i live for the gay panic

Eliott watches couples walk down the street from his position on top of the hill, nothing but little stick figures with thick jackets and dark beanies. A car passes by every few minutes, sometimes two, although Eliott doesn’t hear them over the soft piano melodies playing from his phone, only sees them whenever he looks up from his old notebook.

It’s been a rough week for him. Rougher than it’s been in a long time. The dark had finally caught up on him and sank its cold claws on his stomach, leaving him wheezing for far longer than he’s capable of holding his breath. And now his exhausted body is paying the price.

Days turned into nights, that turned into nothing, and before Eliott knew it, a new month had started, and he had wasted the last week of February holed up in bed. And it’s hard, sometimes, most of the times, even worse with the people he has, and the kindness he can’t give back.

It’s hard when his mama makes his favorite dish, even though he knows she hates it, knows by the way her nose scrunches up at the mention of it, if only to make him smile, and Eliott- he’s just so tired. So tired that thinking about having to chew something inside his mouth makes him want to cry, so he only says thank you with a halfhearted smile before retiring back to his empty bedroom, with his cold sheets and the broken guitar he tore to pieces last week by the door.

It’s hard when his friends, the few he has, ask him how he’s doing, if there’s anything they can do, anything, we’re here if you want to talk, always, because you know it helps, and Eliott does know, only he’s afraid he’s not strong enough to not let himself bleed out on the sidewalk the moment his thoughts start pouring out of him, so he just shrugs, a weak lift of his shoulders, not at all genuine, while his mind quietly screams Can’t you see? Can’t you see I’m dying inside?

But he doesn’t, and his friends don’t push. And he’s grateful for that, he is, really, but sometimes a sick, selfish part of him wishes they would push, just a little, just to show that they care. And then he hates himself a little more for that thought, because they care enough to respect his boundaries, but it’s never enough for Eliott, is it? Because he’s selfish, selfish, selfish, selfish.

He just feels so alone, no matter what he does, or how many people surround him and coddle over him, he can’t help but feel alone. Hollow. Rotten inside. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him – or, he does. He just doesn’t know why it had to be him.

He hugs his legs closer to his chest, feeling impossibly small and stupidly lonely the first afternoon of March. His fingers are freezing around the pen, hands cold on the paper, almost as cold as his nose, as he messily scribbles word after word. Anything that comes to his mind is printed on the yellow pages, strings of words put together that don’t necessarily mean anything, whatever it takes to distract his mind from the ugly thoughts smiling creepily at him from the highest throne in the confines of his own head.

He’s so engrossed in the notebook in front of him that he doesn’t notice another presence next to him until a jacket covered arm brushes against his shoulder. Eliott looks up quickly from the work between his knees with a small gasp, staring carefully at the boy sitting next to him.

He definitely wasn’t here when Eliott got here.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” The boy smiles awkwardly, squirming under Eliott’s unwavering gaze. “Do you mind sharing your tree? Or? I can go if I’m bothering you, I’m sorry. I should have asked before just coming here and sitting down, and-”

“Hello.” Eliott interrupts, mumbles, a little bit surprised and a lot confused, and wholly entranced by the boy sitting next to him. “You can stay, I don’t mind.”

The boy snaps his mouth shut, his blue eyes studying Eliott with fragile hope, and Eliott schools his expression into something honest, honest enough that they boy won’t fear he’s going to snap and tell him to leave him alone.

He’s pretty, the boy. Beautiful in a way not many boys are, Eliott thinks, in a way most people aren’t. With his pink lips and pink cheeks, his hair a mess from the wind, and Eliott wouldn’t mind trying to brush his fingers though the wild strands of hair that seem to stick up at all directions to its own accord. It’s a weird thought to have about a stranger, but Eliott is well past weird.

“Um…” The boy starts again, burying his face further into his red scarf until the fabric brushes against his bottom lip. He looks between Eliott and the spare space between their legs, expectantly, and Eliott quickly wiggles to the side, leaving enough space for the boy to rest his back against the tree.

“Oh shit, yeah.” Eliott moves his things with him, embarrassed, putting one finger on the page he was on. “Now we’re tree buddies.”

The boy giggles breathlessly, a sound so cute that Eliott’s heart slows for a beat before the loud thumping goes up to his throat. He has to bite his cheek as the boy moves closer until their sides are pressed together, both of their backs resting against the large tree. And just like that, they’re sharing the tree.

Eliott fiddles with the earbuds dangling off his neck, not sure how to venture the awkward silence that suddenly settles over them. What’s the procedure for talking to a boy who approaches you in a deserted hill in the middle of nowhere, asks you if you can share your tree with them (it’s not even his tree, he just happened to conveniently sit against it) and smiles prettily at you when you answer them that of course, you can share it with them?

“Do you…?” The boy trails off, saving Eliott from a helpless spiral of desperation, pretty blush high on his ears. “Here,”

And then there’s a pair of white gloves on Eliott’s lap, very soft looking, a big contrast to the worn out black leather jacket he’s wearing. Eliott gives the gloves a questioning glance before turning to look at the boy. “What?”

The boy squirms uncomfortably again, the blush traveling up to his cheekbones. “I just- I saw you over there,” he says, pointing to a small clear with a bench on the other side of the road. Eliott follows his movements dumfounded. “And you looked very cold. I don’t need them, I can put my hands on my pockets. But you do, so if you want to use them…”

Oh.

Where did this sweet boy come from?

“Oh,” Eliott exhales softly, turning the gloves in his hands slowly and staring at them in wonder. “Thank you.”

Eliott hears the relieved sigh the boy heaves when he moves to put the gloves on, smiling a little to himself as a sudden warmth kisses his frostbitten fingers.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” Eliott exhales again, and the boy nods, satisfied with himself, tucking his legs to his chest as he stares at the buildings ahead of them.

“You’re welcome.” The boy whispers at last, eyes set on the passing cars at the bottom of the hill, the pretty blush on his ears still visible.

And Eliott wants to touch. Brush his cheeks with his thumb. Kiss his nose until it’s no longer cold. But he doesn’t. Instead, he moves to put one earphone on before nudging the other boy with his shoulder and offering him the spare one.

“Do you want to share?” Eliott asks timidly, nervous smile in place as he watches the boy’s eyes light up at the suggestion.

The boy nods, inching closer to Eliott as he pops the spare earphone into his ear.

“I’m Eliott.” Eliott says after a while, not looking up from his notebook.

He feels the boy’s breath hitch before he presses harder against his side, “Lucas.” The boy says, loud and clear, clearer than he’s heard him sound all afternoon. “My name is Lucas.”

Eliott nods in acknowledgement, pressing back against Lucas, hiding the small grin on his face behind the collar of his jacket as his gloved hands draw places of sunflowers and galaxies of blue.