Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Working as a busboy at Eden’s Twilight was probably the last place Eli would have seen himself, had he been asked a few months ago.

That Eli would have pictured the final form signing with the scout for USC or Penn State, an impressive hockey field on a college campus somewhere, weekly training sessions with elite players that finally challenged his abilities. That Eli hadn’t predicted how his insistence on things being right would expand into an all-encompassing fixation that had tangled itself into every aspect of his life.

Hockey had always been like breathing air to Eli. It came naturally, it had made him feel alive. It had made him feel like he was becoming who he was meant to be. He was good at it, too, destined for a college team after school, a pro team after college, and who knows what after that. Coach Samuels had already gotten forms from hopeful universities looking to sign him for a full five-year sports scholarship next year. Eli had already chosen his top three.

But all of a sudden, it had fallen apart. He’d fallen apart, more accurately. Every time he stepped onto the field since that week, he’d felt the heavy absence of how things had been before. He’d felt sick. He’d been paralysed by the unrelenting feeling of everything being wrong, without any way to fix things.

Yes, he’d always organised the hockey balls into lines while Coach talked, always been a little too perfectionistic about getting his shots in the right place – but all of a sudden, instead of preferences, it became moments filled with horrible anxiety that wouldn’t disappear until he’d done things in the right way, even if it meant compromising his playing.

The hours he’d spent doing drills with Kit and the others, those extra classes he’d done so he could graduate early, the list of college team offers for next year, they were all worthless if he couldn’t be the player he had always been. If he couldn’t make it through a game without spiralling, or through a practice without checking for someone he knew wasn’t there, what did any of it matter?

Eli hadn’t been sure anymore if he could exist in that life he’d worked for.

He hadn’t wanted to find out that he couldn’t.

He hadn’t wanted to wait for Coach Samuels to pull him aside for that conversation. The “I don’t think you’re alright” conversation, the “you can’t keep playing like this” conversation, that only put into words the things Eli already knew.

He wouldn’t be able to bear the slow collapse of his entire world. No, he’d rather have it over with quickly. To make it happen on his own terms before it inevitably happened. To shoot himself in the foot, rather than live in constant paranoia of the impending gunshot.

That’s what he’d reminded himself when he had to tell Coach Samuels he wasn’t playing next season for a college, that he was taking a break. That he was letting go of his chance to get everything he’d ever dreamt of. He’d done it by phone call, so he didn’t have to watch Coach Samuel’s hope in him shatter. He’d hung up before Coach Samuels could try and talk him out of it. It was better to disappoint him now than to string him along with a dream Eli knew couldn’t survive. Still, it felt like one of the worst things Eli had ever done to someone.

He still hadn’t read the messages Coach Samuels had sent him after he’d hung up, even though it had been weeks. He didn’t want to know what shape that disappointment took.

Eli had left that world behind, when it had finally gotten unbearable, taking a cheap bus from his hometown to Columbia. He’d only had a duffle bag with his things and the phone number of Roland: a friend of a friend who’d promised to get Eli a job and a place to stay. He’d left only a note for his parents and a short text message to his brother, who’d known he was leaving anyway.

Now, he spent his evenings cleaning up tables and spills, ferrying glasses back and forth, and putting up with drunk customers.

Any of the bar’s issues – a minor fight or two, drunk flirts hitting on the staff, and so on – were handled by the bouncers. Eli just brought drinks to tables and cleared them away, kept track of tabs and put up with Roland’s ranting. It was loud, loud enough to drown out the pounding thoughts in his brain that spiralled and spiralled about everything that wasn’t right when he was left in the quiet. Roland’s pills helped too, of course, on the worse days.

He didn’t really talk to anyone except Roland – and Roland did most of the talking then anyway. To most of the patrons, he could be invisible, another feature of the building, like the tables and the decorations, that one’s eyes skipped over. Except, of course, for Andrew Minyard, who paid attention despite Eli’s best efforts. He and the Monsters were what made Eden’s less simple.

Roland had seen them enter and scoffed, handing Eli a tray with their already prepared drinks – rather, three drinks and one soda. “Give these to them,” he’d said. “I can’t be bothered with Andrew’s shit today.”

Eli had winced at Roland’s words, then mentally scolded himself for the response. He always felt so uptight, on instinct, no matter how much he tried not to be, and always about the most inconsequential things – swearing, for instance - anything his brain deemed, arbitrarily, unacceptable. He knew it didn’t matter, that it was childish to cringe away from things that had no actual harm, just because they felt intangibly not right to him. Yet, the uneasiness always surfaced, no matter how much logic he tried to apply.

He shifted around the drinks on the tray, straightening them into a neater line, ordering them in a pattern that had no basis but felt like it was correct. It didn’t do much to reduce the tightness in his chest.

It was a worse day, and he was already feeling slightly dizzy from the music and the pill Roland had given him, which seemed to be making him feel worse instead of drowning out his thoughts. He wanted to fade into the crowd, and maybe persuade Roland to give him another dose. He didn’t want to talk to Andrew, the one person who seemed to set of his mental agitation more than anyone. Still, he was holding the Monsters’ drinks, and he had to do his job.

The Monsters were an intimidating group, one that radiated danger. Eli had first interacted with them a few weeks ago, when they’d entered Eden’s on a too-busy night and approached a booth that was already taken. Eli, thinking a fight might be brewing – they often were – had made his way over to a bouncer to point out the group, but by the time he’d gotten back to the bar, the four were already setting down their things in the now-empty chairs. Eli hadn’t seen how they’d forced the occupants to clear out, but he’d now gotten to know the Monsters well enough to be pretty sure the twin with the armbands – that was Andrew – had brandished one of his knives and the table had emptied. That seemed to be his usual tactic.

They seemed to be in their own world when they were together, cut off from everyone around them, leaving alone and left alone. The only exception was the older, tanned one – that was Nicky – who sometimes wandered off to dance with some man, and even then he was always drawn back into the group soon after he departed.

And yet, they were a group divided by an unspoken but unavoidable line drawn down the middle. There was Andrew, and Neil – the one who’d been on the news, last year – and they only really talked to each other, heads bowed close together in the corner of the booth, except when Nicky managed to briefly grasp Neil’s attention. The twins seemed to hardly interact with each other; Aaron seemed more like Nicky’s sibling than his identical brother’s. They seemed to be completely unmatched, more suited to strangers than to friends, and yet they simultaneously seemed to fit together. They were full of contradictions. Something about them didn’t feel right. It made Eli anxious to avoid them when he could.

They were all in the same booth again today. Nicky was telling some story to Neil, who was ignoring him to stare at Andrew and not bothering to mask it in the slightest, and Aaron, who seemed to be only there to get his drink.

Andrew, however, was watching Eli, his gaze uncomfortably scrutinising as ever. Eli knew he wouldn’t be able to slide their drinks on the table into their correct spots and slip away today. He played along anyway, avoiding Andrew’s eyes while he placed down the drinks in the right order – Andrew, then Neil, then Aaron, then Nicky – despite knowing that it was futile.  Once the glasses were down, Andrew, as always, reached over and swapped his glass with Aaron’s glass. Eli was pretty sure he did it just to be contradictory, just to let Eli know he’d noticed his careful movements. Andrew squinted at Eli’s eyes, tilting his head consideringly. Eli sighed, bracing himself for confrontation.

“You’re high,” Andrew said bluntly – he was always blunt with his words. Nicky fell silent at his cousin’s words, eyes widening; Aaron scowled, picking up his drink and pretending to ignore the scene. Neil sipped his soda, his expression unreadable.

Eli’s brain, ensuring the rightness of everything he said and did, wouldn’t let him lie, so instead, he obscured the details. “Hardly.” He was pretending it was minimal.

Andrew raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Seems to be becoming more frequent.”

He was right, but Eli hated acknowledging that truth. He hadn’t intended the pills to become a common thing. He’d meant to keep it irregular, to only accept Roland’s offers on the worse days, but there seemed to be worse and worse days recently. There shouldn’t have been, considering he’d left home, where the walls had drawn tighter and tighter. He should have been getting better, in this newfound freedom, should have been able to live without scrutinising himself and everything around him. And yet.

Eli hummed noncommittally, trying not to show that the comment had landed as intended, stirring up the conflict he tried so hard to shove down. He didn’t know why Andrew cared about the bad habits of an eighteen-year-old stranger who happened to work at his favourite bar, but if he was boring enough, if he didn’t give Andrew anything to work with, Andrew would drop it for now. He usually did. Eli had faced this same interrogation routine over and over.

Andrew followed the script today, goading Eli’s non-response with his usual sardonic remark. “Drug addiction’s not a good look, you know.”

Aaron, for some reason, groaned at this, and left the table, taking his drink with him. Nicky, after a moment’s hesitation and another wide-eyed look, went to follow him, shooting Eli a sympathetic grimace on his way.

“If you pass the bar, tell Roland to stop dealing to the child,” Andrew called after his cousin. “It’s a bad look for the establishment.”

This was the part in the script where Eli hummed ambiguously again or said something vague about having to get back to work. Once he did that, Andrew would leave him alone until the next visit. But Eli’s thoughts wouldn’t stop swirling and he wanted things to be quiet and he was sick of being judged by a random stranger who didn’t understand anything about him. So instead, he responded, words sharp. “Why do you only care about what I do?”

Instead of being taken aback by his anger, Andrew seemed amused. “He speaks,” he commented to Neil as if Eli couldn’t hear him, as if it was a game. “How unexpected.”

“You’ve been harassing him for long enough,” Neil responded, voice low. “I’m surprised it took this long.”

Eli hardly heard the exchange, consumed by a feeling of dread that he’d done something that wasn’t right. Him saying something back wasn’t how the exchange was meant to go. He wasn’t meant to break the routine like that. It wasn’t – it wasn’t right.

Eli’s breathing was shallow, fast. He wanted to leave. He stepped back, but Andrew leaned forward as if to speak.

“Don’t,” Eli murmured before he could stop himself.

Andrew’s eyes were on him, unrelenting. “This is interesting.”

“Don’t,” Eli repeated, words sharp again. He hated how irritated he sounded. That wasn’t right. He was meant to be a nice person; he wasn’t meant to lash out at people. “Don’t. Please.”

Something in Andrew’s expression sharpened at the plea, and he leant back, the intensity vanishing from his gaze, for a reason Eli couldn’t fathom, before refocusing. The moment was over, somehow. Eli took the chance to leave and wove through the crowd to the bar. He brushed off a bouncer who tried to intercept him as he ducked into the backroom.

Inside, he tried to take deep breaths, but his breathing kept stuttering and he was pretty sure he was shaking. He sunk to the floor, resting his forehead on his knees.

He hardly registered Roland entering the room, hardly processed the glass of water being pressed into his hand, hardly noticed Roland dragging him to the room upstairs, telling him to calm down and breathe already, a rough hand carding through his hair, you’re fine.  It wasn’t an unfamiliar course of events.

Roland’s words as he exited, however, were new. “Damn it, Minyard,” he muttered under his breath as if he didn’t think Eli would hear.

It happened, on worse days, when he got into a spiral over some meaningless thing and couldn’t get out of it – Roland sent him back to the spare room upstairs where he was staying.

Eli didn’t know what benefit Roland got from having him working and staying at Eden’s – it seemed like an unfair deal in Eli’s favour. Yet when he’d brought up finding somewhere else to stay, Roland had scoffed at him.

“Then I’ll have to give you full wages,” Roland had said. “The room’s part of your salary.”

That was a bad excuse, since Eli’s job was essentially redundant. He knew Roland had only given him the job, and the place to stay, as a favour to some friend of Eli’s brother, who’d somehow managed to convince Roland to take in a random eighteen-year-old to live at his bar, essentially for free. Roland didn’t really seem the type to do charity out of the goodness of his heart. And yet.

It was more than just the free room. Roland wasn’t kind, exactly, but he seemed to care about how Eli was doing, and he helped when things were bad. When Eli’s brain got too loud and everything seemed to be wrong, Roland noticed, and gave him the pills, to make things quieter. When Eli had his worse days, and ended up in the backroom unable to breathe, Roland found him and pushed him upstairs, neglecting the bar just so he could stay until Eli was breathing properly again.

He didn’t ask Eli questions about his spirals. He didn’t pry into what and why. Unlike Andrew, who seemed to pester and pester just to see if, and when, Eli would snap, like it was a game.

Roland’s methods were a bit abrasive, a bit rough, but they helped. Eli didn’t know what he’d do without them.

Roland had gone back down to let one of the others know he was taking a break, but Eli heard his footsteps on the stairs now, returning. When they’d first come in, Eli had sat on one end of the couch, pulling his knees to his chest, eyes fixed hard on the wall. He didn’t know how long it had been, how long he’d stayed like that. Roland entered, raising an eyebrow as he observed Eli, still on the couch instead of in the bedroom feet away. “Still bad?”

“I’m okay,” Eli murmured. Since he knew Roland would offer, he added, “You don’t have to stay,” even though he knew it was useless.

Roland scoffed, sinking onto the other end of the couch as he always did. He lounged back, gesturing sarcastically at Eli’s posture. “Clearly.”

He made no indication he was leaving. Still, Eli couldn’t dispel the sense of guilt at making Roland deal with his issues for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Sorry for – sorry it happened again.”

“Don’t be stupid, Elliot,” Roland said, dismissively. “Besides, I needed a break. The customers were absolutely driving me mad.”

Eli noticed that Roland always called him by his full name, even though no one else did. That was probably why it made him feel warm, despite how Eli preferred the shortened name. It showed that Roland knew him, more than most people did, that he cared about those details when it came to Eli. It was a sense of familiarity, of comfort, that Eli hadn’t felt for a while.

Eli relented, falling quiet as Roland settled on a channel and some quiz show began to play on the screen. At some point, Roland’s arm draped around his shoulder, and Eli leaned into the touch. When Roland noticed the tension in his body and offered him the second pill, Eli accepted it, like he always did. The unease didn’t go away, but at least he couldn’t think enough to think about how things were wrong. He listened to the blurry hum of the television, letting the routine – and the weightlessness – push his thoughts into the background.

At some point, Roland’s mouth met his. Eli let it happen, like he always did, and let Roland pull him away from the chaos inside his mind.

Chapter Text

Eli tried to avoid the Monsters the next few times they came to the bar. That night had shaken him – Andrew had shaken him. Eli still felt the lingering weight of that piercing gaze whenever he downed one of Roland’s tablets.

Eli knew the pills were, ultimately, a superficial treatment – a band-aid stretched over a gaping wound. With each tablet, a part of him protested that this wasn’t him, that he knew better than this. Yes, objectively, he knew it wasn’t going to make things better in the long term.

And yet there was something about taking the pills, about consciously giving in to something so contradictory to his morals, that felt more rewarding than the actual high. It was a choice he could make when everything else made him feel like he had no control.

Andrew’s words echoed in his head, refusing to fall silent. “Drug addiction’s not a good look, you know.” Eli tried to push them away, but they looped back each time.

He didn’t know why he was so occupied with the other man’s judgement. After all, Andrew was a near-stranger. So why did it feel like he knew more about Eli than Eli meant him to?

So far, his efforts to stay out of the Monster’s way had been successful, mostly because Roland had been acting as a buffer. Somehow, he found a way to pull Eli away every time the Exy players were in their vicinity.

That was another thing Andrew had complicated, likely without meaning to. When talking about Roland, he’d referred to Eli as simply a child. It was an offhanded comment from someone who knew little about them, sure, but it had wormed its way into Eli’s thoughts, compounding what he already worried about.

Roland had given Eli a place to stay, comforted him on his worse days, even come up with a job position just so Eli had an excuse to be there. Roland could have been hanging out with friends or customers each night, but instead he chose to stay by Eli’s side, chose to sneak into the backroom with him when he wasn’t needed at the bar.

Eli had done little to deserve such treatment. He couldn’t figure out why Roland cared about some random kid who’d showed up out of nowhere. It bothered him, not knowing.

He’d tried to bring it up to Roland in the backroom once, asking why he bothered with Eli. Roland had just shrugged, dismissing the question. “Why not?” He’d headed back out to the bar, and Eli hadn’t mentioned it again. He just kept the tangled knot of anxiety and shame hidden away, like he did every time.

It was a busy enough night that Eli had taken the gamble to leave the room with the bar, with Roland, to clear tables in the other room. He’d thought that even if the Monsters had been present, the crowd would absorb him, obscuring him from their sight.

He’d been wrong, however. He’d been piling empty glasses onto a tray when he saw a distinctive flash of auburn hair to his side, moving towards him. Grimacing, he tried to quickly finish up and leave before Neil made it over, but the other man had cornered him.

Neil leaned against the side of the booth, his gaze fixed on Eli. He didn’t bother with a greeting.

“We need to talk.”

Eli kept his eyes on his tray, rearranging the glasses to give himself something to do with his hands. “I’m working,” he mumbled.

“Too bad,” Neil said flatly. He tilted his head towards the seat. “Sit with me.”

Eli sighed. He had enough experience to know the Monsters weren’t the type to give something up once they set their mind on it. Relenting, he slumped into the seat. Neil sat opposite, leaning forward. The music was loud, but not loud enough that they couldn’t talk across the table.

“What do you want?” Eli asked, trying to keep his tone polite.

“Andrew’s trying to figure you out,” Neil stated. His words were careful, as if he was telling Eli something vital.

Eli didn’t understand where this conversation was going. “What?”

Neil held his gaze, leaning forward across the table. “Andrew told me that he’s trying to figure out what your deal is. He’s trying to gauge whether you’re a danger to us.”

“Me?”

“Or,” Neil continued, unbothered by the interruption, “whether you’re somehow in danger.”“I don’t understand.”

“You’re closed off. Private.”

“So?” Eli questioned, not following.

“He said something about – about you just letting it happen.” Neil tilted his head, as if considering how best to word things. “Letting him provoke you. He wanted to know why. He wanted to see how long it would take for you to push back.”

“Well, I did.”

Neil scoffed, raising his eyebrows. “After what, four weeks? You hardly responded until then.”

“Why would that make him think I’m in … think I could be dangerous?”

Neil leaned back against the booth, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

“We come here, rather than go anywhere else, because Andrew knows it. He knows the bouncers, he knows the staff, he knows the regulars. The people here know not to try him. But you were new this summer. He didn’t know you. That meant you could be dangerous.”

“And,” he continued, without letting Eli respond, “once he determined you weren’t likely to cause us problems, he wanted to figure out why you were here. You don’t fit in with this kind of place. That makes you interesting.”

Eli frowned at the table. “I’m not trying to be interesting.”

Neil shrugged. “Sure. Doesn’t mean you’re not.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Andrew’s gotten it into his head that you’re someone he needs to look out for, here. Bad things can happen in a place like this.” A dark expression flickered across Neil’s face, gone in an instant.

“You come here,” Eli muttered, hating how petulant his words sounded.

“I have Andrew and the others to look out for me. Who do you have?”

Roland, Eli thought, then felt guilty, felt childish. “I can look out for myself.”

“Maybe. But Andrew doesn’t give his protection to just anyone, and it’s not a front.” It’s there if you need, went the unspoken message. Neil watched him, eyebrows raised, until Eli nodded once. Seemingly deciding the conversation was over, Neil stood up, waving a hand at Eli as he left to rejoin his group.

With little else to do, Eli reassumed clearing the table, turning the conversation over in his head. He couldn’t decipher how to feel about the information he’d been given. He felt off-kilter, thrown by the unprecedented offer of something not quite akin to, but not entirely separate from friendship.

He made his way back to the bar, distractedly navigating through the drunken patrons. As he was setting the glasses down in the sink, Roland came up behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Eli turned around to face him. Their bodies were close, tucked between the wall and the bar island.

“Hey, Elliot,” Roland murmured, his mouth close to Eli’s ear.

“Hi,” Eli replied, trying to keep his voice casual. He didn’t want Roland to know how unsettled Neil’s conversation had left him. Whether or not Roland saw anything unusual in his expression, he didn’t comment on it.

“Where were you?”

“Neil wanted to talk to me.”

“Neil,” Roland mimicked. His tone was odd. “What, are you like on a first-name basis now?”

“What?’

Roland sighed, looking away. “Oh, nothing.” He returned his gaze to Eli, expression morphing into a laidback grin. He stepped back, scooping a plastic bag out of a nearby drawer. “Wanna go to the back?”

Eli took the bag from him, taking one of the tablets inside before shoving it back in the drawer. He put the pill in his mouth, swallowing it dry, then let Roland pull him through the crowd to the backroom entrance. He hoped it would kick in quickly and make him feel less on edge. If that didn’t work, hopefully Roland’s company would do the trick.

In the backroom, Eli let Roland press him up against the wall, meeting the other man’s mouth with his own. Eli wasn’t sure how long passed when Roland suddenly broke away. The man stepped back, levelling Eli with a gaze that made Eli feel cold.

“What’s wrong?” Eli asked, urgently scouring through the past few seconds in his mind for something he’d done wrong, coming up blank. “Roland?”

Roland sighed, heavy, and looked away. Suspense buzzed under Eli’s skin as the moment dragged on, and he fidgeted with his sleeve to give himself something to do, to stop himself from asking repeatedly.

Roland crossed his arms, turning back to Eli. His expression was dark.

“They’re not your friends, Elliot.” There was something odd about his voice.

Eli frowned, uncertain. “Who?”

“The Monsters,” Roland said, voice sharp. “They’re dangerous.”

Eli felt his stomach sink, a heavy stone of guilt dropping down, down, down. Subconsciously, he moved from picking at the hem of his sleeve to picking at the skin around his nails. He nodded, hoping Roland would drop the topic, but he didn’t.

“One Minyard’s been in juvie. The other one fucking killed a man just last year. And Josten, well–” Roland waved his hand in a vague gesture. “Those scars say enough.”

“I know,” Eli murmured, looking down. Distantly, he noted a smear of blood where he’d picked at the skin digging his nails harder.

“I don’t like you hanging around them.”

“I know,” Eli repeated, eyes fixed on the red droplet snaking down his thumb. “They just wanted to check that everything was alright.”

“Sure.” Roland scoffed, as if he didn’t believe Eli, and Eli regretted trying to explain himself. Again, there was something about the man’s voice Eli couldn’t pin down. He felt strange nausea sweeping over him. The space between him and Roland seemed to be growing impossibly larger with every heartbeat that passed.

His words spilled out before he could think them through. “I’ll stay away from them,” Eli promised, desperate to make Roland feel better, to make this moment pass. “If you want that, I can. I will.”

Roland made a face, seemingly still unsatisfied, but he didn’t argue any further. “Good.”

“I’ve heard the stories about them, I know they’re dangerous,” Eli added, trying to placate the other man. “I just- I just wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

He reached out to catch hold of Roland’s sleeve, silently praying that Roland wouldn’t draw away, wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t reject him. Roland huffed, but gave in, pressing his lips hard onto Eli’s, sliding his hands back up under Eli’s shirt.

Eli melted into the touch, relieved that his rambling appeasement had worked, that Roland’s bad mood had dissolved, for now. His brain was unable to combat this tangible proof that Roland couldn’t hate him, if he was willing to touch Eli like this. Thought the nauseous feeling didn’t fully subside, at least Eli’s racing thoughts were momentarily hushed. He hardly noticed when the pill’s effects began to kick in.

Roland went back to the bar, after, and Eli went to wipe down the tabletops in the same room. He was usually good at weaving between customers, but his distraction made him clumsy. He’d already knocked into one person already when his side brushed against someone else.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping sideways so he could keep going. However, the person caught his arm, forcing him to stop. He frowned, glancing to see who’d intercepted him, and winced at the sight of a familiar face.

“Hey, Eli, yeah?” Nicky warbled; his voice too loud for him to be sober. “Hi, dude!”

“Hi,” Eli said distractedly, searching the crowd for any sign of the other Monsters. His back was to the bar, so he couldn’t see if Roland was looking in his direction, but he hoped the bartender was caught up in customers. He really didn’t want a repeat of their previous conversation.

“Look, Nicky, I have to go,” he started, cutting off Nicky’s sentence. Eli hadn’t heard what the other man was saying, but with his state of intoxication Eli was sure it wasn’t anything he needed to hear.

Nicky made a dramatic noise, placing his hands on Eli’s shoulders. “No, don’t go! Look, Andrew's coming! You’ve got to hear about–”
His voice faded into static as Eli glanced where Nicky had been looking, locking eyes with Andrew. The urge to avoid him had more than doubled since Eli’s conversation with Roland. Eli was too frozen to remember to hide his panic from the approaching man.

Andrew raised his hand in greeting, then frowned at whatever he saw in Eli’s expression. Abruptly, he shoved Nicky’s hands roughly away off Eli’s shoulders, giving his cousin a harsh glare.

“Nicky. Go,” he ordered. “You’re being a nuisance.” Nicky made an annoyed noise, but his attention was quickly caught by something else, and he wandered off.

Eli hugged his arms around himself, trying to subtly level his breathing. The effort was wasted on Andrew, of course, who seemed to notice everything.

Andrew tilted his head, gazing at Eli.

“Did he cause any trouble?”

Eli shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you, then?”

“Nothing,” Eli said shortly. He started walking, hoping Andrew wouldn’t bother trying to follow him through the crowded room.

Andrew stepped in front of him and matched his path, somehow clearing a path for them both. “Liar,” he said, accusatory but casual.

“You don’t have to guide me,” Eli said, ignoring the taunt. “I do work here.”

Andrew hummed but didn’t leave from Eli’s side as they approached the Employees Only door. Eli wrung his hands together anxiously, working at his skin with his nails again. Andrew caught the action and stopped in between Eli and the door. He gave Eli a heavy look.

“Something upset you. If not Nicky, then what?”

Eli sighed, glancing away. “Andrew, I don’t…” he faltered, unsure what he was saying. Don’t need this, don’t know you. Don’t feel okay.

Andrew was silent, waiting for him to continue, but Eli couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what shape the words would take if he kept going.

“I can’t do this,” he said, the words broken by shaky breaths. Then, before Andrew could speak, he pushed the door open, slipping inside. He expected Andrew to try and block him again. Instead, the other man let him go without any interception.

Eli ducked into the employee bathroom, locking the door behind him. He attempted to get his breathing under control, pressing his hands to his face as if he could press the panic back to where it had been tucked away before.

One of Neil’s statements was repeating in his head, refusing to dissipate. “He’s trying to gauge whether you’re a danger to us. Or, whether you’re in danger.”

Eli didn’t know if he was in danger, but he knew something was wrong. He kept trying and trying to fix it, but that was hard to do that when he didn’t even know what it was.

A knock rang out from the door. Eli tried to still his breathing so the person on the other side wouldn’t hear his hyperventilating.

“Elliot?” Roland’s voice called out. Eli, oddly, felt disappointed that it wasn’t Andrew.

Roland called again, sounding a bit impatient. “Elliot. All good?”

“Yeah,” Eli said, his shaky voice likely giving his lie. Still, Roland took his words at face value. Eli heard his retreating footsteps fade away.

Eli closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a sudden tiredness that seemed to wash over his whole body. He leaned back against the wall, feeling the cool tiles through the fabric of his shirt.

Chapter Text

The feeling came out of nowhere.

Even though Eli had been the one to suggest that he and Roland go to the backroom, even though it had been fine every other time and just a moment ago, all of a sudden it was wrong. All of a sudden, Eli hated that Roland’s hand was on Eli’s arm, his lips on Eli’s lips.

He tried to ignore it, at first, tried not to think about the crawling feeling under his skin that made him want to scratch it off. He didn’t want Roland to think something was wrong. He didn’t want him to get annoyed. But the cold dread wouldn’t let him go no matter how much he tried to distance himself.

He was against the wall, so he couldn’t move backwards - instead, he pushed a hand against Roland’s chest. Taking the hint, Roland stepped back, frowning.

“What’s up?” he asked casually, as if Eli had just broken away to catch his breath. His hand lingered on Eli’s arm.

Eli shrunk away from his touch, wrapping his arms around himself. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to get enough air to form any words. All that came out of his mouth was small, shallow breaths that scraped the inside of his throat.

Roland’s confused expression morphed into one of concern. His voice was almost gentle – as gentle as Roland got. “Elliot. What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Eli mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed. His hands ached for something to hold, something to do. He tangled his fingers into the fabric of his sleeves, clenching them tightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what- I can’t.”

He bit his lip, fighting to quell the tears frustratingly welling in his eyes, and felt Roland’s hand on the side of his head, running through Eli’s hair. The gesture was so close to gentle, so unlike Roland, Eli wondered if he’d imagined it before he opened his eyes to see the physical proof.

“Elliot,” Roland prompted, again.

Eli faltered, searching for the words. “It’s just…” he didn’t know how to say it. “It just feels wrong.”

In an instant, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Roland sighed, his face falling into something darker. He dropped his hand from Eli’s hair.

“This is one of your things again, huh.”

He didn’t bother to keep the bitterness from his voice. Eli winced, the excuses tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I just need a minute. It’ll be fine.”

He reached for Roland’s arm, a futile last attempt at contact, but Roland stepped back. The look on the older man’s face matched the one he’d worn the other night, when Eli had talked about Neil. He turned towards the door.

“Roland, wait,” Eli pleaded, desperate. “I’m sorry, wait.”

Roland paused in the doorframe, not looking towards him. His words were flat when he spoke.

“It’s just exhausting, Elliot.”

The protest Eli had been about to voice died in his throat. Roland swept into the hallway quickly, not looking back. The door clicked into the frame, both so quiet and so loud.

Eli had just felt like he was about to break into tears. Now, his emotions felt so much that he almost didn’t feel anything at all. He was just- stricken. His mind stuck on Roland’s words.

It’s exhausting. He’d ruined it.

He stood there, alone, feeling too much like he was in a memory of a different event. The scene of Roland’s figure, standing in the doorway, avoiding Eli’s gaze, seemed to morph into sometime before, featuring someone else.

He’d stepped back when Eli had reached out. He’d turned away, unable to meet Eli’s eyes. He’d whispered that terrible news and then he’d left, he’d left, he’d left.

Eli didn’t want to remember it. He didn’t want to think about it.

He needed it all to stop, just for a while.

He exited the backroom, hurriedly making his way to the bar. Reaching the drawer near the sink, he snatched out the bag holding Roland’s stash.

He shook two pills into his hand, then hesitated, and added another one. He needed to be certain the dose was strong enough. He needed his thoughts, his memories, to be silent.

He reordered the pills in his hand, straightening them into a neat row. Then, before he could second-guess himself, before he could think about what he was doing, he swallowed the handful. Instantly, the guilt hit, but he tried to remind himself that it was what he needed.

Eli dug his nails into his palms, hard, waiting, waiting, waiting. He wasn’t sure how long passed until the edges of the world seemed to get less sharp. He felt a bit dizzy, a bit nauseous, but the dread was fading, slowly.

Unclenching his hands, he gazed at the half-moon indents his nails had left behind. Despite the angry red of the marks, the pain hardly bothered him.

The world felt a little less close, a little less real.

***

Roland looked up from the bottles he’d been sorting as Eli approached and sighed heavily. “What.”

“Took some more pills,” Eli mumbled, staring at the wall behind Roland so he didn’t have to meet his eyes. Still, he saw Roland’s expression soften, whatever irritation had lingered melting away.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Roland nodded, once. “Feeling better?”

Eli hummed the affirmative, then bit his lip, hesitant. “I’m sorry about before.”

Roland studied Eli with an expression he couldn’t read, then leaned forward, reaching up to cup Eli’s cheek with his hand. The movement brought their faces close. Eli blinked, uncertain.

“It’s fine,” Roland said. He ran his thumb gently over Eli’s cheek. Eli couldn’t tell if the dizziness was from the drugs or from the relief that Roland had forgiven him, but regardless, he leaned into the touch, letting it steady him.

Roland’s mouth crooked into a grin. “How many did you take?”

Eli frowned, trying to remember. Then, he extended three fingers, mutely splaying them over the back of Roland’s hand. Roland chuckled, and gently tugged Eli’s hand with his own, bringing them back down to hang in between their bodies.

Hand lingering on Eli’s, Roland glanced over his shoulder at the main counter. He grimaced, turning back. “I gotta work for a bit, but I’ll try and get away.” Eli nodded, and reluctantly attempted. to pull his hand away, but Roland clung on for a moment. He added, “Don’t go far, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eli echoed. Roland smiled at him again, then turned away, heading back to the bar. Eli stared after him, immediately longing for him to return. Without Roland there, he felt disoriented, off-balance. He hugged his arms around his body, trying to steady himself.

The sudden voice startled him. He spun, coming face to face with Neil– the second-last person he wanted to see. Eli blinked, trying to figure out where the other man had come from. Then, he realised he hadn’t heard what Neil had said.

“What?’

Neil raised his eyebrows, but repeated himself, slowly. “I said, what’s going on with you and Roland?”

Eli hugged his arms tighter around himself, thrown by the question, thrown by how defensive it made him feel. His voice was sharper than he meant it to be. “Why do you care?”

“Answer the question,” Neil said, ignoring him.

“I don’t want to.”

Neil sighed. “Eli.” His tone made Eli feel like a child being scolded.

“No.”

Neil exhaled, seemingly losing his patience. “Are you two together?’

Eli wanted this conversation – this interrogation – to end. He wanted Neil to go away. He wanted his memories to stop circling, circling, dragging him down. His desperation became anger, pushing him to cross the line, to go too far.

“What, is Andrew jealous?”

Eli heard Neil’s breath catch. Eli took the moment to escape, pushing past the other man without looking at him. He didn’t want to see the look on Neil’s face.

* * *

Eli didn’t think he could keep himself steady for much longer. The world was starting to spin around him, vertigo coming in awful waves.

But someone was there, leading Eli to the backroom away from all the noise. Someone was there, pressing lips against Eli’s, pressing Eli against the wall. He knew this person. Why couldn’t he place the name?

Time was moving too fast. He was having trouble remembering where he was, who he was with. The hands sliding under his shirt were cold, the kiss rough. That didn’t seem right. Eli couldn’t figure out why. Wasn’t this the locker room? Wasn’t this Jordie?

“You’re fine, Elliot.”

The voice sounded wrong. Too low, too hoarse. It wasn’t what he remembered. The bruising grip around his arm wasn’t what he remembered. His brain was falling behind, slipping into the haze of the high. He couldn’t figure out if this was what was meant to happen. Why were his limbs so heavy? Why was it becoming so hard to keep his eyes open?

He was falling, falling, the world fading away. Everything blurred into the background.

The slam of the door opening was sudden, cutting through the haze.

Eli heard a familiar voice, sharp, furious. “Roland, you piece of shit.”

Chapter Text

The memories of the previous night had come back to Eli in pieces.

The backroom. Roland’s hands, lips. The door slamming open. Neil’s voice, dagger-like.

This was what he remembered: immediately after Neil had burst into the room, there had been an argument between Roland and Andrew and Neil. Eli had been too occupied with trying not to collapse to the ground to track their words, but he’d gotten the general gist.

Roland had stormed out, and Andrew had made to follow him, but Neil had caught his arm and spoken in some language Eli didn’t recognise. Whatever he’d said had made Andrew stop and turn back to Eli, and help him stand up away from the wall. Neil had been the one to go out the door instead.

Eli wasn’t sure where he’d gone, then. They’d met him at the car once Andrew had guided Eli through the crowd. Nicky and Aaron had joined them. Eli didn’t remember all the details of that. He just remembered the haunted look on Nicky’s face, how the man had lifted his hand slightly, as if instinctually reaching out to Eli, before he quickly dropped it. Eli remembered wanting to reach back to him, but his limbs had felt so heavy. He’d sunk against the passenger seat instead, unable to do anything but stare as Nicky’s face had fallen further.

Andrew had closed the car door and Nicky had gotten into the back with Neil and Aaron, where Eli couldn’t see him anymore. He didn’t know what had happened after that. He’d woken up in an unfamiliar bedroom and had gazed in the bathroom mirror to find himself still wearing the previous night’s clothes. The memories clung to them like the scent of sweat and alcohol.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there staring at his reflection, unable to stop replaying the memories over and over, as if they’d finally click together on the hundredth repeat. Maybe he’d blink, and those ugly, watercolour blotches on his neck would fade away. Maybe this was all just a bad, intricate what-if that his mind had latched onto, and suddenly a detail would slip and prove it wasn’t real.

“Eli?” A voice called from beside him, breaking him away from the trance he’d been. He blinked hard, turning towards the doorway.

It was Nicky, gazing at him with a look of concern. When Eli looked over, though, the expression immediately switched out for a cheery smile.

“Hey,” Nicky said, voice casual – too casual, as if he was forcing it. “I heard you get up before, and I thought you’d come downstairs after a while, but you didn’t. Everything okay?”

Eli nodded, though his shaky blinking likely gave away the fact that Nicky had caught him in a bad moment. “Yeah.”

Nicky frowned slightly, but quickly grinned again. “Okay! Well, I thought you might want to get changed, so I brought you some clothes.” He handed Eli the pile he was holding, dropping his voice to a stage-whisper. “They’re mine, cause everyone else in this house is too short – don’t tell them I said that.”

He raised his voice back to normal volume. “Feel free to use the spare stuff in the cabinet, we have them for this reason. Meet me in the kitchen, yeah?”

Eli closed the bathroom door as Nicky wandered off. He tried to distract himself with the routine of getting dressed, moving through the steps mechanically, brushing his teeth, washing his face, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror. He tugged on the clothes Nicky had gotten him – dark green sweatshirt, black shorts – trying to pretend that he could discard the crawling feeling under his skin along with the previous night’s outfit.

When Eli reached the kitchen, Nicky gestured to the stools at the counter. “Sit down.”

Eli complied, leaning his elbows on the benchtop, and resting his chin on his hands. He watched as Nicky whirled around getting out some slices of bread and wrangling the toaster cord. He made a triumphant noise as he pushed down the toaster lever.

“Okay, done,” Nicky said as he came to stand across from Eli. Eli tried to smile back at him reassuringly, but the expression must have been unconvincing since Nicky’s face fell, suddenly serious.

“Hey Eli?”

“Yeah?”

Nicky hesitated, his gaze drifting to the window, away from Eli. A long moment passed before he spoke in a rush. “I want you to know that you’re safe here.”

“I know,” Eli said, softly. Nicky continued, as if he hadn’t heard.

“I know you know that I’m gay, but I don’t want you to think that I’d hit on you or anything. Like, you were in my room last night, but I didn’t sleep there - I just wanted you to have somewhere better than the couch to sleep after what- what happened. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not safe here. Around me.”

Eli thought about what Andrew had said when he’d seen Eli freaking out while talking to Nicky at Eden’s. Did he cause any trouble? What had Andrew meant by that? As far as Eli knew, Nicky had been nothing but nice.

“I don’t think you’re like that.”

Nicky’s shoulders visibly slumped, the tension fading out of them. Still, his returning smile seemed to hold a subtle sadness to it that Eli didn’t understand. “Thanks, Eli.”

Eli glanced in the direction of the toaster, noticing a sudden burning odour. “I think your toast is burning,” Eli noted.

Nicky winced, racing over to retrieve the toast, his usual pep returning like the prior conversation had never happened. “I think they’re salvageable,” he exclaimed as he dug out the slices. “Just in time!”

He passed Eli a plate of slightly browned toast and sat down on the stool next to him. As they ate, Nicky continued to chat, seemingly uncaring that Eli was mostly unresponsive.

“So, mine’s the room you were in, and then Aaron’s is next door, and Kevin usually takes the pull-out when he’s here. And then Andrew and Neil share Andrew’s room, which is down the hall,” he listed, ticking off the names on his fingers.

Eli glanced through the archway to the living room, suddenly reminded that he hadn’t yet seen the other Monsters. “Where are Andrew and Neil?”

Nicky’s expression dropped again. “Oh. They- they went for a drive, for a bit. To talk.” He hesitated, fixing his gaze on his toast. “Neil basically had to stop Andrew from stabbing Roland last night. He was… upset about what happened.”

Eli frowned. The mental image of Andrew trying to stab someone wasn’t hard to conjure, but the idea that Andrew had been worked up enough over Eli’s safety to resort to violence was puzzling. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not really my story to explain, but- Andrew knows Roland pretty well,” Nicky said, wincing at the mention of the bartender. “Or at least he did, before Neil.”

A puzzle piece clicked into place in Eli’s mind, some of the comments Roland had made reorienting themselves into a new pattern.  He knew Andrew had worked at Eden’s once, years ago. If Roland had Andrew had been together at some point, then of course he was jealous of Neil.

Jealous of Neil?

Maybe Eli was reading a false meaning into Nicky’s words, but…

“Are Neil and Andrew…” He left the question hanging.

Nicky exhaled through his nose, seemingly amused by Eli’s inability to find the right words.

“Yeah, they’re Neil-and-Andrew. They don’t really do labels, but they’re, well,” Nicky shrugged, gesturing vaguely with his hand in a movement that didn’t clarify much. Still, Eli got the implication.

“Kit would freak out if they knew that,” Eli murmured to himself. Nicky heard him anyway.

“Who’s Kit?”

The thought of the feisty goalkeeper brought an unconscious smile to Eli’s face. “World’s biggest Exy fan. They only joined our hockey team because it was the closest they could get to being an Exy player. Still, they’re an insanely good goalie.”

Guiltily, Eli remembered the messages from his friend that he’d left unread, too ashamed to see what they had to say. He hadn’t told Kit that he was quitting, that he was leaving. He hadn’t had the courage to tell anyone on the team – even his best friend.

He hadn’t wanted to see their disappointment.

Nicky must have seen the conflicting emotions on Eli’s face. “Did something happen?”

Eli shook his head. “We just… haven’t talked in a while. But that’s my fault, not Kit’s.”

Nicky frowned. Eli scooped up his and Nicky’s empty plates and stood up to deposit them at the sink, successfully distracting Nicky from asking further questions.

“Let me do that, Eli,” Nicky chastised. Eli relented, letting Nicky take the plates from him.

The noise of a car pulling up in the driveway made them both glance out the window.

“Oh, they’re back,” Nicky observed, despite the fact Eli was also staring at the black Maserati. Eli sighed at the sound of keys in the front door, mentally preparing himself for the conversation about last night he was sure would follow.

Yet only Andrew entered the living room – Neil lingered on the porch, seemingly talking to someone on his phone. Andrew’s gaze fell on Eli, looking him over, before sliding over to his cousin. He stared blankly at Nicky until the older man retreated into the living room, taking the apparent cue to leave.

Eli avoided Andrew’s eyes, waiting for the other man to comment on what had happened – what Eli had done. Yet, when Andrew spoke, he focused on something else entirely. “Your stuff’s still at Eden’s.”

A statement, not a question. Eli nodded anyway.

“We’ll take you to go get it. Neil’s going to talk to Roland.”

Eli winced at how Andrew’s voice changed on the word ‘talk,’ as if he meant something else: he could assume Andrew’s insinuation.

“I don’t- you guys don’t have to do that.” It wasn’t that Eli didn’t want Roland to face some sort of consequence for what he’d done to Eli – what he’d done to Andrew, apparently. After what Nicky had told him, he got the sense that Neil wasn’t going to confront Roland about last night, at least not solely. Still, Eli didn’t like the thought of someone getting hurt because of something that had happened to him.

“You need your stuff.” Andrew purposefully misinterpreted his words. “We’ll go tonight.”

Eli glanced out the window again at Neil, who’d hung up the call and was now frowning at the street as if trying to solve a puzzle. He stayed silent, sensing he wouldn’t be able to change the Monsters’ minds.

Andrew’s words startled him. “Neil’s not going to hurt him.”

Eli turned back to him, wondering if Andrew had seen something in his expression that had made him change his approach. Andrew’s heavy gaze, fixed on Eli, suggested that that was the case.

“Neil’s not going to hurt him,” the man repeated. “I mean it when I say he’s going to talk. It’s just the exact nature of that conversation may deviate from standard manners.”

Neil’s voice floated in from the doorway, sardonic. “I’ve been told I’m too mouthy for my own good.”

Chapter Text

Andrew had parked the car around the back of Eden’s, rather than the front where his usual spot had lain empty. Neil immediately strode up to the employee entrance, Andrew and Eli trailing behind him.

Eli frowned. “I don’t have my keys,” he called to Neil. “They’re still inside.”

Undeterred by his words, Neil tried the door handle. Then, for reasons Eli couldn’t decipher, he crouched down in front of the lock, gazing intently at it.

Eli looked to Andrew for an explanation. “How are you planning on getting in?”

Andrew exhaled, the closest thing to an Andrew version of a laugh. “Neil’s planning on picking the lock.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and called in Neil’s direction. “Do you need the enrichment, or can I use these?”

Neil stepped back from the lock, unabashed. “That makes it easier. You still have those?”

Andrew shrugged, swinging the door open. “Roland never asked for them back.”

“Didn’t think to tell me?”

Andrew’s reply drifted into the background, obscured by the music thundering from down the hallway and the volume of Eli’s thoughts.

It was hard to imagine how Eli had spent so long here feeling – not at home, exactly, but – accustomed. The person he’d been here was suddenly a person he didn’t recognise as himself. He didn’t know how he’d lived in this world of customer-service smiles and little white tablets and hadn’t realised he’d been lying to himself. The thought was dizzying.

Neil disappeared down the hallway towards the bar. Eli tried not to think too hard about the confrontation that would occur. When he and Andrew reached his room upstairs, the thought vanished from his mind completely, overridden by dread.

The room was not how he’d left it. Rather, every item was slightly out of place, as if someone had gone through it, searching for something.

Andrew seemed to have assessed the situation instantly. “Did you have any valuables?”

Eli shook his head. “Only…” He frowned, scanning the surfaces and coming up empty. “…only my phone.”

He rushed forward, rummaging through the drawers, checking each one twice, three times, a futile fourth. His keys were still there, his wallet, but no phone.

“It’s not here,” Eli murmured. He couldn’t stop himself from repeating it, even though he was aware the words were useless. “It’s not here.”

His mind raced with the worst possibilities. He knew he had nothing bad on his phone, and besides, it was password protected – but what if he’d left it unlocked, and Roland had gotten in? What if there had been photos Eli hadn’t deleted, messages that suggested something, incriminated him in some wrongdoing?

Andrew grasped his hand, pressing down his thumb that had been picking at the skin around his cuticles so that it was trapped. “Breathe.”

“But-“ Eli cut himself off at the look on Andrew’s face, a look that firmly reminded him that he hadn’t done anything, that someone else having his phone wasn’t inherently some kind of disaster.

Andrew led the way to the bar, where Roland was chatting to some patrons. His eyes widened slightly at the site of Andrew and Eli.

Andrew jerked a thumb towards the hallway, his expression stony. Roland rolled his eyes, but extracted himself from the conversation, making his way over.

“Hey, Elliot.” His smirk was knowing.

Eli exhaled, reminding himself of the fact that they were in a crowded bar, not a quiet backroom, that Andrew was nearby, and he wasn’t alone.  Andrew went to speak, but Eli cut in before he could form a sentence.

“You took my phone.”

Roland raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Yeah?” He exaggeratedly patted down his pockets before pulling out the device. “Oh, here it is. It’s dead, unfortunately.”

He waved it in Eli’s direction, motioning for Eli to take it. Eli reluctantly stepped forward, even though it meant closing the small buffer between them.

Roland kept hold of the phone, forcing Eli to hover in his space, the phone a tether between them. Eli tugged the phone, and stepped backwards, folding his arms tightly across his chest. His skin crawled with discomfort.

Roland wasn’t done talking. “You know, Eli, you should really keep better company. Surely you know you can do better than a psycho, a murderer, a serial killer’s kid and a fa–”

Eli hardly saw Andrew move before he was shoving the other man against the bar, causing the bottles on the countertop to rattle. Roland groaned, but didn’t push Andrew back, just waited. Eli waited with bated breath too. After a long, drawn-out moment, Andrew stepped back. A blank mask shuttering over his face as he brushed his hands on his shirt like he was wiping off dirt.

“We’re going,” he said flatly, turning away. Eli blinked, still startled. Shaking himself, he made to follow Andrew towards the exit. He was stopped by Roland’s words.

“Your boyfriend messaged, before your phone died.”

Eli tried to slow his breathing, to not rise to the taunt, but it he felt compelled to reply. He couldn’t stop himself from turning back, couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “Kit’s not my boyfriend.”

Roland grinned, sharp. “How’d you know that’s who I meant?”

“Enough,” Andrew growled. He took hold of Eli’s arm, pulling slightly to urge him towards the exit. But Eli stood rooted to the spot, staring at Roland.

How’d you know that’s who I meant?

The club’s lighting made it so he couldn’t read the expression on Roland’s face. Eli couldn’t even read his tone. The words echoed in his head, the emphasis changing with each iteration.

How’d you know - likely all he’d been implying was that Eli had given himself away somehow with his response, had proved Roland’s suspicions right. ‘Of course you’d know it was them, wouldn’t you?’

But maybe was there something else there, an implication that Roland knew of something Eli hadn’t told him about, of someone- How’d you know that’s who I meant?

Eli only got direct messages from a few people these days. But his mind lingered on a name that hadn’t appeared in his screen for a long time, fixated on the possibility that it might not have been Kit who’d reached out to him. With his phone dead, he couldn’t check, couldn’t be sure. He needed to ask Roland, didn’t he?

Andrew’s grip was firm on his arm, the pressure grounding. “Eli. We’re going.”

Eli broke his gaze away from the bartender, forcing himself to move, to stumble after Andrew. He tried to ignore Roland’s gaze trailing them out, the satisfaction that had danced across his face as Eli had registered his words.

***

Nicky and Aaron were in the living room when they got back – Nicky, clearly waiting for them, Aaron apparently too engaged in the inane gameshow playing on the television to look up at their arrival.

“Hey, Eli!” Nicky’s voice was a tad too cheerful, as if he was expecting to have to deal with the fallout of something terrible once again.

Eli gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hey.”

Aaron didn’t look away from the television as Neil and Andrew passed, his voice passive. “Did you kill him?”

Nicky’s bright expression wavered at his cousin’s words. “Aaron.”

“No,” Neil answered, as if Aaron had asked him if it was raining outside.

Aaron snorted. “Pity.” He didn’t ask anything else. As Andrew and Neil headed out to the porch, he looked up ever so slightly, gazing after his brother. Eli couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Nicky shook his head as if clearing it, then fixed his smile on Eli. “So! Since you’re staying with us for a bit, I’m gonna stay in Aaron’s room. You can stay in mine.”

“Are you sure?”

Nicky didn’t seem to realise the question was for them both. “Let me do this, okay? It’s the least I can do.”

Eli looked at Aaron over Nicky’s shoulder. Noticing Eli’s gaze, despite his apparent inattention, the man nodded, ever so slightly.

“Okay,” Eli murmured. “Thank you,” he said to the room. Nicky beamed at him again. Behind him, Aaron shrugged carelessly.

Roland’s taunting words came back to him, shattering the tentative calm he’d been feeling. “I need to charge my phone.” He knew Roland had been lying, playing on his insecurities, when he’d mentioned a message from someone else. But Eli couldn’t stand not checking, not making sure.

“Sure!” Nicky said, oblivious. “There’s one on my desk.”

Eli remembered to say, “thanks,” as he all but rushed to Nicky’s room.

“We’ll be out here if you want to come hang after,” Nicky called after him. Eli nodded noncommittally.

The charger was strewn on the desk amongst a pile of Nicky’s belongings. Eli plugged his phone into the wall and did nothing but stare at the black screen until it powered back on. As soon as it did, he snatched it up, immediately flicking to the messages screen.

The heavy feeling of guilt was immediate. He knew there were over a dozen messages from Kit he’d left on read, dating all the way back to before he’d left town. ‘Hey E, hope you’re doing okay,” and “heard you’ve moved out.” They’d gotten less frequent, but not disappeared entirely, as the weeks without a reply from Eli dragged on.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to reply – he’d read them all, over and over, tried time and time again to draft a response. But he hadn’t been able to press send. Hadn’t been able to come up with a reply that he believed wouldn’t hurt Kit more than no reply at all.

What could he say? Sorry for leaving you behind, sorry for being a bad friend, sorry, sorry, sorry. Kit would tell him not to apologise. They would tell him he had nothing to be sorry for.

They were too good of a friend, too good of a person. Eli hadn’t wanted them to have to keep dealing with him and all his problems. It had been easier to just – say nothing. To cut himself out of their life. To leave the messages on read.

And yet, they had continued to message into the void. “I’m here if you want to talk,” and “it’s okay if you can’t.”

Eli didn’t need to open the text chain to see there was a new unread message from Kit. He didn’t want to – couldn’t stand to – know what it said. All that mattered was that he knew now the text Roland had seen had been from them, not anyone else.

He tried to ignore the strange sting of disappointment that came with the confirmation as he powered the phone back off and shoved it into the drawer. He lay down on Nicky’s bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to remind himself of the letters of Kit’s name spelt across his screen, the undeniable truth.

It wasn’t Jordie.