Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucas knows that gossip spreads like wildfire in the office. It’s the main reason why he has never divulged anything about his private life. Unfortunately, he doesn’t really have a choice this time. He sends the short email about his changed marital status to HR at ten past nine. It takes less than ten minutes before the news has reached Daphné in Accounting, and his phone beeps with a message in their group chat. He ignores it, obviously, but it seems like none of his friends have any job to do this morning, because the beeps become incessant within thirty seconds.

When he opens his phone, there are 82 messages. It starts with Daphné’s juicy “WTF, Lucas? Tell me HR is joking. There’s no way you got married without telling anyone of us,” followed by a bunch of variations on amazement and disbelief, until it’s just a repetition of pleas for Lucas to either affirm or deny Daphné’s claim.

So he does, and braces himself.

Within seconds the messages just pour in. Careful congratulations, but also a lot of incredulous messages, and requests for an explanation. Then Yann asks the million-dollar question.

“And who is the happy bride, Lu? You never mentioned a girlfriend to us!”

And there’s the thing.

Lucas tried to come out, he really did. It became almost painful, his crush on Yann and faking things with innocent girls, and he’d hated himself for hiding his true self every day. When Chloé had accused him of being a liar, he’d resolved to come clean. But things had been so hard with his mom, and living in the flat share and struggling to get by, and when he’d tried to talk to Yann, Yann had seemed off. Lucas had chickened out. And then Arthur had gotten into all that trouble with losing his hearing, and there had been other stuff to worry about. And then Lucas’ father had died, and he’d left Lucas way more money than Lucas had ever expected.

He'd been torn about accepting it. His father hadn’t been all that forthcoming when Lucas needed him – not with money or anything else – and Lucas had been too angry to want anything to do with him. He hadn’t wanted to feel he owed his father anything, even if the man was dead.

But his mother had encouraged him – and Lucas had finally accepted. He’d gotten a financial advisor before he’d even decided what he was going to major in, and donated large chunks of his profits to LBGTQ+ charities in a weird way of getting back to his father every year.

Even so, the money had enabled him to start a small law firm before he’d even cleared the bar. Lucas had stumbled his way into a law major, and to everyone’s surprise, most of all his own, he turned out to be really good at it. The inheritance bought him a head start, and his talent did the rest.

Now, four years later, Lucas is hugely successful – professionally, financially. But it comes at a cost – insane work hours estrange him from his friends. His schedule gives him a ready-made excuse to miss birthday parties and graduation celebrations, and maybe even more importantly, bails him out of all the dates the gang wants to set him up with, saving him from actually explaining anything to them. He still belongs with the group, yes, but he feels like he is looking in from the outside, watching his friends move away from him, leaving him behind, never taking the time to look further than Lucas’ guarded words.

Well. He supposes he has only himself to thank for that.

And it seems he has some confessions to make.

He sighs deeply, and calls his assistant to clear his schedule. It sucks, and he’ll probably lose a client or two, what with already having been away last week. But hey, better get used to not working seventy-plus hours a week – now that he has a reason to spend time outside of the office, that is.

His message in the group chat is short and to the point – his flat, noon, nothing else.

He’s not naïve enough to hope he’ll get away with a similarly succinct conversation when they meet.

He doesn’t. Not even close. He tries, obviously – keeping it brief, telling them he did indeed get married last weekend, and that his bride is, in fact, a groom.

Somehow, that second bit of information doesn’t seem to upset them quite as much as the first part.

Oh, there’s a fair bit of outrage about keeping something like that from them for years and years, but all in all, the conversation shifts swiftly from Lucas’ sexuality to his apparent sheer stupidity.

They’re all yelling at him – calling him a hypocrite for not trusting his friends but trusting some stranger enough to marry; warning him that he’s going to be robbed blinded and murdered in his bed; telling him he’s done a lot of stupid things in his life but this surely takes the crown; googling how to annul marriages and loudly advising Lucas to do so.

And when Lucas tries to tell them about Eliott, they have a few choice opinions about his husband too.

Lucas sits, stoic, silent. He has never felt further removed from these people in his life. Sure, he lied to them – by omission! – but it’s not like no one here ever lied to anyone before. He doesn’t owe them an explanation, doesn’t owe them the story about how he met Eliott and felt like they were meant to be, doesn’t owe them a say in his life’s choices.

But he’s near tears, and he doesn’t want to sit here for much longer. Their words are hurtful – oh, he can handle them insulting him, but the way they are talking about Eliott, when they haven’t even ever met him, is cutting through him.

Manon finally catches on.

“Okay, guys,” she says, calmly. “Let’s just give Lucas some space now. He told us what’s going on, and we all might need some time to think this through.”

She gives Lucas a short hug, and shepherds everybody out. Everybody, except Yann. Yann stays, and he smiles at Lucas. Lucas is so grateful for that smile – Yann is his best friend, always has been, Yann will have his back.

“That was – not what I expected,” Yann says quietly when Arthur pushes Basile out of the front door and closes it behind them.

“I know,” Lucas says, “and listen, I’m sorry for not telling you –”

“Lucas,” Yann says, calmly, deliberately. “Don’t worry about that. You get to decide when you come out.”

Lucas feels the tears prick again, and he could almost hug Yann.

“Still – I wanted to – so often – but it just never felt – It had nothing to do with you, okay? I’m just so glad that it’s done now. Just wait until you meet Eliott –”

Yann holds up a hand, his movements calculated, as if not to spook Lucas.

“About him,” he says. “Lucas, I think you should really look into undoing this.”

The words, said with such precision and determination, feel like bullets hitting Lucas’ chest. He had hoped for Yann at least to be on his side. Maybe if he explains it again, tells Yann how they fell in love so quickly, how they knew from the start, how happy Lucas is – maybe Yann will understand.

“Yann, you don’t get it. Eliott and I, we’re in love, we –”

 “Listen to what you are saying. This guy –”

“Eliott,” Lucas interrupts him rudely, gritting his teeth. He has lost all his patience for this. He thought his friends would be happy for him, glad he finally found somebody he loves, somebody to share his life with. “His name is Eliott. He is my husband, Yann, at least do him the courtesy of using his name.”

“Eliott,” Yann concedes, sounding equally exasperated. “You told us Eliott –” he emphasizes the name, and Lucas bites the inside of his cheek to refrain from commenting on the condescending tone of it “– is an artist without a proper job or income.”

“It is hard to make a living as an artist!”

Yann sighs.

“I am not saying it is easy. But he is – how old is he? You said he was our age, right? He could have tried to get a job, I don’t know, teaching art or working for an ad agency or something. Or given up on it and got a job as a barista, whatever, anything.”

“I’ve seen his art, Yann. It is amazing. He would be wasting his talents illustrating catalogues or waiting tables.”

“He’d rather remain the cliché of the starving artist? He’d rather sleep in his studio and buy paint instead of food whenever he manages to get some money thrown his way? It’s not cute, Lucas. It may be cute when you’re twenty, but at one point you have to do the responsible thing and become an adult.”

Lucas’ eyes are prickly with tears. He knows Eliott is so much more than Yann gives him credit for. Eliott genuinely doesn’t care about a flat and a car and all the trappings of adult life. It isn’t that he can’t be responsible and mature and boring, it was just that he has no interest in it. And he would be wasted as a barista or a reception desk worker – Yann hasn’t seen how his eyes light up when he is drawing, hasn’t heard his voice when he talks about his favourite paintings.

“He doesn’t want to sell out.”

Yann laughs derisively.

“So he sold out to you? Spread his legs and gets you to pay for his fantasy life playing at being Van Gogh?”

Lucas’ hand swings before he can think. The sound it on Yann’s cheek rings through the room, which otherwise is icily silent.

Yann lifts his own hand to his face, his eyes wide open, his mouth in a shocked O. They sit and stare, Lucas’s hand still high, the imprint of his palm slowly fading on Yann’s skin.

“Sorry,” Yann manages after a while. “I could have phrased that better. But the sentiment stands.”

Lucas nods, hard.

“Then I don’t think we have anything left to say to each other.”

“Lucas, please. You can see the way it looks, can’t you? Look at it rationally. How certain are you that he isn’t just using you as some sort of sugar daddy, so he can continue bumming around and –”

“You need to go,” Lucas bites. “Now. Before I get really angry.”

***

Eliott doesn’t have a lot to pack up. Most of his clothes are already in his bag, since he had taken just about everything he owns with him to New York. His sketchbook also travels with him wherever he goes, so that is no issue either. His phone and computer are quickly put in his backpack, with their assorted chargers and other accessories. He has a few plates, cups, some cutlery, a few books he has kept since college, a few pictures he carefully takes off the wall. He doesn’t care about the ancient futon he has been sleeping on, so he pushes it into a corner. And other than that, it is just a big mess of paints and brushes and dirty old mugs for water and large pieces of fabric stained with paint to cover the floor and piles of canvases in various stages of completion. After being gone for a week, he doesn’t need to worry about any of them being wet, so he starts putting them by the door, stacking them from large to small so they can be carried into the trunk of Idriss’ car. He doesn’t stop to organize the rest, just throws everything in boxes.

He is almost ready when Idriss arrives and slaps him on the shoulder.

“So you’re finally leaving this shithole? I’ve never been happier to get roped into helping somebody move, man!”

Eliott shrugs as he eyes the studio critically.

Okay, so it was tiny and cramped and he had to wash up in the same sink where he rinsed his brushes. And yes, much to Lucille’s disgust he had seen a lot of cockroaches and the occasional rat – the last one only outside, though, thank god. But it was cheap – fine, cheapish, it was Paris after all – and the light was really amazing.

Not as amazing as the light at Lucas’ loft, though.

Not as amazing as the light in Lucas’ eyes, either.

A smile appears on his face at the thought of Lucas.

“Yeah, man, I’d be glad to leave too,” Idriss continues when Eliott remains silent, lost in his daydreams about Lucas and how they will spend tonight together again, and every night after that.

He twirls the thin band on his left hand without thinking.

“So, where am I taking you, then?” Idriss asks, oblivious to Eliott’s thoughts, as he starts collecting the first pile of canvases. Eliott follows with some boxes.

“Uh, to the 7^th arrondissement.”

Idriss almost trips over the threshold as he turns around in one swift motion.

“What?”

Eliott just shrugs, brushing past Idriss to put his boxes in the car.

“Okay, fine, you had your fun. Now tell me where you’re really going.”

“The 7^th arrondissement,” Eliott repeats, adding Lucas’ street address with some resignation.

Idriss still hasn’t moved, the canvases starting to slip out of his arms. Eliott picks them up and deposits them in the trunk with slightly more care than the boxes.

“Avenue Elisée Reclus? Fuck, did you win the lottery or something? You can’t afford even a closet there. You probably can’t afford a place to sleep vertically anywhere near that.”

“I, uh, no, no lottery.”

Idriss whistles as he picks up some more boxes. His voice becomes cruel.

“I see. You finally caved. You gave in to your parents.”

Eliott jumps as if stung by a bee.

“Never!”

“Okay, okay, hold your horses,” Idriss says. “I know you wouldn’t – unless you really had no other choice – I was just worried for a second. How else could you afford anything over there?”

Eliott grits his teeth.

“Eliott? Something isn’t adding up here. Are you moving into some rat-infested basement cupboard or something? Because, listen, if you need help to stay here, I can borrow you some money –”

“No,” Eliott interrupts. “I don’t take any more money from you, or from anybody. Besides, you have been nagging me to get someplace better for years, don’t tell me you suddenly want me to stay here.”

“Fine.” Idriss looks around the dingy studio, checking if they have everything. “Just tell me how you can suddenly afford another place? In the 7^th, of all places?”

“I am… moving in with somebody,” Eliott replies tersely. The whole conversation has soured his mood considerably.

Idriss however either doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment.

“Who do you know living up there?”

Lucas, Eliott thinks. Lucas lives there. And I know Lucas. And just like that, his mood brightens again. At least it brightens enough for him to answer Idriss without thinking.

“Lucas?” Idriss asks, as they carry the last few bits and bobs to the car. “Who is Lucas? I have never heard you mention any Lucas before.”

Eliott smiles.

“I met him last week.”

That draws a frown from Idriss.

“Last week? You mean at that artist conference you went to?” At Eliott’s nod, he continues. “So he’s an artist too? Living in the 7^th? Who is that guy, the next Van Gogh or something?”

“Uh, no, I met him at the hotel. He wasn’t there for the conference. He was on vacation.”

“Okay, so you met a guy in a hotel, a week ago, and now you’re moving into his place? On Avenue Elisée Reclus? Bro, I hope you haven’t cancelled your lease yet. This dude is obviously pranking you.”

“He’s not.” Eliott figures he might as well say it. “I’ve been at his place. Yesterday. When we got back.”

“Okay, okay. So you met a rich dude in America, who just happens to live in Paris too, and he just offers you to come share his flat with him after a shared flight from New York?”

“Las Vegas.”

Idriss makes a very loud and inelegant noise at that.

“Huh?”

“We came back from Las Vegas,” Eliott elaborates, “not New York.”

“What are you talking about? Eliott, have you been skipping your meds again? You have been talking for months about an artist conference in New York. You borrowed money from Sofiane and Imane for the cheapest plane tickets you could find. Don’t tell me you skipped the whole thing and went to Vegas instead. You are making absolutely no sense.”

Eliott sighs. Okay, time for the whole truth.

“I haven’t been skipping my meds. I did go to New York and I met Lucas at the hotel. And then we went to Las Vegas together to – to…”

“To what?” Idriss has gone pale. “To what, Eliott? Please don’t tell me you and this Lucas did what I think you did.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Now is not the time for jokes, bro! Please, please, please tell me you did not get married to a guy you don’t even know!”

Eliott purses his lips together.

“Eliott…”

“What? You said I shouldn’t tell you I got married,” Eliott retorts defiantly, “so I didn’t. Can we go now?”

“You really… married some rich dude?”

Eliott just stares at Idriss over his car.

“Fuck, Eliott. No, we cannot go. We are calling Lucille.”

“You what?” Lucille’s voice is shrill, incredulous. “Were you manic?”

“Shit, Lucille. Why is that always the first thing in your mind?”

Eliott feels the old familiar tiredness rise. He has always been spontaneous, quick to act on instinct, trusting his gut, even before his diagnosis. Just because he took a decision on impulse and intuition, didn’t mean it was the wrong one, and neither did it mean his brain was not in the right state when he made it.

“I have to confess I wondered the same, bro,” Idriss softly cuts in.

Eliott sighs.

“No,” he says sharply, brooking no discussion. “I was not. I met somebody and I fell in love. I’m sure it happens to other people too, from time to time.”

“Okay, man, sorry.” Idriss has the decency to at least look apologetic before he continues. “But you have to admit that they don’t usually act quite so… rashly. I mean, sure, I fell hard for a girl a couple of times before, but –”

“But none of us are actually crazy enough to marry somebody we have known for a week, Eliott!”

“I am not crazy!”

Eliott knows Lucille doesn’t mean anything by it, but her word choice stings nevertheless. She looks at him, contrite, but her eyes still blaze. He knows she is worried, but he is so sure of himself, of his husband.

“The only crazy I am is crazy in love with Lucas.”

“Oh, fuck,” Lucille groans. “This is worse than I thought. Eliott, you can’t be in love with someone after a week.”

Eliott just throws her a pointed look. Doesn’t she remember he has fallen in love with people in far less time?

“Okay,” she concedes the point, “maybe you can, but what about –”

“Lucas can too. He did.”

“Oh, darling.” She shakes her head and gestures to Idriss, as if to say he should break the news.

Idriss does.

“Eliott, uhm… are you sure about that?”

What? Of course, he is sure. Why else would they have gotten married?

Lucille speaks again, in clipped tones.

“Maybe he thinks he can get to your parents through you. This guy is probably just another gold-digger, and –”

“He is not!”

“Eliott, I know you fancy this is love, but darling, have you forgotten how it was in college? Alain? Muriel? That girl with the awful pink hair, what was her name again? You never believed any of them had ulterior motives, either.”

Okay. Point Lucille. Eliott has had his share of heartbreaks, when the people he was dating turned out to be not so much into him, as into his parents’ money. He is still unsure whether Francine had really been in that category, but since she had broken up with him pretty soon after Eliott had decided to move out of the flat his parents were paying for, maybe his friends were right about her, too, as they were about Muriel and Alain.

“You went all in with them, too, Eliott, and we had to pick up the pieces when it all exploded,” Idriss adds, softer, but pressing the point nevertheless.

“It is different this time,” he helplessly insists. “Lucas doesn’t even know who my parents are.”

Lucille and Idriss share a look.

“He had to know your name for the wedding licence, right?”

Eliott’s breath hitches for a second, before he gathers himself again. Lucas is not like that. Lucas loves him. Lucas is his husband.

“Yeah, so that was after we agreed to marry!”

“Maybe he figured it out earlier,” Idriss says, placing a consoling hand on Eliott’s shoulder. He pushes it off immediately. “Maybe he saw a list of attendees to that conference. Maybe he heard the hotel concierge say it out loud, I don’t know.”

“There are more Demaurys in France!”

Lucille tuts.

“How did you meet, Eli? Did you introduce yourself to him, or the other way around?”

Her accusing eyes bore into Eliott’s.

“He started talking to me…”

“See?” Lucille sounds triumphantly.

“Because I had dropped my hotel key card! He ran after me, almost got caught between the elevator doors! Not to come… seduce me or anything!”

If anybody had done any seducing, it had been him. He’d looked at the beautiful man jumping in the elevator with him, apologizing in lightly, but clearly, accented English, and handing him his key card, and he’d been infatuated. And he’d had to work hard, to convince Lucas to let him show his gratitude with a drink in the bar. Lucas had told him why he’d been so hesitant later, in his room, when Eliott had asked him if he could kiss him, and – well.

There had really been no going back after that.

They’d tumbled in love even faster than they’d tumbled into bed.

“Besides,” he adds hotly, intent on making his friends understand, “I told Lucas the first day that I have no contact with my parents. So even if he knows who I am, it doesn’t matter. I told him I almost couldn’t afford my plane ticket to New York! I had to, when we wanted to get to Vegas and I had about seventeen euro in my account!”

He wipes over his eyes, furious at the wetness prickling there.

“And he doesn’t need my parents’ money! Idriss, I told you he lives on Avenue fucking Elisée Reclus!”

“Ah, yes,” Idriss admits. “I forgot about that in all the excitement of the announcement of your marriage and all.”

Even Lucille looks like she might be out of arguments. For now, at least.

“What does he do, if he can afford a place there?”

“He’s a lawyer. Does something very complicated with a lot of international business for some big law firm.”

Lucille pinches her lips tightly. Eliott thinks he’d finally got her to shut up about Lucas having ulterior motives, and he really wants to leave. He should have been at Lucas’ flat an hour ago, and he hasn’t even had time to let him know he would be late. Lucas will probably be wondering where Eliott is by now. But before he can say as much, Lucille started again.

“So what’s in it for him, then?”

Eliott doesn’t understand what she was going on about.

“That guy you married –”

“Lucas,” Eliott snaps. “I know you’re not stupid, Lucille, so don’t pretend you can’t remember his name.”

“Yeah, okay, fine, Lucas. What’s in it for him then, if not money?”

She still doesn’t make any sense to Eliott.

“What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely confused, his voice a lot calmer.

“Why did he marry you, then, if he’s not after money?”

“Huh? Because he loves me, of course. What other reason is there to get married?”

Idriss steps in.

“Eliott, bro, you know we love you, and I’m sure you’re a catch, but why would a guy who’s apparently loaded fall in love with a random dude he meets in a hotel and ask him to marry him in less than a week?”

“I asked Lucas. Not the other way around.”

“That doesn’t matter, Eli!” Lucille sounds upset. “Why did he agree? This stuff doesn’t happen in real life. People don’t fall in love in a week, and definitely don’t marry in a week, and even more so don’t offer their new spouses an amazing place to live and work while they pay for everything in a fucking week. Unless –”

She breaks off abruptly and her eyes go wide.

“Oh, Eliott,” she says softly. Her complete demeanour changes. “Please, tell me you didn’t…” She throws her arms around him. “We would have helped you, you know that! You didn’t have to…”

“I didn’t have to – what?”

“Is he really old? Ugly?”

Idriss is looking at her as if she grew a second head suddenly. Eliott supposes he has the same look on his face.

“What? Why? He is a few years younger than me. Imane’s age, I think. And he’s gorgeous. He’s cute and feisty and his eyes are so fucking –”

“I’m not following,” Idriss says. “Why would he be old or ugly?”

“Well.” Lucille taps her fingers on her knee, leaning back in her chair. “If he doesn’t need Eliott for the money, the only reason I can see for him to marry Eliott so quickly is that he wants a – a boy toy.”

“Or maybe he just loves me, Lucille! Is that so impossible to believe?”

Eliott jumps up, and grabs Idriss’ shoulder.

“We’re going. Now. Lucas must be worried about me.”

“Eli –”

“No,” Eliott breaks her off harshly. “I’ve heard enough. You think I would seduce some poor old gay guy for pocket money? Glad to know you have such lofty opinions of me. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I wanna go to my husband, who I love and who loves me, and who at least doesn’t think I’m some – some whore!”

He storms off, and he hears Idriss say something Eliott doesn’t understand to Lucille before unlocking his car. Eliott doesn’t look at him as he gets into the passenger seat and doesn’t speak while they drive off. Instead, he quickly fires off a text to Lucas.

He tries not to think about the fact that Lucas had been inexperienced. Maybe – maybe Eliott had seduced him into marriage with sex – but no. That’s not how it had been. Besides, Eliott had been the one to desperately plead for anything more than a magical week in New York. It had been Eliott who had had to work to convince Lucas. Lucas had way more to lose – he would have to come out to his friends, his family, and upend his life for Eliott. If Lucas only wanted sex, he could have gotten that in much easier ways.

They are all wrong about this. Lucas and he love each other, and they got married because they want to be together. That is all there is to it.

Chapter Text

The lobby is exactly twenty-nine steps wide. Lucas never knew that before, but then again, he never paced through it nervously. Until now. He never had a reason to, he supposes. Seems married life brings a lot of firsts. Such as waiting impatiently for one’s husband who should have been here over an hour ago.

There was a short text message twenty minutes ago, Eliott letting him know something came up, but that’s it. No indication of when he’ll be here, what is going on, whether he’s still coming at all.

Lucas reaches the far wall, and turns around for another twenty-nine steps. He thumbs his phone, the same way he’s done a dozen of times since he realized Eliott was running late. He doesn’t know how to navigate this. How long is one supposed to wait before calling their significant other? Lucas doesn’t want to give his husband of two days the impression he has to account for every minute of his day. But on the other hand, he doesn’t want to seem indifferent. What if something is wrong?

The other option – that Eliott thought better of it – that Eliott isn’t coming back – that Eliott could be at the city hall right now to file divorce papers –

Lucas bites his lip. Eliott wouldn’t. Eliott loves him. They love each other, they got married, they are planning to spend the rest of their lives together –

The walls seem to close in on him. Twenty-nine steps suddenly seem too little, the marble-floored lobby a tiny cage in which he paces like a wild animal, baring his teeth.

The door opens, and he turns around sharply, his breath coming in short bursts. Eliott steps over the threshold, a few bags in his left hand, and when he sees Lucas, he comes to a dead stop. Then he drops the bags, and almost runs into Lucas. As it is, Lucas has just enough time to brace himself, even though he does stagger backwards a step or two under the impact of Eliott hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into Lucas’ neck. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“It’s okay,” Lucas whispers back. “You’re here now. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Eliott sighs, letting go of Lucas reluctantly, looking over his shoulder at a tall black guy, who stands next to a battered car.

“Lucas, that’s my friend Idriss. Idriss, Lucas, my husband.”

The guy nods, a wary look in his eyes. Lucas reaches out a hand hesitantly, but Idriss has already turned towards his car and starts unloading various boxes.

“Okay,” Eliott says, slumping against Lucas. “Okay.” It sounds resigned, and the hand he runs through his messy hair trembles. He seems exhausted, and Lucas wants to wipe away the frown from his handsome face. “It’s not a lot. We can probably get it all up pretty fast if we work together.”

Lucas gives him an enquiring look, but decides there will be time to get into things once they are alone, in his – no, their flat. He smiles tremulously, and when Idriss hand him a pile of canvases, he starts putting them into the elevator without making a fuss.

They indeed manage to get Eliott’s meagre possession up in record time. Lucas wonders at the small number of boxes and bags, but he’s more worried about the cold clearly radiating from Idriss and Eliott’s standoffishness.

Their goodbye is short and chilly. Lucas sees hurt in Eliott’s eyes, but when he cocks his head in a clear question, Eliott just shrugs. Lucas can only surmise maybe Eliott’s friend reacted about as well as his own. Guilt rises like bile in his throat. He only ever wanted Eliott to be happy, but if the way his eyes well up when Idriss drives off is anything to go by, he’s already failed at that.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe Yann and the others are right – not about Eliott, never about that – but about this whole marriage. Maybe it was rash and too abrupt. Maybe Lucas should have waited, got to know Eliott first, dated for a while, before marrying the first guy he fell in love with.

Well. Second.

Thinking of Yann right now only makes him even more angry, though, so he shakes his head and presses his thumb deep into the fleshy palm of his hand.

He doesn’t want to think of his friends now. Nor does he want to dwell on the tension that came rolling off Eliott and Idriss in waves as they unloaded the latter’s car. He only wants to wipe the tears from Eliott’s face, take away anything that might hurt his husband. God, was it only last night they arrived here, just beating the sunrise as they stumbled in, jet-lagged and hyped up, grabbing each other’s left hand constantly to stare in a daze at the flicker of gold on the fourth finger? Was it only this morning they barely managed to tear away from each other in the lobby, Eliott to go pack up his stuff and Lucas to go to work, promising to meet again in only a few short hours? What happened to the broad smile Eliott wore, stepping on the bus backwards, staring at Lucas, Lucas’ borrowed hoodie too small on his lanky frame?

Lucas grimaces.

He can’t dwell on that. So neither of their afternoons went exactly as planned. None of that matters now, does it?

Eliott is here.

That’s what matters. That Eliott is here, with Lucas, in their flat, finally, and they can start their life as husbands.

Lucas takes Eliott’s duffel bag with his clothes and toiletries – the one Eliott had used on his trip to America, and, Lucas suspects, hadn’t even unpacked before coming back here – to his – their – bedroom. Eliott follows without saying anything. Lucas opens his mouth, wondering what he should say or do – if he should say or do anything. He’s not used to this, he’s never been in a relationship with anyone, and here he is, with his husband, and he has no clue how these things normally go. But then Eliott shakes his head and smiles at Lucas, as brilliantly as the sun on an August day, and Lucas forgets everything else.

Excitedly, he grabs Eliott’s hand and tugs him in the direction of the spare room, which Eliott will be able to use as a studio. It has several windows facing north, and Lucas has never gotten around to setting it up as a guest bedroom, which it had been when he bought the flat. Eliott starts arranging some of his stuff, and Lucas leans against the door, smiling. He can see it already, coming home from work late in the afternoon, and finding Eliott in here, painting, oblivious to the world.

It's only when Eliott turns back to Lucas, clearly done unpacking for now, that things get a bit strained again.

“So,” Eliott says. “Here we are. What now?”

They stand around for a few minutes, and Lucas feels out of his depths. What does he say? What do they do now? He wants Eliott to come closer, to kiss him, to dance to his insane EDM the way he did in New York to make Lucas smile. But neither moves, and Lucas is afraid of doing the wrong thing, of making the wrong move, of scaring Eliott away.

The silence between them suddenly feels oppressive. It wasn’t like this, in Eliott’s New York hotel room, or in the honeymoon suite in Las Vegas where they only spent a few hours before they had to catch a plane. It wasn’t like this when they took the ferry to Staten Island after midnight to see Lady Liberty. It wasn’t like this when they stood in jeans and tacky, overpriced I’m the groom t-shirts in front of some horrible Elvis impersonator who implored them to love each other tender. It wasn’t like this when they were crammed against each other on a transatlantic flight, too giddy to sleep and too drowsy to do anything but breathe each other’s air.

Eliott must be tired. Hell, Lucas himself is completely beat, after the day he’s had, and even the excitement of being here with Eliott can’t stifle his yawn.

He is hungry, too, and that gives him an idea of what to do, at least.

“We should eat,” he says.

He hates how it comes out as a question, but Eliott smiles at him. A bit subdued, maybe, but Lucas will take it.

They decide to take it easy, leave the unpacking and the talking and the decisions for another day. They order take-out, and they eat together on Lucas’ big couch, their legs tangled together, feeding each other the tastiest morsels, and making out leisurely after the food is gone. It feels like them again, like nothing else is important. Lucas puts the trash away and clears the plates into the kitchen sink, stopping Eliott when he tries to load them into the dishwasher. Lucas is confident his cleaning lady won’t mind a few dishes in the morning.

Unfortunately, after playing hooky this afternoon, he really needs to get into the office early tomorrow, and their exhaustion isn’t getting any better.

Neither is the awkwardness that comes back with a vengeance, now that they’re standing in the living room with nothing left to do.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” Lucas asks, suddenly hesitating.

He doesn’t know what to expect. It’s insane – they spent every night in the same bed in America, but for some reason, this seems different, more intimate. This is no longer a holiday fling, this is them sleeping in their marital bed together for the first time. Then again, it is also very soothing, the idea of falling asleep with Eliott, knowing that there is no time limit, that he can sleep, that he doesn’t need to stay awake to frantically commit every second to his love-drunk brain, because Eliott would be here every night for the rest of their lives. Lucas looks forward already to waking up with Eliott’s long limbs spread out over the mattress, Lucas getting up and making coffee, and a sleepy Eliott with rumpled, sun-drenched skin and messy hair showing up in the kitchen, barefooted and wearing Lucas’ pyjama pants, accepting a steamy mug and a steamier kiss just before Lucas leaves for work. And that every morning, forever.

Eliott nods, but once again Lucas can’t shake the feeling there’s something wrong.

Eliott remains silent as they get ready together, brushing their teeth next to each other in the ensuite, eyes darting to each other in the huge mirror. Lucas wishes he could read his thoughts – wonders what Eliott expects of their marriage.

Maybe they should have discussed their expectations.

Maybe it’s not the best idea to base a marriage on overwhelming lust and mind-blowing sex.

It has been mind-blowing, though. Even that first time, with Lucas so clumsy and amateurish.

Lucas’ thoughts turn into a more carnal direction, watching Eliott’s strong, capable fingers turning off the faucet, watching how he shimmies out of those damn ripped jeans that seem painted onto him, watching him sliding his hands through his hair. Lucas’ mouth goes dry when he thinks about putting his own fingers there, guiding Eliott’s mouth to his while Eliott’s body covers Lucas, those fingers kneading Lucas like putty into whatever Eliott wants.

It has been 36 hours and a whole continent away since they’ve had sex, and mind-blowing might be putting it too mildly, and Lucas suddenly can’t wait a minute longer. He wants to find that connection back, that instant feeling of belonging that lead them to getting married after less than a week.

When they climb under the blankets, he immediately grabs for Eliott, pressing their mouths together, slotting a leg between Eliott’s and grinding down on his hip, making it clear he is ready and willing.

Eliott kisses back ardently, but when Lucas grinds down incessantly, he breaks things off.

“Lucas,” he sighs. “Lucas, I – I am tired.”

Lucas suddenly feels doused with ice-cold water. Maybe Eliott is starting to regret things, starting to realize he could do so much better than Lucas. Maybe it hasn’t been nearly as mind-blowing for him as it has been for Lucas.

“I – I’m sorry, I –”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Eliott interrupts his stammering. “I just – not tonight?”

It is – not what Lucas expected, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

The words of the gang come back to him, unbidden, and Lucas swallows thickly.

“Do you – you still want me, though, right?”

Eliott sighs, and extracts himself from Lucas’ embrace to lie flat on his back, an arm over his eyes.

“Of course,” he says, sounding a bit listless. “I’m just tired, and I want to sleep.”

Lucas stares at him. They hardly slept in New York. They definitely didn’t waste their precious first few hours as newlyweds sleeping. Hell, even this morning, after a harrowing seventeen hours on the road, they hadn’t let each other out of arm’s reach as they showered the plane ride away and prepared for their day. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other for 48 hours straight, and now, after spending most of the day apart, Eliott wants to sleep?

He'll readily admit he is no expert in any of this, but – the rejection hurts.

“Sure,” Lucas says, but his doubts must have been seeping through, because Eliott pulls his arm away from his face and whips his head towards Lucas.

“Not everything has to be about sex, Lucas! Sometimes a man just isn’t in the mood, okay? Just because we’re married now doesn’t mean you can just demand it whenever you’re horny.”

The outburst startles Lucas, and he feels tears well up as he nods frantically.

“Of course, of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

Suddenly, Eliott’s arms are around him, and he buries his face in the hollow of Eliott’s neck, breathing in the clean scent of dew, paint, and minty toothpaste.

“Oh, baby,” Eliott whispers, sounding upset and remorseful. “I’m so sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just – let’s talk in the morning? Or when you get back from work? I’ve had a tiring day and I just want to hold you, my beautiful husband, and fall asleep with you. Is that okay?”

Lucas lifts his head, ashamed about his tears. He must be more tired than he’d thought.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes. I want that too. I love you, Eliott.”

“I love you, Lucas. I’m so proud to be your husband.”

And like that, skin to skin, as close as possible in Lucas’ huge bed, they fall asleep.

***

Eliott wakes up early, and he enjoys the warm weight against his chest. Lucas’ leg is somehow wedged between his own, and his own arm is slung low over Lucas’ waist. Lucas is breathing evenly, softly, and his hair stands up in spikes. It does things to Eliott’s belly – settles something deep inside him. He remembers calling Lucas hedgehog sometime during the first night they spent in his hotel room, sitting on the small sofa drinking lukewarm beer and eating weird American chocolate bars from the vending machine in the hallway, and Lucas’ indignation which made him blush so adorably.

If he’s really honest with himself, that’s the point Eliott knew he’d fallen in love.

He can’t tell Idriss or Lucille that, though. They already think he’s insane for admitting to falling in love after a week. He doesn’t want to know what they’d have to say if he tells them it happened after about five hours.

He tightens his grip on Lucas, and Lucas somehow manages to turn in his arms, burrowing his face in Eliott’s neck as he starts to wake up.

This. This is why he asked Lucas to marry him, whatever Lucille seems to think. This, here – the feeling of having the only person who matters in this whole world in his arms, his to keep safe, his to love.

Lucas is muttering something Eliott doesn’t understand, but his lips moving against Eliott’s skin make him suddenly very aware of his erection.

Lucas is hard, too, and his hips are grinding almost involuntarily against Eliott’s groin as a small moan escapes him.

Eliott closes his eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of his husband’s sleep-warm body against his own, wanting to revel in this a bit longer before they take it any further.

Suddenly, however, Lucas gasps, and his body freezes.

“Sorry,” he says, and shuffles away.

Eliott’s hand sneaks tighter around his hip to pull Lucas back against him.

“Mmmm,” Eliott whispers, his voice drowsy with sleep. “Don’t stop. Feels so good.”

He feels Lucas still, hesitating, but it takes only a fraction of a second before he’s once again moving his hips, pressing their hard-ons together. It feels so damn good, but it’s not enough. It’s been too long, and they’re on their honeymoon, even if it is at Lucas’ own flat.

Eliott rolls over on his back, watching Lucas stare at him. There’s a flash of uncertainty in Lucas’ big eyes, and Eliott reaches for him.

Lucas had been unsure of himself in New York. He’d sat on the edge of the bed in just his boxers with his arms tight around his torso, vulnerable and small, and Eliott had pulled all the stops to prove to Lucas he would never hurt him. By the time they’d found themselves in their suite in Las Vegas, Lucas had been just as confident in bed as he’d been dealing with the wedding chapel, the officiant, the hotel receptionist, and the airline representative he’d talked to on the phone to rebook their flights.

So Eliott doesn’t understand why Lucas is suddenly shy.

“Cm’ere,” he mumbles.

Lucas does as Eliott asks. He carefully kneels over Eliott’s supine body, his legs on both sides over Eliott’s waist, his ass still against Eliott’s hard cock, his own cock jutting out between the coarse hair. Eliott’s eyes rove over his body, hungrily, before his hands trace the shadows on Lucas’ jaw and clasp together on the back of his neck, pulling him down for a long and leisurely kiss. It takes Lucas a few seconds to kiss him back, and when he retreats to get some air, he stares at Eliott.

“Are you sure about this?” Lucas asks, and Eliott can’t help but stare back.

“Why on earth wouldn’t I be sure? You’re my husband. I want you.” He licks the shell of Lucas’ ear, presses his thumb against the pulse point in Lucas’ neck.

“I – I just – if you don’t –”

Eliott moves his hand to cover Lucas’ mouth, while the other roams freely over Lucas’ shoulder, his chest.

“I want to make my husband come.” Lucas’ pupils blow up at Eliott’s words, or maybe at the way his fingers are brushing Lucas’ nipple. “I will give you anything. What do you want, baby?”

Lucas shivers.

“I could come just like this,” he whispers back.

It makes Eliott a bit stupid, when Lucas says things like that. When he is so open about the effect Eliott has on him. He nips at the shell of Lucas’ ear, and keeps thrusting up against Lucas’ ass, slipping in between the cheeks.

“Sit up for me, baby,” Eliott mutters. “I want to touch you.”

Lucas obeys, and Eliott does as announced, his fingers pinching Lucas’ nipples one by one, caressing his abs, following his spine back up, pushing a finger in Lucas’ mouth for him to suck on. Then he trails the wet finger down again, and lingers on Lucas’ cock, spreading Lucas’ saliva and the precum beading at the tip of it before closing his fist around it.

“Sit still,” he commands, and Lucas does.

Eliott thrusts up against him, the movement jostling him into Eliott’s fist with every snap of Eliott’s hips. It’s enthralling, to watch Lucas, head in his neck, flush high on those cheekbones, chasing his pleasure with abandon.

He groans when Lucas lets out a needy whine.

“So close, Eliott. Please.”

Eliott stares at Lucas’ dick in his hand, his own dick disappearing between Lucas’ cheeks, and he moans again.

“Yes,” he grits out, “me too, yes, come on, let me see.”

Lucas spills into Eliott’s hand, and Eliott follows moments later.

“You’re amazing,” Eliott pants out when Lucas falls down on top of him, and they kiss sloppily, as they come down from their high.

“Let’s shower together?” Lucas asks, when their cum starts to feel sticky on their skin, and Eliott jumps up, not waiting for Lucas to follow.

It takes the shower mere seconds to warm up, Eliott remembers from yesterday, and while Lucas grabs towels and soap, Eliott checks out the large bathtub in the corner. It should easily fit both him and Lucas. The options are endless, he ponders, when Lucas suddenly taps his shoulder.

“Eliott? Is it okay if I come too?”

There is that hint of doubt again, and Lucas is looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and he steps under the stream, pulling Lucas in with him. “Lucas, is everything okay?”

Lucas nods, but he doesn’t look at him as he starts soaping himself up.

“Lucas?”

No answer.

It stings – they’ve been married for barely three days. He’d expect Lucas to be honest with him, to communicate. How can they even hope to make this work, if Lucas is hiding things from him already?

“Okay, fine,” he says, sharply, and Lucas’ eyes dart up.

“Are you angry with me now?”

“Why would I be?”

It’s petty, passive-aggressive, and it’s not who Eliott is, but he’s just – suddenly realising he’s in the flat of a guy he met only a week ago, and if this doesn’t work out, he has nowhere to go, and the enormity of it all is crushing him.

“I don’t know,” Lucas says, hotly, staring up at him, his chin defiantly in the air. “How would I know, Eliott, you’re blowing hot and cold at me!”

“What? I’m not the one saying everything is fine when it’s clearly not!”

“Yeah, well, and I’m not the one who accused you of forcing yourself on me yesterday night, and then acted as if nothing ever happened this morning!”

Oh, god. His mind flashes back to his cruel words. He’d been upset, yes, but he shouldn’t have Lucille get under his skin, shouldn’t have let her closedmindedness interfere with his relationship with Lucas.

“Oh, Lucas.”

He pulls Lucas close, the water sloshing over them.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, or make you feel bad. I didn’t even mean what I said, I forgot all about it already. It’s just that –”

Lucas interrupts him, a hand against Eliott’s wet chest.

“No, I’m sorry. You apologized yesterday already, I shouldn’t have brought it up again,” he says. “And anyway, you were right. You don’t owe me sex. When you’re not in the mood, that’s fine. I was only worried you might – might not want this anymore. I thought maybe you regretted it. That’s all.”

“Regret what? This? Us?” Eliott grabs Lucas’ left hand, twists the ring sitting on his finger. “Getting married? Lucas, how could you even think –”

His voice goes up, incredulity tinting it. Clearly, he’s doing something wrong, if Lucas believes even for one second that Eliott doesn’t want this with him.

“I’m sorry.” Lucas’ voice is small, muffled. “I’m just – I don’t know how to be in a relationship, and you said that just because we’re married doesn’t mean you’ll always – and this morning – I didn’t know if you felt like I was pushing you when I woke up basically grinding against you. You left so suddenly afterwards, and I thought – I don’t know what I thought. I don’t want you to feel like you have to –”

Eliott bows his head. The water droplets run from his hair over his eyelashes, and he shakes his head impatiently, upset with himself for hurting Lucas.

“No, no, Lucas! I know you wouldn’t do that. I know that’s not what you were doing yesterday, either. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was upset, but not with you, never with you, you have to believe me. It was just… something Lucille had said earlier… about how you would only agree to marry me so fast because you wanted a – a sugar baby, or something…”

Lucas’ eyes suddenly go even bigger, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Eliott doesn’t give him any opportunity. He cradles Lucas’ face in both his hands.

“I know that’s bullshit, Lucas, I know. She doesn’t know you or anything about us. But I just – it felt… sordid, I guess. It left a bad taste in my mouth, somehow.”

Lucas nods.

“Thanks for telling me. And I’m sorry she – she couldn’t be more supportive about this.”

He vaguely gestures between them, and Eliott sighs.

“I’m sorry, too. It feels pretty bad that my best friends seem to think this is the worst thing that could ever happen, when I know it’s exactly the opposite.”

Lucas takes a deep breath, and he leans onto Eliott. Eliott holds him tight, massaging his shoulders.

“My best friend had something similar to say. He, uh, he accused you of being some high-class prostitute.”

Eliott recoils at those words, but Lucas doesn’t let him go far, grabbing onto his waist with slippery fingers.

“I guess it makes sense from an outsider’s point of view,” he manages to grind out.

It does make sense, he supposes, looking around at this bathroom which would fit his whole old studio. It does, and he hates that Lucas is worrying about this, he needs Lucas to know that’s not what –

 Lucas puts a finger to his lips before he can say anything else.

“Even if it did, he should have more trust in me. I know what I feel for you, even if it’s all new. And I know what you feel for me.”

Eliott feels light-headed at the conviction in Lucas’ voice. They stand like that, staring into each other’s eyes, arms wrapped around each other. And Eliott secretly vows never to let Idriss or Lucille or anyone else between this again. Lucas is all in, he is all in, and they love each other. All they have to do is trust that love.

His thoughts drift as the water runs its course over his body. Had they been impetuous, had they made the biggest mistake of their life? Was it stupid to marry somebody after such a short whirlwind of a romance?

He refuses to believe it. People get married every day, after years of dating, after living together for years, and they get divorced just the same. It is not the amount of time before the wedding that counts, but what both partners are willing to make of the marriage. And Eliott knows he wants this to work, and Lucas looks at him as if he wants the same. So they will make it work.

Everything else is trivial, and everybody who doesn’t agree, can go to hell.

Chapter Text

Apparently, getting married impulsively means an endless litany of errands to run.

Lucas sighs as they wait for his financial advisor at the bank. It’s Saturday, and Eliott is already unhappy about Lucas having to go to work after this, but his work won’t do itself and he’s missed more time than he cares to think about these past few weeks. They had to make an appointment at city hall to get Eliott’s address change registered, they’d had to go sign a bunch of documents to get their marriage officially recognized by French law, they had to meet up with Lucas’ insurers to add Eliott to his various policies, they had to have a key card to their flat made for Eliott.

It's been one thing after the other, and Lucas has been working late at night to avoid falling behind.

And now this.

Eliott has been nagging Lucas for days about setting up a joint bank account. Lucas doesn’t see the point of it – he’s been paying his way for years, he can easily continue doing it, Eliott doesn’t need to worry about anything – but Eliott’s been adamant. He wants to pay his share, as he’s been calling it, and finally, Lucas decided it would be easier to just give in.

So here they are now.

Jean-Marie is late, and just when Lucas decides to come back another time – or better, transfer his accounts to another bank where he will get better service – the elderly man comes in and ushers Lucas and Eliott into his private office, somewhere in the back of the building.

There are the usual pleasantries first, of course, but Lucas cuts to the chase.

“Jean-Marie, I have recently married Eliott Demaury, here, and we’d like to set up a joint account in both our names.”

Jean-Marie coughs in surprise, but he recovers swiftly.

“Ah! Congratulations, monsieur Lallemant, and to you as well, naturally, monsieur Demaury! Demaury, that’s interesting, though. Not the most usual name, but I have some other clients called Demaury – you aren’t by any chance related to –”

“Thank you,” Eliott interrupts a bit rudely, and Lucas glances sideways at him. Eliott’s face is drawn and closed off. “As my husband says, we’d like to open a joint account, please.”

“Ah, naturally, naturally,” Jean-Marie says.

If he is upset by Eliott cutting him off, he hides it well.

“Do you have your marriage certificate and your personal bank information? Yes? Splendid,” he continues, accepting the copies of the paperwork Lucas hands him. “It won’t take long at all. Now, if I may, it would probably be easiest if we set up an automated monthly deposit from both of your accounts into the joint one. You will both have access to it, obviously, and you can determine yourselves what you’ll use the money for – groceries, utility bills and the like.”

Even though it feels like an extra step to Lucas – whether he pays the bills out of his account or one he shares with Eliott makes no difference to him – it all sounds very reasonable and mature and something a married couple should do, so he nods eagerly.

Eliott smiles brightly at him while Jean-Marie furiously taps his keyboard, and cradles Lucas’ hand under the desk.

Lucas smiles back, and chides himself silently for dragging his feet for so long about this. This is easy. They can do this whole marriage thing. Compromise, that’s all there is to it. Eliott is happy, and that’s all that matters. If joint bank accounts make Eliott happy, Lucas will open a hundred joint bank accounts.

“Here you are, messieurs,” Jean-Marie says affably, issuing them with contracts and pens to sign them with, and placing two shiny new debit cards on the desk. “Now, to set up the automated deposits. Which amount were you gentlemen thinking about?”

Lucas is too engrossed in the crinkles around Eliott’s eyes which appear when he’s happy to really think things through, and he matter-of-factly blurts out the first number that comes to mind.

Eliott gasps, and almost rips his hand from Lucas’ hold.

“What?” he says, almost accusatory, staring at Lucas with open mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Lucas replies, dumbfounded.

“Are you insane? How the fuck do you need that much money to get groceries?”

Lucas shrugs uneasily. He honestly has no idea how much anything costs. He orders his groceries to be delivered, and he doesn’t look at the prices.

“Uh, Jean-Marie,” he says cautiously. “Could you give my husband and me –” He emphasizes the word husband, just to remind both Eliott and himself that that’s what they are, that they want this. “– a few minutes to discuss this in private? We haven’t had a chance to confer beforehand.”

“Naturally, naturally,” Jean-Marie says, and he stumbles over his own feet in his haste to leave the office.

“Eliott?” Lucas tries, but Eliott doesn’t listen, doesn’t even look at Lucas as he jumps up, turning his back to Lucas as he stares at the framed poster behind Jean-Marie’s desk.

“Forget it,” Eliott snaps. “This was a stupid idea. We should never have done this.”

“Never have done what?” Lucas asks, his patience thin. “Opened a joint account? I tried to tell you that for days. Or do you mean something else, Eliott? Do you mean we shouldn’t have done something else?”

It remains silent. Lucas is not known for his calm demeanour on the best of days, and he’s getting tired of the constant battle between Eliott and him.

“Huh, Eliott? Why don’t you tell me what we shouldn’t have done?”

Eliott turns around again and stalks up to Lucas, stops mere centimetres in front of him. Anger radiates off him, and his mouth has that frustrated line around it Lucas has seen too much off recently.

They stand like that, stubbornly, until finally, Eliott gives in first.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though it doesn’t sound contrite at all. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I want us to be equal partners in this marriage.”

“We are,” Lucas buts in immediately, but Eliott merely scoffs.

“Hah. As if. You just throw numbers about like they mean nothing, and maybe to you they don’t, but fuck, Lucas! You just cavalierly suggested to deposit more money than I make in three months in an account for groceries.”

“I mean –” Lucas pauses. “It doesn’t have to be that amount. You propose something, then.”

Eliott sighs.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever I can afford is not going to be enough for the way you live.”

It sounds like an insult, and Lucas bites his lip and counts to ten. He doesn’t want to blow things up even further, but he’s not sure he’s the bad guy here. He wants to handle this, find a way to solve this without pushing Eliott to the breaking point.

“What if we don’t do a set amount, but a percentage of our income? That’d be equal, too, wouldn’t it?”

Eliott shrugs and falls down on the couch near the far wall of the office.

“I’d still be doing peanuts. You’d not even feel it in the totals.”

Lucas gingerly sits down to him and takes Eliott’s hand. It feels like a victory when Eliott doesn’t pull it back.

“It’s not about the numbers. It’s about us working together, each to our own strengths and abilities, towards our future together, right? For us building a life, together, right?”

Eliott scoffs again, but it’s more despondent than mad this time.

“What are my strengths here, precisely? Taking advantage of my loaded husband?”

“Forget what everybody else says, Eliott. You’re not taking advantage. You’re helping me pay the bills, so I’m better off than before. And that’s just financially.”

“It’s stupid, that’s what it is.”

“Stop it, Eliott. It’s not. And besides, who says it’ll always be like this? Maybe tomorrow you sell a painting for half a million dollars. Maybe next week my firm goes bankrupt.”

Eliott hums.

“Maybe, maybe. But realistically I’m just living off your money, in your flat.”

“Our flat,” Lucas says, and when Eliott rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, Lucas feels emboldened to climb on Eliott’s lap and hold him tight.

They stay like that for a minute, breathing each other in.

“I feel so safe right here,” Lucas whispers, his breath ghosting Eliott’s jaw as he nibbles softly at Eliott’s skin. “With your arms so tight around me. It feels more like home than anything else ever has.”

Eliott presses his face on Lucas’ shoulder in response, and mumbles something that sounds like concurring.

“Eliott…” Lucas tries delicately, when Eliott’s breathing has calmed down. “About the flat… Would you rather move somewhere else?

Eliott’s head whips up, his expression shocked.

“What? Why? Where?”

“We don’t have to live in my flat. I meant what I said, I feel at home with you. We could move to a cheaper place…”

Eliott laughs. It sounds hollow, and Lucas watches him with concern.

“Lucas, you don’t want to live in a place I can afford. Hell, I don’t want to live in a place I can afford.”

“Okay.” Lucas dares a quick peck to Eliott’s lips. “Okay, then we stay at my flat. And about the rest…” He takes a deep breath, wary of the faint annoyance lingering in Eliott’s eyes. “I want to make a suggestion. But I want you to say no if you don’t like it. Okay?”

Eliott nods somewhat apprehensively.

“I propose I pay for the necessities. Rent, utilities, groceries. Just so neither of us has to worry about any of that. And you – you pay for occasional stuff. Like, when you have payment for a commission coming in, you take me on a date. What do you think?”

He worries his lip again, afraid it’s the wrong thing to say, afraid of overstepping, afraid of making Eliott feel somehow inferior, afraid of Eliott being insulted by the idea.

Eliott stares at him, silently, and slowly the annoyance disappears and acceptance comes in its wake.

“Yeah?” Lucas says hopefully when Eliott doesn’t speak.

“Yeah,” Eliott slowly answers. “On one condition. You don’t pay for my art supplies.”

“But, Eliott, I don’t mind –”

“Ah, ah,” Eliott interrupts. “Take it or leave it. I want to be able to support myself at least in that way.”

Lucas grimaces.

“What if I want to buy you something for your birthday?”

Eliott laughs.

“You can’t ever just quit when you’re ahead, can you? Well, then, my beautiful husband, you ask me what I need and I will tell you. And you won’t go overboard and buy me crazy stuff.”

Lucas pouts, but inside, he’s cheering loudly and melting a bit a being called Eliott’s beautiful husband.

“Promise me, Lucas.”

He leans in, but stops a fraction of a centimetre from Lucas’ lips. Lucas tries to come closer, desperate for the kiss Eliott is dangling in front of him, but Eliott tuts.

“Promise me. Then we can seal it with a kiss.”

Lucas sighs in mock exasperation.

“Okay, fine, I promise. You negotiate dirty.”

“Dirtier than you, Mr Hot Shot Lawyer? I doubt it.”

Lucas may have wanted to argue, but he can’t, because Eliott finally kisses him, and by the time they come up for air, the argument is forgotten.

They call Jean-Marie back in, tell him they’ll set up the transfers later, and leave the office hand in hand.

Lucas feels invincible as they leave the bank. They’re getting the hang of this. They’re making this work.

“Wanna go for brunch somewhere?” Eliott asks, his voice light and carefree, and suddenly the invincibility shatters.

“I, uh, I have to go to work,” Lucas says, and as he feared, Eliott’s face falls.

“Lucas, you’ve been in there until midnight all week. It’s Saturday, surely you can take the weekend off.”

Lucas hesitates.

“I’ll only be a few hours. We can have a late lunch together when I get back? And then you can finally show me La Petite Ceinture.”

Eliott’s eyes light up. He told Lucas about his favourite place in Paris before, but they haven’t made it there together.

“Yeah? You’ll come with me?”

Lucas nods, and kisses Eliott for good measure.

“Maybe we can take our lunch there. And a blanket… and, uh, supplies…”

He lets his voice trail off suggestively, and Eliott laughs. It’s the best sound Lucas has ever heard.

“Fine,” Eliott mumbles. “Go make all your stupid money, then.”

Lucas giggles all the way to the office.

***

Eliott doesn’t know why they have to meet with Lucas’ lawyer. He doesn’t even know why Lucas has a lawyer. Why doesn’t he handle his own legal issues? What legal issues does he even have?

“We have to consider things carefully,” the man drones on. “There is the life insurance, for one. I assume you’ll want to change the beneficiary on it, monsieur Lallemant? Although I would advise caution there, for obvious reasons. The same goes for your living will. And of course, we really need to get a prenup signed as soon as possible.”

“A prenup?” Eliott sits up straighter, glares at Lucas’ lawyer. He loathes the man, he doesn’t know why, he just does. Pompous ass. “I hate to break this to you, but there’s nothing pre about our nuptials.”

“Exactly,” the man replies tightly, looking at Eliott as if Eliott’s something smelly he stepped in. “Which is exactly why I am advising Lucas to consider things carefully, and to reconsider changing who will benefit in case of his demise.”

It takes Eliott a few seconds, but then he erupts. He jumps up, nearly grabs the asshole by his collar.

“Are you seriously suggesting I’d – what? Kill Lucas just to get his money?”

“It’s happened before,” the man says primly.

“Philippe,” Lucas says before Eliott can tell the guy exactly what he thinks about him. “Surely we don’t need to go there. I’m aware our marriage came a bit unexpected, but Eliott and I plan to have a happy life together.”

“A long, happy life,” Eliott adds cynically.

“Indeed,” Lucas takes over smoothly.

It’s rather sexy, actually, to see Lucas in his element. He’s confident, smart, calm. Quite the opposite from Eliott, in fact, who’s fidgeting, restless. His skin itches, and he feels like boiling over if he has to stay here much longer. He wants to get out of here, run towards La Petite Ceinture, spray-paint the whole tunnel blue like Lucas’ eyes. He knows Lucas is aware of his leg jumping incessantly, he knows Philippe is aware of it. Lucas places his own cool hand on Eliott’s thigh, soothing Eliott’s nerves with small circles of his thumb. Philippe almost sneers. Eliott’s own palms are damp, and sweat beads uncomfortably on his neck. He’s wearing the only button up shirt he has, and it feels constrictive, two sizes too small.

He doesn’t listen to the discussion between Lucas and his asshole lawyer. They’re using a bunch of jargon Eliott doesn’t understand, and he tries to focus on Lucas’ hand, the sound of Lucas’ voice, the pattern of the ugly carpet.

“I’m afraid I have to insist on a prenup, though,” Philippe’s voice suddenly breaks through.  “Think about it, Lucas, you’re leaving yourself to be robbed blind!”

“What?” Eliott says again, the anger rising inside him like bile, like millions of insects crawling under his skin, wanting to come out and devour everything they meet, starting with Philippe, and his office, and then the rest of Paris until Eliott is left with just Lucas, Eliott and Lucas, Lucas and Eliott –

“I need to protect Lucas’ assets in case of a divorce,” Philippe says slowly, his face towards Eliott, as if he’s explaining it to a pre-schooler. “I have to make sure you won’t fleece him for everything he has.”

Eliott says nothing. His leg bounces, bounces, faster and faster, and even the calming circles of Lucas’ fingers can’t make him keep still.

“He won’t, Philippe,” Lucas says confidently, sure.

The murderous insects inside Eliott pause at Lucas’ certainty. Lucas knows Eliott. Lucas loves Eliott. Lucas will not let anything happen to Eliott.

“Lucas,” he says, urgently. “Can we leave? Please?”

“Let’s just do this, Eliott, so it’s done. We need the prenup, the life insurance.”

“But why? We’re not getting divorced. Ever, Lucas. Promise me. Promise. »

“I promise, baby.” Lucas’ voice is so calm, but it seems to come from very far away, it floats towards Eliott through the fog, and he’s not sure he understands. “But you need to be protected either way. Not just for a divorce –”

“No divorce.”

“No, baby, no divorce, but in case something else happens.”

“Nothing will happen.”

Eliott will make sure of it. Inside him, the insects cluster together, morph into a dragon, ready to burn down everything that could ever harm Lucas. It roars, and Eliott wants to howl with it.

“I know, baby. I know.” Lucas stares at him, a frown on his beautiful face.

Eliott doesn’t like it. The dragon roars again. He sticks out a trembling hand, tries to touch Lucas’ face, to take away the concern on it. He misjudges, nearly hits Lucas in the face, and he stares at his hand as if he’s never seen it before. What was he doing?

Lucas’ frown gets deeper, but he takes Eliott’s hand and holds it in his lap.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he says, and Eliott sways towards his voice. Sorry? What does Lucas have to apologize for? Lucas is bright. Lucas is warm. Lucas is safe. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? I promise it won’t take long, and I’ll stay with you the rest of the day, okay?”

Eliott nods. That’s fine. The dragon slinks away, and Eliott suddenly feels empty. He’s so tired. He could take a nap, right here.

Lucas will be here with him. Lucas will protect him. Lucas loves him.

He leans closer towards Lucas, almost putting his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas smiles at him, tentatively.

Eliott loves Lucas. He doesn’t know what to do with all the love he has inside him, it wants to spill out and engulf Lucas, tie him to Eliott so Eliott will never have to let Lucas go.

He swallows.

He should have been honest with Lucas. He should have told Lucas. Maybe he can tell Lucas now.

“Actually,” he hears Lucas say. “Actually, Philippe, I think we’ll do this another time. I’m going to take my husband home, if you don’t mind.”

Eliott cannot tell Lucas now. Not with Philippe here. Philippe already hates Eliott. Philippe already thinks Eliott will hurt Lucas.

Maybe Philippe is right.

“Lucas, I –”

“Eliott?”

Lucas is worried now, his beautiful face marred with distress for Eliott – and Eliott cannot take it. He cannot be the cause of Lucas’ unease. He should have known better than to think he could have Lucas.

Without a word, he pulls away when Lucas tries to embrace him, pulls away and bolts.

Eliott runs. His legs burn, his whole body burns, he is being roasted alive. He doesn’t know where he is because the air is thick as molasses around him. He mills his arms around to dissipate it, but it doesn’t move, hangs over him like a heavy blanket, smothers him, clings to him like wet jeans.

His jeans. They’re too heavy, and his shirt is choking him.

He strips, with uncoordinated moves, his fingers fumbling on the buttons. He falls down trying to step out of his jeans, his balance shoddy, the insects are back and they push his limbs into different directions all at once. The skin on his knees breaks, and his hand is red when he wipes over his left shin.

The insects are furious now, Eliott can see them march out with the blood on his leg. They bite him, they’ll consume him if he doesn’t kill them, he needs to find a way to stop them from eating him alive.

Water.

The Seine. He can hear it, hear waves crash upon the banks.

He runs. His legs burn, his whole body burns, but he needs to drown them, needs to drown himself, his brain, his thoughts.

Nobody will miss him.

And Lucas won’t have to worry anymore.

Lucas.

It’s the last thought he has before he is engulfed by the cold water, and the burning stops, and the insects die inside him.

He’s so cold.

He shivers uncontrollably, his leg bouncing, out of control.

It reminds him of something – some other place where his leg couldn’t stop shaking, until a warm hand was placed on it.

An officer crouches in front of him, asks him questions he doesn’t understand.

He looks up. The sky is so big. So blue.

Blue.

Something tugs at Eliott, something warm – but it flees again when he tries to concentrate on it.

He sits in the muddy grass, something has put something gold and crinkly over him, and it grates – it’s sticky against his skin, and its noise drives Eliott mad, like insects gnawing unremittingly. But he’s so cold without it, so he closes his eyes and tries to remember the last time he felt warm, the last time a hand on his leg felt safe.

Another officer. She’s holding up a pair of jeans, a wallet.

“Eliott? Eliott Demaury?” she asks.

Eliott thinks that’s him, so he nods. Her eyes are icy blue. It’s all wrong, it makes Eliott grind his teeth.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here.

He hears footsteps running, and then someone is holding him, pressing the disgusting plastic into him.

“Eliott! Eliott, what happened? Are you okay? Tell me, Eliott.”

Something breaks through.

He knows this voice, knows the frantic pleading. He’s heard it before.

Lucille. It’s Lucille. Why is Lucille here?

She makes him stand up, urges him to get into the ambulance. When did that get here? He steps in, sits on the bed. The lights are hurting his eyes, and he’s struggling to keep them open.

More running footsteps. Another voice.

Eliott knows this voice.

Suddenly, the lights and the noise and the plastic are meaningless. He only focuses on that voice. And then someone is standing in front of him, and there’s the blue.

“Eliott! Eliott, baby –”

”Lucas –”

Eliott wants to step into the blue, but then Lucille is there.

“Go away!” she shrieks, and Lucas recoils. It’s just a step or two, but to Eliott it feels like miles.

“What?” Lucas stammers. “That’s my husband, I need to –”

“Oh, so you’re the infamous Lucas,” Lucille spits. “You need to get away from him, that’s what you need to do. Haven’t you done enough?” Her voice pierces Eliott’s skull. He puts his hands over his ears, but he can still hear her yell. “I knew you would fuck him up. Look at him! That’s your fault!”

“What? I didn’t – I don’t understand –”

“Has he been taking his meds?”

Lucas looks at Eliott, fear and confusion in his eyes.

“Meds? What meds?”

“He’s bipolar, Lucas!” Lucille yells, and Eliott cringes.

He’s not.

Or, he is, but it’s not – it’s not all he is. He’s also – he’s also in love with Lucas. He’s also Lucas’ husband. He tries to look at Lucas, tries to tell him, but Lucas’ eyes are full of tears and he doesn’t look at Eliott.

“I – I didn’t know –”

“You don’t know much, do you?” Lucille is no longer yelling, but her voice is hard when she continues. “Eliott is sick, you understand that?”

Lucas bites his lip, and Lucille turns away from him, speaking to the paramedics.

Eliott tries to beg Lucas with his eyes, plead for him to understand why Eliott couldn’t tell him, why –

“I’m going with him,” Lucas says, but it sounds watery and small.

Lucille steps towards him, and Eliott whimpers for her not to send Lucas away.

“You are not going with him,” Lucille yells. “You think he loves you? It’s a lie, Lucas! He cannot love you!”

Lucas’ eyes dart to Eliott, and he whimpers, tries to make Lucas understand, but he’s so cold –

“It’s just something he got into his head, okay? You mean nothing to him. This?”

She grabs Eliott’s left hand, his fourth finger, and she starts twisting it.

“This?”

Eliott tries to pull his hand from her grip, but she doesn’t let him. She’s sliding his ring up, up, and Eliott knows he has to stop her – this is the ring Lucas married him with, the ring he never wants to take off –

But Lucille is stronger, and she holds up the small gold band. It shines blue and red in the ambulance lights before she throws it to Lucas.

“This? This is all just a fucking whim!”

As in slow motion, the ring sails through the air, Lucas tries to catch it, but on Lucille’s final word it falls into the mud, and Lucas drops to his knees next to it, tears streaming down his face.

The ambulance doors close, and there’s nothing but the lights, and the noise, and the cold.

Chapter Text

Lucas stares at the ambulance as it speeds off.

His hand grasps blindly in the wet grass.

He needs to find Eliott’s ring – he needs to give it back to him, when he goes to visit him in the hospital –

If they let him in. Eliott and he were supposed to send off the paperwork to be each other’s medical proxy, but Lucas can’t remember if they actually got around to it or not –

His fingers close around something cold. Eliott’s ring. Smooth, round.

Lucas remembers putting it on Eliott’s finger, remembers being awed by the sight of it sitting there, the weight of a matching one on his own hand.

He wonders if Eliott felt like that, too.

Probably not. Since their whole marriage is a scam.

The woman’s voice reverberates through Lucas’ head, and he wipes at his tears with his closed fist, still holding on to Eliott’s ring.

Lucas scowls. He should call Philippe and tell him he is getting divorced, after all. And without a prenup signed, Eliott is entitled to half of Lucas’ assets. Not bad, he thinks cynically, for a whim.

The word cuts through him, quarters his heart. He was just a whim to Eliott. Their whole marriage. The whole time they’ve been together. Every time Eliott told Lucas he loved him. All just a delusion, a mirage, a long-spun delirium. 

And the worst is – his friends warned him. Every one of them, they all told him that stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life, that he needed to reconsider, that fairy tales never come true.

He can’t tell them. Not right now. But he needs to tell someone, he needs to hear a friendly voice tell him he’s not stupid for believing in love.

There’s only one place he can go.

His feet know the way, and before he even realizes it, he’s knocking on the old familiar door.

Mika opens up, exuberant and bright as always.

“Kitten!” he exclaims when he recognizes Lucas, dragging him out of the dim hallway and into the lit foyer. “I hear congratulations are in order, tell me all about – Oh.”

Before Lucas knows it, Mika’s hugging him.

There was a time Lucas would have fought it, wouldn’t have admitted he wanted this, but not now. Not when his whole world suddenly vanished from beneath his feet and he’s lost, rudderless, anchorless, desperate for safe harbour.

“What happened?” Mika says, surprisingly quietly. “Manon told me you got married, but –”

“It’s over,” Lucas grits out. “He’s gone. It was – it was stupid. Just a fucking whim.”

“Was it?” Mika’s eyes are soft. “It doesn’t feel like it was just a whim to you.”

Lucas’ throat closes up, and he thought he was out of tears, but his eyes well up once more. He shakes his head, pleading Mika with his eyes to tell him everything will be fine, the way he did all those years ago when Lucas also felt like his world was ending.

“Oh, kitten.” Mika pushes Lucas onto the couch. “I’m so, so sorry, Lucas. I’ll call the others, okay?”

“No!” Lucas jumps up, wildly. “No! They’ll tell me it’s my own fault, they all thought I was foolish from the start, I don’t want to hear them gloat and tell me they told me so!”

“I think they might surprise you, Lucas,” Mika replies, and Lucas knows Mika well enough to know that short of breaking his phone, there’s no stopping him.

So he waits, curled up into himself on the old couch where he used to sleep.

He fervently wishes he was that boy again, so he could tell himself to stop feeling miserable, that the heartbreak he was feeling was nothing, because the worst was still to come.

Vaguely he hears the front door open, footsteps, hushed voices.

And then there are arms around him, so many arms holding him tight – and he knows he doesn’t deserve it, knows he’s been a bad friend for so many years, knows with sudden lucidity they are not here to crow. They are here to take care of him, to care for him. They never wanted this for him, they wanted to spare him from this pain. And when Lucas pushed them away, they went, but they never left him behind.

It doesn’t help much, right this very moment, but it means the world nevertheless.

“We love you, man,” Yann whispers into Lucas’ ear. “You’re my best friend. I wish I could have protected you from this.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucas hiccups back. “I’m sorry, you were right, I shouldn’t have said –”

“I wasn’t right, though, was I?” Yann’s eyes are dark and understanding. “If he really was just after your money, you wouldn’t be this devastated by it. You’d be angry as all hell let loose. You’d be punching a wall somewhere, and then you’d drag his sorry ass to court and he wouldn’t know what hit him. Right?”

Lucas nods meekly. Seems Yann knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes. If Eliott was just out to fuck Lucas over, that’d be one thing. But Lucas wasn’t even important enough to fuck over. Lucas was just a folly, a crazy impulse, almost a joke.

He straightens his back. Enough crying over Eliott.

“So do you want to tell us what happened?”

He nods again, and he leans on Yann, allows Manon to ruffle his hair gently, and doesn’t look any of his friends in the eye when he tells them it never was real.

In the end, nobody tells Lucas he really should have listened to them. In fact, they all urge him to trust his gut. To follow his heart. To believe in himself, and in Eliott.

“Who is this woman anyway, to speak for Eliott?” Yann asks after everybody chimed in with their opinions. “She said Eliott couldn’t love you, but do you believe her?”

Lucas stares at his friend.

“I – I don’t know,” he finally says. “I mean, you all said it was impossible –”

“But we can’t judge what you feel, Lucas,” Manon says gently. “Or what Eliott feels.”

“Only you can do that, kitten,” Mika adds when it remains silent.

“But – but she said – she said he was just manic –”

And that’s where Basile surprises them all. By the end of his story about his mother, Lucas dares to tentatively hope. Maybe Baz is right. Maybe Eliott does in fact love Lucas. Maybe their marriage wasn’t just a whim.

Philippe’s office feels cold and claustrophobic. Lucas is glad Yann offered to come with him – not that he needs support, but as Yann pointed out, it’s not about need. It’s about friends supporting friends.

At least this whole debacle of a marriage has brought one thing, Lucas thinks. He’s got his friends back, stronger than ever before, without secrets between them. All ambiguity has disappeared, and Basile even resurrected their silly gang hand claps from high school. It feels a lot less silly nowadays, though. It feels like a choice, a way of saying ‘I’m here for you’. Lucas feels a bit ashamed of how he never saw it before.

Eliott is late. He hopes he got the date and time, since Lucas hasn’t actually been in contact with Eliott himself.

Lucas sent him several messages to try to work out how to go forward, but he never got a reply. Until two days ago, when someone signing their message as Lucille texted Lucas that Eliott wanted a divorce.

Lucas assumes Lucille is the woman he met. Lucas doesn’t know how he feels about her speaking for Eliott once again.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter to him, what Eliott does and doesn’t do, and how Lucille fits into that. Eliott has decided to divorce Lucas, or has let Lucille decide it for him. All Lucas has to do now is get this over with. Get this marriage to go away. Maybe pretend it never happened.

He’s got Eliott’s ring with him. He’ll give it back to him today. Lucas doesn’t want it – Eliott can keep it or sell it, Lucas doesn’t care.

His own is no longer on his finger, either. He told Yann he’d sell it, but he doesn’t know if he can. There were good times with Eliott. Call him naïve, but he wants to hold on to those. His fingers touch the cool metal in his pocket, remembers how it felt around his finger, how they clinked against each other when he took Eliott’s hand in his. Remembers the shine in Eliott’s eyes, the tremor in his voice when he said I do. When they promised to have and to hold one another, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Remembers how Eliott held up their hands as they got back to their hotel room, and how his voice had been hushed, awed, every time he called Lucas his husband. Maybe Eliott was in some sort of manic daze, but it can’t all have been a lie, can it?

Philippe is pointedly looking at the clock ticking away on the wall.

Lucas sighs. He doesn’t want to take this whole thing to court without even talking to Eliott first, but it’s looking more and more likely he’ll have to.

Philippe seems to agree, when Lucas voices his concerns. He starts pointing out legal strategies, documents to prepare, depositions to be made to court – and there’s no time to lose.

“I did warn you about this, Lucas. We’ll have to prepare for a serious fight.”

“Is that all really necessary?” Lucas sighs. “Can’t we just go for a mutually agreed divorce, just give Eliott what he’s entitled to? I doubt he’ll make it difficult.”

“On the contrary, Lucas. I did some research. Turns out your husband is in fact related to the Demaurys my partner represents. Eliott will likely have a small army of family lawyers to assist him. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are already filing petitions, researching precedents, checking out the laws for a foreign marriage that has been recognized in France. They’ll try to stop you from claiming any of Eliott’s assets, I’m certain.”

“Wait, what?” Lucas stares at his lawyer with open mouth. Yann makes a small, inelegant guffaw. “Eliott doesn’t have any assets. You all warned me he’d try to be taking mine!”

“Oh, no,” Philippe says, opening a manilla folder. Lucas uses those same folders, and suddenly he gets the urge to throw them all out. They’re boring and lifeless. Maybe Eliott could paint them for him – no. Not Eliott. But someone else, maybe. “Eliott is loaded. Or at least, he would be if he accepted his trust fund. Seems like he hasn’t touched it, though.”

“I’ll be damned,” Yann says, voicing the bafflement Lucas feels.

All the fighting about money they did, and all that time Eliott could have easily matched Lucas?

“You just need to decide how you want to handle things,” Philippe says, though Lucas barely hears him.

He’s starting to wonder if he ever knew Eliott at all.

And that’s when his phone beeps. A message. From an unknown number.

Eliott’s missing. Nobody knows where he is. Is he with you?

“Everything okay?” Yann, ever perceptive, asks when Lucas stares at the screen.

“Uh, no. It’s – it’s Eliott. He’s missing.”

“Do you know where he might be?”

Lucas starts to shake his head, but then –

“You do, don’t you?” Yann says softly.

“No, it’s – it’s stupid. I just – he took me to this spot he loves – but obviously they would have looked there already –”

“Lucas.” Yann puts his hand on Lucas’ arm, waits until Lucas looks at him. “What does your heart say?”

“I – I just don’t want to be hurt even more, Yann.”

It’s soft and small, and Lucas hates to feel like this. But Yann smiles at him.

“Lucas, whatever happens, I’m here for you. We all are. But you have to believe in yourself, and in Eliott. Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“And does he love you?”

“I – I don’t know –”

“It’s not about knowing, Lulu. If you love him, and there’s even the smallest possibility he loves you back, there’s really no other way. You have to take the risk.”

Lucas swallows thickly.

His fingers close around Eliott’s ring, and he remembers how Eliott smiled when Lucas slid it on. How beautiful Eliott had been when he first told Lucas he loved him. How they had talked about everything and nothing, late at night, the lights and noises from New York filtering through the curtains. The way Eliott’s eyes shone when that stupid Elvis dude pronounced them husbands.

“I need to go,” he says, and Yann smiles and nods.

***

“Eliott!”

The voice sounds far away. It drifts in on the wind, muffled by the pelting rain on the roof of the tunnel.

“Eliott!”

Eliott wonders if he’s hallucinating again, even though he’s been back on his meds. There’s no way someone is shouting his name, not here. Nobody knows of this place. Nobody except –

He cannot think like that.

Lucas will not come looking for him.

Lucas is better off without him.

He even had Lucille send Lucas a message, to arrange a divorce.

His parents are livid, obviously – at Eliott getting married, at Eliott not taking his meds, at Eliott ending up in hospital yet again. But mostly about him getting married.

He supposes Lucas has filed for divorce by now. His parents have ordered their lawyers to ‘take care of Eliott’s issue’.

As if Lucas is a problem, something that needs to be handled, managed, hidden.

“Eliott!”

He closes his eyes.

Lucas has come to haunt him. He deserves it, of course. He shouldn’t have brought Lucas into his whole mess. His parents warned him. But Lucas – Lucas was worth the try.

Lucas is worth everything.

Why did he let everybody tell him he needed to give Lucas up? Why did he believe Lucille when she said Lucas was disgusted by him? Why did he agree to let Lucille inform Lucas he wanted to end their marriage? Why did he not fight for Lucas?

He’s a coward. Afraid of seeing the anger and repulsion in Lucas’ eyes, now Lucas knows what Eliott is.

Better this way.

He’ll just sit here in the dark, until the dark consumes him wholly. It’s for the best.

“Eliott!”

Suddenly someone is crouching in front of him, wiping the hair out of his eyes, the dampness from his cheeks.

“Eliott…”

It must be an illusion. There’s no way Lucas is really here, looking at him with no trace of anger or repulsion in his blue eyes, speaking soft words Eliott doesn’t understand.

“Come on,” Lucas says. “Let’s go home.”

Eliott doesn’t react, just stares at Lucas.

“Come on, Eliott,” Lucas says again, but there’s no annoyance in his voice. “Let’s go, I’ll help you. We can do it, you and I. Together.”

“Together?”

Eliott’s voice cracks on the word, and Lucas smiles at him.

“Together,” he repeats, grabbing Eliott’s hands. “We made a vow, didn’t we?”

“But – you still want that?”

It stays quiet for a while.

Then Lucas kneels in the mud and lets go of Eliott’s left hand.

His sound of protest is stopped by Lucas’ finger on his lips, and then –

Then Lucas slides something into Elioot’s palm. It feels cool and heavy, strange and yet familiar, and it glints in the dimness.

“For better or for worse,” Lucas whispers, and it hangs between them, until Eliott takes over.

“For richer or poorer.”

“In sickness and in health,” Lucas finishes. “Though maybe you should tell me about that yourself. Not sure I trust someone else to fill me in.”

He scoffs, and Eliott can’t help but smile.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything, and then you can decide if you still want all that, until death do us part.”

Lucas smiles back, as if he already made his decision.

They sit on the floor against Lucas’ couch, a heavy blanket around them, hot drink between their folded hands.

Eliott sighs. Lucas hasn’t asked, but it’s time to tell him everything. Tell him the things Eliott should have told him before they got married. The things Lucas needed to know before he made a life-long choice. The things that might still drive Lucas away, even if Lucas came to find him today.

Eliott stumbles through it, tries to explain, to make Lucas see, but Lucas just nods.

“I know it doesn’t define who you are,” Lucas says. “My friend told me some stuff, and – and I know that people can suffer mentally, and it doesn’t change who they are. I wish – I wish I had known that earlier, before I hurt people.”

Eliott doesn’t ask. It can wait. Right now, he wants Lucas to know everything about him.

“My family is rich,” he says. “Like – very rich.”

“Okay,” Lucas replies easily. “What happened?”

“I – I refused to take any of their money. Or they refused to let me have access to it, I suppose. I don’t want any of it.”

Lucas says nothing. He just sips his hot chocolate, waits for Eliott to explain.

“My parents – they kept bailing me out. I vandalized my high school in my last year, got expelled. They just paid for it, sent me away to some institution – they called it a wellness retreat, but it really just was a swanky therapy place – and got me into another high school the year after. At university I stole a bunch of stuff from a department store. I was caught and arrested, but they just made it go away. It just went on and on, and all they did was throw money at it. I hated it.”

Eliott fiddles with the blanket, takes a big gulp of his drink, coughs. He knows he’s stalling, but Lucas doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

The room grows dark, and it comforts Eliott. The rain against the windows sounds like the drops clattering on his tunnel. But this is better – he’s not alone, here.

“Anyway, so after I graduated, they sat me down and laid out a bunch of rules. I’d be allowed to create art, but I’d have to live by their rules. They’d gotten a flat for me – not far from yours, actually – and I’d be living there with an assistant. That’s what they called it, a personal assistant – when what they meant was a babysitter.”

He falters. Lucas leans his head on Eliott’s shoulder. His hand creeps onto Eliott’s knee under the blanket. Eliott takes a breath, continues, fortified by Lucas’ support.

“I’d have to call in every day, three times a day, on fixed times. I’d have to ask permission to leave Paris for longer than a day. The PA would check whether I took my medicines, whether I went to the therapy sessions my parents deemed necessary. They didn’t want me to see my friends anymore – they said they were a bad influence, inciting me to drink and smoke.”

He stops for a moment, remembering that one night when he almost kissed Idriss, drunk and high and in the throes of a manic episode, though he didn’t know it at the time. How he almost lost Idriss’ friendship that night. How his parents never thought Idriss was good enough for Eliott in the first place.

“They argued with me that nobody would ever want to stick with me, that I was too volatile, that someone who was paid to take care of me was the only way to make sure I wouldn’t be alone for the rest of my life. They – they said nobody would love a lunatic, and I – I almost believed them, Lucas. They made it sound so logical.”

“They lied, though. I love you, Eliott. I loved you from the moment I met you.”

“And look how that ended up for you, Lucas. I hurt you. That’s what you’d get when you’d stay with me.”

“But I’d also get the other things. Picnics at La Petite Ceinture. Painting the flat – I have a feeling we’d make a huge mess, though, ending up with the paint all over ourselves rather than the walls. Us running through the rain together. Going on our honeymoon.”

“Lucas –”

“No, Eliott. Don’t you get it? I’d rather be upset with you than not have you at all. Your parents never understood that loving someone is accepting all of them.”

“I – I’m starting to see that,” Eliott whispers. “But when they told me their plan – I almost said yes, Lucas. I almost just gave in – I was so tired, and I thought I’d be a burden on everybody if I didn’t do it their way.”

“So what made you change your mind?”

“They said I could paint – but they didn’t want me to try to make a name for myself with it. Guess they didn’t want to have a mad artist in the family. They’d just let me make stuff, and then, I don’t know, destroy it all? Maybe put it in storage somewhere, I never asked. They said I didn’t need to earn money, there was enough in my trust fund to pay for my expenses, including the flat and the PA, and they didn’t want me to embarrass myself by trying to make it. I guess they thought I’d never break through, I suppose. Maybe they wanted to save me from failing. Whatever the reason, I just couldn’t go along with it. Art is only art when it’s seen by others, Lucas, whether they hate it or love it, it’s how it makes the audience feel that makes it art. I would have gone along with all the rest, the babysitter, cutting contact with my friends –”

He bows his head, ashamed of how weak he was. Lucas just squeezes his knee.

“I know it was bad. I knew it then. But still I was gonna take the easy way out. Like a coward.”

“I don’t think you’re a coward,” Lucas says quietly. “I think you’re very brave.”

“Only because they tried to take away my art, though.”

“It doesn’t matter what made you find your courage. Only that you did. Like you did today, too.”

Eliott hardly thinks he’s worthy of Lucas’ praise. He hasn’t been courageous. He ran, the way he always has. He gave up fighting for Lucas, and if Lucas hadn’t come after him, he’d still be miserable and cold and alone. He doesn’t think if Lucas hadn’t found him, he’d ever been happy and warm and not alone ever again.

Nevertheless, he hopes Lucas will keep thinking of him as brave and worthy. Maybe there’s still hope for them.

“Anyway. I just couldn’t give up creating, sharing my art. So I just – ran, I guess. Slept over at Idriss’ for a while. Tried to get jobs, really tried to keep them, too, stuck to my medicine so I wouldn’t have to bail on deadlines or bosses. It was never a fun ride, but at least I had that. And then – then I met you, and everything changed.”

“So Idriss and Lucille?”

“They stuck by me. They worry for me, though. It’s never been easy for them. And when I married you so suddenly, they worried even more. They’re not bad people, I promise. I’m sorry for what Lucille said to you, though. She had no right.”

“I think I get it, though,” Lucas says thoughtfully. “She was not mad at me, nor at you. She was just in over her head by the whole situation. I’m glad you have friends who look out for you. Friends are important. I learned that lesson a bit too late.”

They sit for a while.

Eliott doesn’t know what to say. He can’t read Lucas’ face, doesn’t know what Lucas thinks. Does Lucas still want to give this a shot? Or is he thinking of a way to let Eliott down gently?

Nothing for it. Eliott has to put it all on the line, if he wants to have a chance of getting what he wants.

“Lucas?” Eliott takes a deep breath. “So, uh, I was wondering…” He takes out the golden wedding band, proffers it up. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No.”

The word isn’t said unkindly, but it feels like a slap in the face nevertheless. Not that Eliott really expected the answer he got to this question in New York, but he’d hoped –

“I already did that, stupid,” Lucas continues. “Now I want to have the whole marriage. The life. All of it, weird adventures and quiet evenings at home and going to art galleries with you and whatever else makes a marriage.”

“Oh.”

Eliott closes his mouth, realizing he must look like a fish when Lucas suddenly laughs, bright and carefree.

“C’mon, husband,” Lucas murmurs, grabbing Eliott’s hand. “You gonna put that ring back on yourself or do I have to do it for you?”

“You,” Eliott says immediately, holding out his hand.

It feels like a strange sort of déjà-vu, to feel Lucas put the cool band around his finger, to mimic the motion with Lucas’ hand.

Probably because they have, in fact, done this before, Eliott contemplates.

Only this time there’s no crooning guy in a white fringed suit, no laser show illuminating a fake Eiffel tower. They can see the real one out of their bedroom, and it’s just like their marriage – the one in Vegas might have been phony, but here they have the real thing.

It sounds perfect to Eliott, as the street lanterns outside dim and their world shrinks down to the two of them, here together. To have and to hold. A minute at the time, for eternity.