Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

hi chatters
uhhhh
i will have content soon trust, im working on it
does anyone know what the Chance/Elliot ship name is cuz i sure as hell dont
my friends have decided on RandomToppings for now
random cuz gambling, toppings cuz pizza
you get it
anyways lmk if there is a proper one...........

anyways im taking requests, and if i dont do them its cuz it was too freaky for me

bye bye bye

kisses mwah mwah

Chapter Text

The moment the bell on the doors to Builder Brother’s Pizza rang, signaling the final customer’s departure, Elliot slumped over the counter. Tonight was atrocious. Yes, he expected Friday nights to be extremely busy, but… what the hell was that??? Surely there ought to have been like… a million people! It was a non-stop movement scenario with a continuous stream of words out of his mouth taking orders for almost 5 hours, and Elliot is 99% sure half of them weren’t even proper English. All he knew is that he was SO done and SO clocking out RIGHT NOW. Except….

He stands up straight and looks at the checklist under the counter. You know, the one that the entire crew is supposed to complete by the end of the night. There were like… two boxes checked.

.

Elliot was going to burst a blood vessel, and if he could do it this entire establishment would be in flames. Not really though, he loves his job. Its just… maybe not his coworkers. As much. And as expected, literally no one was here except kitchen staff who were busy cleaning. Elliot wishes cleaning was all he had to worry about. The lobby was an absolute terror to look at, and he just genuinely wanted to sleep. Sulking won’t get these tasks done, though, so he oh so reluctantly wills his body to move and get to work. At least they pay overtime, so it’s… ehhh.. Kind of okay. And that’s what he spends the next hour doing, finally clocking out with an ache in his spine and a longing for his bed and… his boyfriend. Elliot’s brow furrowed, hoping Chance wasn’t too worried about his whereabouts. Even though he… completely forgot to message him… about the overtime. It’s fine. Chance isn’t one to fuss or worry… at least, he hopes not. The vague headache that he feels approaching prays not.

By the time Elliot had gotten in his car, turned it on, and shuffled another playlist on his phone, the headache had worsened. Not… horribly. But enough to be an issue to his mood. Elliot lays his head on the steering wheel, taking in a deep breath to simmer whatever nerves he had boiling. Home. Think of home! Soft bed, warm colors, the embrace of his beloved…

Elliot pulls out of the parking lot with a set plan in mind.

.

.

.

And sure, maybe it was his pissy mood, but everything on the road seemed so much worse. No turn signals? Okay, annoying. Break checking? Stupid, anger inducing. Cutting across lanes? Murder worthy! But Elliot’s a patient man. So so patient. Or, he tries. But genuinely everything was too much, and the more that happened the worse it got under his skin. Every single nerve of his was boiling by the time he turned onto the street of his apartment, white knuckling the steering wheel and the hint of water in his eyes. It was so bad. He felt so bad. Elliot was so done with today.

He parks the car, flings open the door and slams it with just as much gusto, locks it, and makes a heavy footed beeline for the entrance. Every step up to the apartment felt agonizing. Heavy. Unnecessary. Every light felt too bright. The headache worsened at least triple. He absolutely would punch somebody if they got in his way.

.

The door in front of him pauses this rage filled trance he had been in. Elliot stares at it, tired, yearning. It felt almost impossible that he WAS home. And it felt so nice to just… stare at the door. He could stand here for another 20 minutes if the door didn't open.

Open? Oh . There he is. Elliot makes eye contact with messily placed sunglasses and tired eyes. With his beloved. With Chance, Mr. Suit-And-Tie himself, in a loose fitting shirt and sweats. And he drinks it in like water in the Sahara desert. He almost misses his name being said through the haze of exhaustion muddling his mind. Hands are on his shoulders, and it's grounding enough that Elliot allows himself to be guided inside their apartment and to the plush couch just past the entryway.

As he sinks into the cushions, Elliot shuts his eyes and drags his hands down his face. He was so tired and so so done. But… at least he was home. He leans back, head tilted over the back of the couch. Elliot hears dishes being moved in the kitchen, and the lackadaisical walk pattern of Chance approaching him. Elliot drops hands to his sides, opening his eyes just enough to see Chance’s peering back at him from behind those iconic sunglasses.
“Hey, pizza boy. Got all your screws tightened?” Chance says, a cheesy grin breaking across his otherwise nonchalant expression. He pairs this statement with pulling off Elliot’s visor and ruffling his hair. No doubt it’s gross with sweat, but Elliot could care less at this point. He gives a low hum in response, shutting his eyes again and sinking further into the couch. Chance’s weight settles to his left, and Elliot lolls his head to the side to look at the man. Chance is sat cross legged, a glass of water in one hand and the other laid across the back of the couch. Elliot’s visor had been tossed… God knows where. “What’s the word, bird? You look deathly.” Blunt and joking, yet still caring. Elliot rolled his eyes, head rolling back so he could stare at the ceiling. “Just…ugh. People, y’know? Like…” Elliot flings his hands up with open palms and squeezes them for emphasis. He looks back at Chance, who nods understandingly. 

“I gotcha. Stewing over stupid people won’t do you much good, though.” He extends the water out to Elliot, who graciously takes it. The cold of the glass nicely contrasts the turmoil in his brain and grounds him just that little more. Elliot sips the water slowly, absorbing Chance’s words thoughtfully. “If it gives you any peace of mind, you have this weekend off, yeah?” Elliot nods, mentally sighing in relief that he doesn’t have to do much of anything the next two days either. He could sleep in for once. Elliot finishes his glass of water and Chance takes it from him to place on the floor in front of the couch. His hand that was laid over the couch raises to comb through Elliot’s hair, who melts under the touch like butter. “You’re like a damn cat. Are you gonna purr too?” Elliot’s face scrunches up, almost shouting in rebuttal and batting away Chance’s hand as he falls into a fit of laughter. “Not cool! We were having a nice moment, you jerk!” Elliot leans forward, looking at Chance with his head tilted and a look of disbelief and adoration. Chance himself was sporting a lopsided smile, delighted with the reaction he spurred. 

He very suddenly grabs Elliot’s hands and pulls him off the couch to stand with him. “C’mon, big cat, it’s like 11pm.” Chance says, dragging him along to the bedroom. “Oh, since when were you such a strict sleeper?” Elliot jokes. Chance scoffs in front of him, looking back with an expression feigning hurt. “ You insult me! Your own boyfriend? The audacity.” Elliot laughs at his reaction, and upon entering the bedroom, Elliot promptly tackles Chance onto the soft duvet at the waist and giggles all the way down. “You-! Ugh… c’mon, big cat-” Chance struggles under the hold, but Elliot remains sturdy. “I’m doing this- ugh, for you, you big oaf! Move it!” Chance gives another hefty shove, and Elliot willingly goes with it to roll over on the bed. They make eye contact, both faces painted with a look of absolute joy hinted by sleep deprivation. Elliot clears his throat, standing up to change into sleepwear. In an almost methodical way: jacket, shirt(accompanied by a wolf whistle from Chance, and a quick ‘Shut up!’ from Elliot coated in sheepish giggles), pants, and into pajamas.

And finally, Elliot was comfortable and able to sleep. He looks towards Chance, who is delicately placing his famed sunglasses on the nightstand. Elliot takes his time to settle under the covers, waiting ever patiently for Chance to stop fussing around with whatever the hell it is he’s doing. Chance looks back at Elliot, buried in the duvet, and chuckled. “Comfy enough there?” Elliot rolled his eyes, flinging open the covers with a mumbled “Get in bed already…” And Chance complies as if he wasn’t going to before. As soon as Chance was comfortable in his spot, Elliot cuddled right up to him. Head tucked under Chance’s chin, arm slung across his torso haphazardly. He slurs out a phrase of adoration to the man as Chance curls around him in turn. Every worry and qualm he had with the day was gone. The feeling of a kiss being pressed into his temple was all Elliot needed to feel truly at home in his arms.