When Eli opens his eyes, it’s barely light out, maybe 6am. Joss’s arm is still across his shoulders, and he reaches up and runs his fingers over the back of Joss’s skin, a light as a feather. He feels illicit, sleepy, the soft morning light permeating everything he does. Joss mumbles, and Eli can’t help but watch him, with his solid jaw and long eyelashes and blonde hair spilling everywhere, never contained, just like Joss himself. Eli’s feelings spill over, unfurling in his gut and trailing up to his heart, hands, mind, until he’s not sure what is real anymore. Is this just a dream, created after a month of tightly held emotion, loss and lust? He doesn’t know, can’t know, because what if it is a dream? What if it is just something he came up with because he has nothing better to do than dream about the boy who has ruined him and would again?

Joss blinks awake, bleary and disoriented.

“Is this a dream?” Eli asks, before he can stop himself.

“Wha? Nah. I don’t really dream that much. You’re awake. And so am I. Jesus shit, is it still night?”

“No, it’s morning. Maybe 6?”

“Fuuuck, that’s still night. I’m going back to sleep. Go raid the fridge or some shit, I don’t care,” Joss closes his eyes and his breathing slows, pitching him back into sleep.

Eli nudges Joss’s arm off of his shoulder, and stands up. He jogs into the next room and back again, rubbing his shaved head to wake himself up. He’s not used to sleeping in. However, he is used to making breakfast, so that’s what he does. Eggs. Butter. Milk. Salt. Flour. A pan. As he hunts for items in the unfamiliar kitchen, he realizes that he hasn’t ever met- or heard about- Joss’s parents. Are they ever home? He’s never seen them around the house.

He pushes the thought out of his mind, no need to be nosy, and buries himself with making pancakes. They’re his specialty, and with the real maple syrup he found in the cupboard, he will be regarded as king of cooks by everyone that is blessed with his food.

Joss wanders into the kitchen right when Eliseo finishes the first batch of pancakes; his attempt to sleep in obviously unsuccessful.

“This is incredibly domestic and it’s making me uncomfortable.” He regards the pancakes with a wary eye. “There’s not cocaine in there, is there?”

“No. Not my cup of tea,” Eli says. 

Eli is suddenly melancholy, a wave of the emotion rushing over him like a gentle tide. Sad, and happy. Happy because he’s here with Joss in what could be their little bubble of happiness, sad because he didn’t find this- Joss- sooner, sad because he knows that this is different for him than it is for Joss.

“You picked the wrong fucking moment to get all introspective,” Joss deadpans. “Pancakes are shit when burnt. Jesus, pretty boy, why are you in a gang? You should be on like America’s Got Talent or some shit.”

“Thanks.” Eli says, his cheeks heating.

“It’s not a fucking compliment. It means you chose the wrong profession, and that means you suck at life.”

“And you’ve chosen well?” Eli says, just a hint of a challenge, acidic anger slowly burning in his voice. “With your jerk teammates and empty house?”

Joss visibly flinches, he’s gone way too far. He tries frantically to backpedal, “I mean, I didn’t mean that-”

Joss cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “It’s a fair goddamn question. You’ve told me about your family, I might as well tell you about mine.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to, Eliseo. Well- my mom is British, that’s why I was cursed with the god awful name Jocelyn. She married my dad because he was well off and handsome and she had him wrapped around her little finger. She wanted to leave. She wanted to leave so badly, Eli.”

Joss using his name is unprecedented, as unusual as Eli singing. Eli both wants to make him stop talking, because he looks so hurt, and make him keep going. He wants to know Joss, to bear the burden of his secrets, to be the closest to him in every way. He opens his mouth, and Joss starts talking again.

“This is a secret. Secrets have weight. I just don’t want to feel like I’m carrying a fuck ton of bricks all the time.”

Eli turns off the burner under the pan.

“She married my dad, and got carted off to the US. She didn’t realize that leaving Greenwich would mean leaving everything. And that the wives of business owners weren’t the best company. She decided that the best alternative to friends was drugs, of course. My dad was never home. He’s still never home. Every time he looks at her he remembers those first few years. I was born because he wanted her to have a reason to stay clean. Now that I can take care of myself, she doesn’t have any reasons. I hate him. I hate them both. I don’t want to ever be so attached to someone that I ruin myself like she did. Never. I’d never felt like that, so it didn’t matter.”

The sudden switch of tense in his words doesn’t escape Eli’s notice. Not 'it doesn't matter', but 'it didn't matter'. It didn’t matter… until? He isn’t going to press. Not here, not now.

“No one on the team knows. They like me because I can pay for their snacks and I’m really fucking good. I only have time, really. They’re all jackasses. They want me to be a jackass with them, so I am. End of story. Were you entertained? Are you happy to be in the club?” His voice has switched to vicious.

“No, I’m not,” Eli says. Not… what? You’re not what, Eliseo?

“Whatever,” Joss says, ever bitter. “Give me some of those pancakes. I want to go spend money. Let’s see a movie or some shit.”