Work Text:
Ping!
The phone screen lights up, sending a beam of rectangular light shuffling through the cracks between phone case and dresser. It’s a quiet sound, but Elias isn’t really asleep yet anyway, so he turns over in his large bed and picks up the phone.
He’s expecting a bank statement, or some kind of news notification, an email, a death threat.
It’s none of these.
It’s a message from Peter.
Be in London shortly , Elias reads, then reads it again. Shortly. Trust Peter to be vague. ‘Shortly’ could mean anything from within the next few minutes to within the next week. Elias shuffles under the covers until he is closer to the dresser and sits up, leaning against the headboard. The blankets pull hopelessly at his knees as he does so, but he ignores them, staring at that tiny notification. Then he flicks it to the left, hits clear, and puts his phone back down. His eyes take time to readjust to the dim starlight filtering through the curtains, and when they do the room seems larger than before; the bed seems bigger. It’s a king bed , Elias remembers, It’s supposed to house two people .
Oh, that’s just like Peter.
Elias shuffles around again until he’s sleeping in the center of the bed, taking up as much space as possible. Trust Peter to make him miss the way the mattress can dip. Trust Peter to remind him of how sometimes the blankets need to be clutched keenly to keep them covering the entire bed. Trust Peter to make him feel lonely.
Elias harrumphs, and pushes the thoughts from his mind. As best he can anyway. His mind has already hooked on the idea and set sail, and it’s all Elias can do from keeping the tendrils of thought from reaching his heart.
When Elias wakes up he’s forgotten about the message. It’s only when he’s heading from his bedroom into the bathroom, thinking to skim whatever news there is while brushing his teeth, that he opens his phone and sees the small red notification. There’s nothing else for it: his heart skips a beat --- but when he tries to really listen to the house all there is are the usual creaks and shudders. Peter isn’t here. Elias brushes his teeth with a tad more animosity than usual, and spends the entire time watching his own reflection.
Elias is subconsciously aware that his eyes drift to his phone with a greater frequency. His work is interesting, his spreadsheets fine, yet Elias suddenly realizes that he’s been staring at his phone’s lock screen for … how many minutes? The phone screen goes black and Elias clicks it on again, but no new messages are forthcoming.
Typical Peter.
That night he’s jumpy, twitchy, and irritable. He tries reading, but has trouble staying focused. He pulls out the cookware to start making dinner and suddenly loses interest and patience, opting to aggressively microwave a frozen easy dinner instead. He barely tastes the flavour, never considers a glass of wine, and is thoroughly surprised to discover how late it is. Elias prepares for bed almost with excitement. It’s only as he’s about to turn out the lights that he realizes, again, that Peter isn’t there. He sits down angrily on the bed, driving his heels repeatedly into what is usually Peter’s side, Peter’s pillow, before shutting off the lights. He turns his back to that side to ignore it. He’s sleeping on his side, as if there’s two people there, as if at any moment he’ll feel the sinking of the mattress, that inevitable sinking like the trough of a wave rolling him down to the arms of the waiting sea.
Elias wakes up and his fingers brush cold mattress when he stretches out his hand.
Elias sets out two mugs for coffee before remembering that Peter doesn’t like coffee. Then he remembers Peter isn’t there.
Elias peeks into the living room before heading out the door, but the chairs are all empty and the ugly red pillows that Peter hates are still on the couch.
Elias locks the door and there are no lights on in the house.
Elias asks Rosie if she’s received any messages for him, but the only envelopes she hands him are official, and none of them are from the Lukas family.
Elias spends his time in a small room surrounded by other small rooms in a big building with multiple floors full of people hard at work and running into each other with Rosie just outside the door and he feels very, very alone.
Elias tries to find Peter that night, but the oceans are large and Peter is very well hidden. He opens his phone, stares at Peter’s message and considers messaging him back. Then he closes his phone and smoothes his eyebrows back to their usual sophisticated position.
The next day is much the same as the one before, except that the creeks of the house seem louder. The people outside his window seem to be always walking with at least one other person. Rosie’s talking to someone when he gets to work, Elias doesn’t care who, and stops the conversation to acknowledge him - but it’s formal and formulaic and when Elias is closing his office door he can hear her laughing. Every email Elias opens seems blank and uninviting - so different from the hand written letters he used to receive: each stroke of the pen an indication of the mind of another, the rough velvet of the parchment in his hands, the intimate knowledge that this person knew him - to some extent at least.
On the fourth day Elias stares at Peter’s message and is filled with such sudden resentful wrath that he responds It does not become a businessman to deal with such vague language as ‘shortly’. If you mean a week, say a week, and if you mean a fortnight then for fuck’s sake don’t use the word ‘shortly’. Peter, in typical fashion, does not respond, though Elias is sure he is laughing. Laughing, which makes Elias feel sick to the stomach and push away all thoughts of Peter for the rest of the day. He almost doesn’t check his phone when he gets back from work. He’s managed to ignore it all though dinner and has even turned off all notifications. But he picks it up before heading upstairs, turning it over idly in his hands, and there is a response from Peter.
Have you ever considered becoming a teacher? You have the skill set for it.
Which makes Elias lose his shit. He screams aloud, nearly throws his phone at the wall, barely restrains himself from setting Peter’s pillow on fire, and goes to bed fuming. He sleeps on Peter’s side. It’s an effort to show Peter he doesn’t need him.
(It’s an effort to show him he does.)
Elias wakes up with his face half buried in a cold dead pillow that has been used for the first time in five months. It smells a bit like fust, and nothing like Peter. When he brushes his teeth the eyes in the mirror shimmer as if under a thin film of water.
When Elias sits down at his desk to get to work he’s surprised to find another message from Peter. If those accursed red pillows have not been burnt, thrown out, and pissed on by a racoon I am leaving for another five months. Elias nearly laughs. He makes a mental note to hide the red pillows in a garbage bag under the bed (where he knows Peter won’t check) and messages him back.
The red pillows were a wedding present, Peter. They’re good quality. I’m not burning them.
Peter’s response is immediate. Surprising. Great. I’ll get you more as a divorce present.
Elias thinks it’s a joke, he’s almost certain it’s a joke, but the possibility that it’s not sends a thrum of fear through his heart. Shortly , his heart whispers, shortly . He’s afraid of what would happen if ‘shortly’ became ‘never’. He won’t let it happen. He can’t.
Fine. The red pillows go. One condition.
Here we go… Peter writes, and Elias can hear him saying it: with a roll of his eyes and a huff of his breath and that underlying irritation.
Tell me when you get back.
No.
Elias chews on his lip, frowning. Now what can he say? He doesn’t want to admit how much he wants Peter to come home. Their relationship doesn’t work like that. It’s a fine dance of pride and care and way too much betting as a means of communication. Besides, that would mean Peter is winning.
Send me a picture of where you are and the pillows go.
The three dots appear and then leave. They leave for so long that Elias starts to think that he’s angered Peter. Well of course he’s angered Peter, he knew he’d anger Peter, but he hopes it’s not too much. God, how he hopes.
Peter sends a picture of what is probably a floor. It’s blurry and there’s no defining features, but a floor is technically “where he is”. A message floats up after the image: Happy?
Any last words for the red pillows?
Good riddance. Die horribly.
Elias does laugh at that. It’s a feeling that carries him through the day and into the night. Elias puts the red pillows away and almost considers burning them. In the end he doesn’t. If their relationship goes sour, as it often does, it will be nice to have something he can put out to spite Peter.
The next day is a weekend, which means it’s harder to get distracted. The hope in his heart, fueled by yesterday’s text conversation, has solidified into a thrumming that keeps pushing at the corners of his mouth. Elias tries to keep it in check, but that lets in the other emotion: the fear that Peter won’t come. That he’ll keep telling Elias ‘ shortly, shortly ’; keep him baited and waiting and hoping and lonely. It would be just like Peter.
It’s the first of the weekends, though. There’s always tomorrow. And Sunday just seems like the more likely day for Peter to pick. The looming Monday gives the ultimate dread of separation from the familiar back to the drudge of the workday and since Elias has to go to work it limits the contact they can have and the time to get on each other’s nerves. Tomorrow , Elias thinks. Tomorrow , his pulse whispers. Tomorrow , the calendar by the sink promises. Tomorrow .
It’s Sunday, and Elias wakes before his alarm. It doesn’t much matter, as he takes more time than usual picking an outfit, though only his subconscious acknowledges the reason. He takes more care brushing his teeth, spends more time fixing his hair, and makes too much breakfast, but that’s okay because he can pack it away for Peter to eat later. He watches the news for a couple of hours, then fixes a quick lunch and eats it on a walk. In the afternoon he drives to the edge of the city to a nondescript place where he and Peter always meet.
And he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
The air is becoming cold with night and Elias is shivering. The surrounding streets are all empty. There is a fog blowing in with the breeze.
And Peter.
Isn’t.
Here.
The day isn’t over--
He could still be coming--
But it is, but he isn’t. Elias sinks to his knees on the cold hard ground, whose unending support seems a cruel mockery. He covers his face in his hands and keeps his breathing steady and tries to convince himself that the heat of his eyes is only a byproduct of the blood within his palms. He gets up. He drives home. He goes to bed. The bed seems to swallow him whole, and still Elias doesn’t cry.
The next day is a workday, and Elias is cold, and brutal, and empty. He turns his notifications back on. He reads the news with grim satisfaction that pulls his lips into a sneer. He makes coffee because he knows Peter hates it and he takes out the red pillows and throws them on Peter’s side of the bed. Now it looks like the bed is bleeding, but that’s only his heart. He goes to bed angry and intends to wake up that way.
He doesn’t wake up angry. He wakes up feeling an empty sadness, like fog over an endless sea. Elias packs away the pillows again. He doesn’t want to think about Peter, and a reminder that he’s angry at Peter makes him think about Peter. The house seems extra silent today. Good. Elias isn’t in the mood for an interaction, even if it’s just with a creaky house. He calls in sick, intending to work at home. He works at the dining room table with his back to the window and the bright sky outside.
And then there’s a ping!
Elias isn’t expecting anything when he picks up his phone. It’ll be an email, a news notification, a death threat.
It isn’t any of these. It’s a singular word. A word from Peter .
Here.
Elias stares at the word. He stares and stares and stares. Then he jumps up on autopilot, grabs his keys, nearly forgets to lock the door, and is speeding away before he can process exactly what Peter’s text means.
He’s really here. He’s home.
Elias parks a few blocks away, somewhere not visible from their meeting point and walks the rest of the distance, slowing his heart and slowing his breath until he’s walking at a leisurely stroll. He turns the corner.
And there’s Peter.
Elias walks up to him. “Peter,” Elias says, calmly, as though the past eight days never happened.
“Elias,” Peter responds. He tips his hat.
“You’ve aged,” says Elias, because it’s the cruelest jab he can think of at the moment.
“So have you,” Peter raises an eyebrow. “At least I’m not the one who’s gotten shorter.”
“If I’m your definition of ‘short’, then your definition of ‘shortly’ needs a lot of improvement.”
“It was only eight days.”
“Yes, eight.” Elias crosses his arms. “Which is more than a week. Rounding up, it’s closer to a fortnight. Which isn’t ‘shortly’, Peter.”
Peter chuckles. He takes a step forward. He takes off his hat and presses it to his chest in an unconscious motion. “Missed me, did you?”
“You wish,” Elias huffs. Peter stops in front of him. Elias uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on his hips. “Is there anything you wish to say to the husband you’ve abandoned for five months?”
“No,” says Peter. “And I thought you didn’t miss me.”
Elias goes on his toes and Peter leans down so that he can kiss Peter’s cheek. Peter smells like salt. And fog. And a bit like engine oil. His whiskers scratch and tickle Elias’s lips and Elias is very tempted to tell Peter to shave. Elias begins to relax back down to the ground when Peter’s hand comes to rest on his back and Peter turns his head, leaning down further to catch Elias’s lips.
Holding Elias close. Not letting him slip away.
Elias wants to sob. Elias wants to cry. Instead he winds his fingers painfully tight in Peter’s beard - Peter hisses a breath in response, his teeth pinch Elias’s lip - and drags him closer. It isn’t quite loving. It isn’t quite hurtful. It’s the culmination of every emotion Elias has felt from the last eight days and the last five months. Peter loosens Elias’s hold on his beard, pulling away, and all Elias wants is to pull him closer, closer, closer.
But Peter doesn’t let him go. He just makes the kiss softer. Kinder. And Elias is suddenly ashamed of how much he’s missed Peter, and how Peter certainly knows it now. Of how Peter’s won.
He breaks away from Peter. Peter’s hands grasp at his shirt, but can’t stop Elias from stepping away.
Elias looks up at Peter and his gaze is angry. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he accuses. “To get me to miss you. To make me lonely.”
“Elias…,” Peter sighs, because this really isn’t what he wants right now, because whatever he says it won’t be correct. To some extent this is their relationship: the push and pull between opposing forces, trying to exert some manner of influence over the other. “Elias, let’s not do this now.”
“Then what do you propose we do instead, Peter?” Elias fumes. His eyes tear holes in Peter’s skull when Peter braves meeting them. Elias is thinking about the red pillows. He thinks about beating Peter with them. Maybe they could have a pillow fight. Maybe they’d laugh.
“Elias,” says Peter. “Please.”
He stretches out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Elias takes it. Peter has just got home, and he wants a few nice days. Peter reals him in like a fish on a line and Elias smiles despite himself. He buries his face in Peter’s chest.
“I did miss you,” Elias admits in a whisper.
“I got home as soon as I could,” Peter whispers back, which is a lie but a nice one. Elias looks up at him.
“I got rid of the pillows, like you asked,” says Elias, because it’s also a lie and Peter knows it.
“When we get home,” Peter tips Elias’s chin up a little further, “we burn them. For good. And spend a nice, romantic night in front of the fireplace.”
Elias closes his eyes and shakes his head, but it’s a yes and they both know it. He kisses Peter again, and then takes him by the arm and leads him to the car. They spend the drive home in comfortable silence. Peter doesn’t discuss his recent voyage, and Elias doesn’t ask him to. He’s content to have Peter there beside him, to have Peter’s hand on his knee, to catch glimpses of the way Peter looks at him when he thinks Elias isn’t paying attention. There isn’t any radio. There’s hardly any noise from the car. In the future there might be radio. In the future there might be terrific, horrifying, destruction of all anyone knows and loves, but here in this moment there is just them.
Peter and Elias.
Together.