#mecs

He shut his eyes closed.

He was fucking outed, in front of people who barely knew him, people who might as well be considered strangers. He was denied the liberty of declaring who he was out of his own mouth and instead was exposedwithout his license, his assent, his permission.

Eliott knew what it meant to be struck when submerged bleeding, being ripped open as if the wound had been healed when it hadn’t been even properly treated.

And the one thing he wasn’t in denial of was his role in this.

If he had just-Eliott exhaled harshly-told him. Said anything. Offered an explanation, no matter how vague. Maybe this would have been different. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so foul.

It racked his mind until it throbbed, tore into his thoughts until nothing but what could have been-scenarios, swallowed his mind whole.

Maybe, just maybe, Lucas would have still had the autonomy to decide for himself who he was without someone having to scream at it him.

“Eliott?”

He snapped his eyes open, blinking.

Her blushed cheeks, oversized umbrella shielding her from the drizzle, familiar copper hair: they all registered.

“We met a couple of days ago? I’m Manon.” She gave a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s void of malice but clear of any goodwill. She had already decided who he was and Eliott remarked that nothing he would say or do, would reshape her thoughts of who he was.

Eliott swallowed.

The plastic bag wrapped against her chest grabbed Eliott’s attention. He noticed the gauze, antiseptic, bandages, a flask of Tylenol-

Lucas.

“Did some-“ his voice clamped shut, instinctively. Eliott gritted his jaw as he freed words clamored in his throat. “Is he hurt?”

Her gaze softened. She glanced down at what he had been momentarily looking at a few seconds ago. She rose her head, eyes gentle as she whispered: “He’ll be okay.” As if she was convincing herself more-so than him. As if she hoped that there was no alternative than to be okay.

Eliott’s ears drummed from what was implicit in her response: he’s hurt.

Lucas was bruised, not in a way that could be hidden by skin and bones but undisguised and apparent on his flesh by his torn blood vessels.

Manon was closer to him, her hand gripping his wrist as she whispered, concerned. “Eliott, come up and talk to him.” Her voice was urgent, compelling him to wonder what more was buried behind the need to even ask of him.

If he was Eliott 321, without a second thought he’d be offering anything and everything until he exhausted his resolve, just for Lucas to consider forgiving him. But he was just Eliott, the same person who didn’t rationalize the existence of parallel universes and numerous outcomes for one single scenario until just last week.

His eyes glossed, thoughtlessly. He swiped his hands roughly against his eyes, averting his gaze as he looked towards the footpath across the street. The one they both had walked beside one another just a mere few days ago.

Everything was so balanced then. Naivety devoured both of them. Blindness, not ignorance, had masked them from seeing what was never hidden. 

“I should go.” Eliott tugged his hand only to be stilled when Manon gripped a little harder, enough to have him freeze where he stood, breath abated.

Her wavering eyes pierced through Eliott’s skull, had him drowning under her watchful stare.

She doesn’t say anything, only squeezing his wrist after a quietness that answered her latent questions, were assuaged and had settled between them.

When the latch shut behind him, Eliott lifted his head up. He slipped the hoodie over his head, pulling the zipper up until it covered his mouth. He steadied his gaze on the familiar window, braced himself and waited.

He waited that entire night until he knew what he waited for.

He waited until his shoulders no longer weighed him down, his ribcage no longer pressed into his abdomen, his chest ceasing to beat heavily into his flesh, until his breath was equaled and easier to let out-