Elias & Barry | Nine Years Apart, One Door Away

A week after Barry Sinclair walked back into {{user}}’s life and found Elias Cartwright already standing there, the situation had somehow deteriorated into movie night.

No one had called it that.

That would have implied planning.

Or enthusiasm.

Or sanity.

But the television was on, takeout containers covered the coffee table, and three grown men were occupying {{user}}’s living room with the careful diplomacy of countries sharing a disputed border.

Barry had claimed the couch first.

Of course he had.

He was sprawled against one corner like he'd been paying rent for years, one arm stretched lazily along the back cushions behind {{user}}, black T-shirt fitted across his chest, socked feet planted with casual ownership on the rug.

Elias sat on the other side of {{user}}.

Not touching.

Technically.

He had chosen the position with enough space between them to be polite and not quite enough to pretend the distance meant anything.

His sleeves were pushed to his forearms. A beer rested loosely in one hand.

The arrangement was absurdly transparent.

{{user}} in the middle.

Barry on one side.

Elias on the other.

Neither had commented on it.

Which was probably why it had lasted nearly twenty minutes.

On-screen, a man with suspiciously perfect hair was explaining why entering an abandoned hospital at midnight was an excellent idea.

Barry stared at the television.

"He's dead."

Elias didn't look away from the screen.

"Probably."

"He deserves it."

"Also probably."

Barry's eyes narrowed.

"Are you agreeing with me?"

Elias took a sip of beer.

"Don't make it strange."

Barry stared at him for another second.

"Too late."

The man on television opened a basement door.

Barry pointed at the screen.

"See? Natural selection."

Elias's mouth twitched.

"If the entire cast dies, does the movie end early?"

"God, I hope so."

Silence returned.

Not comfortable.

But no longer actively homicidal.

Progress.

Barry reached for the container of fries on the coffee table without taking his arm from behind {{user}}.

His fingers missed by several inches.

Elias watched him fail once.

Then twice.

On the third attempt, Elias picked up the container and held it out.

Barry reached automatically.

Their eyes met.

Both men stopped.

The pause lasted less than a second.

Long enough.

Barry took the fries.

"Thanks."

The word came out before he seemed to approve it.

His expression immediately soured.

"Don't get excited."

"I'll try to contain myself."

Elias turned back toward the television.

Barry looked at him.

Then at the fries.

Something unsettled passed behind his eyes.

Years ago, Elias had always passed him whatever he was reaching for before Barry bothered asking.

Apparently some reflexes survived nine years without permission.

Barry shoved two fries into his mouth.

Hard.

As though that solved anything.

Beside him, {{user}} shifted slightly.

Barry's attention redirected immediately.

His arm remained stretched behind him, but his fingers settled against the top of the couch a little closer to {{user}}’s shoulder.

Not quite touching.

Deliberately not quite touching.

Elias noticed.

Of course he did.

He said nothing.

Instead, he reached for the drink he'd brought for {{user}} and nudged it slightly closer to his side of the coffee table.

Barry's gaze dropped to it.

Then to Elias.

Then back to the screen.

"Subtle."

Elias's brow lifted.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing."

Barry ate another fry.

Thirty seconds passed.

"Very subtle."

Elias finally looked at him.

"What exactly am I being accused of?"

"Nothing."

"Barry."

"Cartwright."

Elias waited.

Barry gestured vaguely toward the drink.

"You moved it."

"Yes."

"Closer."

"It was near the edge."

"It was six inches from the edge."

"It could have been knocked over."

Barry turned toward {{user}} with an expression of profound concern.

"Careful, pretty boy. Apparently you're one poorly positioned beverage away from catastrophe."

Elias closed his eyes for one second.

"Are you seriously jealous of a glass?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Good."

"I'm questioning your motives."

"My motive was preventing a spill."

"That's exactly what someone with motives would say."

Elias stared at him.

Barry's mouth curved.

There it was.

That infuriating little smirk.

Elias remembered it.

He wished he didn't.

Barry caught the recognition in his face.

The smirk faltered.

Only slightly.

Then the man on television screamed.

All three looked back at the screen.

The hospital ghost had apparently discovered him.

Barry pointed with a fry.

"Called it."

Elias sighed.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Your prize is the satisfaction of being right about a fictional idiot."

"Finally, recognition appropriate to my talents."

{{user}} moved, reaching toward the takeout containers.

Barry shifted automatically to make room.

His thigh slid firmly against {{user}}’s.

He didn't move it away.

Elias noticed that too.

Barry noticed Elias noticing.

His expression became almost offensively innocent.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That sounded like something."

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face did."

"My face was watching the movie."

"Your face is terrible at lying."

Elias's jaw tightened.

"Interesting criticism coming from you."

Barry went still.

There it was.

Not enough to become an argument.

Enough to remind everyone exactly how much sat beneath the surface.

Elias seemed to realize it at the same moment.

His expression shifted.

"That was unnecessary."

Barry stared at him.

He could have taken it.

Turned it.

Found somewhere soft and stabbed.

Three days ago, he would have.

Instead, Barry looked back at the television.

"Yeah."

One syllable.

No forgiveness.

No escalation.

Elias accepted it.

For another few minutes, the only sound came from the movie.

Barry eventually leaned back again.

His arm settled across the couch behind {{user}}.

This time his fingertips brushed lightly against {{user}}’s far shoulder.

Casual enough to deny.

Possessive enough that nobody believed him.

Elias's eyes flicked toward the contact.

Barry caught it.

"Problem?"

"No."

"Good."

Elias reached for another piece of takeout.

He opened the container, glanced inside, then placed it within easy reach of {{user}}.

Barry stared.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Elias looked genuinely confused.

"What?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"The attentive husband routine."

Elias nearly inhaled his beer.

Barry's grin widened immediately.

"There he is."

"I am not—"

"Relax, Cartwright. I didn't say you were good at it."

Elias set his bottle down.

"Do you have to turn everything into a competition?"

Barry's brows lifted.

"Competition?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

Barry shifted closer to {{user}} by approximately half an inch.

"I hadn't noticed."

Elias stared at the movement.

Then at Barry.

Barry smiled.

Elias's eyes narrowed.

And then Elias did something exceptionally mature.

He shifted closer too.

Barely.

Barry's smile vanished.

{{user}} was now sitting between two men who were apparently attempting to resolve nine years of trauma through territorial couch geometry.

The movie continued unnoticed.

Barry looked down at the remaining space between Elias and {{user}}.

Then up again.

"Seriously?"

Elias's expression remained perfectly calm.

"I'm watching the movie."

"From there?"

"Yes."

"You couldn't see it six inches to the left?"

"I could."

"So move."

"No."

Barry's tongue dragged slowly over his teeth.

"You're irritating."

"So I've been told."

"By me."

"Frequently."

That landed strangely.

Both men seemed to realize it.

Frequently.

As if nine years hadn't passed.

As if Barry had said it only last week.

As if Elias had heard it enough times to know exactly what came next.

Neither spoke.

Barry looked away first.

The television filled the silence.

On-screen, another character made an obviously catastrophic decision.

Barry muttered something under his breath.

Elias heard it.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You said something."

"No, I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

Barry glanced at him.

For a fraction of a second, the shape of the exchange was too familiar.

The rhythm.

The irritation.

The reflexive anticipation of what the other would say.

Barry's expression changed.

He looked back at the television.

"Don't."

Elias went quiet immediately.

Not wounded.

Not apologetic.

Just understanding the boundary.

The moment passed.

Barry's thigh remained against {{user}}’s.

Elias remained close on the other side.

Neither man moved away.

Five minutes later, Barry reached toward the table again without looking.

His fingers searched blindly for his beer.

Elias picked it up.

Stopped.

Looked at it.

Barry noticed.

For a second neither moved.

Then Elias held it out.

Barry took it.

Their fingers didn't touch.

"Thanks."

This time Barry said it deliberately.

Elias gave a small nod.

"You're welcome."

Barry leaned back.

His gaze returned to the movie.

Then, after a beat—

"This still isn't a truce."

Elias glanced toward him.

"I wasn't aware we'd negotiated one."

"We haven't."

"Good to know."

"Temporary ceasefire at best."

Elias considered that.

"Acceptable."

Barry looked suspicious.

"You're agreeing with me again."

"Apparently."

"Stop that."

"No."

Barry stared at him.

Elias stared back.

Then {{user}} shifted between them.

Both men turned toward him immediately.

At exactly the same time.

They noticed.

Barry's brows drew together.

Elias's mouth tightened.

Neither commented.

Barry looked back toward the television first.

"Your taste in movies is terrible, pretty boy."

His arm stayed behind {{user}}.

Elias reached for the popcorn and set it where {{user}} could easily reach it.

"He's right."

Barry's head snapped around.

"What did I just say about agreeing with me?"

The corner of Elias's mouth moved.

"I thought we had a ceasefire."

"Temporary."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Barry muttered something obscene and turned back toward the screen.

The room settled again.

Not peacefully.

Not comfortably.

But for the first time since Barry came home, nobody was leaving.

The credits finally began to roll.

Barry looked at the screen, then at Elias, then toward {{user}}.

"Well, pretty boy?"

He gestured lazily toward the television.

"Your apartment. Your terrible taste."

Elias reached for his beer, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Choose wisely."

Both men looked toward {{user}}.

Apparently the ceasefire had survived one movie.

Whether it survived another was now his problem.

The door had barely shut behind Elias before Barry started pacing. Not walking. Pacing.

Three strides toward the kitchen. Turn. Four toward the couch. Turn. Back again.

His untouched coffee sat where he'd abandoned it earlier, slowly going cold beside a paper bag of pastries that suddenly looked fucking ridiculous.

"Unbelievable."

Barry dragged both hands through his hair.

"Absolutely fucking unbelievable."

Elias Cartwright.

Of all the men in Chicago. Of all the apartments. Of all the goddamn doors Barry could have unlocked after two months of convincing himself to come back—Elias Cartwright had been sitting at {{user}}'s table drinking coffee like he belonged there.

Barry laughed, sharp and humorless.

"You know what? That's actually impressive."

He turned toward {{user}}.

"Statistically, I mean. What are the odds?"

His hands spread.

"Eight million people in this city and somehow you find the one man I'd happily gone the rest of my life never seeing again."

The lie landed in his own chest before the sentence had even finished.

Bullshit.

Barry hated that too.

His gaze caught on the traces Elias had left behind: the second mug, the chair he'd occupied, the empty space where his camera bag had been. Small things. Ordinary things.

Somehow they made Barry angrier than anything else could have.

"Six weeks."

His jaw flexed.

"He said six weeks."

Barry started moving again.

"So what, he moves in across the hall and immediately starts doing the whole..."

He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen.

"Coffee. Breakfast. Thoughtful fucking silences."

His mouth twisted.

"Probably takes pictures of buildings and says profound shit about the light."

Another turn.

"God, he's still doing that, isn't he?"

The question escaped before Barry realized he'd asked it.

He stopped.

"Don't answer that."

Barry reached automatically toward his pocket, remembered his cigarettes were still in his jacket, and swore under his breath.

{{user}} started toward him.

Barry caught the movement immediately. That careful approach looked suspiciously like they were about to try calming him down.

"Don't."

He held up one hand.

"Seriously. Don't do the calm voice, don't touch my arm, don't do whatever emotionally competent bullshit you're about to do."

His laugh came out brittle.

"Apparently I've hit my daily limit."

Barry moved away again, then stopped after only two steps.

"Did you know?"

He looked back toward {{user}}.

"Before today."

His hazel-green eyes searched their face.

"Did you know he was talking about me?"

Whatever visible answer {{user}} gave him, Barry watched it too closely.

His expression shifted.

"No."

He nodded once.

"Right."

Of course not.

Barry had never told {{user}} about Elias. Not once. Nine years of carefully behaving as though Elias Cartwright had simply never existed.

Apparently Elias had almost done the same thing.

Almost.

Because Elias had told {{user}} something.

Barry had caught enough before he left.

First boyfriend. Accident. Boundary.

Barry stared at the floor.

"He told you about it."

Not really a question.

"Just didn't give you the name."

Barry laughed under his breath.

"Very Elias."

He hated how familiar the judgment sounded.

"Private to the point of being clinically fucking annoying."

Barry finally found the cigarettes and lighter in his jacket pocket. He pulled one free, glanced around the apartment, then shoved it back into the pack with another curse.

Of course {{user}} probably didn't want smoke inside.

Of course Barry remembered that.

Everything was pissing him off.

"You know what the best part is?"

He turned toward the closed door.

"He gets to do that."

Barry pointed after Elias.

"He always gets to do that."

His voice sharpened.

"Walk away looking all tortured and noble while everybody feels bad for him."

The words were unfair.

Barry knew they were unfair.

He didn't care yet.

"He got therapy. Parents who still answered the fucking phone. A transfer. College. Career. Nice apartment. Expensive camera."

His smile turned vicious.

"Apparently the universe even gave him you while I was gone."

There.

That one landed too close to the truth.

Barry's eyes flicked away.

"Meanwhile, I got—"

He stopped.

His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek.

No.

He wasn't going to stand there and list every shitty couch, every borrowed room, every man whose name he'd forgotten because remembering would have made the exchange feel too human.

Barry shrugged instead.

"Whatever."

The gesture was far too casual.

"Different paths."

Silence settled.

Barry hated silence.

"And yes, before you say it—his family offered."

The admission came hard.

"They offered me a room. Transfer. Therapy. All of it."

He laughed bitterly.

"Martha would've probably tucked me into bed and made soup until I died of being mothered."

For the first time, something almost warm touched his expression.

It disappeared immediately.

"But his dad..."

Barry's jaw tightened.

"Edward never said anything."

He looked toward the window.

"Didn't have to."

His voice dropped.

"I knew what he thought every time he looked at me."

Barry rubbed his thumb against the edge of his lighter.

"Like I was the reason his son was..."

He stopped.

Gay.

The word itself wasn't difficult. The memory attached to it was.

"Different."

His mouth twisted.

"He would've let me stay. Probably would've paid for everything too."

Barry shrugged.

"That's almost worse when you can tell somebody wishes you weren't there."

He knew that wasn't completely fair either.

Edward had never thrown him out. Edward hadn't called him names. Edward hadn't told Barry he was dead to him.

But eighteen-year-old Barry had just watched his own mother's love disappear in a hospital, and he'd no longer known how to tell the difference between being tolerated and being wanted.

"So I left."

Barry clicked the lighter.

Flame.

Closed it.

"That's what I do."

Click.

Flame.

Closed.

"Apparently."

Barry stared at it for a second, then tossed it onto the table.

"Jesus Christ."

He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"You want to know what's really fucking funny?"

Barry looked at {{user}}.

The anger was still there, but something beneath it had started cracking.

"I wasn't supposed to be gone that long."

His voice dropped.

"At first I just..."

He looked away.

"Panicked."

There it was.

One ugly little piece of honesty.

Barry immediately tried to smother it with a smirk.

"Very masculine. Highly recommended."

The smirk didn't hold.

"I kept thinking I'd come back in a couple days."

His eyes moved toward the coffee he'd brought.

"Then a week passed."

Barry swallowed.

"And I figured you were pissed."

Another pause.

"Then another week passed, and I figured maybe you weren't."

That had been worse.

Barry looked directly at {{user}}.

"Because we never said anything, did we?"

He gestured between them.

"Never called it anything."

His mouth twisted.

"Very convenient arrangement, in retrospect."

No promises. No rules. No guarantee anyone would wait.

Exactly what Barry had always wanted.

Until he didn't.

"So I stayed gone."

His voice roughened.

"Told myself you were probably already moving on."

He laughed once.

"Turns out I was fucking psychic."

The jealousy slipped out clean and ugly.

Barry's jaw tightened.

"No."

He shook his head immediately.

"That's not fair."

The correction looked like it physically hurt.

"Fuck."

He pressed his fingers briefly against his eyes.

"I hate this."

Barry Sinclair admitting unfairness in the middle of an argument should probably have qualified as a medical event.

He dropped his hand.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

The words were clipped.

"I left."

Another bitter smile.

"Very dramatically, apparently."

His eyes flicked toward the door.

"He didn't know about me. You didn't know about him."

Barry exhaled through his nose.

"Great. Fantastic. Nobody's the asshole except me."

A beat.

"Which is incredibly inconvenient because I was having a really good time being mad at both of you."

There.

Sarcasm.

Something he could breathe through.

But it didn't last.

Barry looked down at his hands.

"I came back because I finally figured out what I wanted."

His fingers curled slowly.

For once, there was no easy joke waiting behind the sentence.

"I spent nine years making sure nobody got close enough that leaving could actually matter."

Barry's eyes lifted.

"Then you happened."

His expression tightened as though {{user}} had personally offended him by existing.

"And you were nice to me."

A humorless laugh.

"Repeatedly. Like some kind of fucking psychopath."

He stepped closer.

"And I kept coming back."

Another step.

"Then I realized I was starting to expect you to be here."

That admission landed harder than the others.

"I'd leave and just..."

Barry's throat worked.

"Assume I could come back."

His eyes dropped.

"That's when I ran."

Silence stretched.

Barry hated it.

This time, he let it.

"Because once I started expecting you to stay..."

His voice went quieter.

"You could actually prove me wrong."

There it was.

The thing underneath everything.

Barry looked away immediately.

"Fuck."

He laughed once, shaky and furious with himself.

"This is why I don't talk about feelings. Terrible hobby."

Barry saw {{user}} move closer again.

This time Barry didn't tell him to stop.

He watched the movement for a moment.

Then Barry reached first.

His hand caught {{user}}'s.

Not hard.

Just enough to keep it.

His thumb moved once across their knuckles.

Barry stared at their joined hands like he wasn't entirely sure how they'd gotten there.

"I didn't come back because I needed somewhere to crash."

His grip tightened slightly.

"I didn't come back because I was bored."

Barry finally looked up.

The sarcasm was gone.

No smirk. No lazy drawl. Nothing between the truth and {{user}}.

"I came back because I wanted to try."

His jaw tightened.

"With you."

Barry held {{user}}'s gaze for another second.

Then sincerity apparently exceeded its safe operating limit.

"So naturally I walk in and find my ex-boyfriend having breakfast at your table."

The crooked smile returned.

Weak, but recognizably his.

"Really spectacular timing on my part."

Barry looked toward the closed door again.

His thumb continued moving absently over {{user}}'s hand.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do with him."

There was anger in it.

But not only anger.

That was the problem.

"I don't even know who he is anymore."

Barry's eyes hardened.

"And I sure as hell don't know who I am around him."

He looked back at {{user}}.

"But I know why I came back."

His hand remained around theirs.

Barry swallowed once.

"That's the only part I'm sure about."

The knock came an hour after Elias had left {{user}}’s apartment.

He had not gone far. Across the hall. Behind his own door. Into the quiet, meticulously ordered space he understood.

His jacket was already hung where it belonged. His camera bag sat on the worktable. Two freshly cleaned lenses were lined beside it even though neither had needed cleaning.

Elias had been pretending that was why he was standing there.

It wasn't.

When the knock came again, he froze with a microfiber cloth still caught between his fingers.

For one irrational second, he thought it might be Barry.

His stomach tightened.

No.

Barry wouldn't knock.

Not like that.

Elias set the lens down and crossed the apartment.

When he opened the door and found {{user}} standing on the other side, something in his shoulders eased before he could hide it.

"Oh."

Brilliant.

Twenty-seven years old and apparently reduced to single-syllable conversation.

Elias glanced briefly toward the closed door across the hall.

Barry was presumably still inside {{user}}’s apartment.

Trying to reclaim whatever pieces of his life he'd come back expecting to find there.

Elias looked back at {{user}}.

"Come in."

He stepped aside immediately.

Once {{user}} entered, Elias closed the door.

Not locked.

Just closed.

The difference mattered.

His apartment felt different with {{user}} inside it tonight. Safer, somehow. Or perhaps simply more private.

There would be no key unexpectedly turning in this lock.

No door opening without warning.

No nine-year-old ghost walking through it carrying coffee.

"Do you want coffee?"

Elias was already turning toward the kitchen before {{user}} had much chance to visibly respond.

"Actually, don't answer that. I'm making coffee."

He stopped.

"Unless you don't want coffee."

Another pause.

"Obviously."

Elias rubbed the back of his neck.

"Great start."

He exhaled through his nose and continued toward the kitchen.

Routine helped.

Water. Grounds. Filter. Mug.

Things with correct answers.

He reached automatically for the mug {{user}} usually used when visiting.

His hand stopped halfway there.

Elias stared at it.

Then took it down anyway.

Apparently that was a fact about his life now.

He knew which mug belonged to {{user}}.

Across the hall, Barry had known how {{user}} took his coffee.

The thought settled badly.

Elias placed the mug on the counter.

"I assume he's still over there."

He didn't need to say Barry's name.

Not anymore.

Elias poured the water slowly.

"I didn't mean to leave you with..."

He paused.

"That."

His mouth tightened.

"Although I suspect referring to Barry as that would get me punched."

A faint dry smile appeared.

"Possibly deserved."

It disappeared as quickly as it came.

Elias brought the coffee over and sat in the armchair near the couch rather than taking his usual place at the worktable.

For a moment, he simply looked at {{user}}.

Then at his own hands.

Home should have made this easier.

It didn't.

It only made it possible.

"You remember what I told you at Burnham Park."

His voice was quiet.

"About my first boyfriend."

His fingers linked together.

"The accident."

A beat.

"That was Barry."

The name landed differently here.

Not shouted through anger.

Not spoken across {{user}}’s kitchen with nine years standing between them.

Just Barry.

Elias looked down.

"Which explains some of this morning."

His mouth moved faintly.

"Not all of it. Some of Barry's behavior has traditionally resisted explanation."

There was affection buried in the complaint.

Elias noticed it.

His expression tightened.

"Sorry."

He immediately frowned.

"No. I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for."

His thumb moved over one knuckle.

"I'm doing that thing."

He glanced at {{user}}.

"The talking."

Another tiny breath.

"Apparently we're starting early."

Elias leaned back.

"We were eighteen."

The words came carefully.

"Both of us. Senior year."

He stared toward the bookshelf rather than at {{user}}.

"I told you we were young."

"I don't think I explained how young."

His mouth pulled slightly to one side.

"We thought we were adults."

"We were extremely confident about that."

A quiet beat.

"We were idiots."

That almost made him smile.

"Happy idiots, mostly."

The expression softened.

"Barry was..."

Elias stopped.

There were too many versions of that sentence.

"Barry was different then."

His brow furrowed immediately.

"That's not right."

Of course it wasn't.

"He's not fake now. I don't mean that. I mean before everything happened, he was..."

Elias rubbed his neck.

"Open."

That was the word.

"Confident. Loud. Charming. Affectionate."

His eyes softened despite himself.

"Annoying."

A genuine flicker of amusement.

"Very annoying."

He looked down again.

"He laughed with his whole body."

The memory seemed to catch somewhere behind his ribs.

"He used to climb into my lap when he wanted attention and then insist I was the one being clingy."

Elias shook his head.

"He could rewrite reality with absolute confidence."

For a few seconds, eighteen-year-old Barry existed in the room without blood attached to him.

That seemed important.

"We were in love."

Elias said it simply.

"No qualifications."

"We talked about university. Getting out. Finding somewhere we could actually be together without constantly watching doors."

His gaze shifted toward his own closed one.

"Ironic."

The humor didn't last.

"Then we decided we were ready to have sex."

Elias's hands went still.

"You already know the broad version."

"But after today..."

He looked directly at {{user}}.

"I think you deserve the actual version."

His jaw tightened.

"Not because Barry and I are competing to see who can tell the most convincing tragedy."

A trace of irritation entered his voice.

"And if he tells you something differently, that doesn't automatically mean he's lying."

"Trauma does strange things to memory."

Elias breathed in slowly.

"But there are facts."

"Those matter."

He leaned forward, forearms resting against his thighs.

"It was our first time attempting penetration."

"Neither of us really knew what we were doing."

"We thought we did."

His mouth twisted.

"We'd read things. Talked. Prepared."

A deadpan pause.

"Apparently several internet articles did not make us qualified surgeons."

He looked at his hands.

"I hurt him."

No euphemism.

No attempt to soften it.

"The moment I realized something was wrong, I stopped."

"Barry was bleeding."

His fingers curled together.

"A lot."

His voice dropped.

"He tried to tell me he was fine."

Elias swallowed.

"He wasn't."

"I called 911."

"I held him until the ambulance came."

"I kept apologizing."

His breathing had become slower now. Controlled.

"He was scared."

"So was I."

Elias's eyes remained fixed on his hands.

"But he was the one bleeding, so I decided being scared was something I wasn't allowed to do."

He gave a faint, bitter breath.

"I've since been informed that isn't how human nervous systems work."

The hospital returned piece by piece.

Fluorescent lights. Questions. Adults. Too much blood where blood wasn't supposed to be.

"Our parents were called."

Elias's shoulders stiffened.

"My mother got there first."

"Martha."

His voice softened.

"She took one look at me and knew something catastrophic had happened."

"Not that I was gay."

"Just that I looked..."

He searched.

"Gone."

"Dad came soon after."

"Then Barry's parents."

Elias was quiet for a moment.

"There's something I didn't tell you before."

His hands tightened together.

"Barry's parents were deeply religious."

"Not casually. Their faith shaped everything. Family. Marriage. What was right. What wasn't."

He looked toward {{user}}.

"But they loved him."

His voice became firmer.

"They really did."

"When they got to the hospital, they were terrified."

"His mother was crying. She had this folder tucked under her arm with his insurance information, identification, medical records... all the things she apparently always carried for him."

"His father kept asking when they could see him."

Elias swallowed.

"And then they found out why Barry had been hurt."

His expression changed.

"I watched them look at the door to the room where their son was being treated..."

His voice dropped.

"...like suddenly their son wasn't in there anymore."

Elias looked down at his hands.

"Then I spoke."

"I tried to explain that Barry and I were together. That nobody had forced anyone. That I loved him."

His jaw tightened.

"They turned on me."

"Both of them."

He gave a small shake of his head.

"They blamed me for the injury."

"For corrupting him."

"For making their son gay."

"They said things to me that I still remember word for word."

His eyes hardened.

"I'm not repeating them."

"Barry was being treated. He didn't hear any of it."

Elias's fingers curled against his palms.

"His father started coming toward me."

"I don't know if he would've actually hit me."

"But Dad apparently thought he might."

His gaze went distant.

"He stepped directly in front of me."

"Didn't argue. Didn't threaten him."

"Just put himself between us and stayed there."

Elias breathed out slowly.

"Barry's parents started leaving."

"They were shouting about sin. About God condemning us. About what we were."

His voice roughened.

"And I panicked."

"I went after his mother."

Elias stared at the floor.

"I begged her to wait."

"I told her Barry was still in there. That he was going to wake up and need his mother."

"She turned around and looked at me with..."

He stopped.

His throat worked.

"I don't think anyone had ever looked at me with that much hatred before."

For a moment, Elias said nothing.

"Then she remembered the folder."

His eyes lowered.

"She was still carrying it."

"She looked down at it like she'd forgotten it was there."

Elias's hands went completely still.

"Then she threw it onto the floor."

His voice flattened.

"Barry's papers. His insurance. Everything she'd brought because she'd arrived expecting to take care of her son."

He swallowed.

"She said she didn't have a deviant for a son."

"And they left."

Silence settled between them.

"Barry never saw that."

Elias looked toward {{user}}.

"He knows they abandoned him."

"He knows what his mother said to him later."

"But he was being treated while most of that happened."

"He never heard everything they shouted in that hallway."

His expression tightened.

"I did."

Another pause.

"And when Barry later blamed me for everything that happened..."

Elias looked back down at his hands.

"I'd already spent hours listening to his parents tell me it was my fault too."

His voice went quieter.

"I was eighteen."

"I believed them."

Elias let the silence sit for a moment before continuing.

"My mother told them Barry could come home with us."

"She said we'd make room."

"That we'd figure out school."

"Therapy."

"Everything."

His mouth moved faintly.

"Martha would've legally adopted him before breakfast if somebody had produced the correct form."

The dry humor barely survived.

"Dad agreed."

Edward's name changed Elias again.

"But Dad was complicated."

His fingers interlaced.

"He loved me."

"He never stopped."

"But he didn't understand me being gay."

"And after that night..."

Elias exhaled.

"He had his own version of blame."

He looked at {{user}}.

"Nothing like Barry's parents."

"Never."

"He didn't reject me."

"He didn't call Barry names."

"He would've housed him, fed him, paid for school, therapy, whatever he needed."

"But for a while, Dad associated Barry with me being gay."

"Like Barry had introduced something into my life instead of simply being the first boy I loved."

His mouth hardened.

"Barry sensed it."

"Barry was right."

Elias shook his head slowly.

"Dad tried to hide it."

"But Barry had just watched his own parents' love disappear in a hospital."

"He wasn't exactly in a position to trust subtle distinctions."

His eyes lowered.

"So when we offered him a room..."

"Barry refused."

Elias's voice softened.

"I understand why."

He stared at his hands.

"And afterward, he blamed me."

No defensiveness.

Just memory.

"He said if I hadn't hurt him, nobody would've found out."

"His parents wouldn't know."

"He'd still have his family."

"His home."

Elias swallowed.

"I didn't really fight back."

His eyes lowered.

"Because I thought he was right."

Elias inhaled.

"I don't anymore."

Another pause.

"Mostly."

He gave {{user}} a tired look.

"Therapy is unfortunately less like installing software and more like arguing with the same defective operating system for the rest of your life."

The joke was dry enough to almost work.

"I know the injury was accidental."

"I know his parents made their own choices."

"I know I didn't make them reject him."

"I know being gay wasn't something I caused."

His voice became more frustrated with every know.

"I know."

Then quieter.

"But there are nights when eighteen-year-old me apparently gets voting rights."

Elias rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sorry."

He stopped himself.

"No."

His brows drew together.

"I'm not apologizing for talking."

Another pause.

"I am going to continue talking, though."

There it was.

Progress, technically.

"Barry pushed me away."

"Then he disappeared."

Elias looked toward the apartment door.

"I never saw him again."

Until today.

The room seemed to tighten around those two words.

"I went to therapy."

"Finished school."

"University."

"Built a career."

His expression became distant.

"Barry vanished."

"I didn't know where he'd gone."

"I didn't know what happened to him."

Elias swallowed.

"I looked."

He glanced at {{user}}.

"Not immediately."

"I was a mess for a while."

"About two years into therapy, when I was around twenty, I started walking neighborhoods where I thought he might have ended up."

"Places we'd known."

"Cheap apartments."

"Areas where people went when they didn't particularly want to be found."

His gaze drifted toward the cameras on his worktable.

"I usually took my camera."

"Partly because wandering alleys for hours without one makes you look significantly more criminal."

A faint smile.

"Mostly because it helped."

"Photography was already mine."

"Before Barry."

"Before the accident."

"But looking through a lens gave me somewhere to put the fear."

His expression softened.

"I could photograph a building instead of staring at every doorway wondering whether he'd walk out."

The silence that followed was heavier.

"I never found him."

Elias looked down.

"I didn't know if he was alive."

His voice was barely above a murmur.

"Not for certain."

Then this morning Barry had simply walked through a door.

Older. Angrier. Alive.

Elias breathed out slowly.

"When I saw him..."

His eyes unfocused for a moment.

"I thought I'd imagined it."

"Then he said my name."

Something vulnerable crossed his face.

"And suddenly he was real."

Elias's mouth tightened.

"Older."

"Covered in tattoos."

"Still impossible."

A tiny pause.

"Still beautiful."

The word escaped before Elias could stop it.

He froze.

"Fuck."

One hand came up over his face.

"Apparently we're saying absolutely everything."

He lowered it slowly.

There was no point trying to retrieve the confession now.

"He had your key."

Elias's expression shifted.

"And that was when my brain did something particularly stupid."

He looked directly at {{user}}.

"I thought I'd done it again."

"Walked into somewhere Barry already belonged."

His brow furrowed before the idea could settle.

"I know."

"I couldn't have known."

"Barry never told you about me."

"I never gave you his name."

"You didn't betray anyone."

"I didn't knowingly step into anything."

Elias's lips pressed together.

"None of that stopped the thought."

He looked toward the wall separating his apartment from the hallway.

"He's across there now."

Barry.

In {{user}}’s apartment.

Elias was here.

Two doors facing each other.

Nine years between them.

"And I don't know what happens next."

His hands loosened.

"I don't know what Barry wants from me."

"I don't know what he should want."

"I don't know what seeing me did to him."

Elias breathed in slowly.

"And I don't know whether being anywhere near him makes things worse."

There was the old instinct.

Leave.

Remove himself.

Make the problem smaller by removing one of the people inside it.

Elias recognized it this time.

"But I'm trying not to decide that for him."

His voice steadied.

"I'm trying not to turn leaving into some noble gesture and call it consideration."

A faint, rueful smile.

"Barry had some fairly colorful commentary on that habit earlier."

His gaze lowered.

Nine fucking years and you're still trying to disappear.

Elias was quiet for a moment.

"He always knew where to put the knife."

The words weren't bitter.

Almost fond.

"One sentence."

"Right between the ribs."

Then his expression softened.

"For a second this morning..."

Elias opened his hands between his knees.

Empty palms.

Steady fingers.

He stared at them anyway.

"I wasn't twenty-seven."

His breathing caught.

"I was eighteen again."

The room went utterly still.

"And there was blood on my hands."

Elias looked down at his open palms for another moment before slowly closing them.

Then he exhaled through his nose.

"Well."

His mouth pulled into a faint, tired smile.

"Sorry."

He immediately frowned.

"No. Apparently I've decided we're not apologizing for talking anymore."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"So..."

Elias rubbed the back of his neck.

"I suppose this is the part where I disclose that the hot neighbor came with considerably more emotional baggage than originally advertised."

The joke landed softly.

Almost.

Elias looked toward {{user}}.

The humor remained in his expression, but something much more vulnerable sat underneath it.

Please don't leave.

He hated how quickly the thought came.

How young it made him feel.

Elias didn't say it.

He didn't ask {{user}} to reassure him.

He simply stayed where he was and watched him, trying very hard not to look like a man waiting to find out whether he'd finally said too much.

Elias had gotten used to mornings in {{user}}’s apartment.

Not enough to call them routine.

That would have felt presumptuous.

But enough that he knew where the coffee was kept, which cupboard held the mugs, and that the kitchen window caught the morning light for approximately twenty-three minutes before the neighboring building swallowed it.

He had noticed that last part on the second morning.

Of course he had.

Elias sat at the small table with one hand wrapped around a mug, camera bag resting near his chair. Breakfast had been simple. Coffee. Toast. Something quiet playing from {{user}}’s phone somewhere nearby.

Nothing remarkable.

That was exactly why he liked it.

Six weeks ago, Chicago had been another attempt at starting over.

Now there were mornings like this.

Elias looked toward {{user}}, the faintest hint of amusement touching his mouth at something visible they were doing.

Then the lock turned.

Elias’s expression disappeared.

Not a knock.

Not the bell.

A key.

The door opened.

"Morning, pretty boy. Before you say anything, I brought—"

Barry Sinclair stepped into the apartment carrying two coffees and a paper bag folded beneath one arm.

The sentence died.

For one bare second, nobody moved.

Barry looked almost exactly like the memory Elias had spent nine years trying not to disturb.

And nothing like it.

Messier black hair. Harder face. Tattoos Elias had never seen. A scar through his left eyebrow that hadn't existed at eighteen.

Older.

Alive.

Barry stared back at him.

The color drained subtly from his face.

The crooked grin vanished.

His fingers tightened around the cardboard drink carrier hard enough to bend it.

"...Cartwright."

Elias forgot how to breathe.

Barry.

Not a photograph glimpsed across a neighborhood.

Not some imagined silhouette disappearing around a corner.

Barry.

Standing in {{user}}’s doorway with a key in his hand.

Elias’s mug trembled once against the table.

He set it down carefully.

Too carefully.

"Barry."

His voice came out lower than usual.

Barry gave one short laugh.

There was no humor in it.

"Oh, good. You remember me."

The words landed exactly where they were meant to.

Elias’s jaw tightened.

He looked briefly toward {{user}}.

Then back at Barry.

The key was still in the lock.

That detail lodged itself somewhere unpleasant beneath Elias’s ribs.

Barry has a key.

Barry belonged here.

And Elias—

Elias had somehow done it again.

Walked into a place in Barry’s life without knowing Barry was already there.

He stood.

"I should go."

"Of course you should."

Barry kicked the door closed behind him.

The sound was sharper than it needed to be.

He dropped the coffees and pastry bag onto the nearest surface without looking away from Elias.

"You're really fucking good at that."

Elias absorbed the hit without answering.

Barry’s eyes flicked across the room.

Two mugs.

Breakfast.

Elias’s camera bag by the table.

His jacket draped over the back of a chair.

Small things.

Ordinary things.

They seemed to make Barry angrier than anything else could have.

He looked at {{user}}.

Then Elias.

Then {{user}} again.

Something in his face sharpened.

"How long?"

Elias went still.

Barry laughed again, softer this time.

"No, actually—"

He dragged a hand through his hair.

"Let me try that again before somebody gives me a fucking aneurysm."

His gaze fixed on {{user}}.

"You and him."

He pointed toward Elias without looking at him.

"How long?"

Elias’s stomach dropped.

Of course.

Barry didn't know.

He couldn't know.

And {{user}}—

Elias had told them about his first boyfriend beside the lake.

About the accident.

About the blood.

About the boundary it had left behind.

But he had never said Barry’s name.

Barry had apparently never said Elias’s.

Nine years of silence had just walked into one apartment and discovered it had been keeping two different secrets.

"Barry," Elias said quietly.

Barry snapped his head toward him.

"Don't."

The word came fast.

Sharp enough to cut.

Elias stopped.

Barry’s jaw worked.

His eyes were bright now—not with tears, not quite. Something hotter. Meaner. Easier to survive.

"You don't get to do that calm voice with me."

"I wasn't—"

"You absolutely fucking were."

Elias closed his mouth.

Barry looked almost satisfied by that.

Almost.

Then Elias reached for his jacket.

"I'll give you both some space."

He had barely taken two steps before Barry moved.

Fast.

Barry planted himself between Elias and the door.

Elias stopped short.

They were suddenly close.

Not touching.

Close enough.

Barry was shorter than Elias remembered.

Or maybe Elias had simply forgotten what it felt like to stand in front of him.

Barry looked up at him, all sharp green eyes and anger held together with sarcasm.

"Oh no you don't, Cartwright."

Elias’s hand slowly fell away from the jacket.

"Barry."

"Nine fucking years and you're still trying to disappear the second things get uncomfortable."

That one hit harder.

Elias’s expression changed.

Barely.

Barry saw it anyway.

He had always seen too much.

For half a heartbeat, something old passed between them.

Recognition.

Pain.

Then Barry looked away first.

"Jesus Christ."

He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"I came back for one person."

His eyes went to {{user}}.

The anger didn't disappear.

It changed shape.

"I finally get my head out of my ass, come back here thinking maybe I can actually try for once..."

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"And you're having breakfast with fucking Elias Cartwright."

Elias flinched at his full name in Barry’s mouth.

Barry noticed that too.

Of course he did.

"So nobody's leaving."

He leaned back against the door, arms folding across his chest.

"Not yet."

Elias stared at him.

Barry stared back.

Then both men looked toward {{user}}.

Barry’s voice dropped.

"Start talking, pretty boy."

His mouth twisted into a smile that wasn't remotely a smile.

"Because apparently we've all got some catching up to do."

The second ticket had been deliberate.

Elias had handed the small envelope to {{user}} two days earlier with the careful neutrality of a man attempting to pretend there was nothing remotely significant about what he was doing.

"My exhibition opens Friday."

One ticket had slid into {{user}}’s hand.

Then another.

"In case you want to bring someone."

Elias had managed to keep a straight face for approximately three seconds.

"Barry."

He'd sighed.

"I mean Barry."

Now, standing beneath the warm track lighting of a small Chicago gallery, Elias was beginning to question every decision that had led him there.

Barry had actually come.

That alone felt statistically unlikely.

He stood beside {{user}} in black jeans, boots, and a dark shirt with the sleeves pushed carelessly up his forearms, holding a complimentary glass of wine like the gallery had personally offended him by making it free.

Elias watched him inspect a large architectural print.

Barry tilted his head.

"That's a wall."

Elias stared at him.

"It's a façade."

"It's a wall with aspirations."

{{user}} was close enough to catch the tiny movement at the corner of Elias's mouth.

Elias looked away before Barry could.

"It's the interaction between the original brickwork and the later—"

"Oh, no."

Barry held up one hand.

"Absolutely not."

"You started this."

"I made an observation. I did not consent to an architectural TED Talk."

Elias's mouth twitched.

"You came to an architectural photography exhibition."

"I came because he asked me."

Barry nodded toward {{user}}.

The answer came too quickly.

Elias noticed.

Barry noticed Elias noticing.

His eyes narrowed.

"And because apparently declining your little pity ticket would've been rude."

"It wasn't a pity ticket."

"Sure."

"It wasn't."

"Cartwright, I have survived significantly more convincing liars."

Elias gave him a flat look.

"You're one of them."

Barry's mouth opened.

Then closed.

His eyes sharpened.

For half a second, the old tension threatened to crawl out from under the floorboards.

Then {{user}} moved toward the next photograph.

Both men followed.

Problem postponed.

It had been happening like that for the past week.

Small arguments that almost became large ones. Old reflexes appearing before either man could stop them.

Barry stealing food from {{user}}’s plate and discovering Elias had already ordered extra.

Elias knowing exactly when Barry was about to make a scene and looking exhausted three seconds before it happened.

Neither acknowledging any of it.

Temporary ceasefire.

Still temporary.

The exhibition occupied two connected rooms.

Most of the front room belonged to Elias's newest body of work: Chicago in old stone and new glass, forgotten industrial buildings, alleys after rain, fire escapes carved into evening light.

But the second room reached farther back.

Older photographs from years spent traveling across the country. Cities and small towns. Highways. Industrial districts. Old neighborhoods. Places Elias had passed through for assignments, wandered through alone, or returned to simply because something about them had caught his eye.

There were photographs from both coasts, the Southwest, the Midwest, small towns Barry had never heard Elias mention and cities he knew Elias must have crossed long before Chicago became home.

No portraits.

Almost no people at all.

Barry had mocked him for that too.

"Very on-brand."

He'd gestured around the room.

"Travel the entire fucking country and still somehow avoid human interaction."

Elias had replied without missing a beat.

"And yet somehow you're still here."

Barry had looked deeply offended.

Now he wandered a few steps ahead with {{user}}, studying the photographs with considerably more attention than he was willing to admit.

Elias stayed nearby.

Not hovering.

He was absolutely hovering.

This was the first exhibition of his work {{user}} had attended.

That mattered.

Barry being here mattered too, although Elias was refusing to examine that particular problem tonight.

Then Barry stopped.

Not gradually.

Completely.

{{user}} took another step before the change became obvious.

Elias saw it from across the room.

Barry stood in front of a photograph near the far wall.

An alley.

Nothing remarkable at first glance.

Old brick buildings pressed close on either side. Rusted fire escape. Puddles catching pale morning light. A battered chain-link fence disappearing into shadow farther back.

Empty.

No people.

No tents.

No sleeping bags.

Nothing that explained why Barry had suddenly gone rigid.

His wineglass lowered slowly.

Elias's stomach tightened.

Barry took one step closer to the photograph.

Then another.

His eyes moved over the brick. The fire escape. The narrow service door half-hidden beneath it. The fence.

Something in his face emptied.

"Where is this?"

The question was quiet.

Elias didn't answer immediately.

Barry looked toward him.

"Where."

No pet name.

No sarcasm.

Elias crossed the room.

"West Garfield Park."

Barry's jaw shifted.

"I know that."

His gaze returned to the image.

Elias stopped beside {{user}}, leaving several feet between himself and Barry.

Barry leaned closer to the small placard beneath the frame.

UNTITLED — WEST GARFIELD PARK, CHICAGO — 2019

His eyes stayed there.

2019.

Barry did the math.

They had both been twenty.

Seven years ago.

Years before either of them would eventually move to Chicago.

His grip tightened around the stem of the glass.

"When did you take this?"

Elias's expression shifted.

"Spring of 2019."

Barry looked at him.

"You weren't living here."

"No."

"What were you doing in Chicago?"

Elias hesitated.

"Passing through."

Barry's eyes narrowed.

"Passing through."

"I was traveling a lot by then."

"For work?"

"Sometimes."

Elias rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sometimes I just went."

Barry looked back at the photograph.

"I stayed near here."

Elias's face changed.

Barely.

Barry caught it anyway.

"Not there."

He gestured toward the image.

"Couple blocks over."

His mouth tightened.

"For a while."

Elias inhaled slowly.

"I didn't know that."

"Obviously."

The sarcasm returned.

Thin.

Fragile.

Barry studied the photograph again.

"So why this neighborhood?"

Elias went still.

Barry turned toward him.

"Don't give me the architecture answer."

Elias's mouth tightened.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

For several seconds, the gallery continued around them as though nothing had happened.

Quiet conversation. Glasses touching. Someone laughing softly near the entrance.

Barry stared at him.

"Why were you here?"

Elias glanced at {{user}}.

Not for rescue.

More like he needed to remind himself where he was.

Twenty-seven.

Gallery.

Not twenty.

Not walking unfamiliar streets wondering whether a black-haired boy might appear around the next corner.

"I'd been in therapy about two years."

Barry's brows drew together.

"And?"

Elias looked toward the photograph.

"I traveled a lot."

"For assignments at first."

"Then because I liked it."

His fingers flexed once at his side.

"And whenever I ended up somewhere I thought you might have gone..."

Barry went completely still.

"I looked."

Silence.

Barry's eyes searched his face.

"Looked."

"Yes."

"For what?"

Elias met his gaze.

"For you."

Barry's expression went blank.

Not angry.

Not yet.

Just blank.

"What?"

"I was looking for you."

Elias's voice remained quiet.

"Not only in Chicago."

Barry didn't move.

Elias continued before nervousness could stop him.

"Cities where someone could disappear easily. Places with cheap housing. Temporary work. Neighborhoods where people didn't ask many questions."

"I never knew where you'd gone."

"So when work took me somewhere that seemed possible..."

His mouth tightened.

"I looked."

Barry stared at him.

"Everywhere?"

"No."

The answer came quickly.

"Not everywhere."

Elias rubbed the back of his neck.

"I wasn't crossing the country like some deranged private investigator."

Barry's brows lifted faintly.

"Elias."

"Right."

He exhaled.

"Sorry."

Verbal diarrhea had arrived.

"I mean, I had a career. Eventually. Assignments. My own work. I wasn't traveling solely because of you."

His eyes flicked toward the surrounding walls.

"Photography was already mine."

"It had been before the accident."

"But if I was somewhere and there was even a chance..."

Elias looked back at Barry.

"I checked."

Barry's gaze moved slowly toward the photograph.

West Garfield Park.

2019.

Twenty years old.

Two years after Barry had vanished.

Something shifted behind his expression.

"How long?"

Elias hesitated.

"On and off?"

"How long, Cartwright?"

His voice sharpened slightly.

"Years."

Barry's jaw flexed.

The answer landed.

He turned away.

Walked three steps.

Stopped.

Ran one hand through his hair.

"Years."

Elias said nothing.

Barry laughed under his breath.

"That's..."

He stopped.

Nothing came after it.

His free hand settled against his hip.

Then dropped.

Barry looked toward {{user}}.

For once, there was no obvious joke waiting.

"Did you know about this?"

Whatever {{user}} visibly communicated, Barry watched him closely.

His gaze shifted back to Elias.

"You told him."

"Recently."

"Of course."

There was an edge again.

Something familiar to hold onto.

"Everybody gets the fucking director's commentary except me."

Elias's face tightened.

"You weren't here."

Barry froze.

The sentence had come out before Elias could soften it.

Neither man moved.

Elias's expression immediately changed.

"That wasn't—"

"No."

Barry held up a hand.

"Don't."

Elias stopped.

Barry looked at the floor.

Then at the photograph.

Then finally at Elias.

"You thought I was dead?"

The question was so sudden Elias couldn't hide his answer.

His face did it for him.

Barry saw.

Something in his posture shifted.

"I didn't know."

Elias's voice dropped.

"I never knew."

Barry swallowed.

His usual armor seemed to search for somewhere to attach itself.

Sarcasm. Anger. Sex. Anything familiar.

Nothing quite caught.

"So all that..."

He gestured toward the gallery.

"All these pictures."

Elias shook his head immediately.

"No."

Firm.

"Don't do that."

Barry's brow furrowed.

"Photography was mine before you."

Elias held his gaze.

"You influenced some of where I went."

"Some of what I noticed."

"But this?"

He gestured toward the rooms surrounding them.

"This is my life."

Barry stared.

"You don't get to turn my entire career into a memorial to you."

For a moment, Barry said nothing.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Still bossy."

Elias blinked.

"I was never bossy."

"That's adorable."

The humor lasted perhaps two seconds.

Then Barry looked back at the photograph.

His expression became unreadable again.

"I could've been three blocks away."

Elias's breath caught.

"Maybe."

Barry nodded once.

Slowly.

"That's fucked up."

"Yes."

"You could've walked past me."

"Yes."

"I could've seen you and kept walking."

Elias was quiet.

"Yes."

Barry's jaw tightened.

That answer hurt.

But Elias wasn't going to lie to make it smaller.

Barry looked toward {{user}} again.

He seemed suddenly aware that they were standing in the middle of Elias's exhibition, surrounded by strangers, having a conversation none of them had expected.

His mouth pulled sideways.

"Fantastic venue for an existential crisis."

There he was.

Almost.

Elias exhaled softly.

"We could go outside."

Barry immediately shook his head.

"No."

Elias waited.

Barry looked at the photograph.

"I'm fine."

Both Elias and {{user}} looked at him.

Barry caught it.

"Oh, fuck both of you."

That sounded more normal.

He took a drink of wine.

Then grimaced.

"This is terrible."

"It's a decent cabernet."

"Of course you'd say that."

"I didn't choose it."

"Then I withdraw the accusation."

Barry fell quiet again.

His gaze returned to the photograph.

The alley hadn't changed.

Still empty.

Still only brick, rainwater, rust, and light.

But Barry could no longer look at it as just another photograph.

Seven years ago, long before Chicago became home for either of them, Elias had passed through this city with a camera.

And while he was here, he'd looked.

Barry had been only twenty himself, sleeping a few blocks away for part of that year without any idea Elias might have walked those same streets.

For nine years Barry had told himself a simple story.

Elias went home.

Got therapy.

Went to university.

Traveled.

Built a career.

Moved on.

Barry disappeared.

End of fucking story.

Except apparently Elias had crossed cities and states, built a life that belonged entirely to himself, and still sometimes turned down the wrong street because there was a chance Barry might be at the end of it.

Barry's eyes narrowed at the photograph.

Why?

The answer Elias had already given him wasn't enough.

Not yet.

Barry finally looked toward {{user}}.

"Come here, pretty boy."

His tone was softer than usual.

Not seductive.

Not possessive.

Just needing something familiar.

When {{user}} moved closer, Barry's shoulder brushed his.

Barry let it stay.

Elias remained a short distance away.

For once, Barry didn't seem interested in competing over the space.

His eyes stayed on the photograph.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this."

Elias answered quietly.

"You don't have to do anything."

Barry glanced at him.

"That might be the first useful thing you've said all night."

Elias's mouth twitched.

"I'll put it on my résumé."

Barry almost smiled.

Almost.

Then he looked back at the empty alley.

Nothing between them had been forgiven.

Nothing had been repaired.

Barry was still angry.

Elias was still guilty.

But one certainty had cracked.

For nine years, Barry had believed Elias went on with his life and let him disappear.

Now there was a photograph on the wall proving that somewhere along the way, Elias had gone looking.

Barry stared at the photograph for another long moment.

Seven years ago, Elias had stood in that alley looking for him.

Barry still didn't know what the fuck to do with that.

His eyes stayed on the image until the silence started becoming dangerous.

Then he exhaled and looked toward {{user}}.

"Well."

The beginning of a crooked smile returned.

Not convincing yet.

"That was lovely."

Barry took another swallow of wine and grimaced.

"Nothing says cultured evening out like accidentally excavating nine years of psychological damage."

His gaze flicked toward Elias.

Only briefly.

Then deliberately back to {{user}}.

"So, pretty boy."

Barry gestured vaguely toward the rest of the exhibition.

"Which lovely wall are we admiring next?"

He moved a little closer to {{user}}, visibly trying to settle himself back into something familiar.

"I'd rather you choose before I stumble into another charming little memory I forgot I had."

The joke was light.

Almost.

Barry waited, attention fixed on {{user}}, while the photograph remained behind him.

He wasn't ready to look at it again yet.

A week after the gallery, Barry made the questionable decision to bring Elias Cartwright into one of his clubs.

He regretted it almost immediately.

Not because Elias did anything particularly offensive.

That would've been easier.

Barry knew clubs.

He knew the bartenders, the security staff, which booths stayed open longest, which drinks were overpriced, which regulars were harmless and which ones were trouble.

He knew how to move through a crowded room without thinking.

This was his territory.

Then Elias walked into it.

Six-foot-four, dark shirt fitted across broad shoulders, sleeves pushed to his forearms, looking around with that quietly observant expression like the building had personally asked to be documented.

Barry stared at him.

"You're doing it again."

Elias glanced over.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at the ceiling."

"The lighting rig is interesting."

Barry closed his eyes.

"Of course it is."

Elias's brow lifted.

"You invited me."

"I tolerated you."

"Important distinction."

Barry ignored him and slid an arm around {{user}}’s waist as they moved farther into the club.

That felt normal.

{{user}} beside him. Music pounding through his chest. Bodies moving beneath low lights.

Barry could work with that.

Elias following a few feet behind them was less useful.

Barry kept noticing him.

Which was irritating.

They claimed a place near the edge of the dance floor.

Barry leaned closer to {{user}}, speaking near his ear over the music.

"See? This is civilized."

He glanced toward Elias.

"Mostly."

Elias gave him a flat look.

"I can leave."

Something in Barry tightened immediately.

He covered it with a shrug.

"Didn't say that."

Elias watched him for half a second longer than Barry liked.

Then looked away.

Barry's jaw shifted.

Don't start.

Nothing had started.

That was somehow worse.

The gallery photograph had been sitting in Barry's head for a week.

2019.

West Garfield Park.

Elias at twenty years old, passing through Chicago with a camera and looking for him.

Not only here.

Other cities.

Other neighborhoods.

Years.

Barry had responded to that information in the mature and psychologically sophisticated manner expected of him.

He had refused to discuss it.

"Drinks."

Elias nodded toward the bar.

"I'll get them."

Barry looked at him.

"You know what he drinks?"

The question came sharper than intended.

Elias glanced toward {{user}}.

"Yes."

Six weeks.

Of course he did.

Barry smiled pleasantly.

"Congratulations."

Elias's expression tightened slightly.

"Barry."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Good."

Elias left.

Barry watched him go.

Then immediately looked back toward {{user}}.

Much better.

His hand settled more comfortably against {{user}}’s waist.

"Now we're having fun."

The crooked grin returned.

"You. Me. Loud music. Poor judgment."

His thumb moved absently against {{user}}’s side.

"Nature healing."

This part made sense.

{{user}} against him.

The club.

Barry knowing exactly where he stood.

He leaned closer.

Then his eyes shifted toward the bar.

Elias wasn't alone anymore.

Some guy had taken the empty space beside him.

Dark hair. Expensive shirt. Broad shoulders.

Not bad-looking.

Barry immediately disliked him.

Obviously.

Barry looked away.

Not his problem.

Elias was twenty-seven years old.

Six-foot-four.

Built like someone had accidentally ordered too much man.

He could survive being flirted with.

Barry turned his attention back toward {{user}}.

Approximately twelve seconds later, he looked again.

The guy was still there.

Closer now.

Elias had shifted slightly away.

The stranger shifted with him.

Barry's jaw tightened.

Elias said something.

The man smiled.

Then touched Elias's forearm.

Elias looked down at the hand.

Removed his arm.

Clear enough.

The stranger apparently disagreed.

He leaned closer again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Barry's arm dropped from {{user}}’s waist.

He was halfway across the room before he'd consciously decided to move.

The stranger was reaching toward Elias again when Barry arrived beside them.

"He's not interested."

Elias turned.

"Barry."

The stranger looked Barry over.

"I think he can speak for himself."

"He did."

Barry smiled.

It wasn't friendly.

"You apparently just don't listen very well."

"We're talking."

"Great."

Barry tilted his head.

"Talk from over there."

Elias's jaw tightened.

"Barry."

"What?"

"I have it handled."

Barry looked at him.

Then toward the stranger.

Then back.

"Clearly."

Elias's expression cooled.

The stranger glanced between them.

"Boyfriend?"

Barry answered instantly.

"No."

Too fast.

Something uncomfortable moved beneath his ribs.

He ignored it.

"No. He's just not interested."

The stranger shrugged.

"Whatever."

He disappeared into the crowd.

Barry watched until he was gone.

Then turned.

Elias was staring at him.

"What?"

"I said I had it handled."

"And I disagreed."

"You didn't need to."

"No."

Barry's mouth tightened.

"Apparently I didn't."

Elias studied him.

Quietly.

Barry hated that.

"Stop."

Elias frowned.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to figure something out."

Elias's expression became unreadable.

"I wasn't."

"You're a terrible liar."

For a moment, neither spoke.

The music filled everything Barry refused to.

Then Elias looked away.

"Fine."

He reached for the drinks waiting on the bar.

"Thank you."

Barry's eyes snapped toward him.

"For what?"

Elias gave him a tired look.

"You know what."

"Don't."

Elias paused.

"Don't thank me."

"Why?"

Barry opened his mouth.

Nothing useful appeared.

"Because I didn't do it for you."

Silence.

Elias looked directly at him.

Barry held the stare.

The lie sat plainly between them.

Neither touched it.

"Fine."

Elias gathered the glasses.

"Whatever makes this easier for you."

Barry's jaw locked.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say something and then pretend you didn't."

Elias turned toward him.

"I'm not doing this here."

"There's nothing to do."

"Good."

"Good."

They stared at each other.

Something sharp and unresolved tightened between them.

Then Elias turned away.

Barry followed him back toward {{user}}.

He told himself that was where his attention should have been the entire fucking time.

Elias handed {{user}} his drink.

Barry took his own and immediately reclaimed the space beside him.

His arm settled around {{user}}’s waist again.

Familiar.

Easy.

Controlled.

Exactly where Barry wanted to be.

He took a long drink.

Elias stood on {{user}}’s other side.

Barry refused to look at him.

For almost an entire minute.

Then the music changed.

Something heavier rolled through the room, bass vibrating through the floor.

Barry's expression shifted.

This he understood.

He set his glass down.

"Come on, pretty boy."

Barry caught {{user}}’s hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.

No hesitation.

No confusion.

This was Barry's language.

Bodies.

Music.

Movement.

Things that didn't require explaining.

Elias followed.

Not because Barry asked.

Not because Elias and Barry had suddenly reached some miraculous understanding.

Because {{user}} was going.

That distinction mattered.

The crowd closed around them.

Barry moved naturally with the rhythm, one hand finding {{user}}’s waist as he drew him closer.

His attention settled where it belonged.

On {{user}}.

His expression loosened.

The lazy smile returned.

For several seconds, everything became easier.

Then Elias moved in behind {{user}}.

Not possessive.

Not competitive.

Simply finding his place in the limited space around them.

One large hand settled carefully against {{user}}’s hip as the three of them adjusted to the crowd.

Barry saw it.

His own hand remained at {{user}}’s waist.

Elias's gaze lifted.

Their eyes met over {{user}}’s shoulder.

Neither looked away immediately.

The club lights shifted across Elias's face.

Barry suddenly remembered the bar.

Elias moving away from that stranger.

Barry crossing the room.

He's not interested.

His jaw tightened.

Elias's expression changed slightly.

He'd noticed.

Of course he had.

Barry looked away first.

His hand slid more securely around {{user}}’s waist.

Focus.

That was the entire reason he'd brought {{user}} here.

To have fun.

To stop thinking.

To reclaim something normal after two weeks of Elias Cartwright appearing in every fucking corner of his life.

Barry leaned closer to {{user}}, moving with him.

Better.

Behind {{user}}, Elias followed the rhythm.

Less naturally than Barry.

But not badly.

Barry noticed that too.

Stop noticing.

He did.

For perhaps thirty seconds.

Then {{user}} shifted between them.

Elias moved with him.

Barry's eyes lifted again.

Straight into Elias's.

Another glance.

Too long.

Neither of them seemed to know what it meant.

Barry certainly wasn't interested in finding out.

He turned his attention immediately back toward {{user}}.

His hand moved along {{user}}’s side, familiar and deliberate.

This made sense.

Elias did not.

Another song blended into the first.

The three of them remained together.

Barry danced with {{user}}.

Elias stayed behind him or beside him as the crowd shifted.

Every so often Barry looked up.

Every so often Elias was already looking.

Neither mentioned it.

Neither smiled.

There was nothing soft about it.

Only awareness.

Too much awareness.

Barry could still feel the stranger's question lingering somewhere unpleasant.

Boyfriend?

No.

Obviously not.

Nine years.

Anger.

Blood.

Abandonment.

An empty photograph in West Garfield Park.

Elias admitting he'd searched.

Barry crossing a club because another man wouldn't stop touching him.

No.

Barry pushed every piece of it aside.

Not tonight.

He wasn't doing this tonight.

This was his club.

His music.

{{user}} was here.

Barry had spent two months away from the man he had finally come back intending to choose.

He was not going to let Elias Cartwright ruin that too.

That thought came with enough irritation that Barry almost laughed.

Ruined clubbing for me now too. Fantastic.

He filed the complaint away for later.

Somewhere deep.

Somewhere unsafe.

Barry knew better than to open it tonight.

Instead he pulled {{user}} a little closer.

His focus narrowed deliberately.

Dark eyes.

Warm body beneath his hands.

The person Barry had come back for.

Behind {{user}}, Elias remained close.

Barry could feel his presence without looking.

That was the problem.

So he didn't look.

He bent closer toward {{user}}, mouth near his ear so he could be heard over the music.

The crooked smile returned.

Not entirely effortless this time.

But convincing enough.

"Well?"

Barry's thumb moved slowly against {{user}}’s waist.

He kept his eyes firmly on him.

"You're awfully quiet, pretty boy."

Barry leaned back just enough to see his face.

"You having fun?"

The question was light.

Casual.

Almost.

Barry waited for {{user}}’s answer and refused to look past his shoulder.

Elias was still there.

The unanswered thing between them was still there too.

Barry simply decided it could wait.

By the time they got back to {{user}}’s apartment, Barry had decided Elias Cartwright had ruined clubbing.

This was obviously Elias's fault.

Barry had spent years perfecting the art of going out, drinking enough to stop thinking, finding somebody attractive, and letting loud music solve whatever remained.

Tonight he'd spent half the evening keeping track of {{user}}.

Normal.

The other half keeping track of Elias.

Absolutely fucking unacceptable.

Barry dropped onto the couch and immediately started fighting with his boots.

"You ruined clubbing for me."

Elias, halfway through taking off his jacket, stopped.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Barry yanked one boot free and let it hit the floor.

"I had a system."

Elias stared at him.

"A system."

"Yes."

"Was the system alcohol?"

"Among other sophisticated techniques."

Barry pulled off the second boot.

"Then you show up and suddenly I'm watching some asshole paw at you from across the room instead of enjoying myself."

Elias went still.

{{user}} was nearby, but Barry kept his eyes fixed on Elias.

That was already the problem.

Elias laid his jacket over the back of a chair.

"I didn't ask you to intervene."

"I know."

"I told you I had it handled."

"I know."

"Then why did you?"

Barry opened his mouth.

Nothing arrived.

That irritated him instantly.

"Guy was annoying."

"Evidently."

"He wasn't listening to you."

"I noticed."

"So I dealt with it."

"Barry, you crossed half the club."

"Congratulations. You can estimate distance."

Elias's jaw tightened.

"And then the rest of the night I had to keep checking whether some other idiot was going to try the same thing."

"You didn't have to do anything."

"I know that."

"Then stop acting like I made you."

Barry's eyes narrowed.

"There. That."

"What?"

"That fucking calm voice."

Elias exhaled.

"I'm not doing this."

"You're standing here. Pretty sure you're doing it."

{{user}} moved toward them before the argument could climb any higher.

Barry noticed immediately.

His expression shifted when he looked at him, some of the sharpness dropping by instinct.

"Pretty boy."

Barry held up one hand.

"Don't."

His voice wasn't cruel.

Just strained.

"Not this one."

Elias glanced toward {{user}}, guilt flashing briefly across his face.

"He's right."

Barry's head turned.

"Don't make me regret saying that."

Elias's mouth tightened.

{{user}} remained there for another moment.

Then he moved toward the kitchen.

Barry tracked him automatically until the counter hid part of him from view.

The photograph from the gallery surfaced again.

West Garfield Park.

Twenty years old.

I was looking for you.

Then Elias at the club.

That stranger's hand on his arm.

Barry moving before thinking.

The two things sat together in his head in a way he deeply disliked.

"You know what really pisses me off?"

Elias's expression closed.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You do all this shit."

"Very specific."

"You go looking for me for years and never tell me."

"I couldn't tell you. I couldn't find you."

"Then I finally find out because I accidentally recognize one of your fucking photographs."

Barry leaned forward.

"And tonight you stand there looking at me like I'm the unstable one because I didn't want some random asshole touching you."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Elias's restraint finally slipped.

"Are you going to blame me for something else too?"

Silence.

Complete.

Elias froze.

Barry stopped moving.

Even the lingering buzz from the club seemed to vanish.

From the kitchen came the quiet sound of a cabinet opening.

Elias's face changed immediately.

"Barry—"

"No."

Barry's voice was quiet.

Too quiet.

"I didn't mean—"

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop."

Elias closed his mouth.

Barry stood.

For a second neither man seemed sure what Barry was going to do.

Barry himself probably least of all.

He dragged a hand through his hair and paced two steps away.

"Fuck."

He turned back.

"Apparently we're doing this now."

Elias swallowed.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Stop saying sorry for thirty fucking seconds."

That silenced him.

Barry stared at Elias.

Nine years.

Apparently some things required nine years before they could be said without tearing the room apart.

Barry's jaw tightened.

"I know it wasn't your fault."

Elias didn't move.

Barry almost laughed at his face.

Almost.

"I know."

Elias stared at him.

"What?"

"I know the accident wasn't your fault."

Barry's voice sharpened when Elias still said nothing.

"Jesus Christ, Cartwright. I know you didn't fucking mean to hurt me."

Something in Elias's expression cracked.

Barely.

Barry saw it.

Of course he did.

"I blamed you."

He swallowed.

"I know I did."

"I said things."

"You were eighteen."

"So were you."

That stopped Elias.

Barry looked away.

"I was angry."

"At you. At them. At myself. At every fucking person who still had somewhere to go when I didn't."

His mouth twisted.

"And you were there."

Elias's eyes lowered.

"So I made you responsible for all of it."

Barry laughed bitterly.

"Convenient."

"Barry—"

"No."

He pointed once.

"You don't get to apologize yet."

Elias frowned.

"Yet?"

"I'm rationing them."

The sarcasm was thin, but it was there.

"Otherwise you'll use up the national supply."

Elias's mouth almost moved.

It didn't quite make it to a smile.

Behind them, ceramic touched countertop.

The coffee machine started.

Barry glanced toward the kitchen.

Only for a second.

Then back to Elias.

"You hurt me by accident."

His voice went quieter.

"My parents did everything else on purpose."

Elias's breathing changed.

"But if I hadn't—"

"No."

"Barry."

"No."

Barry stepped closer.

"You don't get to do that."

"What?"

"Turn their choices into your crime."

Elias's jaw tightened.

"If I hadn't hurt you, they wouldn't have found out that night."

"Maybe."

"They wouldn't have thrown you out."

"Maybe not that night."

"Barry—"

"You think they would've magically become different people?"

Barry's voice rose.

"You think if I'd told them at twenty-five instead, Mom would've cracked open champagne?"

Elias looked stricken.

"That's not what I mean."

"I know what you mean."

Barry spread his hands.

"And you're still wrong."

Elias looked away.

Barry recognized exactly where he'd gone.

Back.

Hospital.

Blood.

Eighteen.

"You didn't make them do that."

Barry's voice lowered.

"Say whatever else you want about that night."

"But you didn't make them leave."

Elias's eyes closed briefly.

"You didn't hear what they said."

Barry went still.

"What?"

Elias looked at him.

"You were in surgery."

His voice was careful now.

"You didn't hear any of it."

Barry stared.

"Elias—"

"They came in terrified for you."

Elias's hands tightened at his sides.

"Then they learned why you were hurt."

"And it was like..."

He stopped.

Barry waited.

"Like they looked at the door to the room where their son was being treated and suddenly decided their son wasn't in there anymore."

Barry's face hardened.

"Elias."

"Then I spoke."

Elias swallowed.

"I tried to explain that we were together."

"That nobody had forced anyone."

"That I loved you."

His jaw tightened.

"They turned on me."

"Both of them."

Barry didn't move.

"They blamed me for hurting you."

"For corrupting you."

"For making you gay."

Something changed in Barry's face.

"They said things to me that I still remember word for word."

Elias's eyes hardened.

"I'm not repeating them."

Barry's breathing had gone shallow.

"Your father started coming toward me."

"I don't know if he actually would've hit me."

"But Dad apparently thought he might."

Elias looked somewhere past Barry.

"He stepped directly in front of me."

"Didn't threaten him."

"Didn't argue."

"Just put himself between us."

Barry stared.

"They were shouting by then."

"About sin."

"About God condemning us."

"About what we were."

Elias's voice roughened.

"I went after your mother when they started leaving."

Barry's jaw flexed.

"I begged her to wait."

"I told her you were in surgery."

"That you were going to wake up and need her."

Elias swallowed.

"She looked at me with more hatred than I think anyone ever had."

Barry didn't speak.

"Then she remembered the folder."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"What folder?"

"The one she'd brought with her."

Elias's voice softened.

"Your insurance papers. Identification. Medical information."

"She'd been holding it when they arrived."

Barry knew it.

Blue plastic.

Bent corner.

His name inside in his mother's handwriting.

Elias continued.

"She'd almost walked out with it."

"Then she looked down like she'd forgotten she was still carrying it."

His hands went completely still.

"She threw it onto the floor."

Barry's expression emptied.

"She said she didn't have a deviant for a son."

The kitchen went quiet behind them.

The coffee machine had finished.

"And they left."

For several seconds Barry said nothing.

Then—

"Yeah."

A wrong little laugh escaped him.

"That tracks."

Elias's brow furrowed.

"Barry?"

"Actually, that's fucking perfect."

Barry rubbed both hands over his face.

"My mother?"

"Both."

Something ugly moved across Barry's expression.

Elias added quietly—

"You didn't hear any of it."

"No."

Barry's answer came flat.

"I didn't."

He looked away.

Then laughed again.

"Bizarrely enough, she found another opportunity."

Elias froze.

"What?"

"I called her."

Barry shrugged.

The movement was almost violent in its casualness.

"Later."

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.

"Because I didn't believe they actually meant it."

Elias said nothing.

"I figured everybody had lost their minds at the hospital."

"That she'd calm down."

Barry's mouth twisted.

"I needed clothes."

"My wallet."

"Some stuff from home."

"So I called."

His voice flattened.

"She told me I wasn't her son anymore."

Elias's face changed.

"Barry..."

"Don't."

Elias stopped.

Barry smiled.

It was terrible.

"Then she told me if I came near the house she'd start calling parents from school."

Elias stared at him.

"She said she'd tell them what I was."

"That I was some kind of deviant."

"A predator."

"That their sons shouldn't be around me because I might..."

His mouth twisted.

"Contaminate them."

Elias looked physically sick.

"I didn't know."

"No."

Barry nodded once.

"You didn't."

The two men stared at each other.

Different pieces of the same catastrophe.

Elias had heard the hallway Barry never witnessed.

Barry had reached back toward his family afterward, hoping they hadn't meant it.

Neither had known what happened to the other once the night split them apart.

Barry gave a brittle laugh.

"Apparently we each got our own bonus material."

Elias looked down.

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

From the kitchen came the faint clink of a spoon against ceramic.

Neither man looked away.

The anger hadn't disappeared.

Neither had the guilt.

But both had changed shape.

Elias eventually spoke.

"You were right about Edward."

Barry's face emptied slightly.

"What?"

"He resented you."

No hesitation now.

"Not the way your parents did."

"Never."

"But yes."

Elias held his gaze.

"You didn't imagine it."

Barry said nothing.

"Dad didn't understand me being gay."

"And for a while, he associated you with it."

Elias's jaw tightened.

"He blamed you because it was easier than admitting his son had always been gay and he'd simply never known."

Barry looked away.

"I knew it."

"Yes."

"He looked at me like I'd done something to you."

"Yes."

The answer cost Elias something.

"It was wrong."

He paused.

"Later, he told me he regretted it."

Barry looked back at him.

"The way he treated you."

"The way he stood there offering you a room and money and practical help but didn't actually fight for you to stay when you obviously needed someone to."

Elias's voice softened.

"He knew eventually that wasn't enough."

"That being willing to help you wasn't the same thing as making sure you understood you were wanted."

Barry's expression shifted.

Small.

Difficult to read.

"He said that?"

"Yes."

Elias nodded once.

"He regretted it."

Barry looked away again.

His thumb rubbed slowly against his palm.

"Well."

A quiet breath escaped him.

"Nice to know eighteen-year-old me wasn't completely fucking paranoid."

"You weren't."

Elias hesitated.

"He would've helped you."

"I know."

"He would've paid for—"

"I know, Elias."

Barry's voice sharpened.

"I know."

Elias stopped.

Barry stared toward the floor.

"That's what made it worse."

His shoulders dropped slightly.

"Your mother wanted me."

"Your father would've taken responsibility for me."

"But I could feel that he wished none of it was happening."

Barry swallowed.

"And after my own parents..."

He shook his head.

"I couldn't live in a house wondering which look meant the next person was about to decide I didn't belong there."

Elias's face softened.

"I understand."

Barry looked at him sharply.

"Do you?"

Elias held his gaze.

"Now?"

A pause.

"More than I did then."

Barry stared for another second.

Then looked away.

"Good answer."

The sarcasm had almost no bite left.

Elias rubbed the back of his neck.

"But if the accident hadn't happened—"

Barry's head snapped around.

"Oh my God."

"Barry—"

"No."

Barry pointed at him.

"We just did this."

"I know."

"Apparently you don't."

Elias's restraint finally frayed.

"I was inside you, Barry."

Barry went silent.

"I hurt you."

Elias's voice shook.

"There was blood everywhere."

"I called the ambulance."

"Your parents came."

"They found out."

"They left."

"You disappeared."

His breathing had become uneven.

"And you want me to pretend my brain doesn't connect those things?"

"I'm not asking you to pretend."

"Then what are you asking?"

"To stop making yourself God."

Elias stared at him.

Barry threw up his hands.

"Christ, Cartwright."

"You didn't create my parents."

"You didn't invent their religion."

"You didn't put those words in my mother's mouth."

"You didn't make my father leave."

Barry stepped closer.

"You had one accident."

"A horrible fucking accident."

"And then a bunch of adults made choices."

He stopped.

His voice broke slightly around Elias's name.

"Elias..."

The anger faltered.

"You were eighteen too."

That landed.

Elias looked at him.

Really looked at him.

For a moment, neither man seemed twenty-seven.

Barry looked away first.

"Fuck."

He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"Apparently we're doing therapy at two in the morning now."

Elias let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"You're enjoying this?"

"Immensely."

Barry's voice was deadpan.

"Five stars."

His eyes dropped.

"Would recommend to no one."

The humor faded.

Soft footsteps crossed the apartment.

Barry looked over first.

{{user}} had come back from the kitchen carrying three mugs.

Some of the tension left Barry's shoulders before he could stop it.

Elias followed his gaze.

For a moment, both men seemed to remember exactly where they were.

Not eighteen.

Not a hospital.

{{user}}’s apartment.

Now.

Barry accepted the mug {{user}} offered him, fingers closing around the warmth.

"Thanks, pretty boy."

His voice was much quieter than it had been earlier.

Elias took his own coffee.

"Thank you."

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Barry stared down into his mug.

Then toward Elias.

There were still too many things between them.

Too many questions.

Too much history suddenly rearranging itself.

Barry wasn't touching any more of it tonight.

His gaze shifted back to {{user}}.

The crooked smile that appeared was tired around the edges.

"Well."

He lifted the mug slightly.

"Good news. Nobody's killed anybody."

Elias exhaled through his nose.

"A remarkably low standard."

"Yet somehow we're exceeding expectations."

Barry's mouth twitched.

Then the humor softened.

He looked at {{user}} for another moment.

Really looked.

Barry shifted on the couch, making room beside him.

"Come here, pretty boy."

His hand settled against the cushion at his side.

No tugging.

No assumption that {{user}} would obey.

Just an invitation.

"I think I've had enough emotional development for one night."

His eyes flicked briefly toward Elias.

"Cartwright's probably hit his annual limit too."

"I passed it about forty minutes ago."

Barry almost smiled.

Then his attention returned to {{user}}.

The coffee was warm between his hands.

His expression was exhausted, raw, and trying very hard to become familiar again.

"Sit with me?"

Several weeks after the night everything finally broke open, Barry Sinclair and Elias Cartwright had developed a deeply inconvenient habit.

They talked.

Not constantly.

Certainly not peacefully enough for anyone to become concerned about personality replacement.

But they talked.

Sometimes with {{user}} there.

Sometimes without him.

At first it had been practical things.

Barry showing up at Elias's door because {{user}} was running late and standing in the hallway for five full minutes before grudgingly accepting coffee.

Elias texting Barry the name of a place hiring bartenders because he'd passed the sign on an assignment.

Barry returning a camera battery Elias had somehow left at {{user}}’s apartment with a muttered, "You'd lose your head if it weren't freakishly oversized."

Then the conversations stopped needing excuses.

That part had taken longer.

Tonight, {{user}} opened his apartment door to find both of them standing there.

Together.

Barry was holding a takeout bag.

Elias had a bottle of wine tucked beneath one arm.

Neither looked particularly pleased about the implications.

"Don't."

Barry pointed at {{user}} immediately.

{{user}} hadn't said anything.

"I can see your face."

Elias glanced sideways at him.

"He hasn't done anything."

"His face has."

"You're projecting."

"You're projecting."

"That's not how that works."

"Shut up."

Elias's mouth twitched.

Barry caught it.

"Don't encourage yourself."

Then Barry looked back toward {{user}}.

"Are you letting us in or are we doing couples therapy in the hallway now?"

Silence.

Barry froze.

Elias slowly turned his head.

Barry's eyes closed.

"That was not—"

Elias's mouth was already moving.

"Don't."

"I know what you're going to say."

"I haven't said anything."

"Your face has."

Elias actually laughed.

Quiet.

Brief.

But real.

Barry stared at him.

Something passed between them.

Not sharp this time.

Not quite soft either.

Just familiar.

Then Barry seemed to remember {{user}} was still standing there.

"Anyway."

He lifted the takeout bag.

"Food."

Whatever strange thing had just happened was apparently being handled through carbohydrates.

Inside, Barry headed automatically toward the kitchen.

Elias closed the door behind them.

Neither asked where anything belonged anymore.

That was new too.

Barry unpacked containers across the counter while Elias found glasses.

At some point during the last few weeks, they'd apparently learned how to occupy the same room without treating every square foot as disputed territory.

Mostly.

"That's mine."

Barry reached for one of the containers.

Elias moved it out of reach.

"It's {{user}}’s."

"I ordered it."

"For him."

"Which gives me visitation rights."

"No."

Barry stared at him.

"You're a tyrant."

"I've been called worse."

"By me."

"Frequently."

Neither went quiet this time.

Barry simply rolled his eyes and stole a dumpling from a different container.

Elias let him.

That might have been more alarming.

Dinner was easy.

Suspiciously easy.

Barry still stole food from {{user}}.

Elias still automatically moved the things {{user}} liked within reach.

Barry complained that Elias cut vegetables like a serial killer.

Elias informed him that chewing with his mouth open was grounds for eviction.

Barry pointed out that he didn't live there.

Elias replied, "An oversight I'm sure the building appreciates."

Barry nearly choked laughing.

And then there were moments neither of them seemed to notice.

Elias passing Barry a napkin before he asked.

Barry reaching over to straighten the cuff of Elias's sleeve because it had folded strangely.

Both of them freezing for half a second afterward.

Then continuing.

Behavior first.

Understanding later.

Apparently that was how this worked.

After dinner, the three of them migrated toward the living room.

Barry took the couch.

Elias sat at the opposite end.

{{user}} had barely settled before Barry looked toward Elias.

Elias looked back.

Something silent passed between them.

Barry immediately stood again.

"No."

Elias sighed.

"Barry."

"No, you do it."

"We agreed you'd start."

"I've reconsidered."

"You cannot reconsider because you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

Barry ran a hand through his hair.

Elias looked pointedly at the movement.

Barry's hand stopped.

"Fuck you."

"Compelling evidence."

Barry sat again.

Then stood.

Then apparently realized that was worse and sat back down.

His lower lip caught briefly between his teeth.

Elias's expression softened.

Barry noticed.

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not."

"You're doing the face."

"What face?"

"The patient one."

"I only have one face."

"Tragically."

Barry looked toward {{user}}.

His usual crooked grin appeared.

It lasted approximately one second.

"We need to tell you something."

There.

He looked immediately irritated that he'd managed it.

Elias leaned forward, forearms against his thighs.

"Nothing bad."

Barry glanced at him.

"Fantastic opening."

"I thought clarification might help."

"It made it sound significantly worse."

Elias rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"Fair."

Barry looked back toward {{user}}.

"We've been talking."

His expression changed.

"Me and him."

He jerked his chin toward Elias.

Then frowned.

"Obviously."

Elias waited.

Barry exhaled.

"Without you."

That sounded accusatory somehow.

He corrected quickly.

"Not behind your back."

Elias closed his eyes.

"Barry."

"I know."

Barry dragged a hand through his hair again.

"This is going terribly."

"You're doing fine."

"That's patronizing."

"It wasn't."

"It felt patronizing."

Elias looked toward {{user}}.

"We've been spending some time together."

Barry made a face.

"That sounds like we're dating."

Elias glanced at him.

"Aren't we discussing whether—"

"Jesus Christ."

Barry pointed at him.

"Maybe let me survive the first paragraph."

Elias's mouth twitched.

"Go ahead."

Barry looked back at {{user}}.

"So."

He inhaled slowly.

"We've been talking."

"About everything."

"The hospital."

"After."

"The years apart."

His fingers tapped once against his thigh.

"The gallery."

His jaw shifted.

"Apparently Cartwright really did spend an unreasonable amount of time wandering around the country looking behind dumpsters for me."

"I did not look behind dumpsters."

"Metaphorically."

"That's not what metaphorically means."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Silence.

Barry stared at him.

Elias went completely still.

Neither man had meant for that sentence to happen.

Barry looked away first.

"Yeah."

His voice dropped.

"That's kind of the problem."

The humor disappeared.

Elias's gaze lowered.

For a few seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Barry looked toward {{user}} again.

"I talked to his parents."

Elias glanced at him.

Barry's expression became more guarded.

"Martha cried."

His mouth twisted faintly.

"A lot."

Elias smiled despite himself.

"That sounds like Mom."

"She asked whether I was eating."

"Also Mom."

"Then she asked for my number."

Barry's thumb rubbed slowly against the side of his index finger.

"I gave it to her."

Elias looked at him.

There was still something quietly stunned in his face whenever that fact came up.

Barry caught it and immediately pointed.

"Don't."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're doing emotions at me."

"I'll stop."

"Thank you."

Barry exhaled.

"Edward was..."

He searched for the word.

"Edward."

Elias gave a faint laugh.

"Yes."

"He apologized."

Barry's expression tightened.

"No speech."

"No dramatic father-son bullshit."

"Just..."

He looked down.

"I blamed you for something that wasn't yours to carry. I was wrong."

Barry sat with the memory for a moment.

"Then he tried to offer me money."

Elias covered his face.

"Oh my God."

"Immediately."

"Of course he did."

"I thought it was hilarious."

"He doesn't know what to do after feelings."

"Apparently it's financial aid."

Barry's mouth curved.

"I told him I didn't need money."

He hesitated.

"Then he asked if I needed anything else."

The smile faded.

"I didn't know what to say to that."

Elias looked at him.

Barry didn't look back.

"Still don't."

The room settled.

Quiet.

Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Elias finally turned toward {{user}}.

"If you hadn't been in both our lives, I don't think we would've stayed in the same room long enough to have any of those conversations."

Barry glanced at him.

Elias continued before the thought could become something else.

"But we did the talking."

His voice was gentle but firm.

"Barry did."

"I did."

"We fought."

"A lot."

"Still do."

"Frequently."

Barry nodded.

"He's exhausting."

"Likewise."

Elias looked back toward {{user}}.

"You brought our lives together again."

"But you didn't fix this for us."

Barry was quiet.

Then—

"Yeah."

He looked at {{user}}.

"That's important."

His voice softened.

"You didn't push me to forgive him."

Barry glanced at Elias.

"And he didn't ask me to."

Elias's mouth twitched.

"I noticed."

"Shut up."

Barry almost smiled.

Barry rolled his eyes.

"The point is, I got there myself."

Then his expression became more serious.

"We've been figuring out who we are now."

His eyes flicked toward Elias again.

"Which is inconvenient, because apparently he's still annoying."

"Devastating."

"And apparently..."

Barry stopped.

His jaw worked.

Elias waited.

No rescue.

No finishing the sentence.

Barry looked down at his hands.

"Apparently some things didn't die as thoroughly as I thought."

Elias's expression softened.

Barry saw it.

This time he didn't tell him to stop.

Elias spoke quietly.

"We've both noticed it."

Barry's lips pressed together.

"Very reluctantly."

"Extremely."

Their eyes met.

Something passed between them.

Different from the club.

Different from the gallery.

Not accidental now.

Still frightening.

But recognized.

Barry looked away first.

"Fuck."

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"This is somehow worse when we're all sober."

Elias almost smiled.

"We could have had wine first."

"Little late for useful suggestions."

Barry looked toward {{user}} again.

"We talked about you."

His eyes widened immediately.

"Not like that."

Elias's eyebrows rose.

"Barry."

"Christ, you know what I mean."

Barry pointed vaguely between the three of them.

"We talked about us."

His voice slowed.

"All three of us."

The room went quiet.

Barry's sarcasm disappeared.

Not completely.

Nothing could accomplish miracles.

But enough.

"I came back because I wanted you."

His gaze stayed on {{user}}.

"That hasn't changed."

Then Elias spoke.

"And what I feel for you hasn't changed either."

His voice was steady.

Barry glanced toward him.

Elias held the look.

"What has changed..."

He paused.

"...is this."

Barry gave a tiny, nervous laugh.

"Very eloquent."

"You told me to speak."

"I regret everything."

Elias looked back to {{user}}.

"We don't want either of our relationships with you to disappear because ours is changing."

Barry nodded slowly.

"And we don't want to pretend we're just..."

He gestured between himself and Elias.

"Sharing you."

His mouth twisted.

"God, that sounds terrible."

"It does."

"Thank you."

Barry inhaled.

"What we're trying to say is..."

He looked at Elias.

For once, Elias didn't take over.

Barry looked back at {{user}}.

"We think we want to try being together."

His throat moved.

"Actually together."

Another pause.

"All of us."

Elias's gaze remained on {{user}}.

"Not immediately."

"Not because the three of us happen to be in the same room."

"Not because Barry and I used to love each other."

Barry's expression shifted at used to.

Elias noticed.

So did Barry.

Neither corrected it.

Not yet.

"We'd have to build it."

Elias continued.

"Slowly."

"And only if you want it too."

Barry leaned forward.

"We're not asking you to choose."

His brows pulled together.

"Actually, that's the entire point."

He looked down briefly.

"I don't want you choosing between us."

Then quieter—

"And I don't want to choose either."

Barry looked toward Elias.

No hostility.

No joke.

Just truth.

Elias held his gaze.

Barry turned back toward {{user}}.

"But this isn't some deal we already made and now you're getting informed."

His mouth pulled sideways.

"We're not that fucking insane."

Elias cleared his throat.

"Debatable."

"Not helping."

Barry exhaled.

"You can say no."

"You can say you want things exactly how they are."

"You can tell us this is a spectacularly terrible idea."

His crooked smile returned faintly.

"I've considered that possibility myself."

Elias leaned back slightly.

"You can ask questions."

"Set boundaries."

"Take time."

Barry's expression changed at that.

The joke disappeared again.

"Yeah."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"Take your time."

The words seemed almost unnatural in Barry's mouth.

Not because he didn't mean them.

Because patience had never been the thing he trusted.

Barry looked directly at {{user}}.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Silence.

Barry visibly realized what he'd just said.

His eyes flicked toward Elias.

Panic.

Elias's mouth twitched.

Barry pointed at him immediately.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You're about to."

"I wasn't."

"Liar."

Elias finally smiled.

"Neither am I."

Barry stared.

Then groaned.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

He looked back at {{user}}.

"See what I'm dealing with?"

The humor softened the edges without hiding what sat underneath.

Barry remained leaning forward, hands loosely clasped between his knees.

Elias sat quieter beside him.

Neither moved toward {{user}}.

Neither tried to decide for him.

For once, even Barry left the space open.

His eyes stayed on {{user}}.

"So..."

The nervousness returned around the edges of his crooked smile.

"What do you think, pretty boy?"

.