate--he never knew how to be--so he soaked it up like a sponge. He reveled in it.

But in the end, it hurt him. There was nothing past the physical touches rather than a mechanical whirr of the motions. Every step was programmed, every touch was preplanned. There wasn't any emotion there. It made it hard when he got hugs like this from a man that he associated with that detached affection. They hurt more, almost, than the void he'd come to expect.

And that's why it made this relationship so goddamn complicated. His heart swelled with his anxiety. There wasn't any balance between the feel-good and the bad. He wanted to die as much as he wanted the comfort. Rather than make a big deal out of it, he sighed the weight out of his lungs.

"Elli--" The words caught in his throat as the tea kettle screeched from the kitchen, the sound making him jump.

saedusk

pot blocked

 

[saedusk]

If it were possible for Elliot to take a glimpse into this alternate universe, to see what he himself did with his hands and his words, he'd be rightly ashamed. Saying he was a saint would be a boldfaced lie, but he'd gotten better, he'd grown up, and for as selfish and judgmental as he was, he was nothing like the Eli Oliver had known.

He wasn't the spoiled rich kid who relied on his parents despite everything they outwardly hated him for. He was standing on his own two feet. When he did come to understand the person Oliver saw when he looked in his eyes, it wouldn't be fun.

For now, despite needing the talk, the world saved him the shame. He could hear Ollie's words in his chest where they were pressed together, but they cut short with the shriek of the kettle. As much as he wanted to ignore it, the sound was overpowering. It had broken the moment.

With a soft squeeze, Elliot pulled back, looking down at Oliver with his arms still loosely around him. "I... guess I should get that," he said with a small, awkward attempt at a smile.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"You... you prolly should, yeah." He replied quietly, but he was more lax than before. His ears twitched, his tail was fluffed out, his eyes sunken from the black mask that was branded to his cheeks. "There's... some stuff I should probably talk to you about." He frowned as he looked down at his feet again. "I don't wanna tonight though. I'm selfish."

And he was so, so tired.

"Thank you for thinking of me, though."

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

If anyone knew anything about being selfish, it was Elliot, so that was okay. It was okay if they took another week or two or three to talk about this. What mattered was knowing it was a thing they were going to talk about at some point. If Eli tried, he could be patient.

"Of course..." he said quietly as he pulled out of the hug entirely. His hand went a little further than it should have, thumb brushing against his cheek, soft and barely even there.

"Get some sleep, alright?" Or try. "You know where to find me if you need anything." He stepped away, but didn't leave just yet. The kettle continued to squeal in the background.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

God dammit.

For a second, the kettle was silenced. There was that brush at his cheek, tender, nearly unnatural. It felt like a practiced motion. It raised all sorts of red flags and made him wonder just what his relationship was actually like with this Elliot. They... they were obviously closer. Had to be. His heart thumped in his chest.

God dammit.

"I—" He looked caught between flabbergasted and blank, "Y-Yeah, right, of course." Oliver finally breathed, ears relaxing down, hair starting to flatten. "Sleep, of course. Of course..."

The whistling slowly bled back into reality, the sound piercing his ears.

"Well, maybe. If you could do something about that." He tried to weakly joke, a faint smile on his lips.

God. Dammit.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

Oliver would be within rights blaming Elliot for that move. Considering the circumstances, the confusion, the doubt, it was probably best not to stir the pot. He hadn't done it to be malicious, though. On the contrary, he cared more than he could manage in words. For someone as eloquent as Elliot, that was saying something.

"I've got it, I've got it," he assured, his manner as jovial as he could manage (read: not much). Still, he tried. For the both of them he tried. "Goodnight, Oliver." From there he didn't linger any longer, turning back down the hallway and making his way for the kitchen. Pascal, who'd been standing there like a good boy the entire time, bumped shortly against Oliver's leg, gave a faint nuzzle, and then he was gone to follow Eli. It was solidarity, comfort, but not too much.

A moment longer and the whistle of the kettle cut to blessed silence.

Melancholies