[ OVERSIZED ]: sender is wearing receiver's oversized hoodie or shirt with nothing underneath. (for elliott!)
Elliott couldnโt remember a time when family dinners werenโt a goddamn endurance test. Youโd think, with most of them dead, it mightโve made things quieter, calmerโless mouths vying for control of the conversation. Malcolm, with his delusions of legacy, his suffocating stare. Carver, always picking a fight, playing the contrarian just to be seen. Bethany, all wide-eyed optimism that, in hindsight, was just another way of coping with the darker side of her family's collextive identity.
Now it was just him and Leandra, locked in this endless game of sharp remarks and emotional bait, Elliott for once doing everything in his power not to let his temper take the reins while she drowned herself one pill and one glass at a time. Maybe the benzos softened her edge, but the wine always dragged the worst of her back to the surface.
He tried. He really did. He told himself she was grieving, that this version of her was shaped by the husband, the children she's lost. But sympathy didnโt always come easy when your skin burned hot enough to scorch napkins, when you were counting down the seconds to the inevitable explosion that would end the night. For all the damage Elliott had doneโpersonally, professionallyโit was Leandraโs presence that overwhelmed him with guilt.
Astoria, though? She doesnโt share that same sympathy, nor desire for restraint. In the moment it might be frustrating for him to try and reign her in (to varying degrees of success) but in hindsight, heโs always grateful.
Even if he has a hard time saying it aloud.
He drops her off at the penthouse first, telling her to go on up without him so he can grab some more whiskey and cigarettes. Not that he needs eitherโheโs got enough supplies stashed in that oversized apartment to outlast a blizzardโbut what he really needs is a moment alone. Time to think. To cool off. Literally.
By the time he makes it back, Astoria isnโt in the living room where he expected her. Not gone, exactlyโjust not there.
โShithole down the street only had the twelve year,โ he calls out, kicking off his shoes, the bottle dangling from his fingers as he scans the room.His eyes land on the couch. Socks, tossed lazily over the arm. His brows draw together as he follows the trailโtrousers, a blouse, undergarmentsโall leading toward the open sliding door that spills out onto the massive balcony.
โAstoria?โ he calls again, licking his lips as he steps out into the crisp New York air, the sun dipping low behind the skyline.
And then he sees her. Silhouetted against the burnished sky, a cascade of red curls falling against her shoulders.
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he notices what sheโs wearing.
His most despised Hawke Foundation-branded garment. A sweatshirt heโd buried in the back of the closet years agoโthe one with the companyโs old slogan plastered across the front in cracked block letters:
"The Hawke Foundation: Soaring Into Tomorrow!"
And below it, a giant, cartoonish hawk mid-flight, looking more like a middle school mascot than the face of a multi-million dollar philanthropic empire.
He remembered trashing the design the second it crossed his desk. Some clerical error meant five thousand of the damn things got ordered anyway.It was stupid. It was ugly. It was everything he hated.
โLike what you see, darling?" She cooed, their vast size difference evidently causing the hem of the sweatshirt to fall to her mid-though, though even without the discarded clothing as confirmation, he could have easily guessed there was nothing underneath.
Haphazardly tossing the whiskey bottle against the cushions of one of the nearby adirondack chairs, he instead stepped closed to her, calloused hands cradling her face, the edges of his fingers curling into the hair against her scalp.
โFuck no.โ Elliott murmured, learning in and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips, the heat scorching at his chest cooling to an easy, safe warmth as any remaining tension in his body began to melt away.
โBut Iโm sure Iโll change my mind once you peel off a coupleโa layers.โ