Chapter Seven

Alex wakes earlier than he should, his body clinging to habit in spite of the alcohol and a later night than usual, and he's not about to wake Elijah just for the short ride back to the bar. He's as close to silent as he can be while he greets Poe and uses the bathroom and changes back into his clothes, already looking forward to tonight when he'll finish with work and dinner and be able to go to bed early. And though he's not a huge fan of poking around anyone's house, Alex easily finds a pad of paper and a pen attached to the side of the refrigerator when he steals an extra bottle of water, and he scribbles a quick note to leave on his pillow, blankets already folded and stacked next to it.

Didn't want to wake you, so I got a ride back to my car. Still on for lunch on Saturday?

And thank you. For everything.

A car picks him up minutes later, and he's home after battling morning traffic and a headache he probably deserves. His house is still too big and too quiet when he gets there, but it feels less like a penance of some kind and more like a basic fact of life, so he pushes past the empty walls and treats himself to a long shower to finally wash the campfire and Elijah away.

Once he's dressed, coffee in hand, he starts working his way through three days of emails, his phone chirping as soon as Alex has forced himself to stop staring at it. Something about a watched pot, he supposes.

Yes and you're welcome. Sorry I didn't say goodbye

You said goodnight. Didn't need more than that

It's too much, he thinks, suddenly too sober and unable to breathe, but Alex sends the text anyway and tries not to worry when he doesn't hear anything back. He throws himself back into work, heading into the office for the rest of the day because it's louder there, and staying a little late because he can. Elijah is already at the bar by the time Alex is making dinner at home, and he'll be there after Tyler leaves as repayment for last night, but that's good too, no temptation to check in with him when Alex gets tired again and his defenses wear down.

Friday is more complicated for him, even with both of their jobs pulling them in opposite directions again, and Alex pretends not to notice the timing of Elijah's next text, and how easily he"s able to avoid a longer conversation.

Headed to work in a min. lunch at my place tomorrow? Pizza?

Yep I'll see you then

That has to be enough for Alex to believe that things are okay between them, even with however stupid he'd definitely been Wednesday night and how cowardly he might have been Thursday morning. After an expectedly restless sleep, he drives to Elijah's on Saturday, books resting on the seat next to him, convinced he'll keep his mouth mostly shut while they read about Peter and E for the first time in two weeks. But when he knocks on the door and it swings open seconds later, Elijah's smile is shy in a way it doesn't have to be, and Alex offering one back might be the thing that nudges both of them closer to something brave.

"Damn, I thought you were the pizza guy," Elijah quips.

"I can get out of the way if you'd rather spend the afternoon with him," Alex teases back.

"Nah, I mean, if you're already here, I guess you might as well stay," Elijah says, moving to the side to let Alex in and closing the door behind him. "You can set the books down on the coffee table, and then we can eat on the patio if you want."

Alex looks over Elijah's shoulder at a small area he hadn't noticed the other night, not really big enough to be called a backyard, but kind of cute all the same. There's a little table and two chairs and a small stretch of grass for Poe, who probably doesn't run around as much these days, and Alex nods, dropping the books off while he looks around at everything else he'd missed the first time he was here.

To his right is the hallway leading to Elijah's bedroom, the bathroom, and a second room Alex hasn't seen yet, maybe a little office or gym or something. To his far left is a cute kitchen with a dining area just on the other side of a high countertop, nothing fancy but good enough for the handful of people ever likely to be hanging out in a two-room condo. And here in the living room is the sectional and coffee table, a decently big TV, a couple of bookshelves—

And a record player.

"You bought one," he breathes.

"I—what?" Elijah asks from the kitchen.

"You kept the vinyls and bought a record player."

Elijah ducks his head, his cheeks pink, shy when he looks back up at Alex and shrugs. "Someone suggested I should."

"You work at a bar. I'm guessing a lot of someones suggest a lot of things," Alex points out.

"Maybe, but none of them have made me want to listen."

There are a couple beats before either of them moves, but eventually their food gets delivered and they take it outside, where lunch is relaxed, and everything Alex needs to finish settling his nerves. They enjoy soda and pizza and cheesy bread on the sunny but cold afternoon, and they have hours to themselves before Elijah has to go to work, taking their time to exchange stories and laugh plenty, and though they don't touch, everything about that feels okay. There's only the shadow of tension between them, not like there had been in the hallway when they'd shared a breath for a moment or two, and maybe Alex wants to look for it again, or maybe it's going to have to look for him.

Eventually, Elijah pops the last piece of crust into his mouth and grins around it. Alex reaches down to pet Poe when he walks by.

"We loved with a love that was more than love," Alex recites, pulling a memory from a high school English class where he'd sat with Cassidy by his side.

The turn of Elijah's head is strangely slow, his eyes wide. "Alex."

"Oh, no. Wait, no, I—" Alex shakes his head, his cheeks warm. "It was just because of Poe. I was quoting—"

""Annabel Lee." Yeah, no, it's not—I—it's Uncle Edgar."

"Edgar Allan Poe was your uncle?" Alex asks, the furrow of his brows almost painful.

"No, god, I—" Elijah stands and scrubs a hand over his face, somehow lost and still very much right there in front of Alex. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner. How could I not—oh my god. Poe belonged to my grandpa, and like you said, the name fit because of the whole ‘Raven' thing, but it was also a nod to his Uncle Edgar, who wasn't his literal uncle, but was—"

"A very close friend of his father's," Alex finishes. "E."

"Peter and Edgar."

"So, that means your grandpa definitely knew, and he kept their secret his entire life."

"Seems like it, yeah," Elijah agrees. "Which is really fucking sad because he's probably also a lot of why it was so much harder for them to find ways to be together back then."

Alex nods. "Because he would've been a kid, still at home with Peter, and likely with some other live-in childcare after Evelyn died. Sneaking Edgar into his house might have been risky no matter what, but Peter definitely couldn't have tried it with his son there."

"And Uncle Edgar would've lived somewhere crowded and loud, if he had somewhere official to live at all, so my great grandfather would never have been able to go there."

"So, then, Edgar was some kind of what—errand boy between the dockside warehouses and the fancy office buildings in town?"

"Probably, yeah," Elijah says. "I know he was younger than my great grandfather, so that tracks. Then they met at the law firm somehow, and everything grew from there."

"Wait, did you ever meet Edgar?" Alex asks, pushing up from his chair to help clean up their lunch and move back inside.

"I—yeah, I—it's so vague," Elijah sighs, still stunned as they stack everything on the kitchen counter. "I feel like there was a birthday party for my grandpa in San Diego one year when I was little—I remember my parents taking us to the zoo one day we were down there—but yeah, I—I'm almost positive my great grandfather lived down there, and I think Uncle Edgar might've been with him."

Something loosens in Alex's chest at the thought of them staying together all those years, but tightens again when he realizes that the relationship doesn't seem to have ever been a public one, and it both sharpens and dulls every one of his own fears. He falls onto the couch and waits for Elijah to join him there.

"You don't remember the rest of your family ever talking about Peter being gay?"

"Nope," Elijah says, the line of his jaw tight when he sits next to Alex. "But so much makes more sense now."

"Like your relationship with them?"

"Yeah. Peter was my mom's grandfather, but it never seemed like she knew that much about him, and maybe she didn't. And there's no way my grandpa would've judged them, but maybe he was so intent on protecting his father's relationship that he didn't let his own kids see Peter all that often."

"What about that trip to San Diego, though? Seeing Peter and Edgar together there? Did something happen before or after that?"

"Like, did my parents figure something out about them being gay?" Elijah shrugs. "Maybe. I honestly don't remember them saying anything at all, but they both seemed very ‘don't ask, don't tell' my whole life. Loudly approving when I liked girls and then remaining remarkably silent when I—did not. It got to the point where I tried to mix it up enough that they were satisfied half the time."

Alex pulls one of the books from the table so he doesn't wrap his arms around Elijah instead. "Okay, and you said you were really close to your grandpa. Were your brother and sister close to him, too?"

"Not like I was, no," he admits. "They were always close to my parents."

"So, maybe your grandpa saw something in you that needed to be protected, too."

Elijah's head falls and Alex isn't surprised when a teardrop lands in his lap. "Fuck, I miss him."

"Would you rather talk to me about him instead? We don't have to read anything in the books today."

"No, I—" Elijah takes a deep breath, but doesn't look up, his fingers caught in his hair again, something belonging to Alex in danger of becoming trapped there too. "I want to know their story."

"Okay, but please tell me if we need to stop. This is—it's your story too, and I—"

"Alex, I'm not going to want to stop. It's—I can't imagine wanting to stop."

It's impossible not to hear everything Elijah isn"t saying, and Alex squeezes his eyes shut before he swallows too many questions at once, then carefully opens the book he's been holding.

"We left off when they had finally met by the warehouses, pressed close to each other, but not going any further than that, so then the next note is this: E, I'm sorry I remain so afraid, even cradled in your arms. There are so many reasons for the world to refuse us this, so many things the world could take from us both. You know I don't care about myself, but you and my son are everything to me, and I fear what might be torn from my arms if I hold you for too long. And as much as you insist that this is good—that I am good—please forgive me the nights I leave before either of us is ready."

Elijah leans forward to pick up his own book, clears his throat, and reads Edgar's response.

P, my love, you need none of the forgiveness we should demand of those who have denied us this. Furthermore, please don't fear what could happen to me when your dear son will always be the one we need to keep safe from harm. I'll continue to hold you each night you come to me, however rare they might be, and delight in the times you're brave enough to embrace me in return.

"Uncle Edgar was prioritizing the family, long before he even would've met my grandpa," Elijah says. "And this sounds like they didn't even see each other often, but Uncle Edgar didn't ask for more."

"He didn't push, even when Peter was terrified."

"No, he didn't," Elijah agrees, his head rolling against the back of the couch until he can look at Alex. "What good would that have done?"

Alex doesn't answer, glancing back down at the book instead. "So, it's already been over a year for them."

"Sounds like it, yeah. We read about it being ‘nearly a year' a while ago, and I think the messages went back and forth a lot more slowly than it seems when we're reading them. I assume they would've had to rely on the times when Uncle Edgar could have a reason to deliver to the law firm and actually have the chance to interact with my great grandfather. They wouldn't have let their story be passed through anyone else."

"Why have two different books at all?" Alex asks. "Wouldn't that have made an exchange more cumbersome? Couldn't they have written back and forth in the same one?"

Elijah considers it for a moment, but answers with the same guess Alex might have made on his own. "Some kind of plausible deniability if only one book landed in the wrong hands? Keeping the two halves of their love story separate, just for the pretense of safety they couldn't find anywhere else?"

"Until your grandpa could hold on to both."

"And we could give them a voice."

It takes them another several seconds, but they duck back into the books then, Alex with Peter's words and Elijah with Edgar's, written memories of small moments on dark nights with careful touches shared between them. Fingertips light against the other's face, pinkies linked together when the press of their entire palms together felt like too much. And the chance for them to talk, or whisper really, entire conversations they couldn't have anywhere else but in the shadows of warehouses while they should be asleep. There are several of those messages, remembering what they said to each other while they shook with each courageous new thing, and it leaves both Alex and Elijah nearly breathless.

But however emotional it is to follow Peter and Edgar's journey, everything gets a little worse when Alex reads on.

E, it's been so long since I've seen you, and today I'm gripped by unimaginable fear. There was a rumor after our latest delivery, talk of a late-night attack near the docks, a "sissy" beaten and left for dead. It was said that he's alive and being cared for, but my darling, please return and tell me it wasn't you.

"No," Alex chokes, quick to look at Elijah, who is already turning the pages in his book.

He's too close to the end, though, and meets Alex's eyes, barely able to speak. "There's nothing left in this one."

So, Alex hurries to find what he can, and it doesn't take long.

E, every part of my body aches, but I know it must be nothing compared to the way you've been hurt, and I don't know what to do from here, when I know you have to be hidden away as you recover, and I have no way to reach you now. I can only write here, all too aware I may never have a way to give you this book again. We've heard nothing more about you, nor can I ask, but there would be no other reason for you to stay away. No other reason my heart would be so broken.

Alex keeps looking after that. "There's one more here."

E, I won't keep writing to you here, my entire heart tucked into the margins of pages you may never touch, my body left to the same fate. It would be too much to ask you to be with me again after all these weeks apart. But though we have never kissed, though I've only barely stopped being a coward long enough to hold your hand in mine while we talk, or brush your cheek with my own while we breathe, please know I will never stop loving you.

"Christ, I—" Elijah's voice breaks.

Alex doesn't notice whether any tears fall this time, his own vision blurry as he closes the book and puts it back onto the coffee table, adding Elijah's atop it a moment later. Then he sits back and reminds himself to take one breath after another, trembling with grief resolved years ago and the anticipation of something brand new. He feels caught between the two right now, and lost without another margin to cling to, but after giving them a few more minutes to sit with Peter and Edgar's uncertain ever after, Alex chases something sure.

And maybe he should worry about how much his hand shakes when it moves toward Elijah's lap, but Alex is so much more worried about keeping it to himself.

He curls his pinkie around Elijah's. "They came so close to losing each other, and all they'd had was this."

"Mmmm, they had a little more," Elijah says, threading their fingers together. "When they were brave enough, they could do this too."

Scarred and calloused hands. Something beautiful.

"And there was the very first night they met by the warehouses—"

"The message that made us realize—"

"That they were two men," Alex mumbles, another several heartbeats spent staring down at where they"ve joined their hands against Elijah's thigh before he slowly pulls his away, turning his entire body toward Elijah's instead. He's cautious, maybe unnecessarily so, and Elijah makes no move to hurry him, his eyes only fluttering shut when Alex finally reaches up to comb his fingers through Elijah's curls, Alex leaning far enough forward to bring his mouth to Elijah's ear. "The scrape of stubble, for only a second or two."

"What happens when our two seconds have passed?" Elijah asks.

"I don't know. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I don't want to let go," Alex admits, too easily turning it into a plea as he drags his lips along the line of Elijah's jaw, stopping when he reaches the corner of his mouth. "No tequila today. Tell me about more."

"I already told you, if you want it, you're allowed to take it. You're allowed to be selfish."

"Elijah."

"Take it."

He does, just barely, his hand still tangled in Elijah's hair when they first kiss, a tiny and tentative thing that can't do more than promise the chance for another. Elijah continues to wait for him there, Alex trapped between the past and present in so many ways, too aware that he hasn't kissed anyone but his wife for the past twenty years just as he realizes the same might have been true for Peter way back when. But Alex aches for himself now and does what he can to soothe it, a little steadier when he kisses Elijah a second time, then a third, teasing him open with the tip of his tongue once he's lost count, and whimpering when Elijah eventually responds with more than small, silent answers to each of Alex's questions.

It"s different, every sensation delivered by their kiss, the taste of Elijah's lips so new, the sounds he makes unfamiliar, and the relief humming through Alex's body something he didn't know he'd been seeking. Elijah's hand comes up to rest against Alex's hip, but it's not enough, and Alex keeps trying to move closer, nearly whining into Elijah's mouth, the warmth of it something he wants surrounding him. And then the grip at his side becomes more confident, reminding Alex of Elijah's size and his strength and making it so incredibly natural to do something Alex has never done before, his entire body shifting until he can straddle Elijah's lap.

"M"selfish," he mumbles in between kisses that have no real beginning or end.

Elijah doesn't hesitate to adjust to the new position, his hands slipping beneath Alex's shirt, warm and ready where he brackets his waist. And Alex still has one hand at the back of Elijah's head, the other landing at his shoulder and trying so hard to be gentle while he lets himself want and want and want.

"You're learning," Elijah says, his smile pressed against Alex's jaw before he kisses him there, moving to his neck in the next breath. Alex is curled over him and it's so easy to drop his head to the side when Elijah sucks at every sensitive spot there, too slow to demand what's already being given.

He understands it—already, even this soon—the difference between comfortable and this, moment after moment leaving him desperate for the next. His body is begging him for things he thinks he should be embarrassed to consider at all, his imagination too good to make him anything but pathetic with need now, but when his hips begin to roll forward, driven by instinct and little more, Elijah's hold on him tightens quickly, his mouth back to Alex's for a long kiss.

Still, it's enough to have Alex pull away, licking at his lips like Elijah's still there. "No?"

"I—you—" Elijah doesn't bother to catch his breath, dragging Alex back to him instead and distracting both of them with another kiss until Alex is nearly dizzy with it. "You said you have no idea what you're doing, but I—Alex."

"I don't know. I don't know anything."

Elijah reaches up with one hand to cradle the side of Alex's face, his thumb brushing over Alex's lower lip before he chases it away with his own. "But you're okay?"

"Yeah, but I don't—you said I could take it, but then you—are you okay?"

The laugh is soft and so quietly intense against Alex's mouth, felt at least as much as it's heard. "I'm far better than that, and yeah, you can take it all, anything you want, but not—I want you to go slow."

Alex blushes. "I wasn't going to—I wouldn't—not all of it."

"No, but even this. I want you to go slow."

"Because you think I'm not ready?"

The hand still under Alex's shirt coasts over his back, Elijah's eyes blazing a beautiful black-blue. "Because we're not ready. Even with everything I've—this isn't the same for me. I already know this isn't the same."

And Alex doesn't have a response for that, doesn't think he could speak if he tried, so he moves to take Elijah's face in both of his hands and pours everything he has into their kiss, every second of it devastating, but somehow made a little more perfect when they both know it won't become anything else. Elijah's arms are fully around him now, holding Alex tight against his own body, everything tender in a way Alex wouldn't have thought it could be, and they don't break apart again until Elijah has to get ready for work.

While he changes, Alex goes into the bathroom, unable to keep from smiling when he sees how fully wrecked he looks, already having admired how perfectly kiss-swollen Elijah's lips had been just a minute ago. And he waits near the front door until Elijah comes back out, nodding toward the books in his arms.

"We already know their first kiss comes next," Alex says. "Wonder what happens after that."

"You wanna come back tomorrow and find out?" Elijah asks.

"I don't know. That slow enough for you?"

Elijah takes a step closer, then another and another, pressing Alex back against the door and nipping at his bottom lip before he soothes it with a kiss. "It's perfect."