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captain-mcdavid · 5 years

Text

word count: 3.3k

smut: yes | no

warnings: drinking, swearing, yelling, angst

You panicked as soon as you read the message, and then you calmed down a little when you realized what time it came in. His last message was sent forty five minutes ago. If he left when he said he did, he would have gotten here before you.

You pointlessly look out the window and down at the street, you can make out most of the cars and none of them look like his. And, if he was actually here, he’d need to get buzzed in.

The second that thought crosses your mind your stomach drops. If he left when he said he did, he would have gotten here when Lindsay was here. What if she talked to him? What if she spun some other web of twisted lies and that’s why he left?

You’re taking off out the door before you can stop yourself, she’s still waiting by the elevators, and you’re shouting down the hall like a maniac before she can leave, “Was Josh here?”

“Huh?” She responds, and you roll your eyes, your psycho bitch making an appearance when you find yourself laughing.

“Was Josh here? He texted me to say he was coming over, did he? And don’t even think about lying, I’ve had enough with your mind games.” You’re speaking a mile a minute, and Lindsay looks stunned at all the words coming out of your mouth.

“No,” She spits out. “He wasn’t here.”

You study her face, waiting to see if there’s any indication of her being untruthful but she looks serious, so you turn around and start back to your place.

“Oh and by the way,” You’ve barely even gotten a foot away when her ratchet voice stops you again, “If I’m never gonna see you again then you could use some advice, so listen carefully.”

You turn to look back and you feel like you’re in high school, getting publicly harassed by a mean girl. You should ignore her and leave cause there’s no where you’re walking out of this without crying, or getting arrested, but you can’t seem to be able to move. “I’m not the only person that’s fucked you over. Josh played you just as much as I did, and yeah we might be in the wrong, but so are you. You did nothing to help yourself. You’re naive as hell and that’s why shitty things keep happening to you.” The elevator doors open as if on queue and she steps in, and you pray to god that that’s the last time you’ll ever have to see her.

As much as you know you shouldn’t listen to her sociopathic rambling, you can’t help but replay her words in your head, and they sting. You’d never considered yourself naive before, but you were beginning to realize, as much as you hated to admit it, that Lindsay was kind of right.

When you tried to convince her that Josh felt the same way about you she had said, “I’m just trying to guard your heart since you don’t seem to be.” Those words had no true emotion besides vengeance behind them, but they were still true. You weren’t guarding your heart, you had no defences.

You went into the relationship the second time with an agenda, but as soon as you felt the slightest bit of reciprocation from Josh you went all in with no reservations, the exact same way that you did the first time. You had to admit you were setting yourself up for hurt, you knew what Josh was capable of, you should have gone in with more guard.

You’re so overwhelmed with emotions that it’s exhausting. You’re sad, and angry, and you’re feeling pretty stupid too, but you’re also just as confused. Where is Josh?

He should be here by now...

As mad as you are it’s hard not to be a little worried, what if something happened?

Against your better judgement you send a quick text, a simple question mark that after a half hour receives no reply.

The ice cream you’re eating isn’t doing much to take your mind off of the current situation. You shouldn’t do it, but your actions are purely based off of worry, so you press the little phone button by his contact. It rings through, then goes to voicemail, and you’re left yet again wondering what’s going on.

After more ice cream and countless episodes of friends, it’s four forty five in the morning, and you’ve convinced yourself that if something bad happened to Josh, you would have heard from someone by now, and you fall asleep.

The next days proceedings include work, and then most of yesterday’s activities, eating ice cream and watching reruns of old shows. Its bittersweet to see all of Lindsay’s things gone, the apartment looks empty and for the first time since she left, you actually take a minute to mourn the loss of a friend.

Sitting on the undressed bed in her empty room brings tears to your eyes, and for about a half hour you just sit and cry. Before you knew about her backstabbing ways you considered her your best friend. She was the person you turned to for everything, and now she was gone. Who are you supposed to lean on now?

Your pity party doesn’t stop there either. It’s not a good idea. Really, it’s not even remotely smart but you do it anyway. The ice cream isn’t making a dent in your feelings but maybe vodka will.

Drinking alone is a new low for you, but in your messed up mind what you’re feeling warrants it.

You’ve lost count of the amount of alcohol you’ve had at about six pm. And because drinking alone isn’t bad enough you might as well add day drunk to the mix too right?

You’re drunk dialing someone, but your mind doesn’t catch up to your actions until the phone is lifted to your ear, and when her sweet voice sounds on the other end, you break down in tears almost right away. “Mom,”

“Y/N?” She says, “Y/N, honey are you crying?”

You nod, even though she can’t hear, and she still keeps rambling. “Y/N talk to me, tell me what’s wrong,”

In one big long run on sentence you tell her everything that’s happened in the last two days leaving out the last two months, and she’s silent for about a minute once you finish,

“Oh honey,” She sighs finally, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Mom, I love him.” The words come out fast and you’re just as surprised to hear them as she is. Did you really just say that?

“Aw baby,” She says, and you just wish that she was here in person to hold you. “I think you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel, maybe there’s something you don’t know.”

“Do you think?” You choke, hiccuping in between words. “I thought you’d tell me to move on,”

“Sweetie, I can’t do that. Believe me I’m not this guys biggest fan at the moment but everyone deserves a chance to explain themselves. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems.”

You hiccup over the phone, biting your nails while you murmur out, “You think?”

“I hope.” She reiterates, “You never know unless you try.”

You breathe out a little chuckle at the end, biting the inside of your cheek before you whisper out, “Yeah I guess.”

“I wish I could give you a hug,” She says, and you smile at the thought. “Do you want me to come over?”

Yes is your first thought but there’s something you need to do, so with a small smile you say, “No ma, that’s okay. Thank you though. I love you,”

“I love you too sweetheart,” She says, and then you’re hanging up the phone, getting to your feet while you down the rest of the mixed drink in your hand. Moms always give the best advice so this was obviously the best decision.

You must look like an absolute train wreck to other people, stumbling out of your building and into an Uber, so obviously drunk on a Wednesday evening. As if you hadn’t already stacked up enough lows for the day, you’re adding another. Not only are you piss drunk by yourself, you’re piss drunk by yourself on a weekday. You probably couldn’t look any worse right now.

You can’t even imagine what your uber driver is thinking...

The ride is long and awkward but when you finally make it to Josh’s building, you step out of the car feeling like a million bucks. His car is in the parking lot, so he’s home, the sour feeling in your stomach that comes from drinking too much has settled and you’re just tanked enough to not give a shit that you look like a complete mess.

Your mood disintegrates almost immediately though because for the second time you forgot that you needed to be rung up. You stand blankly, staring at the door while you try to decide if you should actually do this.

You release a big puff of air before straightening your posture and dialling Josh’s apartment. It rings three times and then the message button sounds and words are fluttering out of your mouth before you can even stop them.

“Okay look I know you’re mad at me and I’m mad at you, both of us are mad and we both have every right to be. I did a shitty thing and so did you, but as mad as I am, and I am. I’m like seriously mad, I know because now when I picture your stupid cute face I don’t wanna smoosh it, I want to slap it, but despite all that, I want to fix things because I accidentally told my mom I loved you. So can you please just let me up?”

When you finish you’re out of breath, and there’s no response. You sigh deeply and then turn around, jumping when you see a very confused looking man behind you.

He has keys for the building in his hand, and judging by the look on his face, he heard absolutely everything you just told Josh’s ringer.

His eyes flick to the sign plastered on the door, in big letters it reads, “Do they live here? Holding the door for strangers: Its not polite, it’s dangerous. Help keep our building safe.”

You smile sheepishly, and he cautiously walks towards the building.

You watch as he opens the door, studying you from head to toe while you look back with a hopeful glance.

He sighs and then rolls his eyes, “You’re not a serial killer?”

You shake your head with a sweet smile and saunter in, quickening your step once you’re in the building. “Thank you so much. I promise you won’t have any trouble from me!” You opt for the stairs instead of taking the elevator with him, hopping two steps at a time to get up to Josh’s as soon as possible, only to stop at the top to catch your breathe before knocking on his door.

You tap gingerly at first, talking quietly through the barrier. “Josh, I know you’re in there. Please open the door I just wanna talk.”

This goes on for about two minutes before you give in and bang louder, nearly yelling. “Josh! Open the damn door. You said you wanted this solved and I’m trying but I can’t do that if I’m out here!”

When there’s once again, no response, you take to slamming your fist against the wood repeatedly. Someone is probably gonna yell at you for this but you really don’t care.

You’re just about to open your mouth again when someone yells your name from a few doors down. You look to your right, and Seth is standing in his doorway, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. And you pretty well have. “What the hell are you doing?” He asks, walking towards you.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You fire back. Raising your hand to knock again, but Seth is quicker, grabbing your wrist before it can make contact.

“Are you drunk?” Seth asks, and you groan at how condescending he sounds.

“Yes,” You admit, “But I don’t need a lecture, okay? It’s been a shitty day, I just needed to take the edge off.”

“Looks like you’ve taken off a lot more than just the edge.” Seth observes, and you shrug.

“I might have drank half a bottle of vodka, but that’s none of your business.” You stab a finger at his chest.

“I’m not even gonna ask how big the bottle was.” Seth whispers, and you almost laugh.

“That’s probably a good idea,” You say, lifting your hand to knock again. “Josh!” You yell, and Seth shushes you.

“He’s not here.” Seth says, and you look up at him with an eye roll.

“Well then where is he-“ You’re in the middle of your sentence when you actually look at him, and when you see his eye, your stomach drops. His entire eye socket is coloured a dark purple, and you actually feel sick. That looks to you like an angry right hook from Josh.

“Seth, holy shit, what happened to your face?” You’re praying to god that his answer is not what you know it will be.

He looks at you with grave eyes, and shakes his head. “Do you really have to ask?”

You can see it vividly in your head, and it hurts to even think about it. “I don’t-,” You start, your voice coming out shaky. “I don’t get it. How?”

“He saw your purse by the door when he came in.”

“Seth,” You reach out to touch his arm but he calmly steps back, avoiding your gaze. “I’m so sorry. I should never have come last night,”

He just shrugs and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I can fix this Seth. I just need to talk to him. Where is he?”

“Y/N, he left.”

“Yeah,” You say dumbly, “But where did he go? I’ll just wait until he’s back or something-“

“He left, as in he went home. He’s gone for the summer.”

You nearly choke on Seth’s words, you can’t even process what you’re feeling but tears are brimming your eyes already. “He...” You suck in a staggered breath and swipe away the tear that falls, “H-he left?”

“It’s for the best.” Seth says, and you cover your mouth to at least attempt to control your emotions. “He needs some time to cool down.”

You stand in silence for a moment before Seth touches your arm gently. “Do you need a ride home?”

You shake your head immediately, and he looks like he’s about to press further, so you cut him off, “I just need to be alone I think.” Seth gives you a semblance of a smile before heading back down to his place, and once the door shuts behind him the tears flow freely.

You’re holding back sobs the whole walk down, trying to focus on anything but what Seth just told you.

It’s inevitable though, and as soon as you’re outside, everything comes out all at once, and you’re collapsing onto the curb bawling your eyes out.

None of this makes sense to you anymore. You’re so utterly confused with everything that has happened that you can barely focus on one event at a time. All the lines are blurred and you have no idea how to clear them.

In a last ditch effort you pull out your phone, opening your conversation with Josh. You type the words fast, sending them before you have time to second guess it.

Nothing happened between me and Seth.

You don’t know why you stare at the screen, waiting for something you’re sure is not gonna happen.

But then you wipe your tears and look back, and instead of seeing the dreadful “delivered” note under your message, you see a read receipt. Your breath hitches in your throat and you watch as the text bubble appears and disappears numerous times. He’s debating what to say, and you wish he’d just let it all out, but the message never comes. It disappears for about a minute, and you’re close to giving up, when your phone vibrates in your hand, Josh’s name lighting up the screen.

You answer it without hesitation, but freeze as soon as you lift it to your ear.

You sit there holding your breath, taking in the silence, unable to form words, and then he speaks.

“Y/N?”

You suck in a breath, finally pushing out a word, “...Yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything on the other end, and once again you’re left in silence. About a minute goes by and you’re worried that you won’t be able to hide the sounds of your sobbing anymore, so you whisper, “You punched Seth,”

He sighs, but doesn’t say anything, so you continue, “Josh, he’s your friend. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Josh laughs bitterly and immediately you know this isn’t going to go well. “Yeah well you probably shouldn’t have slept with him to get back at me.”

“I just told you nothing happened,” You defend yourself, and almost stop there but his comment is unwarranted and hypocritical, so you call him out, “But even if I did you did the exact same thing to me so don’t go getting all moral here,”

You really didn’t want to have a screaming match with him but how can you help it? He gets so angry so quickly and tries to pin everything on you. It’s impossible to have an actual mature conversation with him.

“It is not the same thing,” He backs, and you find yourself rolling your eyes.

“Are you really trying to deny the fact that you cheated on me with my best friend?”

You’re unable to catch it, it just slips out, but when it does you know he’s gonna use it against you.

“Oh get over yourself, we were never together. I didn’t cheat on you, stop trying to make this worse than it is.”

You knew his response would be harsh but you didn’t expect that. That was worse than you thought. Every word has more and more venom and you actually start to feel physical pain.

“I am not the one making things worse here, Josh. You are the one that fled the fucking country to avoid talking this out!” Every word comes out louder than the last until you’re yelling right back, finishing your rant with fire.

“Cause maybe I didn’t want to!” He shouts back, and you swear you feel your heart stop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask quietly, petrified for his answer.

“Why are we acting like there’s feelings here?” He starts, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to continue. “All we were doing was fucking so why are we acting like it was more?”

Cause it was. And you know it.

Those words don’t actually come out of your mouth though. Nothing does.

“I left because I couldn’t care less if we fix this or not.”

You really don’t believe what he’s saying right now. There was more. You both felt it, he’s just hurt.

That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“You don’t care? Is that why you punched Seth? Cause you don’t care?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore, Y/N.” Josh sighs, and you have to pull the phone away from you momentarily because if you don’t, you think he might actually be able to hear your heart breaking.

“Fine.” You say, but it’s not. “We won’t. This is done. Have a nice life Josh.”

And then you cut the line.

THE END

i’m kidding it’s not done. pls don’t come for me.

#gpp fic #liv writes #josh anderson imagine #josh anderson #columbus blue jackets imagine #columbus blue jackets #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #once again the read more isnt working im sorry i dont know why

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lallemcnt · 5 years

Text

go ahead and watch my heart burn (part four)

“When you look at him you see dark night opening, giving way to dawn.”

— Ibn Said al-Maghribi

“Talk to me.”

“You shouldn’t have to reassure me all the fucking time! I’m so sick of my brain and how messed up I am!”

“You’re not messed up, Lucas.”

Lucas is perched on the arm of Eliott’s sofa, head bowed and arms shielding his body. Eliott sits on the edge of the sofa at its other end, the exasperated expression on his face mirroring Lucas’ voice. The distance between them, a sofa separating them, feels like miles upon miles, an impossible space to close. Lucas understands his frustration, he even feels sorry for him, sorry that he has to deal with Lucas when he gets like this: frustrated and insecure, when Eliott hasn’t done anything to incite these feelings, when he has been nothing but understanding, nothing but absolutely caring, nothing but a flame in the dark on the days when Lucas’ anxiety has been particularly debilitating.

He knew this was going to happen, that he would mess it up, he just didn’t know he would only have a month of being with Eliott before it all blew up in his face. Abruptly, the frustration drains from him and he is tired. He moves towards the door, stuffing his feet in his trainers and pulling on his jacket. Eliott gets to his feet, following Lucas to the door, asking in a beseeching voice, “You can’t just leave, we need to talk.”

Lucas doesn’t turn around to address him, simply opens the front door and lets out a quiet: “Let me go” before shutting the door behind him and trudging down the stairs into a chilly late summer day. His shoulders instantly hunch up and he’s blowing hot air into his hands for warmth, not sure where he’s going exactly. Going, he scoffs to himself, more like running, like the coward you are. But the knowledge of his cowardice is not enough to make him go back to Eliott and explain.

Lucas recalls a conversation they had a few days after he told Eliott about his father. When Eliott asked Lucas about his anxiety and how it affected him. He didn’t push Lucas to speak about it or set up some kind of intervention. They had been watching reruns of shitty TV at Eliott’s, as usual, eating popcorn and drinking some kind of nasty-ass beer Lucas has brought over when Eliott had asked him:

“I- Can I ask you questions about your anxiety? I’ve been reading up on it and I know I’ll need to do more, but would you…would you mind that? Because I know it is different for everyone.” His voice was tentative, his hands clenched around his beer bottle as if he was scared he had crossed an unspoken line, entering into unknown territory.

It was completely out of the blue. Lucas wondered if this had been on Eliott’s mind the entire evening, he, himself, felt slightly uncomfortable and nervous, because talking about it never ended well, it only ever crushed his mood, his soul, leaving him disappointed. However, he knew, in his heart, that if this thing between them had any chance of survival Eliott had the prerogative to know, to decide for himself if Lucas was worth all the work, and to make this decision he needed all the facts.

Turning down the volume on the TV, Lucas had shifted to face Eliott, because he could be strong. Hadn’t all his years of quiet survival proven that? He could look Eliott in the eye when he inevitably concluded that it was all too much. That Lucas was not worth it.

“You need to understand that you can’t fix me, okay? I’m always going to be dealing with this and I want you to know that I won’t blame you or hate you if you decide to leave, okay? It is a lot. I know,” Pausing for breath, Lucas had taken a swig of his drink before continuing. “Sometimes I’ll get irritable for no reason, at myself and at you. I’ll be snippy. I won’t want to talk to you. When we’ve planned to go to a party or out for dinner, when the day comes round the thought of going may make me feel physically sick and I won’t want to go because I’m terrified of meeting new people or being left alone at a party with nothing to do or no one to talk to. Sometimes I’ll put off doing things and stay home for days because the idea is a lot more peaceful, comfortable and safe than going out.

“And you have to know, it won’t be your fault. I just need space sometimes. There’s something else, too. It’s hard to explain why…there are times when I think it’s because of my father, but I can be touch averse too, casual touches will annoy me and turn my mood sour. I used to be this really affectionate kid, and I still crave touch, but I also hate it at times.”

Eliott nodded thoughtfully along as Lucas spoke; being given the opportunity to explain how he feels and be heard was everything. Everything and more. More than he ever imagined he would be lucky enough to experience.

He doesn’t even know how this afternoon’s argument got heated so quickly, but when he reaches that level of frustration he can’t be talked down, no placating words can calm him, and Eliott contradicting him, telling him he wasn’t messed up made him more angry, and Lucas also knew that while his head was telling him to yell and slam the door and tell Eliott that he will never understand, that he doesn’t get it, that this will never work between them, his heart was whispering for him to get out of there, to cool off, before he said something he would regret.

He knew why Eliott was frustrated, Lucas had been closed off for the past week, refusing to confide in Eliott who had asked him several times what was going on. He was clueless, unsure if he was the problem. Lucas could have easily reassured him that it wasn’t him, but he was feeling mean and bitter. Communication. The age-old issue that tore couples apart on the daily. He knew Eliott would be struggling to understand if the issue was anxiety-related or if Lucas was just being an asshole, which he was want to be every now and then, but that only made Lucas more irate.

Walking along the Seine, Lucas kicks out at a rock and then another, physically exercising his annoyance. The thing was, deep down is wasn’t just anger he felt, it was fear and shock and insurmountable shame, and even the thought of explaining this to Eliott- it is enough to make him sink down on a bench in fatigue, because hasn’t he told enough secrets for once? Hasn’t even opened himself up to pain over and over again these last few weeks? So, seeing what Lucas saw in conjunction with someone else being worried about you and constantly asking if you are okay when you most definitely are not is too much. To be worrying about someone else’s feelings when you are consumed by your own mounting despair is enough emotional grievance to knock you out for a lifetime.

Today at 13:15

Le gang

yann: my dudes who’s up for a night of gaming at mine? bazzz: HELL YES I’M IN arthur: idk i’ve got this huge essay to get done by tomorrow arthur: and i haven’t started yet bazzz: yikes arthur: lucas!!!!!! have u done it yet?? bazzz: come on we haven’t hung out in ages bazzz: are you’ll really choosing work over spending time with ME?! yann: i have bEER arthur: bold of you to assume i’d bunk of uni work for beer bazzz: we’ve got arthur! yann: lulu! where u at? arthur: lulu! bazzz: lulu!

Lucas clicks off the chat, puts it on silent and pulls up Manon’s.

Today at 13:27

Manon

lucas: hey u around? Manon: hey!! Manon: yeah i am Manon: what are you thinking? lucas: ummm wanna go for a walk? Manon: i’d love to

After deciding where to meet, Lucas begins to stroll across one of the many bridges that cross the river. In an attempt to clear his mind of Eliott and their argument, he marvels at the beauty of his city, at all the history that these old and ornate buildings must contain; the grey water washing by them, dividing banks and creating islands. He walks by children already wrapped up in coats and hats but licking away at vanilla ice-creams. There are two men in suits locked in a heated exchange, jaws tight and eyes narrowed. A couple up ahead leans against the side of the bridge, entangled in each other’s arms, blonde hair whipping against their faces: Lucas looks away quickly at the surge in his chest. And just beyond them, he spots a red pea-coat: Manon. Dressed in woolly tights, her brown hair tied in a loose braid, she clutches a paperback book in one hand, her elbows rest on the off-white arm of the bridge, discoloured by the grim of urban life.

When they meet, Lucas falls into her outstretched arms as though this place, here, is a refuge amidst a storming sea. He doesn’t cry, but he remains there for a while. If Lucas had to describe Manon he would wax poetic about her. She’s closer to a sister to him than a friend, but then who ever said a person couldn’t be both to you?

Drawing away from each other, they smile and return to look over the bridge where Manon rests her book. Lucas observes the cover and the authors name as recognition hits and he’s turning back to Manon, incredulously, as he exclaims, “No way! What the hell? Is that the last book?”

Manon is grinning and holding it up to Lucas’ face. “Yep! Had to pre-order it and everything. Just went to pick it up from the shop, actually.”

“I can’t believe it. We waited, what, five years for it and now it’s actually here? Fuck.”

When they were twelve, there was this fantasy book series everyone was reading about magicians and vampires, empires falling and rising, quests for lost artefacts and stolen celestial swords. Suffice it to say, Lucas and Manon were obsessed; they would queue up outside the bookstore for midnight releases with Manon’s older brother and parents, they would have reading parties together on weekends, but it was also one of those series where the last book kept getting pushed back until it’s release seemed a fallacy, but after seven years, the final book was out.

Lucas grabbed the book proffered to him and scanned the cover and back, flipping the book open like a fan. The smell of newly printed pages ready to be devoured and loved was an inexplicable bliss. He placed it in reach of Manon whose back was against the bridge’s sides and face directed towards Lucas, her blue gaze is searching. He pretends to be interested in the boats disappearing beneath him, but he’s forgotten Manon can out-wait him, she has the patience of a saint. What’s more is she has always thought of Lucas as a younger brother despite their birthdays only between two weeks apart — one week, six days, two hours and 19 minutes exactly if you ask Lucas — making her infinitely more willing to spend minutes, hours in silence until he is ready to open up or can’t stand the silence so he fills it meaningless words which eventually unwinds into the deeper stuff, because Manon makes the time to be there for everyone she holds dear. Lucas is one of those lucky people, he knows that.

In this way, while the wind insists on dispelling summer in favour of autumn, as Manon waits out Lucas and the sky grows grey in alliance with the wind and the Seine leads its placid journey, winding around the city, Lucas voices what has got him all twisted up inside for the past week, the catalyst for this argument with Eliott.

“I think I saw my father last week. At uni.”

This shocks Manon. Although he isn’t directly looking at here, out of the corner of his eye he sees her blanch at his words, she turns around, standing beside him as though in solidarity, as if she would be able to protect him from what has already happened. His heart clenches at this.

“How are you feeling?” She asks.

Bringing his hand up to chew his thumb nail, Lucas shrugs, which is ridiculous because he knows how he feels, he’s been sinking in this tumult of negativity for seven fucking days.

“You know what I wanted to do? I wanted to go up to him. I wanted to look him dead in the eyes and see if he would even recognise me, to ask him how he could do what he did and claim it was love? How you can do that to someone you’re supposed to love unconditionally? What did I do exactly to make him hate me so much? What did I do? I want to know so I never do it again, so I don’t provoke that kind of behaviour-”

“Listen to me, Lucas. No,” Manon is shaking her head and holding Lucas own between her hands so he is forced to look at her while she speaks. “You did not provoke anything, you hear me? I can’t explain to you why he did what he did to you, why he hurt you. But I do know one thing for certain, and I know you’re tired of hearing me say it but I will say it forever if I have to, this is all on him, nothing you did was wrong. It was all him. All him.”

Biting down on his lip, blinks back tears. “I don’t even know why he was there, and I didn’t want it to become this big thing but Eliott caught on to my mood, I mean, how could he not? And I didn’t feel like talking about it, not after telling him about my father, my anxiety. It would’ve just been overboard for him, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. Lucas, he’s there, right? Wanting to be with you. In relationships there are times where you don’t want to say how you feel and you don’t want to express the messy shit, but Lucas, if this is going on for an extended period of time you have got to let him in. It’s unfair otherwise. You’re part of a team now.”

Lucas sighs.

“Unless he’s been an asshole and said something-”

“No! He hasn’t-”

“-because then I’ll be having words with him.”

That brings a smile to Lucas’ lips. Hearing Manon threaten someone — even thinking it sounds ridiculous in his head — is always a shock because she’s Manon, always flocking to make sure everyone is okay, wearing their coats when it’s cold, ensuring everyone has a ride home after a night out.

“No, he’s great. I’m the asshole, but what’s new, right?”

Throwing an arm around Lucas’ shoulder, easily done because they’re the same height, Manon frowns. “Just talk to him, my love. For him, for your relationship, but, most importantly, for yourself. Now, say this together with me ‘I am not an asshole’.”

Lucas rolls his eyes but Manon is serious. She begins to open her mouth and when Lucas makes no effort to join her she stops and glares, full force, at him until he obliges with another sigh.

“I am not an asshole.”

“And again.”

“I. Am. Not. An. Asshole.”

“Whoop! That is so true, Lucas. You aren’t. Alright, let’s hobble along somewhere, it’s kinda chilly out here. I think my toes are about to stop working.”

“Okay, okay.”

Linking arms, the two friends find a coffee shop to sit at, a feat on days such as this when everyone is seeking the warmth of the inside, clutching warm mugs of hot chocolate between their hands they speak of lighter things, less serious but just as important.

By the time eight o’clock rolls around, Lucas is feeling hopelessly guilty about leaving Eliott’s place that afternoon. Manon’s words play on his mind: You have got to let him in. It’s unfair otherwise. You’re part of a team now. But because he’s the king of avoidance, Lucas has agreed to go to Yann’s for a gaming night and he’s rationalised to himself that that is okay, because he hasn’t seen the boys in a while and he misses them and Eliott is probably off hanging out with Idriss and Sofiane, so he’s okay and they can speak tomorrow. It can all be sorted out tomorrow.

On his way over to Yann’s, he begins typing an apologetic text to Eliott, it screams pathetic and cheap, everything he should say in person. Cursing in frustration, Lucas deletes it all, at least he tries to and he does erase most of it but his thumb slips onto the send button in his frustration.

Today 20:04

eliott

lucas: i’m

FUCK.

He shoves his phone into the front pocket of his grey hoodie, and of course this happened, he really can’t catch a break can he?

He gets no response. Radio silence. Hopefully hanging with le gang will be distraction enough.

For the first hour Lucas is caught up in the fervor of his friends’ excitement about a new season of a TV show about a family gang in Birmingham, England on netflix. They settle on Yann’s sofa, pulling up beanbags and lazy-boys to rest their feet on; despite their apparent enthusiasm they talk through the entirety of the first episode, making poor imitations of the Birmingham accent, Baz laments about how attractive the leading male is and Lucas can’t do anything but agree.

As the night goes by, however, Lucas becomes restless, he plays one game with Yann and then a team game with Arthur and Basile. He drinks flat coca-cola and chooses the music they listen to, but there, in the background of everything is Eliott’s face when Lucas left. When he is choosing the next song to play he thinks back to the many nights when they would talk on the phone before bed and Eliott would play Lucas the piano music he had grown to love, sometimes falling asleep to it, lulled by tender notes and impossibly smooth melodies. He should be there. With Eliott.

So he leaves, apologising profusely, promising to meet them at lunch on Monday, his mouth agreeing to anything while his one-track mind retains its steady focus on one boy. He is running in the dark, the sky jet-black where weeks ago the sunset was only beginning be set. Impossibly, a few stars peak through the light-pollution endemic to most cities and the moon is there, coaxing him on his way, as if to say hurry hurry you’re almost there. Out of breath and surely sweating Lucas does not stop. He doesn’t text Eliott; he will wait outside his place until he comes home, he will wait forever if that is what it takes.

Lucas is anxious now. He presses the buzzer for Eliott’s door, hoping against hope that he will be forgiven for walking out.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Lucas.”

Silence.

Lucas is there on the steps, panting from his run, his heart galloping in his chest for more than one reason he can count. It feels like an eternity before he hears the tell-tale sound of the front door buzzing and he’s pushing it open, climbing up the stairs to Eliott’s door. It is down the end of the corridor, the last one on his floor, and Eliott is there, in the doorway, watching Lucas as he walks towards him and it is agony: he can feel the guilt’s full force curling in his stomach. Lucas is suddenly self-conscious, he wants the floor to swallow him up. His steps are hesitant. He stops a few feet away from Eliott. Wanting to hug him.

“Can I come in?” His words are stilted, coated in uncertainty.

“Why are you here?” Eliott looks tired.

“I want to talk.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t budge a single inch.

Looks like Lucas is going to have to do this here. In the hallway. Where any number of people can just walk by. At least Eliott hasn’t shut the door in his face.

“I’m sorry. For shutting you out, refusing to talk to you. For being mean,” At this, Eliott’s composure starts to falter, Lucas understands then that his annoyed posture was all an act, possibly an attempt to guard himself from hurt, and that nicks at his heart a little. “For walking out earlier, I should have stayed. I’m just really sick of feeling vulnerable all the time, I feel like I can’t catch a break and then I take it out on you by being cold.

“I saw my father last week, unintentionally, he was at uni and it’s the first time since he left that I’ve laid eyes on him. It brought back all the shame and humiliation. I wanted to walk up to him, like I’ve imagined doing multiple times over the years and confronting him, but all I could do was run the other way. I hate that this man still has this power over me. Anyway, that’s not the point, the point is that I hurt you-”

Eliott is stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Lucas, pulling him into his apartment and holding him against the door.

“Please don’t be mad.” Lucas’ voice comes out muffled against Eliott’s chest.

“I’m not mad. The truth is I’d rather be annoyed by you than not have you at all. I want to know when you’re in pain and why. And you were, I could see it and it hurt to know you were fighting something on your own. I am so sorry, Lucas.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Remember what I told you, yeah? You are not alone.”

Lucas’ heart clenches at those words. How does Eliott think of and say things like that, so sincere like it is effortless, like it costs him nothing but the air he breathes to say them.

He pulls back from Eliott, head tilted up against the door. “You need to stop that.”

“Stop what?” Eliott cups Lucas’ face

“Saying those romantic things.”

“And you need to know that you have nothing,” He says fiercely. “To be ashamed about. You are not what happened to you. You are magnificent, and I can’t believe how lucky I am that you choose to be with me.”

“I love you.” The words slip out, Lucas widens his eyes and Eliott is laughing at Lucas’ brazenness. Simultaneously, his eyes shift and brighten, as if Lucas’ confession has changed the very colour of Eliott’s eyes, as if those three words have changed him.

A kiss, soft and tender. ”Not as much as I love you.”

Another kiss just as tender and slow, torturously slow. “Yeah, yeah. Now carry me to your bed, please.”

They stumble there, stripping off their clothes as much as they can while kissing and touching each other. As soon as Lucas hits Eliott’s bed though he is enraptured by the softness of his duvet and pillow and he sighs contentedly.

Eliott looks up from where he was kissing down Lucas’ chest and lets out a disbelievingly laugh when he sees Lucas snuggling into his pillows. He crawls up Lucas’ body until he is caging him in and looking directly down at him. Eliott, straddling Lucas’ hips now, plants a hard, searing kiss on his lips which Lucas is all too happy to reciprocate, clutching Eliott at the hips.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you.” Lucas winks.

Eliott rolls over, laying his head on Lucas’ chest. “You’re tired.”

“Yeah…Your bed…Morning sex, instead?”

“Sure.”

From his position on Lucas’ chest, Eliott caresses Lucas’ lower stomach, running his fingers lightly over the skin, raising goose bumps in their wake.

Je t’aime.

Moi aussi.

#elu fic #elu #skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #mine #go ahead and watch my heart burn

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