mismatched

7/

Elijah's pov this time! 

Elijah has always liked to people watch. Everyone is so interesting in all their quirks- their varying degrees of restlessness. Oliver can't sit still to save their life, but Elijah could be as motionless as a statue if he wanted to.

It's precious, he thinks. The life in the little things.

When people tap their fingers on any nearby surface while they wait, or absently pick at their nails, maybe play with their hair. So many different kinds of people- who need to do something with their hands, who's brains are so busy it's reflected in their everyday actions. The anxious people who never leave without a jacket just for the pockets so they have a place to put their hands. (lmao I do this- also i just realized how much of a fixation i have w hands holy shit asnfhrn)

Of all the things to love about what he notices, this is what he adores most: when someone is so focused on something, say reading a book or piecing a puzzle together, they completely forget everything else.

They aren't thinking of how they look, how to hold themselves, or to remembering not to pick at their cuticles-

It's just the person and what's in front of them.

It's amazing how something you love collides with someone(s) you love. Almost too much for his heart.

Alastair is hyper focused on painting Alice's nails a soft pink. His attention never wavers. It's only him, the nail polish, and a cotton swab to clean up the edges as he goes. Out of all of them, he has the steadiest hands. Maybe his ability to focus so completely is why.

I like meticulous tasks, Alastair had told him once. It's... satisfying, to work through every small detail till the whole picture is perfect.

Alastair's foot taps, when he dips the brush back in the bottle to coat it again.

Alice's attention is also on Alastair. She sits sideways between Elijah's legs, with her back partly against his chest, rotated just enough for him to see the soft smile that lays kindly on her face, her other hand petting through Oliver's hair where their head rests on her lap.

Alice catches herself staring every so often. She'll blink, lean her head back, try to reel in the fondness of her smile- but inevitably gets caught up in the same action again. Rinse and repeat.

Oliver was humming softly, till it faded quieter and quieter (a shame, really, they have a lovely voice, and their humming is nothing but soft and comforting). They've been drifting in and out, trying to stay awake, but drifting farther with Alice's hand in their hair. It's rare to see them lulled so quiet and relaxed.

It feels domestic. Makes his heart beat heavily into his ribcage, a steady message of I love them, I love them, I love them.

The words climb up to his throat, but he keeps his lips shut.

Elijah thinks himself selfish. To the world at large he could not give less of a fuck.

But everything is always different with them, anyways. They've been through so much. And he figures a romantic confession would disrupt this peace they've built, and frankly he'd rather choke on a handful of legos. He'll protect this little bubble of safety and warmth with everything he has, no matter the cost.

He doesn't know what he'd do if he couldn't have moments like these.

Oliver is completely knocked out on Alice's lap at this point, but she never stops petting through their hair. Alice leans back farther into his chest. Lavender, he thinks. Lavender and cinnamon. Alastair finishes up her nails, and smiles softly to himself. Alice's own smile grows larger.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Anytime," Alastair returns, just as soft.

He'd flip the world upside down for them. Compared to that, keeping his mouth shut seems so small.