Chapter Nine

Cassidy doesn't go any further than the curb while she watches Elena roll her little suitcase through the front door, and while there's nothing wrong with her staying behind, the decision leaves Alex without his breath for an extra heartbeat or two. It's representative of too many things at once—Cassidy's new relationship with Michael and the boundaries she's drawn, the achingly empty house Alex lives in now when he wants to be anywhere with Elijah instead, Elena's ability to transition between them with no need for anything more than a smile and a hug on either side. So many things have changed these past several months, but Alex has become someone different just in the last four weeks, and he's not sure he fits here in his doorway or anywhere else.

Elena helps just by being there, of course, because Alex refuses to let any of this rain down on her little world any more than it already has. They have a good night and a good week and however much he is still trapped by the tendrils of a love story he's barely finished, and another he's barely started, his daughter never fails to make him smile. And Alex doesn't think too hard about what it means that he's bitten his tongue a hundred times, or that Elena might have noticed how close he came to bleeding when she asked how Elijah was doing, but one way or another, he"s able to keep his worlds separate until Friday night. He and Elijah have texted a handful of times, almost distantly flirty about it, but that's been enough until Elena is in the restroom at the pizza parlor, and Alex's beer has tipped him toward needy, and he doesn't have to worry about an immediate reaction to that because Elijah's already at work anyway.

Come over tonight after work? Just for a little while

There's no response, which is fine. It's good. Elena comes back and they finish up dessert and they go home to blankets and stuffies and a movie. And then his phone makes a noise and his heart thumps in his chest, a reaction wholly disproportionate to the two words Alex reads.

You sure?

Yeah. Please

He hears nothing else until after Elena's been asleep for hours, and he thinks he must have drifted off too, because it's so late when his phone startles him, and he knocks it to the floor in his attempt to pull it from the coffee table. Alex blinks at whatever is still playing on the TV, then looks down at the message.

Leaving work now if you still want me to stop by

Alex fumbles through an answer, his vision still blurry.

Yeah I'll unlock the door for you. just come in

As soon as that's done, Alex turns off the TV and hurries upstairs to brush his teeth, pretending it matters what he looks like when he still has creases from the couch pillow on his cheek. He'd changed into pajamas a while ago, but it won"t surprise Elijah to find him like this in the middle of the night, and he only splashes water on his face before he returns to the living room to lie back down. He keeps his eyes closed until he hears the soft click of the door and tries to smile, even if he's too tired to do much of anything.

Elijah kicks off his shoes, his work shirt already untucked when he steps toward the couch, blond curls everywhere, and his hand squeezing the back of his neck as he looks down.

"Why am I here?" he asks, the question soft, even if it feels like it cracks something open in the silent room.

"C'mere," Alex mumbles. "I can rub your neck for you."

"Pretty sure that wasn't your plan when you texted me at dinnertime," Elijah says, though he sits down as soon as Alex makes room for him, the blanket carelessly draped across the back of the couch now. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just missed you all week and didn't want to have to wait ‘til Monday. Take off your shirt."

"Alex."

"No?"

"Not no, but—" He sighs and unbuttons quickly, shrugging out of the shirt and setting it on the coffee table with his phone, keys, and wallet.

And he's—his body is—it's not like Alex couldn't have imagined. Not even like he hasn't imagined it, having already been wrapped up in Elijah a time or two. But even more than a little drowsy, seeing Elijah half undressed on his couch is enough to have Alex reaching for him in a way he doesn't think he's ever reached for anyone before, a shame all on its own. Elijah shifts until he can turn his back on Alex and let him stare, and Alex manages nothing more until he curves his hands over Elijah's shoulders and catches him shivering beneath his touch.

Alex tries to remember that he's not as alone as he sometimes feels.

There's another tattoo, gentle ocean waves wrapped around Elijah's bicep, and it's only because there's so much more bare skin in front of him that Alex saves his admiration of it for another time. For now, his thumbs press into tight muscles, and he works up Elijah's neck and all the way down his spine, any of the chill Elijah might have carried in from the cold outside gone under the warmth of Alex's hands. Neither one of them speaks, though they don't bother to stop the small sounds they haven't tamed, and Alex thinks maybe he could do this until morning if he wasn't so scared of each minute as it comes. But then his touch slows, and he sees the goosebumps on Elijah's skin, and he leans close enough to kiss them, far too tired to tell his body it can't have what's right there.

"God, you're so—"

He doesn't know how to finish the sentence, so many possibilities on the tip of a tongue licking at the back of Elijah's neck now, his hands flat against Elijah's back and then his ribs and then his chest. His mouth lands at Elijah's ear and he could probably say anything, but he bites down on his lip instead—a move copied from the man in front of him now—and the sting of it only lasts until Elijah turns in his arms and opens his mouth for a kiss, the next several seconds closer to filthy than anything they've done so far.

"Why am I here?" Elijah asks again.

But Alex doesn't have a better answer now than he did the first time around because saying that he missed Elijah and didn't want to wait until Monday is true, but it's not nearly all of it, and he just needs this certainty for as long as he can have it, something too close to slipping through his fingers altogether. He gives and he takes until it becomes a beautifully mutual thing, and as their tongues drag together, Alex feels Elijah begin to push him backward, Elijah's weight pressing him into the cushions and Alex left to gasp into his mouth. There's not really room for them here, not for long, but Alex doesn't know what he expects them to do anyway, his body screaming for something it's never been given before. And Elijah is so sturdy and solid and strong on top of Alex, everything about that heady enough to promise him he'll be safe when he finally puts a fantasy or two into words.

For now, he claws at Elijah's back, and it leaves Elijah rocking against him, Alex burning when he realizes his pajama pants won't hide any of his secrets.

Maybe he's only trying to keep them because lifelong habits are hard to break.

But he has to bury a moan in Elijah's skin when he's sure he can feel Elijah's cock responding too, Alex arching off the couch in search of more, even when he already knows he can't have it yet.

"I can't—not here—I just want—" Alex stammers, stealing another kiss before he chases Elijah's body again and tries to go on. "I can't stop."

There's not much there, but it's enough to make Elijah go mostly still, his body heavy against Alex's, but his mouth light at his jaw. "We can always stop. Always."

Alex blinks up at him, slow and stupid. "You drove all the way over here. You live so much closer to the bar, and you drove all the way over here."

"Missed you, too," Elijah admits, his hair even messier from where Alex must have touched him without thinking, and Elijah"s fingers comb through his curls once he's finally pushed himself away from where Alex still lies, his eyes flickering toward a jacket Elena left draped over an armchair. "Have you told them?"

He's grateful Elijah isn't close enough to feel the way his entire body tightens, but Alex must give something away because Elijah backs up even more, falling against the couch and tipping his head backward until he can stare at the ceiling, discomfort in every breath he takes.

"It's not—it has nothing to do with you," Alex tries, though his it's not you, it's me defense sounds terrible even as he offers it up. And maybe he could argue that he doesn't know what there is to tell when so little has happened between them, except that it would've sounded weak enough last Sunday and would be laughable now. Alex is already upside down and in danger of falling somewhere from there, and he could handwrite a hundred messages of his own about exactly that.

Elijah just sighs. "I should head home. We both need some sleep."

Alex wants to sigh too, because while he's sure he's doing something wrong by holding on to those hundred unwritten messages, he's still at least a little confused about why Elijah seems this bothered by Alex keeping them to himself for now. They haven't even talked about what them entails, and Alex sure as hell hasn't figured out who he is apart from Elijah or whether he's supposed to have a name for it or how he's supposed to explain it to anyone else. He trusts Cassidy, maybe more than anyone other than his sister, but there's something scary about thinking she's known too many things about him for too long and still left him to put those pieces together alone—very few of them the result of something she broke, but so many of his feelings too sharp to pick up with his bare hands. And Elena's been forced to adapt to a few new realities lately, so no matter how much she and Elijah had hit it off over bowls of chili, it would be careless to do anything but pause and consider how this might affect her.

Plus, Elijah shouldn't want to push Alex out of whatever proverbial closet he's in, right? It doesn't make sense when it's unlikely he would've demanded that Peter and Edgar do anything at all.

But it's the middle of the night, and Elijah should head home, and they both do need sleep, so Alex follows him to the door and kisses him goodbye, the click of the lock behind Elijah quiet and somehow still loud enough to echo until dawn.

Until the morning fog clears and reveals nothing.

And maybe he can still hear it all day Saturday and then Sunday, too, Alex glad he'd already planned to take Cassidy's cue and stay at the curb when he drops Elena off, because he's fairly certain he hasn't stopped flinching at the sound and doesn't feel like answering questions about his own telltale heart.

Alex doesn't hear from Elijah again until Monday afternoon, while he's at the office.

In the neighborhood today. can I take you out to dinner?

And that's—it's a date. He's being asked out on an official date. Alex knows it instinctively, and his entire body responds in conflicting ways, his stomach turning while his skin warms, and his breath catching while his fingers ache, and he wants and fears all of it at once. It's a date and a test of some kind, and while Alex is certain it wouldn't include plans to make out over their plates—while there would be no grand announcement sung like an all too happy birthday song—he feels so damn transparent already, and he doesn't know if he's ready for an audience of strangers any more than he's prepared for a conversation with the people he loves.

There's no major risk of being hurt by anyone around them, at most a single disapproving glance among dozens of other diners who won't care at all, but Alex thinks it would leave him bleeding anyway.

Maybe they'd get a smile of support, but Alex thinks that could cut him even deeper.

So, after frustrating Elijah on his own damn couch, Alex still can't pretend to be ready for anything more, but he's too far gone on Elijah to settle for nothing at all.

Can you come here instead? A quiet dinner at home would be nice

Sure

That single word carries the same tone as when Elijah had said goodbye Friday night—or early Saturday morning—and Alex knows it's his fault. That he's the one who could make it better. But he shakes his head and taps out a response.

Great see you then

He finishes up with everything that needs to be done at work before he can go home, then he ducks out and stops at the store on his way to pick up a bottle of wine and some fresh bread. He'll make pasta and a salad and turn on some music and make this as romantic as it can be when Elijah will probably be disappointed when he first arrives, dating a coward who hasn"t learned how to do anything but apologize with food and a kiss.

Dating? Is that even what they're doing here? Can they be dating if Alex won't let them go on a date? Is he just supposed to tell Cass and Elena that he's found someone he keeps hidden at home?

Again, is he really supposed to tell them anything when he's only known Elijah for a little over a month?

When there's a knock at the door, Alex rinses his hands, throws a dish towel over his shoulder, and hurries to let Elijah in.

"Hey," he says, steadier than he feels when he pulls Elijah close enough to kiss.

"Hey to you, too," Elijah smiles against him. "It smells incredible in here."

The truth is, Elijah smells incredible too, probably having just showered, his curls still damp and his skin warm and reminding Alex of the fall. He looks casual and not, a button up left open over a tight shirt and snug jeans, probably toning down his appearance once he knew they'd be staying in, though Alex can't dodge the thought that he'd brought something with him to change into that afternoon, or whenever he was "in the neighborhood."

"You were at your grandpa's house?" Alex asks as they make their way into the kitchen, Elijah snooping at everything Alex has been preparing.

"Yeah, I kinda took a break after the garage sales, but I've gotta finish clearing everything out of there and get a few things fixed up before we're ready to put it on the market after the holidays."

"Who actually got the title to the house after he died?"

"The three grandkids—my sister, my brother, and me," Elijah answers, watching as Alex tastes the sauce before he moves over to slice the bread. "My mom was an only child, so it's just us."

"And you said your brother lived there with his family?"

"Just for a while, yeah. It was good timing because he was looking for a new job and they didn't really want to renew the lease on the place they had. Probably helped with some of the cleaning out, actually, because he and his wife boxed a lot of stuff and moved it to the garage and den just to get it out of their way. Gave me a head start, at least."

"But that's it? You're really not gonna try to keep it?" Alex pushes, handing over the bottle of wine and nodding toward the glasses so Elijah can pour.

Elijah takes the bottle and shrugs. "Seems kinda crazy, doesn't it? To buy them out of their share just to sit in a big house full of memories?"

"Guess you kinda got your fill of memories handwritten into some classic novels, huh?"

"Kinda did, yeah," Elijah huffs.

They carry everything to the dining room table and get settled there, lifting their glasses of wine to toast something left unsaid before they take a sip and then begin to eat. There's nothing but small talk for a while—gossip from the bar about people Alex doesn't know and a quick retelling of the movie Alex and Elena watched on Saturday and a few things in between—but then Alex lets the wine bring him back to the topic that gave them a reason to have a real conversation on that foggy Sunday morning.

"It's been a week now, since we finished the books," Alex says. "Any more thoughts about it all?"

Elijah takes a bite, and Alex assumes he's buying himself more time to answer, though he doesn't give up much when he does. "Too many, probably."

"Care to share?"

"This food is incredible," Elijah tells him. "The wine, too."

"Sounds like that's a no."

"I don't know what else to say, Alex," Elijah sighs, putting his fork down with an unnecessary clatter. "I really don't. What we read was a beautiful and painful story, but there is still so much of it missing, which means I have no goddamn idea how I'm really supposed to feel about it now. I love that they loved each other, but I hate that it made it hard for the rest of my family to do the same. I hate that I didn't know any of this while my grandpa was alive, and I love that I was able to learn it all with you. I love that so many things inside me finally feel right, and I hate that every time I look at you, it seems like maybe you're still afraid that nothing ever will."

"Elijah," Alex croaks. "It's not—"

"About me," he interrupts. "Yeah, that's what you said after you had my entire body grinding against yours in the middle of the night. And I'm not mad at you. I need you to know that. This isn't me issuing an ultimatum that you publish an announcement in one of your columns, or else. I'm just sad, and I don"t know how much of it is because of my great grandfather and Uncle Edgar's story, or how much of it is because we seem to be on our way to repeating it now."

"It's only been a month for us."

"All years start that way," Elijah notes.

"But you said you didn't think they were cowards for staying quiet all that time."

"I don't. I think they looked at the world around them, and at everything they had with each other, and then made what they thought was the best possible decision for them at the time," Elijah says. "You're not them, though. We're not them. And I can't figure out who you think you're making decisions for right now, but I'm not convinced it's you."

Alex looks up at the ceiling, like there's any help to be found there, and then lets his head roll until he's staring at a closed window. "I got everything wrong for twenty fucking years, Elijah. I hurt the people I love, and now I—maybe it's not about making a decision. Maybe I'm scared shitless that I'll hurt you and end up being the bad guy all over again."

"You've gotta stop pretending that's how any of this works," Elijah hisses. "There didn't have to be a bad guy or good guy in your separation from Cassidy. It just was. And there doesn't have to be a bad guy or good guy with us either. We just are."

Alex chews on his lip. "And Peter and Edgar just were."

"They just were."

"Except that we don't know that for sure," Alex tells him, tilting his head as he toys with his glass. "We got as far as we could with their story, but we don't know what happened after that or whether they even stayed together. You have a fuzzy memory of seeing your great grandfather with another old man, way back when the zoo was a much higher priority for you. But that could've been anyone—a neighbor or a friend or, hell, maybe Peter fell in love again. I don't know, but I'm not convinced Elena could tell you much about the adults at get-togethers we had a few years ago, so we're putting an awful lot of faith in a memory from over 25 years ago now. Maybe we want to believe in a happy ending that never came close."

Alex can tell Elijah wants to argue that point, but there's not much he can say. "Fine. But however many times they might have loved and lost, neither one of them ever had to be a villain in those stories. And you can't keep worrying about being a villain now. It will get you nowhere, and I have no idea where it leaves me."

In the months since Cassidy moved out, the house has been painfully quiet for more nights than Alex could count, but the silence is so much harder to take when all he wants to do is scream and can't find any of the strength it would take to be that loud.

"You're really not mad that I haven't told Cass and Elena about us? You're really not mad that I wouldn't go out on a date with you tonight?" Alex mumbles, the strongest thing he can choke out when he isn't sure whether he's hopeful or skeptical.

Elijah finishes his wine and then shakes his head. "No, I'm really, really not."

"So, what happens now?"

"I don't know," Elijah sighs. "Is there any dessert?"

Alex finds it in him to chuckle and forces himself to get up from the table despite all the weight on his shoulders and how difficult it is to shake any of it off. He ducks back into the kitchen and comes back a minute later with the bottle of wine and a handful of fun-size chocolate from the stash Elena gathered on a stupidly successful night of trick-or-treating.

"'Tis the season," he says as he drops the candy bars between them and refills their glasses. "I'll apologize to her later, though I'm not convinced she'll notice anything is missing."

It's all just enough for them to let the rest of their conversation slide, and somehow their hands find each other against the table while they drink in mostly silence, though Alex isn't actually sure which one of them made the first move. They don't let go, though, not until the bottle is empty, and they take a while longer to move from there, unsure of where to go.

"I"m gonna head back over to my grandpa's house for the night," Elijah says, answering a question Alex is almost positive he didn't ask.

"You don't have to. I mean, you could stay here," Alex offers.

The look Elijah gives him makes him want to take it back, Alex certain that he's screwed up again, when he really just doesn't want Elijah to go. He wants this mess, whatever it is, and he thinks maybe if they say goodbye tonight, it will hurt in a way that isn't guaranteed to heal. And then Elijah pushes himself away from the table and stands just to shuffle across the house, his fingers still threaded through Alex's as he wriggles back into his shoes and then falls back against the front door.

"I definitely cannot stay here," he finally says.

He doesn't do anything else either, though. He doesn't turn to leave, and he doesn't drop Alex's hand, and he doesn't look away, and when Alex closes the space between them and tilts his head for a kiss, Elijah doesn't stop him. Alex needs this, and maybe so does Elijah, this one thing that might be familiar to them already. Every other step Alex takes seems to be set in the middle of a carnival funhouse, uneven ground and mirrors that lie, and no obvious way to make it to the other side, but kissing Elijah is something quick to warm his body and leave it believing it could have so much more.

It"s not even tentative now, the first touch enough to have Elijah's mouth open, Alex's tongue there to taste wine and chocolate and a sound he gives right back. They must not be holding hands anymore because Elijah's touch is gentle at Alex's back, first over his shirt and then under it, where he skates up and down Alex's spine with his fingertips. Alex's fingers are buried in Elijah's hair again because he can't help himself, and he doesn't know how he's able to press himself any more tightly against Elijah's body, but he needs something firm when everything else is so incredibly soft. It's the wine, he thinks. It's what makes each second syrupy sweet. But Alex can't actually care about it for long, Elijah's tongue sliding against his while they hold each other at his front door for a very long time.

Elijah leaves eventually, but neither of them says goodbye, and Alex doesn't know if that's how any story is supposed to end, except that he can't help but remember Elijah's confession from the day they learned each other's names.

Maybe I'm too good at it—at letting go. Giving up. Walking away.