#I wasn't kidding when I said it's 8k of pining

[choupichoups]

CHAPTER FOUR :: Previous chapters

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

::

His phone lays face down on the nightstand, chiming with accusing vibrations from god knows where. He hasn’t exactly kept up with the outpouring of messages since Friday night. 

Eliott doesn’t know what day it is. 

With a burst of energy that sends both dread and respite coursing through his chest, Eliott pushes himself towards the bathroom, standing under the warm pressure of the shower until it turns cold, freezing pelts numbing where his back is hunched over the tiled walls. 

He doesn’t feel any better. There’s a steely blankness in his mind, a faint ringing echoing its walls that has Eliott wondering how he’s able to move around. 

When he gets out, shivering from the cool air breezing in from his open windows, the mere sight of the light emanating from his nightstand grips him with inexplicable anxiety. The familiar drop in his stomach is so unbearable he can’t even bring himself to approach his fucking phone. His eyes search out a pack of smokes out of reflex but a spiteful voice inside his head berates him. Make it worse, why don’t you, it says, go ahead and prove them right, then. 

He goes into the kitchen and gulps down two glasses of water instead. He supposes his piece of shit brain has an effective way of keeping him in check sometimes. 

His laptop is asleep on the kitchen table when he turns around and Eliott taps on it, stares blankly at the timestamp on top of the screen— it’s Sunday afternoon. So he hasn’t been out of the grid for that long then. Not long enough to miss classes, at least. That’s good. It’s good. 

That eliminates the chances of school related emails being included in his growing pile of notifications.

He slides gingerly onto the chair, switching to his Netflix tab to resume whatever movie he’d been watching before he left for that party on Friday. Eliott watches the screen move, colours and sounds around him, none of it sticks but he appreciates the background noise. Appreciates the change in scenery. He’s gotten a little sick and tired of watching the ceiling in between bouts of fitful slumber. 

Eyes still dull from exhaustion, he follows the fast paced sequence playing in front of him until the muffled music clears up, until the teeny voices from his speakers start making sense again, until his brain latches onto the idea of the film, until he recognizes the title, remembers the bits he’d seen from Friday. 

He’s frowning down at a particular twist in the plot when his lock turns, dragging slow and soft, as if it would help mask the disruptive shriek of metal against metal. He doesn’t react much to it— only stares at the door with vague wonder, but ultimately can’t bring himself to care even when the door creaks fully open. He’s genuinely surprised to see Adrien’s head pop out from behind it, searching eyes wandering about until it lands on Eliott and a brilliant smile immediately lifts the entirety of his best friend’s face. 

So Lucas hasn’t told him anything. 

Eliott’s heart clenches. It has nothing to do with relief. 

“Hey!” Adrien sounds so excited that Eliott wants to smile, but his lips don’t get the memo. “I brought lunch. Or dinner, I guess? Whatever.”

He makes himself at home, banging around in Eliott’s kitchen as the movie plays on, now abandoned. Eliott relocates to the couch, letting Adrien’s off tune singing and his computer’s noisy faux explosions fill his head. It’s comfortable enough that Eliott’s eyes fall shut, head tilted back against the back of the couch. 

It’s dark outside the next time he wakes. His laptop’s now connected to his tv screen, playing a different movie. Adrien’s lounging beside him, spoon stuck in his mouth, eyes trained on his phone. 

“You gonna share that or what?” Eliott manages to croak out, reaching for the bowl of take out in Adrien’s lap.

Adrien practically jumps at the sound of Eliott’s voice and that finally, finally fills him with enough humour to conjure up a smile. It feels fucking good. He hopes it lasts. 

“Fuck off, yours is in the fridge,” Adrien says once he recovers, sliding his bowl far away from Eliott’s reach. 

Eliott groans, “That’s too far.”

“Your place isn’t that big, calm down.” But Adrien gets up anyway, dragging his feet as he heads for the kitchen to heat up the leftovers. Eliott isn’t hungry, truth be told, he does want to continue this streak of normalcy, though. He wants to keep smiling and feeling and eating. Maybe it would push him on a fast track to being himself again come the next day. Whatever being himself means.

Hot food is plopped down on his legs with no warning and his resulting yelp has Adrien in stitches. Eliott’s sorely tempted to dump the entire thing over Adrien’s head, see who’s laughing then, but he did bring Eliott some free food so he gets one single pass for being an asshole. Eliott flips him off, lips still curled in a smirk as he nibbles on his first bite. 

They watch the movie mostly in silence, only with the occasional commentary from Adrien, who’s prone to being very vocal about how angry the characters make him. There’s something off with his behaviour though, almost like he’s forcing the cheer into his voice. Eliott looks over just in time to catch him tapping away on his phone for the umpteenth time. 

So Eliott pauses the movie, confirming his suspicions when it takes Adrien a full minute to realize that there’s now silence where the movie villain’s cheesy droning spiel had just been. He reaches out, one hand curled into a fist, and Adrien stares at it blankly before slapping his palm against it, closing his hand over the fist, holding tight like a child afraid of the dark. He looks like a child too, Eliott’s eyes adjusting to the lack of light to find Adrien’s wide, watery gaze on him.

“I fucked up, Eli.” 

Well that’s new. It’s usually Eliott who fucks up between the two of them. “How much?”

“Big time.”

Eliott sits up from where he’s half melted into the couch cushions, kicking at Adrien’s leg until he does the same. “What happened?” 

Adrien eyes him, says, “Nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m just being stupid.” But he sounds pitiful enough that Eliott can’t not worry about it. 

“Look, Adri, we can’t both feel like shit,” Eliott says, earning a snort from the other end of the couch. “Only one at a time and I called dibs already so just tell me what’s wrong so you can feel less shitty about it.” 

Adrien wipes his eyes. Sniffs a little. “Lucas is missing.”

That’s the last thing Eliott wants to hear. “What?” he chokes out, forcing a neutral tone. His heartbeat picks up in protest. “Since when?”

“Friday, god, I should’ve gone to that stupid party—”

This is all your fault. “What do you mean he’s missing?” Neutrality out the window, apparently. Good thing Adrien doesn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to yank the hair out of his head as he is. 

“I don’t know, he’s been kinda weird recently to be honest, and now he’s not coming home or answering his goddamn phone.” Adrien nibbles on his fingernails, a nervous tick the both of them share. “I’m freaking out, like— what do I tell our parents? They can’t even leave my brother alone with me for two weeks without him going missing, fuck. I’m so useless. What if we get a baby brother? Or a baby sister? How much would I fuck up then? Jesus, I would probably drop an actual infant and—” 

Eliott shakes his head, takes Adrien’s phone away to do something. “Calm down,” he hisses, not sure if he’s addressing Adrien or himself. “Have you checked with all his friends?” 

“The ones I know of, yeah.” Adrien grabs a cushion and buries his face under it. 

A thought occurs to Eliott then, unwanted but he’d rather that than any other worse scenarios. Maybe it’s not his fault. How bold of him to assume Lucas would care that much about Eliott, just another boy chasing him around. Maybe the answer is much simpler. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with him at all. “Maybe he met someone,” he suggests, and he has no right to feel jealousy catching fire like a candle wick, rapid to burn. “Went home with them?” 

“No,” Adrien denies, muffled. “Lucas doesn’t do that.”

Flashes from Friday night’s party make him swallow, throat clicking at the image of Lucas and that guy headed fast towards the bedrooms. “You sure?”

“Uh huh. Hundred percent.” 

Adrien’s phone interrupts them with a startling ring. Instinctively, Eliott slides a finger to accept the unknown call, putting it on speaker so Adrien could hear as well. “Hello?” Eliott answers, hesitant, when Adrien looks like he doesn’t plan on emerging from his cushion any time soon. 

Confused silence, and then a timid, “Adri?”

Lucas’ voice. Eliott drops the phone on the table like it’s suddenly grown spikes. 

It’s a good thing Adrien comes alive at that moment, his cushion flying off the living room and into the kitchen. “Where the fuck have you been?!” he practically screeches in the general direction of the phone. 

There’s some static, the sound of sheets ruffling. “I don’t— I don’t kno— no, shit, hold on.”

Adrien’s face is flushed with anger. “The fuck you mean you don’t—” He rubs a hand over his face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Eliott sincerely doesn’t know whether to be thankful of, or lament the fact that Adrien keeps the phone call on speaker. 

“Of course? Of course? So why the hell haven’t you been answering my calls, Lulu?”

“I’m sorry, my phone died,” Lucas groans from the other end, sounding miserable. Like he’s—

“Are you hungover?” Adrien voices out the question in Eliott’s head. 

“Yes.” The one word packs such heavy attitude it almost makes Eliott laugh— until he remembers it’s Sunday evening so Lucas being hungover means he’s been drinking again on Saturday and well into the morning after. “Would you tone down a little?”

“No, I won’t tone the fuck down. Do you know what time it is? And you sound like that? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” 

“I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Lucas,” Adrien pronounces the name slowly, how he always does when upset. “Where are you?”

Unperturbed, Lucas repeats, “I said I’ll be home tomorrow, father.” And then he hangs up.

Adrien looks two seconds away from flinging his phone out the window. It’s times like this when Eliott truly appreciates being an only child. 

“Whose phone number was that?” Adrien asks, visibly holding back from redialing the unknown number.

Eliott shrugs and heads into the bedroom for his phone; there’s no harm in checking his contact list. He figures it’s time to stop avoiding the inevitable anyway. At least Adrien being present would alleviate some of the stress from checking on his unread messages. 

Turns out he doesn’t have the phone number Lucas used registered on his phone either but what he does find out is that Lucas has blocked him on Instagram. And it shouldn’t hurt. It really, really shouldn’t. It’s a fucking phone app, the act is borderline juvenile. The laugh he lets out is rusty, unfamiliar to his own ears, bitter in its quietness. He should have seen it coming, it’s what he deserves after all. But knowing so doesn’t make it feel any less horrible.

“You okay?” Right. Adrien’s there beside him, clueless as to what Eliott’s done to his precious little brother. Eliott knows he’s played a dangerous game and now Lucas holds all the cards.

“Yup, just peachy.” Eliott shoves his phone behind the couch. Out of sight out of mind. “You want a drink?” 

Adrien sweeps a hand over his eyes. “I need ten.”

“I only have cranberry juice.”

“Ugh, fuck.”

“We can use the fancy glasses and pretend it’s wine.”

“Yeah, okay, close enough. Juice me up.”

::

::

Come Tuesday afternoon, Eliott feels less like living as a hermit deep into the woods and more like throwing people deep into the woods. 

Irritation simmers at the surface of his skin like gasoline, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation. So he does his best to stay away from the crowds, and forces himself to interact only when he’s cornered, because apparently some people can’t read the atmosphere despite his closed off demeanor. 

Mysterious, some would call him and it’s so fucking stupid. Aloof. Intimidating. Cool. 

He’d laugh if he weren’t so keyed up, throat scratchy with the urge to snap, shoulders hunched to keep in a festering fury he has neither time nor will to put out. 

It doesn’t help that his hands have developed a mind of their own, obsessively checking for a message that will never show up. He’s irritated that there’s only one voice he wants to hear. He’s irritated that people still try their luck in approaching him, he’s irritated that they laugh and speak and move around him like he isn’t some ticking time bomb. He’s irritated that despite all the noise and the clamour, everything is still so goddamn boring, nothing to pull him out of his head, nothing to crack open his barrier, nothing nothing nothing. 

His most wakening moments happen during the events leading up to, and the ones following after, himself getting punched in the face. 

It’s exactly how it sounds like, but in Eliott’s defence, it's completely and utterly not his fault. Just a giant misunderstanding and too much testosterone involved in the mix. 

It happens when Eliott’s just about to leave campus, skipping out on the final half of his last class so he could catch the early bus and continue being miserable at home. Hands busy untangling his headphones, he doesn’t realize he’s got company in the hallway until he hears a very unimpressed, very familiar voice coming from the other end. Eliott throws himself into the next hallway, heart beating erratically while he stands with his back plastered against the wall. 

“Listen, Nathan,” Lucas is saying, thankfully unaware of the film worthy stunt Eliott had just pulled. He slumps down on the ground and accepts the fact that he’s officially the king of being at the wrong place at the wrong time nowadays. 

Or maybe the king of eavesdropping is more accurate?

His phone vibrates against the floor where it’s shoved inside his pocket and Eliott scrambles to kneel up, cursing under his breath as he fumbles to muffle the sound of the missed call. 

Cautiously, he peeks out, but both boys are still occupied with their conversation. Eliott ducks back into his hiding place, rationalizing if the loss of dignity he’d experience should someone catch him crab walking towards the staircase would be worth dodging Lucas’ ire.  

Maybe he simply puts the king in panicking, at this point.

“Nigel,” Nathan— or Nigel, really, corrects him. Eliott winces in sympathy. So that’s how Lucas plays it, huh. 

“Nigel. I’m sorry about the party,” Lucas continues, and Eliott knows exactly what he’s going to say next. “I was a little drunk.” Fucking hell. 

Nigel lets out a breathy laugh. “Come on, Lucas, you can’t say you felt nothing.” 

Alright, Eliott’s sympathy is quickly fizzing out. 

“Feel what?” 

“There’s something between us, Lu.” 

“We met four days ago,” Lucas deadpans, ruthless in a way that has Eliott a little taken aback. There’s no hint of the playful tone Lucas had always used around him.

“You kissed me at the party.”

“I said I was drunk.” 

“You weren’t, why don’t you just give us a chance? I could be—”

“No,” Lucas interrupts, “it’s nothing to do with you, you’re a great guy so don’t bother wasting your time on me.”

“You’re not ever a waste of time.” 

That gets a laugh out of Lucas. “That’s uh, sweet, but I’m serious. Please.” 

Eliott squeezes his eyes shut. You’d know if I was rejecting you. He thunks his head on the wall behind him, staring up at the pale ceiling as he wills for time to turn back. 

But of course it doesn’t. All that happens is that Eliott misses the rest of the conversation he’s listening in on and only realizes it’s over when shuffling footsteps make their rapid way straight towards where Eliott is squished into a corner. 

And oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

Except Lucas rushes right past him, anticlimactically. 

Eliott knows he’s got about two seconds to decide whether he’s going to let him go or if he’s going to gather the balls to at least apologize. 

In an act of bravery that probably surprises the deities themselves, Eliott calls out for Lucas, wincing in preparation for a storm as he traces the way Lucas’ entire body tenses up. A voice in his head tells him to leave it, that they’re headed straight for corrosion and nothing he says would change anything. Eliott almost succumbs to it.

But Lucas keeps walking, not once looking back, and Eliott feels a deep-seated panic settle over him, the magnitude of it louder than the jeering from his own mind. He trips all over his own two feet and hurries to match Lucas’ pace. “Lucas, please, I just want to say—”

“Sorry?” Lucas bites out, only stopping when Eliott physically stands in front of him to block his way. “Is that what you wanna say? Or are you above apologizing to your failed conquests?” Eliott recoils, mouth opening a little but Lucas doesn’t let him speak. “Nevermind, I don’t actually care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Adri.” 

Lucas keeps his head lowered, and Eliott’s chest constricts, hands slightly shaking where they’re hidden inside his pockets. God, he’s always been terrible at confrontations; he’s either too angry or too much of a coward to say the right thing. It has never occurred to him to apologize in exchange for Lucas’ silence, though, and he doesn’t want Lucas to think that’s all Eliott cares about. He only wants to— he wants to—

What? What exactly does he want?

Lucas steps to the side, intending to walk off again, and Eliott can’t have that. He doesn’t have the words lined up quite readily in his mind yet but he knows, for sure, that if Lucas just stays for a couple more minutes, the words will come to Eliott. He can feel it, it just—

His hand belatedly grabs for Lucas as his mind chases after the words, almost missing Lucas’ arm entirely. But just as quickly as he’s held, Lucas shakes Eliott off, stepping backwards violently enough to have him careening into the wall. It goes against Eliott’s every instinct to not reach out steadying hands as he watches Lucas stagger. It’s only the intensity of Lucas’ glower that stops him, like he’d have no problem smiting Eliott into smithereens if he dares to lay another finger on him.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” Lucas throws his backpack on the ground between them and Eliott watches it skid to the tip of his boots, a dawning dread churning at the pit of his stomach. “You made it very clear where you stand, Eliott. Now why don’t you be a man of your fucking word for once and just fuck off!” 

A part of him flares at the harsh words, naturally, but Eliott understands he’s reaping his own harvest. Although Eliott is many, many terrible things, not once has he ever refused to take responsibility for the hurt he’s caused, no matter what state of mind he’d been under at the time. So Eliott shoves down the anger that heats his blood, ignores the temper pounding at his head, and swallows twice before speaking. This will not be a repeat of Friday night. 

He picks up the discarded backpack and carefully approaches, making sure to leave enough space between the two of them so as to not smother Lucas. “Please,” he says, voice quieting as he stretches an arm out to hand the bag back to its owner. “Just look at me, please?” 

Lucas’ shoulders rise and fall with each breath, the very picture of righteous fury, but when he does look up, Eliott’s met with none of the animosity he expects. Instead, Lucas’ eyes are wide and scared, tears threatening to spill from those lovely blues. Eliott is shot by the sight of it, unprepared to see Lucas — headstrong, spitfire Lucas — looking so devastated. 

He can’t comprehend how someone so beautiful could allow someone as unworthy as Eliott close enough to hurt.

“Don’t do that,” Lucas says just as softly, and Eliott flinches as a finger ghosts along below his eye. He brings his own hand up, chasing after the whisper of Lucas’ touch, and Eliott realizes he’s also crying like some pathetic echo to Lucas’ feelings. “Stop it, I’m supposed to be cussing you out right now,” Lucas scolds, snatching the bag from Eliott’s hand. “I can’t do that if—”

Eliott would have loved to hear the rest of that sentence, even if it’s just more insults hurled towards him. He’s sunk low enough to admit that anything is better than a cold shoulder from Lucas. 

As it is, he never gets to hear the full of it, because someone is pulling him back by the arm in one second, and then he’s down on the floor in the next. Eliott registers the familiar pain at the bridge of his nose once his head stops ringing.

Fuck, at least that punch literally knocks the sadness part of his rapidly cycling moods— Eliott doesn’t feel much like crying now. No, irritation comes flooding back with a vengeance and if it weren’t for the sight of Lucas’ figure standing in front of him, Eliott would’ve gotten up and returned that blow twice as hard. 

“What the fuck?” Lucas yells at the perpetrator, blocking Eliott from view when the guy tries to go in for more. Eliott sits up, one hand feeling around his nose, content to let Lucas handle whatever the hell’s going on for now. “What’s your problem?” 

“He’s bothering you!” Ah. Good old Nigel. Where did he even come from? 

“We were talking,” Lucas hisses, shoving Nigel back when he hovers too close. “Would you fucking chill? What are you even doing here—” 

“Talking?” Nigel sneers, eyes cutting towards Eliott, who waves back with a slightly bloody hand and inwardly snickers when it seems to piss the guy off even more. “I was fucking worried about you, that’s why I came back and this is what I get? Is this why you rejected me? Hung up on Demaury, are you?”

“I’d watch the next words coming out of that mouth, Nick.”

“It’s Nigel! Fuck, whatever, you want to be another notch on his bedpost? Go ahead, but don’t come crawling to me when he—”

Eliott pulls Lucas back and launches himself forward, letting the satisfying crunch of Nigel’s nose under his knuckles power him through the inevitable sting that comes after. Behind him, Lucas mutters a high pitched, Jesus Christ.  

“Stop, just stop. Sit down, Eliott.” Lucas rushes to push himself in between the two of them and it would be so, so easy to move him. Just put Lucas to the side and continue letting off some steam, but Lucas doesn’t sound like he’s playing around and Eliott would like to live until he graduates, at least. 

To Nigel’s credit, he does look like he’s regretting everything he’s said right about now. Maybe part of it’s the bleeding nose but Eliott would bet it’s mostly due to the pissed off expression Lucas is currently wearing. 

“Sit,” Lucas repeats. Eliott sits with only minor grumbling. “You.” He directs his scathing voice towards Nigel who’s halfway to quaking by now. Eliott scoffs, the guy wouldn’t survive a day as Lucas’ boyfriend. “Go to the nurse.”

“You’re making me go alone?” Nigel squeaks out.

“Want him to hold your fucking hand or something?” Eliott can’t help but pitch in, biting back the rest of his words when Lucas levels him with a look. 

“Shut up.” Lucas rubs a hand all over his hair, making a bigger mess out of them. “You know what?” he says, chuckling a little maniacally, “I don’t even want to deal with either of you.”

And then he just takes off to the end of the hall. Eliott, for the second time within the hour, falls all over himself to follow. He still hasn’t apologized and he has to do it now. 

“Lucas, I am so fucking sorry,” he blurts out once they’re alone at the stairwell. Eliott’s still standing by the door, hesitant to keep going as Lucas eyes him from the bottom of the stairs. “I was a dick on Friday and even before that I— I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

“Okay.” Eliott’s head snaps up, and Lucas laughs, backing up until he hits the wall, the distance between them ever increasing. “Okay, I just. I just don’t get it. Why did you go after me if you were just going to ignore me in campus? And why did you go for someone else while I… while my dumb ass finally thought… I mean, I know you aren’t exactly a date to marry type of guy but come on, me and her? At the same time? Why?”

Eliott shakes his head against the questions, words stuck at the tip of his tongue, refusing to come out. He has so many and too little to say all at once. He wants to say that Lucas scares him so he’d taken the coward’s way out. He wants to say that he only did it to prove something to himself— wants to say that he failed to prove that exact something to himself.

“I freaked out, okay? I just, I didn’t— I don’t know how to handle you,” he forces out, voice small, vaguely aware that none of that likely made a smidgen of sense. Even so, he makes his way down the stairs with no protests coming from Lucas. 

“And?” Lucas prompts, sounding slightly less murderous this time.

“And what?” Eliott steps down the last stair, finally on level ground with him. 

“That— that’s it?” 

“I don’t know…” 

A long silence follows, like Lucas is waiting for him to continue. But it quickly becomes apparent that no follow up is coming through. “Nice. Okay. Good talk,” Lucas snorts, “see you around.” 

“Wait, wait.” Eliott truly hates himself for losing words when he needs them most. “Lucas, please, I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him up every time he wants to lay it all out in the open— a well groomed defence mechanism, maybe. And the easy solution is to shift the blame away from himself, remind Lucas that Eliott’s free to do whatever he wants as long as he’s not committed to one particular person, but he knows that’s not the point here. What Lucas wants to hear is something that Eliott is yet to admit even in the safety of his own head.

The fire exit door opens to mild chattering from a group of girls heading up the stairs and Eliott doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t care about how this might look like to them. Lucas, on the other hand, takes it as an opportunity to shove past Eliott. 

“Better fix that then,” Lucas whispers, drawing close yet maintaining it so that not a single part of them is touching. “Cause you can think all you want, Eliott, but you’ll never have me.” 

Looking into his eyes, Eliott understands the phenomena of even the warmest blue oceans being unable to hide the cold black down under if you only push deep enough. They brush shoulders as Lucas slips inside the door, leaving Eliott to stand alone on the landing, struck speechless.

::

::

Eliott’s figured it out, you know. The big elusive formula to avoiding heartbreak.

He’s sitting on Sofiane’s couch, a bag of ice pressed to his smarting nose. He doesn’t think it’s broken but then again, it’s gone too numb for him to really tell. 

Going numb. That’s it, that’s the formula. 

It’s worked out so, so well for him. People can say shit all they want but Eliott still thinks he’s lived some of his best years ever since he just stopped caring. Except somewhere along the way, he’d made a mistake, had possibly gotten too complacent, too confident with the life he’s gotten used to and now—

He’s tripped up. Because he sure as hell is the furthest thing from numb right now. 

And it honestly hurts like a fucking trainwreck.

You’ll never have me.

He squeezes his eyes shut, welcoming the sting that comes with the movement. “Sof,” he calls out, a little nasal from how careful he is to not agitate his injury. 

“Yeah?” The cushions dip under Sofiane’s weight and Eliott feels a glass of water and some painkillers being shoved into his hand. 

“Why did you wait so long for Imane?” 

His question goes unanswered long enough for Eliott to remove the ice bag off his face.

“What?” Sofiane asks, rightly confused.

Eliott sighs, “You’ve had a crush on her since before high school. It’s not like you’re ugly—”

A snort, “Well thanks.”

“—and there were lots of easier options,” Eliott continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Plus we’re friends with Idriss! Isn’t that, I don’t know, intimidating?” 

“I’m not looking for an easy relationship, Eli, I want a real one.” Sofiane shrugs. “Why would I be intimidated? Idriss is nice and I haven’t done anything wrong so it’s not like—” 

Eliott looks up when Sofiane cuts himself off, watching the morbid realization settle over his features. “What?” He might as well play dumb for as long as he can. 

“Who did you get in a fight with?” 

“I told you, some punk with a hero complex.” 

“Over what?” 

He puts his nearly melted bag down and reaches for the glass of water, taking his time in swallowing down the painkillers. “Nothing.”

“Eliott, I can’t help you if you won’t tell the truth.”

“Who says I need help with anything?”

“Uh, the fact that you came here with a bleeding nose for starters?” Sofiane shakes his head, watching Eliott practically drown himself with his glass of water. “Eliott.”

“Hm?”

“Please tell me you listened to what I told you at that party.”

Oh god, he really should’ve gone to Idriss. There’d be less sympathy and more laughing but at least Idriss doesn’t know that Eliott’s maybe slightly a little more than attracted to Lucas. 

“What party?”

“Stop acting dumb!”

“I’m not!” 

A pillow is thrown at the crown of his head but it thankfully misses his face, and Sofiane sounds like he’s laughing more than anything, so Eliott figures it’s safe to drop the act. “Okay, fine, no, I didn’t listen.”

“Ugh, Eliott.”

“I know. And I fucked up.”

“Already? It’s been less than a month.” 

“I know, fuck.” 

“So what happened?”

Eliott shrugs, getting up to toss his ice bag in the sink. “Nothing. He told me to leave him alone.” 

Sofiane’s got a strange constipated look on his face. Good to know some of his friends have that much faith in him. “Wait, Lucas said to leave him alone?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

He returns to the living room and drops back down on the couch. “Unless ‘why can’t you just leave me alone’ has another secret meaning I’m not aware of then yes, I’m very sure.” 

Sofiane whistles lowly. 

“It was my fault though,” Eliott admits, poking at the threads peeking from the cushion covers. “He saw me and Eleanor.” 

“Oh.” Sofiane actually looks a little apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“It’s fine, nobody forced me to approach her. And I said some shitty stuff too so it’s not like it was all because of that.” 

“Adrien doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“Mhm.” Eliott pulls at the ends of his hair, only feeling slightly better now that someone else is privy to his little secret. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I mean, nothing happened right? So is it so bad to just move on from this?” 

“Yeah. Problem is that I don’t want to move on.” 

Hearing that, Sofiane straightens his posture, turning fully on the couch so that his whole body is faced towards Eliott. He sees enough of Sofiane’s giddy smile from his peripheral to feel like he’s just activated the guy’s slumber party mode. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Sofiane goads, grin widening when Eliott responds with a groan. 

“Shut up.”

“No, really, is the Eliott Demaury actually crushing on someone right now?”

Gross understatement. “I will eat all the food in your fridge if you don’t stop.” 

Sofiane laughs him off, arms swaying about as he wiggles in his spot and damn, are the guys really going to be so happy to see Eliott catching feelings? Well, probably not Adrien considering the context but still. 

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” Sofiane stops his bird mating dance and schools his expression into somewhat of a serious one. 

“Which part of he told me to leave him alone did you miss?” 

“Fuck, that’s right eh?” Lip caught between his teeth, Sofiane peers up at Eliott like he’s got something to say but is holding back for whatever reason. Eliott narrows his eyes at him until he continues with a hesitant, “How about give it some time? And then shoot him a text message? No harm in asking for one more chance, it’s a yes or no question.”

“He has me blocked on Instagram though, and he never gave me his phone number.”

“Oh my god.” 

“Yeah.” Eliott thunks his head back down on the couch, fingers busy tracing invisible patterns on the covers. “How did Idriss react when he found out about your crush on Imane?” 

Sofiane shrugs, slumping down on the space beside Eliott. “He got all winky and said he’d put in a good word.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” A pause, and then socked feet poke against his, annoying enough to have Eliott looking away from the very interesting ceiling Sofiane’s apartment has. “But I also don’t have a, uh, colourful relationship history like you so… no offence.” 

Eliott blindly throws a cushion in Sofiane’s direction and relishes in the squawk that follows. 

“But hey?” Sofiane continues when Eliott doesn’t say anything in response, “let it rest for a while, Eli. If you still feel the same after that, then at least you’ll know it’s really serious this time.” 

He already knows. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Eliott.”

“Hm?”

“You weren’t always like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Eliott isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say in return, but it seems like Sofiane isn’t looking for a response anyway. “Adrien’s known you forever and yeah, the past couple of years might be at the forefront of our minds right now but we know you’re a good guy. Adri knows that the most.” 

Eliott quirks an eyebrow and Sofiane raises his hands, palms up as he shrugs. 

“All I’m saying is that things might not be as bad as you think they are, okay?” 

“Okay.” Eliott still thinks it’s pretty bad, but he’s not going to argue against a source for hope. 

::

::

Eliott wishes he could say he gets productive for the next two weeks that follows but really, all he’s done is drink coffee, pretend to start on his assignments, and miss Lucas’ snarky messages. Not necessarily in that order. 

Sofiane’s taken pity on him five days in and sometimes lets Eliott borrow his phone to pine over Lucas’ Instagram posts. Granted, Lucas doesn’t post much but the one photo he put up of himself looking bored at the skate park is enough to last Eliott for a few more days. 

He’s very much aware that he’s being wildly pathetic, rejecting parties left and right (he already knows they’d be boring anyway), rejecting dates left and right— also potentially boring, but he’s mostly afraid of further proving to himself that Lucas has already ruined him for everyone else and they haven’t even kissed yet— or hugged, for that matter. Pathetic indeed.  

On Friday, though, he gives into Idriss’ well-meaning and most likely accidentally set up date with one of his classmates. If only to ward off any suspicions from how weird he’s acting. Adrien’s been side eyeing him a little too much for comfort these days. 

So he’s on this date and the guy’s very cute but he’s also talking about American football like it’s a gift from the gods themselves. Eliott knows nothing about American football. This would usually be the time when Eliott would excuse himself to the bathroom and speed google some facts on the subject so as to impress his date. But right now, he doesn’t care about being unimpressive at all. 

The guy, Aron, is an exchange student from California— all tanned skin and pretty smiles and endearing accent. He’s probably what the kids these days would call a snack.

It’s too bad Eliott can’t help but think that Lucas’ smaller silhouette would look beautiful against the red backdrop of the massive booths they’re sitting in. How he keeps wishing to brush his hand against soft brown hair every time he glances up, hands lying limp on his lap when he’s met with the blond of Aron’s neatly styled coif instead. The blue of Aron’s eyes isn’t quite deep enough and Eliott can pinpoint exactly which shade it is on his dried up palette at home. He still can’t figure out the right mix for Lucas’. 

Anyway, the point is that he’s losing his mind. 

When they reach a short lull in conversation, Eliott rushes to say, “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” And proceeds to lock himself in a stall, sit on the toilet lid, and stare at the lights blankly. 

The bathroom door slams open not long after and Eliott stands up on instinct, ready to remove himself from the vicinity should there be some kind of beef brewing, but only one set of footsteps pace to where the sinks are.

“Hey, you still there?” The person says, presumably into his phone.

Eliott reaches to unlock the stall, he’s had enough eavesdropped conversations to last him a lifetime thank you very much—

“Lulu? Can you hear me clearly?” 

You have got to be kidding me. Fate must think this is funny. He must be some kind of joke to the deities or something. 

“I’m at work, Lucas,” the guy says regretfully enough and Eliott does pull the stall door open then, keeping his head down as he tugs on the knobs of the sink, washing his hands for lack of any other excuses to stay. “Where’s Yann? Didn’t you guys go together?” The tap shuts off, Eliott reaches for the paper towels. “Oh— oh, damn, good for him but— no, you should stay there and I’ll call your brother okay— what do you mean no? Lucas, shut up you sound shitfaced.” 

If Eliott’s learned anything from his accidental sleuthing adventures, it’s that Lucas is a terribly reckless drunk. Finally raising his head, Eliott meets eyes with Lucas’ blond friend through the mirror. It’s admittedly a little funny how he gapes wordlessly at the sight of Eliott. 

Not one to miss an opportunity, Eliott takes advantage of the obvious distraction and snatches the phone from the guy’s hand — Arthur, his name tag says — he’ll apologize profusely later but Eliott really doesn’t want a repeat of Lucas going missing for an entire weekend.

“Where are you?” he says into the phone, noting that there’s no blaring music coming from the other line. If Lucas is where Eliott thinks he is right now then at least he’s outside the house already. 

“Whoa.” Lucas’ voice is slightly distorted coming from the other line but Eliott still sighs at the first sound of it after the too-long silence. “You’re not Arthur.” 

“No, so where are you?” 

“Nooo, where are you?” Lucas giggles into the phone and Eliott has to suppress a smile. Fuck, this is serious but Lucas is being an idiot. “You sound like someone I know.” If he’s being this friendly with Eliott then it only means that he’s past the point of tipsy and well into happy drunk territory. 

“Wanna take a guess?” Eliott easily dodges when Arthur tries to grab his phone, the latter flinching back in surprise when Eliott has the gall to put a finger to his lips and shush him. 

“Mmmm,” Lucas stalls, but Eliott knows he’s got the right answer. He tries not to dwell on the fact that drunk Lucas remembering his voice sends another one of cupid’s arrows straight into his heart. “Weed guy.” 

And Eliott laughs, inexplicably happy about that. “Where are you, Lucas?” 

“I don’t know…” His syllables drag as he speaks and Eliott hears some shuffling and then a worrying crash, before Lucas’ laughter can be heard from a distance. “There are two blue houses!” 

Yeah, Eliott knows exactly where he is. “Stay there, okay?”

“Why?” 

“I’m—” But he’s not sure if Lucas would only run off if given that information. “We’ll get you home.” He doesn’t wait for another response, returning the phone back to a stunned Arthur. “Remind him to stay where he is every few minutes, god knows how many times he’ll forget.” 

Eliott dashes out the restaurant like a man on a mission, bullshitting about some urgent emergency as he passes by a confused Aron. He feels bad, really, but if he doesn’t trust sober Lucas to follow any given instructions, then he trusts drunk Lucas even less. 

When Eliott gets off the bus and jogs the rest of the way to the house, it’s a relief to find Lucas’ hooded figure sitting on the pavement across from where the party is still obviously going strong.

“Lucas.” No answer, Lucas doesn’t even stir. “Lucas, come on, let’s get you home.” He reaches out gingerly, testing the waters by poking at Lucas’ arm. 

“Go ‘way,” Lucas says, sounding a lot less friendly than he’d been on the phone.

Eliott looks around and spots two empty beer bottles beside Lucas. He blinks down at them, having a hard time understanding if Lucas is actually even more drunk than he’d been earlier. 

“You can’t stay out here.” Eliott sighs, crouching down in front of him. 

“Well why not?” Lucas lifts his head off his curled arms, unfocused eyes glaring at a spot just above Eliott’s right ear. 

Without much else to do, Eliott sighs again. “Let’s go.” He tries to tug at Lucas’ sleeves to get him to stand, but only succeeds in making Lucas stumble backwards from how fast he tries to get away.

“Don’t touch me, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Oh god, he’s dealing with a child. “I’ll tell Adrien.” 

“You won’t tell Adri shit!” Lucas stands up, finally, but only to walk up to Eliott and point unsteady fingers to his face. “You’re not even supposed to know where I am! He doesn’t even know I like— he doesn’t know you played me! You. Won’t. Tell. Him. Shit.” He pronounces each word with a hard jab to Eliott’s chest. 

And okay, fuck, he’s got a point. “Fine, suit yourself.” Eliott steps back, hesitating, but maybe it’ll be smarter to have someone else take Lucas home instead. He turns around, looking through his contacts to see if Sofiane or Idriss would be available. 

“Fine!” Lucas screams from behind him and Eliott looks over his shoulder in time to catch Lucas sitting back down on the ground, hands pressed to his eyes. 

No. Eliott can’t walk away from him like this again. 

Eliott marches back to where he came from and promptly throws Lucas over his shoulder, barely staggering even when Lucas starts kicking and punching as much as his drunken limbs would allow. 

“Let me down!”

“Not until you behave yourself.”

“Now!”

“You won’t get anywhere like this and you know it.”

“I fucking—” Lucas slumps down, body steadily getting heavier as he stops struggling in Eliott’s hold. “I hate you,” he mutters softly and that, moronically enough, is what makes Eliott stumble. He tightens his arms around Lucas, pausing to realign his balance. “I hate you,” Lucas continues, sniffing in between words. “Why are you even here? I told you to stop already.” 

Eliott slows his walk, Lucas’ hitching breaths sending freezing pelts straight to his chest. They stop moving once they reach a corner, Eliott lowering Lucas down so he can stand on his own two feet, but Lucas immediately curls up, crouching on the ground like standing is too much of a chore at the moment. 

“Hey, I’m sorry okay?” he whispers back, bending at the knees so that they’re level with each other. “I promise I just want to get you home safe, that’s it.” He digs around his pockets for his phone, placing the device inside Lucas’ hands once he finds it. “Here, Adrien is speed dial 3, call him any time you feel you need to. I don’t care if he yells at me, I won’t walk away from you again.” 

Lucas fiddles with Eliott’s phone, running his thumb along the screen once before clutching it to his chest. “I can’t go home.” He blinks, a tear escaping from his eye. 

Eliott brushes it away before he can stop himself. “Why not?” 

“My parents think I’m sleeping over at Yann’s and mom will be so disappointed if I come home like this,” he says miserably, more tears running down his cheeks. 

Ah. Shit. “Come on, get on my back.” 

Once Lucas is settled on his back, now much calmer than earlier, Eliott continues walking, but turns to a different direction this time. 

“Where are we going?” Lucas asks drowsily, lips pressed into Eliott’s shoulder. 

Where indeed. 

::

::

Lucas is a near dead weight behind him when Eliott finally gets his door open. It’s a struggle when Lucas refuses to cooperate and lets his legs slide down every time Eliott lets go of them to search for his keys. But eventually they do make it inside. 

Eliott drops Lucas as gently as he can on the bed, huffing once he’s successfully done so without cracking any heads in the process. 

He roots around his closet for some clothes Lucas can use for the night when the sound of jackets and pants zipping startles him from the task. He turns around, eyes wild, when Lucas starts throwing his clothes — everything— off himself. 

Eliott almost wipes out when he slips on a sock in his rush to get to Lucas before the dumbass has the chance to remove his underwear off with his jeans.

“Stop, stop, hey.” Eliott catches Lucas’ hands, laughing when Lucas opens his eyes just to glare at him.

“It’s so hot.”

“It’s really not.” Eliott huffs another laugh, waiting until Lucas’ hands go slack in his before letting go, but he does help remove Lucas’ jeans when it’s clear that the latter is going to stay irritated until they’re off. 

It’s a workout to get him to wear a shirt, what with Lucas being hellbent on removing as many clothes as possible. Eliott knows it’s bound to get cold in the middle of the night, though, and he will not be responsible for Lucas catching a cold in his bed. 

“You’re so nice,” Lucas mumbles once he’s settled, looking warm and cozy in Eliott’s loose shirt. He’s so fucking cute, and it doesn’t help when Eliott feels those arms sliding around his neck, tugging him forward. Lucas doesn’t use much force to have Eliott following along helplessly, but it’s not like it would ever take all that much to have Eliott willingly inching into his space. 

Dredging up whatever’s left of his common sense, Eliott anchors his hands on either side of Lucas to keep somewhat of a distance between them. 

He shakes his head, arms trembling not only from the strain of keeping his weight off of Lucas. “No, you’re just drunk.” 

Lucas smiles, eyes half mast, still pretty under the hint of moonlight. His fingers brush maddening strokes over Eliott’s hair. “Eliott?” 

“Hm?”

“Why have you never kissed me?” 

Eliott’s heart thuds a frantic rhythm in his chest. “You never let me, baby.” 

The fingers in his hair stop moving, and Lucas’ eyes flutter close, Eliott watching the shadows of his lashes flirt along smooth cheeks. “I’ll let you now.” 

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down inch by minuscule inch. Lucas’ breath is warm and smells of alcohol, but Eliott knows he only has to duck down and bury his face in the space between his neck and shoulder to get his fill of the scent he’s truly been missing.

He doesn’t. Maybe in the future he’d have the privilege to do so. Hopefully.

Eliott lets their noses touch, light and fleeting, before he leans up and drops a gentle kiss over Lucas’ forehead. 

“Goodnight, Lucas.”