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Elliott tried to shut the door as quietly as possible, he really did. What felt like a tip-toe and a slow-motion press was, in reality, him clambering into the apartment at half-past one and all but slamming the door. He winced as the latch caught, and threw a furtive glance across the room. They were due to move out of the main tower soon- there were piles of boxes shoved against the kitchen bar, and the couch was heaped with more folded boxes and tape guns. Most of Elliott’s desk had already been cleared away, but Bloth was dragging their feet in taking down their altar and Artur’s perch. Right now the raven was giving Elliott a beady-eyed glare, feathers fluffed in drowsy outrage.
He took one step further into the apartment and heard the bedroom door open. Bloth emerged, sleep rumpled, mouth a hard line. Elliott doesn’t miss the blade in their hand that gets discarded on the counter when they notice him half-crouched in the entryway.
“What are you doing?”
“Tr-try-trying to be quiet, duh.” He stands up straight now and abandons all pretense, tossing his keycard onto the counter as he approaches. Bloth presses thumb and forefinger into their eyes and sighs tiredly.
“I am going back to bed. Please do not throw up anywhere that is not the bathroom, if you can help it.”
“Awww, babe. I love you too.” Elliott presses his hand to his chest and sighs dreamily. They reward him with an eyeroll, and allow him a grabby hug.
“You smell.” They tell him plainly.
“Like I-I-I’m the worst thing you’ve ever smelled. Remember when-when you-” He hiccups and grins. “-the mud, in Runoff, remember when it got stuck in your respirator tube?”
Bloth has a surprisingly strong stomach. He’s seen them eat things that no human should ever even look at, let alone willingly consume. They’re also... somewhat lenient on their own bathing. But the instance to which Elliott is referring still makes them blanch noticeably.
“Why must you remind me?” His fiancé groans. He laughs as they shove weakly at him, and then releases them.
“‘m just a littttttle drunk. Not that bad, in comparison. S’all I’m saying.” It’s just alcohol, after all. He starts to pull odds and ends from his pockets, coins and bills and receipts and two different packs of cards. Bloth raises an eyebrow at the trick deck but blessedly says nothing. Elliott smiles to himself and kicks off his boots.
“Thought you were goin’ to bed.”
“I suppose I should make sure you make it there as well.” They lean their hip against the half-wall between the kitchen and the hall, and give him a once over. He wonders if they’re looking at the glitter or the confetti. Probably both. Some of it falls from his hair when he runs a hand through it. Elliott turns a smarmy smile on them and looks them up and down, from their toes curled against the cold floor, up their lightly furred, scarred legs, their strong thighs, the tiny roll of their stomach visible under their t-shirt from how they’re leaning, finally stopping at their sleep-lined face haloed in a mop of black curls.
“Absolutely not.” They deadpan when their eyes meet.
“I have no clue what you’re talk-talk-talking about.” He slides a hand into the collar of his shirt to scratch at his shoulder, then idly begins unbuttoning it one-handed. Their eyes track the movement, and their mouth does a funny little twitch. He bites his lip and they growl.
“Elliott.”
“Houndie.”
“Bed. I have a match tomorrow.”
“Hey can’t a guy just get un-under-und-undressed?”
“Not while making those eyes at me.” Their voice has little heat to it, and he sees them shuffle their feet. It takes an enormous amount of brainpower that he hardly has at the moment to not visibly fist pump. He’s definitely not going to follow through on the teasing- even if he was capable of getting it up right now, he’s come to understand how strict they are about being cognizant when they... engage. Doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun, though.
“And what eyes are those?” He asks, batting his eyelashes the whole time and shucking off his button-up as he goes.
Their own eyes drop down as he loosely balls up the shirt and tosses it into the hamper, left askew in the main hall. They linger even when he thumbs his belt, and then turn on their heel. “On second thought, you can sleep on the couch.”
“Wh- babe!” He splutters out a laugh and worms out of his pants, hopping on one foot through the kitchen and just barely catching the door before they close it. Elliott shoulders through and they side-step toward the bed, which is piled high with blankets.
“No funny business.” They remind him as they delve back under the covers. He smiles softly at the way their hair pokes out of the nest, and kicks his jeans off before joining them. Much grumbling emanates from their side of the bed as he gets comfortable, until he’s sliding up behind them and winding an arm around their waist. As much as they had complained, they still allow him his tipsy snuggling, finally settling a hand on his forearm and sighing.
“…Did you have a good time?” They ask, muffled by their pillow.
“Mmh. I guess.” He leans up on his forearm and brushes their hair aside so that he can press his mouth to the nape of their neck. “I’m home before two, you tell me.”
They turn suddenly in his arms, and he drops his head to the pillow to look at them eye to eye, their noses brushing. Bloth lifts a hand and delicately swoops their pointer finger across the corner of his eye, flicking away a speck of glitter with a wrinkle of their nose. “This is an important tradition to you, yes? If you would still like to be out-”
“Uh-uh.” Elliott shakes his head. “Wanna be here with you.”
A warm hand curls around his neck, and he hums as they scratch lightly at his hairline. He sighs and closes his eyes, lets sleep start to sweep over him as they tuck him close to their chest. “You are sure this is what you want, Elliott?”
Though drunk, he’s almost positive the question has very little to do with cutting his bachelor party short. Still, he mumbles into their chest, “As if I wanna get this drunk and then run around playing a bloodsport all day.” Anymore, is his unspoken caveat.
“Maybe not tomorrow, but-”
“Bloth.” He whines. “I thought we agreed, I’m quitting. And what happened to all that st-stuff before, about having a match tomorrow?”
“Right.” They idly scratch his scalp again, lulling him into a soft haze. “Goodnight.”
Elliott wraps his arm around them again, tucking his hand against their back. He’d made his mind up about this a long time ago, before they’d ever started seeing one another. And he’d never ask them to stop. But for him, it was a no brainer. He appreciated the sentiment, knew that as certain as he was, they needed their own peace of mind. That was why he loved them; and that was why he was sure he had made the right decision to leave the Games at the end of the season. For now, it was their little secret. He leaned up, pressing a smile against their throat. He was happy, in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. In a way he hadn’t thought he would ever be again.
“G’night.”