As Elijah joins him on the sofa and cradles his mug in both his hands, periodically bringing it to his lips and gently blowing the steam away, the pounding in Arlo’s chest and that familiar churn of anxiety in his stomach starts to ease. He finds himself examining Elijah in excruciating detail, mentally cataloguing every aspect of the mysterious stranger he had brought home. He had, of course, already done this to an extent when they had met for the first time at the tea shop, but that was Arlo’s job, that was merely observing a witness. This? This was curious, intimate, like analysing a particularly compelling photograph of a legendary beast in the rural outskirts of northern Scandinavia. Needless to say, Arlo was more than a little captivated by Elijah. Needless to say, it was not unreciprocated. Arlo’s thought process, however, is interrupted by a sudden spluttering from across the sofa where Elijah was grimacing and holding his tongue between his teeth, clearly disgusted at the taste of the liquid in his cup. Arlo presses his lips together and the corners twitch up briefly as he stifles his laugh.

“It’s, um, interesting.” Elijah says as he sets his mug back down onto the coffee table.

“And now the truth?” Arlo’s still examining Elijah’s face, amused. Elijah grins sheepishly. 

“I would rather drink puddle water.” 

“Well,” Arlo cocks his head toward one of the windows, “it is raining.” They share a bemused grin for a mere second before Arlo hurriedly averts his gaze and busies himself with his mug of coffee. 

Breaching the topic of who on earth Eli even was was a more difficult task than Arlo had first assumed; the possible outcomes were building up in his mind and the majority of them weren’t great. As the anxiety pounded in his ears, he could hear Eli babbling on about something. Maybe tea? He didn’t know, he wasn’t listening. Finally, he spoke,

“Why don’t you have a phone?” Elijah stops, mid-sentence, and affixes Arlo with a slightly confused stare. A few awkward seconds go by and there’s no response. If there was no other outcome to this conversation, Arlo at least now knew how to finally shut Eli up. He swallows the lump in his throat and continues, “Why don’t you have a wallet, or any money?” By this point, Eli isn’t even staring at Arlo anymore, it’s almost as if there was a big hole in his head and he’s staring right through him. A few more seconds go by, “Elijah?”

“Eli.” His sudden growl takes Arlo by surprise. Everything in him says to back off, but instead, he sits straight and holds Eli’s now-steely glare.

“That. What’s that about?” More silence. Arlo takes a deep breath and rethinks his approach. Softer, he says, “You are in my house because I’m guessing you had nowhere else to go. I’m risking my career and my reputation just bringing you back here, let alone having coffee with you. I think I deserve some kind of answer.” The expression on Eli’s face softens.  Arlo can immediately pinpoint a certain sadness in his eyes and he swears he can see him start to tear up. Eli adjusts his posture and finally looks away, into his lap.

“My family weren’t very nice people.” He’s quiet, quieter than Arlo had ever heard him before. It was almost terrifying.

“Weren’t?”

“Weren’t.” Eli nods slowly before continuing, “I haven’t seen any of them since I was twelve.” Arlo blinks slowly and tries to mask the immense feeling of dread pooling in his chest. 

“So you’ve been alone since-”
“Since I was a kid, yes.” 

“And you don’t like your name because… it reminds you of them?” A whisper of a smirk appears on Eli’s face, but that, still, was shrouded in despair. 

“Are you religious?” 

“I, uh-” Arlo stutters, clearly taken aback by the seemingly left-field question, “-I was raised Christian I guess, but we only ever went to church once a year, and I’m pretty sure that was just because my dad wanted the free food at Christmas mass, and-” Arlo takes a breath and feels a quiet sense of relief as he hears a slight chuckle from across the sofa. He smiles sheepishly and recomposes himself. “No. I’m not really religious. Not any more.” 

“Well,” Eli starts, the brief lightheartedness fizzling away and being replaced once again with melancholy, “my family were extremely Catholic; Church every morning, bible study before bed, Jesus on pretty much every wall in the house, you get it.” Arlo gives a small nod in acknowledgement and Eli continues, “One day, at Sunday school, we learnt about marriage and how love only exists between a man and a woman, blah blah blah, all of the standard stuff you desperately need to know at seven years old, of course.” Eli rolls his eyes, “That same lesson got drilled into us again and again for years, and I never understood it. Why on earth did I have to marry a girl when boys were just so much prettier?” 

At that sudden declaration, Arlo realises he’s staring at the ends of Eli’s damp hair, watching them slowly curl, and hastily averts his attention back to his coffee mug, desperately pretending there was no subtle flush upon his face.

“So that’s exactly what I asked my priest.” Arlo halts, mid sip, and his eyes shoot back up to Eli’s in horror.

“You told your priest you were gay?” Eli’s sad smile is all the confirmation Arlo needs. 

“I was only nine. He called my father right there and then. I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal.” Arlo hesitates, terrified to ask the question bubbling in his mind as he was certain he already knew the answer.

“What did your father do?” The pain in Eli’s eyes was too much to bear. The question felt damning coming out of his lips and the regret welled up in his chest. Eli’s eyes shine with the threat of tears as he attempts to formulate an answer. 

“When I got home that afternoon he…” Eli trails off as he chokes back a lump in his throat and then straightens his back. “He was a really violent alcoholic, let’s put it that way. My brothers stopped speaking to me and my mother decided that I’d be better locked away in the attic so that I didn’t infect the whole family with the plague of homosexuality.” Eli scoffs amusedly through his tears that were now trailing down his face. Arlo couldn’t help but admire his relentless ability to put even the tiniest of witty spins on the darkest of conversations. 

“Why didn’t you play along to save yourself the pain? Pretend you were “cured” and play straight until you could leave?” 

Eli’s eyes finally met Arlo’s once again. “Why should I have to?”

 The question hung in the air leaving a piercing silence between the two for what felt like an eternity. Eli was the first to break it. “Anyway… when I turned twelve I overheard my parents planning to send me away somewhere for conversion therapy. I ran away a few days later.” 

“I’m… so sorry.” Arlo felt like his heart and stomach had hit the floor. Suddenly he wasn’t so suspicious of this poor man sitting in front of him. 

All he felt was heartbroken.