Work Text:
If Elliott is anything, he’s reliable. But he’s not exactly a reliable source.
You’re not thinking this out of anything but love. Messy, complicated love that bleeds into an amalgamation of something that doesn’t know what it is. But, as Elliott likes to remind you while pulling your cheeks into a smile, you looooove him. He can see it, and you can see it, so what name you put to it doesn’t really matter. Or at least, it shouldn’t.
The love you share, whatever it may be, is strong enough to have gotten you through a multitude of troubles. But it’s not strong enough to blind you to his faults.
Elliott would say it’s precisely the strength in your love that lets you see his imperfections. Then again, he’s also said he’s going to kiss you.
“I’m really gonna.” Based on how your friends were looking at you across the food court, they thought he was going to do it right then, right there.
You wished you didn’t hesitate. “Do it, then.”
“No, not… not today , sunshine. Not when we’re all sweaty from the DDR machine.” Then he laughed, and you wished your friends were right.
Elliott’s always said he never wants you to frown— something about it being equivalent to a stab— so you slumped in your seat and pouted, just to piss him off.
“Aww, don’t make that face.” He was laughing again, and you took a bite of your sandwich hoping you’d choke on it. “ Someday , sunshine. Someday.”
That’s when you knew, in that moment when your friends came back with their food, that you could never truly trust his word. You were right. It’s been an uncountable number of days since then, and none of them have been someday. You can’t even see someday on the horizon, a promise behind the setting sun. You love Elliott in a way that feels suspiciously like being in love with him, but someday is still nowhere to be found.
So when he tells you he’s a Dreamwalker, you don’t let him explain.
“No.” You say. “No, you’re not.”
Elliott’s face falters, like he’s willing to end it there just because you said so. Something starts to rise in your chest, but you stomp it out like an insect. You succeed, but then he’s smiling, and you have to repeat the process all over. “Sunshine.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I can prove it.”
“Do it, then.”
“Well, I can’t do it now. ” Elliott laughs, and it occurs to you that you should be laughing at him. He’s the one who just said something ridiculous. You should be treating him like the world’s dumbest punchline, but his laugh has this pesky habit of completely paralyzing you. “Unless you feel like passing out right about now, sunshine. I mean, I could take care of that part for you, but I doubt you’d appreciate it.”
“… Elliott. Are you gonna roofie me?” Joking with him, moving in closer than best friends do— it’s so familiar to you that you temporarily forget the insanity of what he just confessed to you. “Is that what this is all about? I mean, you can spy on my dreams. That’s already pretty creepy.”
“I don’t spy on your dreams.” He says that a little too definitively. If this is a bit, he’s taking it too far. “And my intentions with you are nothing but pure .”
And then it happens again, the thing that’s going to kill you. The switch being flipped. The air between you shifting out of nowhere. Things getting a little less funny. A hint of a sliver of a chance.
Elliott’s staring at your lips. “You’re going to be completely sober when…”
When? When.
Oh, who are you kidding. He could tell you he’s Santa Claus for all you care. You just hope today is someday.
But Elliott’s trying to convince you he has psychic dream powers. Elliott says things he doesn’t mean. So he pulls away, steps backwards from you, and takes a part of you with him.
“Seven days.” Once your vision stops spinning, it focuses on his hands in front of him. His open palm— something you’ve been intimately familiar with, under the bullshit pretense of comparing sizes — and a peace sign. “Give me a week, sunshine.”
“Alright,” you whisper, and you don’t believe him. “Seven days.”
Elliott waggles his eyebrows at you. “Seven nights , actually.”
That wasn’t a good joke, but you laugh. You steer the conversation to the logistics of his “powers” before you can think about how he looks a little paralyzed.
NIGHT I
Nothing happens.
Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Your dream that night is pretty eventful. It stars you, an acquaintance from middle school, a character from the show you’re currently watching, and an ice cream parlor you went to with Elliott six months ago. Pretty on par with your normal dreams.
Normal dreams . Like there’d be anything abnormal after Elliott’s confession.
Elliott’s confession. It wasn’t the one you’ve been hoping for. You glare at your ceiling for an embarrassing amount of time, before the sound of Elliott climbing through your bedroom window snaps you out of it.
For a couple years, you had this running gag where you’d greet him with a “I could’ve been changing.” It was funny until you actually were changing, and not only did you have to nurse his wounds from the fall, you also had to accept a billion stuttered apologies.
It was just underwear, you told him. No need to freak out about pieces of cloth. He shut up after that, so you could pretend he was freaking out over what he had seen and not what he hadn’t.
Moral of the story, you have nothing to greet him with except a “Hi.”
Instead of returning it, Elliott tumbles on your bedroom floor and says, “I had work.”
“Work.”
“You know how I told you my job is—” The look on your face must convey you’re not buying it. “Okay, it’s a very convenient excuse, I know, but tonight is the night, sunshine. You’re going to believe everything I say after this.”
He’d have to do a hell of a lot to get you there, you think, but you don’t say it. Instead, you stand up and nudge him out of the way with your foot. You have to brush your teeth.
NIGHT II
Elliott was there. But again, that’s nothing new.
When the real Elliott snaps open your window the next morning, he’s even more shit-eating than usual. “I didn’t even need to show my face.” You look at him, and you think you understand him when he says your grin is enough to blind someone. “You were already dreaming about me.”
You’re so glad none of this is real. Your memories of last night’s mental movie are kind of fuzzy, and if your track record with your previous exchanges with Elliott in your dreams are to be trusted, you probably said something really embarrassing .
“What’d I say?” You ask that to challenge him, not for reassurance. Obviously. You don’t know why you’re clarifying this to yourself.
“I don’t snoop.” Elliott shrugs, and you snort at his cop-out. “But I was there. ”
“No, you weren’t.” It’s both a dismissal of his claim and a bad lie.
“Do you give me permission to snoop tonight?”
“You want to snoop on me while I’m sleeping?”
“Y— Wait, hey! Don’t— don’t phrase it like that.”
Even if you were talking about what you’re joking about, you wouldn’t really mind it. There is no one you trust more to watch you sleep.
“Show me you’re really there tonight, Elliott. Then you can worry about my phrasing.”
NIGHT III
“Did you see me?”
“No.”
“ Damn it. ”
NIGHT IV
You’re in the house of a relative, one you haven’t been to in years. The trancelike state of your dream self isn’t the only thing keeping you from feeling nostalgic. Your last visit was before you met Elliot, a time that might as well not exist to you.
“Hey.” Speak of the devil. You turn around to greet your unexpected visitor, and… That’s a bit weird. The house looked normal to you a moment ago, but surrounding him, it looks… blurry. Elliott looks like the focus of a photograph, and not just because of your usual tunnel vision when it comes to him. “Told you I’d show up.”
You realize you’re dreaming. “I’m dreaming.”
“You are, sunshine. And I’m here, aren’t I?” Elliott walks closer to you. He looks so accurate because you spend so much time with him, you think. Yeah, that’s got to be it.
“Sunshine.” He says it like he’s inviting you to move closer.
‘He .’ This isn’t Elliott. This isn’t anyone. This is just you and your subconscious. You’re talking to yourself.
… Still. While Elliott in your dreams isn’t a rare occurrence, awareness that you’re dreaming doesn’t come to you often. Elliott’s talked your ear off about lucid dreaming, and you’ve always been intrigued by it, but you’ve never actually followed through with giving it a try.
Well. Now’s your chance. Your subconscious has given you a freebie, and he’s running his hand through his hair and smiling at you. You could run over to him and pretend it’s someday. If what Elliott’s told you about lucid dreaming is true, you could do anything with him.
But it wouldn’t be him. You’re looking at a pale imitation of the boy who’s told you the methods of controlling your dreams, who’s tugged you close and told you about the stars, too. Despite how real it may seem, this isn’t him. You want to ball up your fists, and you look down at… you’re dreaming. You don’t have a body.
“Oh, shit, that must be pretty disorienting, uh… here.” Okay, there’s your torso.
“Feels good to be back,” you murmur, looking up at a perfect replica of his eyes.
“You were always here. This is your world, sunshine. I’m just… stopping through. Getting some fries in your drive through, you know.” Elliot— Not Elliot— chuckles. “The usual stuff.”
“So now there’s fast food in my dream world?” You deadpan.
“Oh, did I not…” Elliott scrunches his eyebrows and tilts his head at you. It feels so much like him. Too much like him. “Did I not tell you that? Yeah, no, everybody has that.”
“Hmm.” You squint at him, playing along until the reality of the situation hits you again.
“All, uh, all jokes aside…” Elliott puts his hands in his pockets and leans back, taking in his surroundings. “What even is this place? I mean, last night you were dreaming of a place we’ve both been to, so it was easy for me to… Sneak around.”
You don’t respond to his question. He’s part of you, so he already knows the answer. “Sneak around?”
“Yeah, I…” Elliott chuckles. “I know I said I don’t snoop, and I wasn’t lying, I just… I had this idea for a dumb prank, I was gonna wait around until you noticed me, but you never did.”
Great. So even your subconscious is making excuses for his bullshit reasoning. It’s amazing— how you have to fight to make anything he does seem wrong to you.
If figures of your dreams can hear your thoughts, Elliott shows no indication that this is the case. He just walks behind a nearby chair and crouches down. “I was sitting around like this, and I thought you’d hear me giggling, but…”
Okay. You’ll bite. It’ll be good practice for arguing against Elliott in the morning. “Why didn’t you just get my attention before I woke up?”
“Y’know, I thought…” Elliott stands up and throws his arms over the back of the chair. “I thought maybe you saw me? Somehow? But you were just walking right by me. Like, out of spite.” His final sentence gets cut off by a laugh, and he looks at you, tilting his head with an amused smile. Butterflies and fireworks barge into your insides, and you once again have to remind yourself that none of this is real.
“I thought you were just ignoring me.” Elliott adds after a small pause. You don’t know how to tell him that it’s impossible to ignore him. “Aw, sunshine, don’t look at me like that. How can I prove to you that this is actually happening? We could go anywhere, alright… ever seen the Eiffel tower?”
Elliott knows you’ve never seen the Eiffel tower. If this was really him, it’d be a painfully charming attempt at a romantic moment that would lead to nothing. Which is all he seems to do. And since the boy standing in front of you isn’t real, you can be mad at him for it.
What was that Elliott said about lucid dreaming again? I know this sounds like some… Peter Pan shit, but after you realize you’re not awake, you really just gotta believe. Then you can do whatever you want.
You look at the hardwood he’s standing on, and you believe it can swallow him.
Elliott was wrong about this following Peter Pan logic. It works without any pixie dust.
You’re going to have to wait until the morning to tell him that. Right now, you have a dream Elliott to deal with, who curses as he’s plunged into the ground. He claws at the floor, failing to pull himself up, and… this isn’t funny. You don’t feel vindicated. His heavy breathing pounds through your head, louder than a mallet hitting against a gong.
It takes you a second to realize why you feel like every part of you is shattering. It comes to you in a memory of an amusement park, tugging at his arm and pointing towards a roller coaster that reached the clouds. You recognized the expression on his face, one you feel on your own when some expensive car speeds by you, making you want to collapse to the ground and tear out your own ears. Anything to escape the sound of wheels screeching.
You remember how he tried to smile, when he looked at you and said he wasn’t a fan of sudden drops.
“Elliott.” Your voice escapes you in a ragged gasp. Things must be really bad, if he doesn’t try to tell you it’s okay. “ Elliott. ” All of your limbs work in disharmony, each part of your body trying to get to him first. It’s a miracle you don’t trip while running to him. You drop into your knees in front of the chasm, hefting him up, trying not to choke as he desperately reaches for you. When you finally pull him over the ledge, he tumbles to your side, panting and splayed out on his back.
If what Elliott had told you about his powers still applies, he should’ve been able to do that himself. He should be able to do anything.
When you grab his hands, you can’t tell which one of you is shaking. “Please don’t be real.” You whisper, selfishly.
“Shhh,” That wasn’t a no. More importantly, he can’t seem to keep his voice steady.
“Please don’t be real.” Briefly, you marvel at how well your dream translates your voice. It’s been a while since you’ve heard how pathetic you sound as you whimper. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s— It’s alright, sunshine.” Elliott pulls you in to hug him, and while you lament over how this should’ve been your job, you don’t pull away. Even after you realize you can’t see his face when you’re buried in his shoulder. Even after you realize that he did that on purpose.
You stare into Elliott’s arm and grit your teeth and believe, with all your might, that he’s going to lift it. He doesn’t move. “Please.”
When Elliott visits you the next morning, he says he had work the night before. You’re skeptical of it, but not for the same reason you used to be.
NIGHT V
You’re comfortable on your bed, checking your email on your stomach. A famous celebrity— and you’re sure it’s them, not some spam e-mail— is contacting you. Something about being their co-star for something big in the works. Sure, why not. You could use a distraction. The sound of your keyboard clicking fills the room as you type a response— keyboard clicking, and a slight chuckle. You look up.
“I was waiting for you to figure it out.” Elliott waits for you to respond, his eyebrows raised and his smile in place.
You hesitate for a second before tilting the top panel back at you. Instead of examining the computer, you glance at your arm, your hand, your fingers curled around the edge of the screen. Those weren’t there before. You could think about what this implies more if you wanted, but the silence has gone on for long enough. “This isn’t even my laptop.”
“Right, because that’s the weirdest part about this, and not your aspiring acting career.” He says that breathily, half-laughing. Ignoring his quip, you sit on your knees and take in the rest of your body. Your fingers trail over your nose and press into your eyelids. You’re blinking now, instead of viewing your dream through the lens of a camera.
This wouldn’t be the first time Elliott’s pulled your mind from an incoherent state, grounding you back in your body. He’s done that in the waking world dozens of times. Because Elliott is sweet. And Elliott guides you out of your darkest moments. And the last time you were dreaming, you made him relive his car crash.
An inhale shoots through you, and you shake out your arms and head. You hope it looks like you’re re-adjusting to your body, and not like you’re pushing thoughts out of your system. Your frown feels like a stab, he’s told you. You need to be cautious, now that you have a face again, now that he can see what you do with it.
“It wouldn’t have been as fun without you.”
Elliott snorts. “Oh, I know. You were definitely thinking about that.”
You scrunch your eyebrows at him, confused. Elliott points at your computer instead of responding. Not looking away from him, you pull the laptop closer to you, only breaking eye contact when you crack it open. You stare at the blinking line, then skim the preceding sentences.
Can Elliott come? He’s my best friend.
You don’t remember typing that. You don’t remember typing anything, not with solid fingers you can look down at. Still, you must have been feeling it.
No shocker there. That’s what you ask when you get invited anywhere. You’re always looking to have him with you, and when Elliott sits across from you, you remember why. Seeing his face brings you a level of peace you used to think you’d never experience. You want him holding your hand when you’re anxious, grinning with you when you’re happy, right by you when you’re bored out of your mind. You want to experience every part of life with him, because he makes the world a little less scary.
Elliott’s hand grazes yours when he pulls the laptop away, and you remember you just want him. Full stop.
Not now, you think, because he gave you this heart and might be able to feel if it’s racing. Please, not now. Whoever you’re bargaining with doesn’t listen. This is Elliott’s fault, you decide. He’s too close, too handsome— no, you don’t have the right to call him too much of anything. Not after what you did.
“This is pretty cool, sunshine.” Elliott says, hopefully not picking up on your internal crisis. “I think this thing actually has a background, nothing that either of us—”
“I wanna go somewhere.”
He looks up at you. “Where?”
Being given his full attention so quickly makes your face feel hot. You fight the urge to hide your face into a pillow— the cold side, specifically. “The Eiffel tower.”
Elliott’s face falters, just for a second. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Why specifically the…” He must’ve anticipated the conversation that followed would have been equivalent to that time you played Guess Who after peeking at each other’s cards. Nobody would be fooling anyone.
There’s silence for a moment, as you wait for Elliott to choose his next words. His face shifts into a couple of micro-expressions before he settles on beaming at you. Worst part is, it seems genuine. He has to know you’re testing him, and yet the idea of pleasing you makes him this happy.
It’s decided, then. When he brings you to the Eiffel Tower, you’re jumping off it.
“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” Elliott snaps his fingers and snaps you out of your melodrama. The next thing you know, you’re on your feet, looking out at the nighttime skyline of Paris.
Holy shit. You’re looking out at the nighttime skyline of Paris.
A gasp escapes your lips before your eyes even begin to process everything you’re seeing. The first thing you focus on is the stars. Gleaming white, but surprisingly violet-tinted? And very bright. Brighter than they are at your favorite campsite, where the sky is unclouded by light pollution. Brighter than the sun, brighter than a thousand suns. But not brighter than Elliott’s smile at the awe on your face.
“I improvised a bit with the constellations.” He says. “Searching up ‘stars in Paris’ just gave me photoshopped Stock photos and… Is there a name for photos taken by paparazzi? Picarazzi?”
Even while craning your neck up and pacing in a circle to take in every star, you can’t help but participate in the bit. “I don’t think it’s that.”
“No, no, I think it’s that. Except they’re French, so it would be Picarazzi. ”
“... Be glad you didn’t dream up any locals to hear you completely butcher their accent.” When you walk to the edge of the observation deck, you tell yourself it’s to see if he actually did do that. And to determine the logistics of your jumping off plan from earlier. Not because watching Elliott’s eyes crinkle with laughter sends something sharp and painful through your chest.
What you find is a beautiful view, and not a single person in sight. It’s not a matter of the night shrouding your vision— there’s lights all over the city, warm yellow beaming from every building. But no people. Nobody except you and Elliott. Your jaw tightens.
“Okay, maybe my impression leaves… something to be desired.” That’s not the only thing leaving something to be desired. Also, you really hope Elliott’s not reading your thoughts. “But I think the people of Paris would be honored by the beauty I’ve brought here.” You catch a glimpse of his arm in your peripheral vision as he gestures in front of him.
Yeah, that makes sense. If you lived here, you’d probably be honored if someone shaped a dream to admire your hometown. This has to be an accurate replica of the city, and who wouldn’t be amazed with what he’s done with the sky—
Elliott places his hand on top of yours. Your heart stills.
“Paris.” He whispers. “The city of love.”
Silence settles between the two of you. It is the loudest noise you’ve ever heard.
You feel Elliott looking at you, and it burns, so you look up at the sky. Behind all these stars he’s created for you is an inky blackness. Dark as a void, a hole, a sudden drop. Guilt tears through your insides like scissors through paper.
“I’m sorry.” You blurt out.
“Don’t be.” Elliott murmurs, stroking your wrist with his thumb.
“No.” You tighten your grip around the railing. “No, Elliot, I’m sorry for—”
“Hey, hey.” There is something warm in his voice, something that makes your hand loosen. Maybe it’s levity. Maybe it’s just his usual light-heartedness. That hurts, but not more than the other place that warmth could be coming from. “Don’t worry about it, sunshine, it’s really fine.”
“It’s not. ” Elliott slides his hand up and tries to interlock his fingers with yours. Pulling away feels like kicking up with a ball and chain around your ankle, but it’s what needs to be done. The look of hurt on his face is sobering, you tell yourself. You need it. You know how your heart works. One taste of his softness makes you want to drown in it.
And then you blame him for not submerging you.
“Elliot, I hurt you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Sunshine.” There’s that warmth again, pooling in the reflection of his eyes under the stars. Are they glowing purple right now? Are you imagining that?
Elliott takes your hands while you’re distracted. You’re about to pull away when you feel him trembling. Every nerve on your body freezes over. He moves in so close you can hear the tremor in his breathing, and you realize how selfish it’d be to let go. He needs more practice at being protected. He needs this.
“Sunshine, you aren’t what hurt me.” That’s all the detail you need. You glance at the empty roads from the view below, and Elliott follows your gaze. You squeeze his hands, and that’s the end of that. He knows you understand.
You watch Elliott lick his lips and gather his thoughts, hoping he knows you don’t mind waiting. “You’re what takes all that shit away,” is what he settles on. His eyes are actually glowing, you realize. You swear they grow brighter as they look right at you. “You’ve gotten me through so much. And I don’t want you to feel guilty for enjoying all of this, because this is… not even close to being as big as my gratitude for you. Like, I don’t think I could ever make something that’s proportional to how much…”
He’s said it before. You’ve said it to each other before. But Elliott trailing off means that this moment is different.
Oh God. Today could actually be someday.
You feel like you just got to the front of a line for a roller coaster, hit with a sudden surge of but I’m not ready. Which is ridiculous, you are ready. You want this more than anything. But that doesn’t stop nervous tingles from shooting up your arms.
It’d be easy to kiss Elliott right now. Stupidly, ridiculously easy. He’d melt right into your touch once he knew what you were doing. The two of you know how to hold each other, leaving nobody’s arms hanging awkwardly by their sides. Not to mention you’re on the Eiffel Tower, for God’s sake. It’d be straight out of a movie. Once you take the plunge, it would be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
But being the first to lean in would be scary.
When you’re about to board roller coasters— fast ones, fun ones, but rides without sudden drops— Elliott is there to tell you don’t be scared, sunshine, it’ll be fun. And then you’re not scared. Just like that, it transforms into excitement. Anything is easy if he’s there to comfort you.
“I understand,” you whisper.
You understand the stagnation your relationship has been in for years. All this time, you’ve been faulting him for the one thing he couldn’t ask you for reassurance on. He’s trapped in a paradox, an unbreakable loop. I need your help to confess would be a confession.
You understand how much easier it is to be honest in a musty food court, sweaty from the DDR machine.
You understand that your love has a name, one that both you and Elliott have given it. It knows what it is.
You stay like that for a moment, holding onto him in silence. When you slide your hands out of his, you make sure to do so gently. You don’t want him to think you’re pulling away. Elliott gives you a confused smile as you walk to his side. He must see that his words have gotten through to you, though, because he doesn’t say anything.
Clinging to his arm, you lead him to the railing. Elliott rests his head on your shoulder. He doesn’t try to kiss you, but you’re not upset about it. He’s been patient in waiting for you to realize he can build Paris in your mind, so you’ll be patient for him, too.
You could get over your fear, break the loop, and kiss him yourself. If you really wanted to, you could strongarm this beautiful illusion into someday. But you’re not sure if Elliott’s aware of how soft his lips are. When you have your first kiss, you want to be rewarded with what he really feels like. After all, there’s a chance he doesn’t create his form with the same attention he pays to yours. Does he even create his form?
… You’re probably stalling. But you can only stall something inevitable, so right now, this is enough.
“You could never do anything to hurt me, sunshine.” Elliott murmurs.
“Oh yeah?” Your dream doesn’t just translate your crying well, it also carries your snark. You like it. Happy sounds good on you. “What if I pushed you off this ledge right now?”
Elliott grins at you. “It’d hurt more if you jumped.”
NIGHT VI
He’s not there that night, but he’s there the next morning, and that’s what matters.
The sound of Elliott snapping your window lock open wakes you up. “Work has been kicking my ass , sunshine.”
You turn your head and smile at him. “I could’ve been changing.”
NIGHT VII
“Sunshine! Sunshine, you can’t get on that plane! I have something I need to tell you! ” You slowly turn around to see Elliott waving you down like you’re the airplane.
“Elliott.” You say. “What?”
“You’re dre—”
“I know I’m dreaming. But I’m not even at the gate.” You don’t even think you were going to the gate. You’re just… in an airport. It’s just you and the wide, blindingly white hallways. You’re curious to know what direction your dream would’ve taken without Elliott’s interference, but mostly, you’re just glad he’s here.
Elliott teasingly clicks his tongue at you. “Can’t you let me have this? If you’re going to dream up a movie setting, then I’m going to tell you not to get on that plane and throw your life away. ” He shakes your shoulders, and you want to groan but you end up giggling. “Besides, this is my final night to—”
“It’s not your final night for anything. I believe you.”
Elliott blinks, his hands still on your shoulders. “Really?”
“Yes, Elliott. Obviously.” That’s your way of saying last night wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t.
Last night. Your heart flutters. It just feels like an intimate phrase. You and Elliott have slept over billions of times, stayed up all night laughing and sharing secrets like the kids you never got to be. You would’ve been content with just that, but now you have this whole other level of closeness. He can literally shape your subconscious. You won’t just be alone together in a locked room, you can stay with him in a reality no one else can ever visit. That’s what last night is going to mean from now on. You can finally admit how much that excites you.
“I mean, I thought I’d convinced you, but I didn’t expect you to admit to it so easily.” Elliott takes his hands off you. “Like, maybe I’m dreaming. This can’t possibly be my sunshine.”
His sunshine. “Well. Whoever’s dream this is, no one’s around to hear me say you were right. And I was wrong.”
“Can you— Can you say that again? I just need to get out my camera so I can—”
“Hah.” His sunshine. “If you did that, I’d have to destroy your phone.”
“Aw, c’mon, how would you contact me then?”
You look up at the ceiling, covered in plain white tiles. You kind of miss the stars. “I can think of a couple ways.”
Elliott looks up too, but you know he already gets the joke. You’re starting to think he just likes following what you do. “This is a pretty cool airport,” he says. He looks back down at you, and you see the idea twinkling in his eyes. Suddenly, his voice starts booming throughout the entire building. “ This is your pilot speaking, ”
A laugh bursts through you. “Elliott, we’re not even on the—”
“ Here at Dreamwalker Airlines, we can take you anywhere you want to be. So where to, sunshine? ” Elliott cocks his head at you. His voice is back in his throat when he speaks. “Ever seen the Taj Mahal?”
He could have teleported you there, but you decide to go by plane. Elliott jumped at the idea of riding first class with you, stirring the horrifying realization that he has the power to spoil you at every given opportunity in your soul. Well, maybe it’s not so horrifying. But you’re not going to let him know that.
You’ve always liked planes. Statistically, you know they’re pretty dangerous, but looking out at the open sky has always made you feel safe. You can’t collide with clouds. Watching the wings of the plane glide through them like they’re intangible makes you feel at peace.
Or maybe that’s just you looking at Elliott, whose head is in front of the window. If his smile is anything to go by, you think he likes planes too. Maybe because a gradual incline is the opposite of a sudden drop.
You spend your time in a suite that would, in the real world, be too big to fit in an actual airplane. Not that you’re complaining. The spaciousness of it just confirmed your suspicions— anytime one of you say a space is too small to not cuddle up to one another, it’s an excuse. Here you are with all this room, curled up by each other’s side.
“Hey,” Elliott swallows some of the food he’s materialized, laid on plates to your sides. “We’re gonna do this for real one day.”
“What, travel?”
“Yeah.” He nods, grabbing some of your food, the bastard. You swat his hand away, but not with enough force to make him actually drop anything. “Maybe not in a plane, cause tickets nowadays are… pricy as shit, but maybe like… a road trip.”
“A road trip?”
“Yeah, we could… I could show you where I grew up and went to school, you could show me your hometown… Just you, me, and the open road.” Elliott grins at you. “We’d be inseparable.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, clutching his arm and leaning your head on his shoulder. “We’re gonna do that, someday.”
That’s someday, though. Today, your pilot comes on the speakers to tell you you’ve arrived at the Taj Mahal.