Elliot

Twenty-Seven

The whole gang was on the way to the airport. And that gang would be me, Dad, Clara, and Alvin. It has been a few weeks since Tobias' departure from here, and now he's coming back.

"You okay, son?" I knew Dad would eventually ask that.

"Absolutely." I smiled. I was excited to see Tobias again but part of me were nervous. What would it be like to meet him again? To feel him again in my arms? To hear his voice again ringing in my ears? Was he better now? Did he get the help he needed?

So many questions. No answers for now.

Dad couldn't stand the silence-he always was that kind of guy-so he put on music on the radio. I actually recognized the song when it started playing. I've heard it quite a few times when he was working at the shop. Unsurprisingly, he started singing along to the lyrics of A Teenager In Love.

Alvin also joined the vibe. Clara was probably watching something from her phone, but she was nodding her head. And I found myself smiling. Music indeed brought joy to the world.

Then many more sing-along-minutes later, we arrived at the airport. Tobias mentioned that he's arriving with his father. I guess that adds to the list of why I'm slightly nervous.

"His father's with him." I said. "Have I told you that?"

Dad looked at me. I'm guessing that was a why-the-fuck-did-you-not-tell-me-sooner look. "No, you did not."

"Well, I'm telling you now."

He sighed. "Of course, you are."

There was a silence between us.

"Now you're nervous too, aren't you?"

"Yes, Elliot. I'm fucking nervous. You could've told me sooner."

I swear I almost ripped my head off for turning too fast. But I wasn't actually surprised. It wasn't the first time I heard Dad cuss. He does cussing when he's tensed or in the edge or strictly mad or crazily happy or... nervous.

"That makes the two of us." I didn't know why but I was laughing.

"I could've worn something better."

"You look great, Mr. Hamilton. Don't you worry." Alvin said.

"Why do you just keep popping out of nowhere when in a middle of a conversation?" I said.

"It's called interacting, Elliot, you should learn that too."

"I do know how to interact."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be having more friends other than you and I wouldn't have met my weird, French boyfriend and we wouldn't be standing up here to wait for him."

"Do you really just put the word 'weird' in front of every subject that you're describing?"

I shrugged. "Everything is weird."

Alvin made a face. "I'm not weird."

"Yes, you are."

"That's very insulting."

"Being weird isn't insulting." I smiled. "It's one of the perks of being cool."

"So, I'm cool and weird at the same time? How does that even work?"

"Elliot's logic is uncommon, Alvin. You should get used to it." Clara said. Usually, I would come up with a comeback but then I saw Tobias walking towards our direction.

And he was smiling. Of course he was smiling. And the next thing I knew was me wrapping my arms around him, and him doing the same. It had been weeks since I've felt his touch and it was still the same feeling of comfort and happiness every time I sink into his arms.

We pulled away. I stared into his eyes. "Hi."

"Hi."

"How was your flight?"

"Decent." And then he smiled again. Behind him was another man walking towards us which I quickly assumed was his father-given the posture and the height and the face and the aura. I'm not a judgemental person myself, or maybe I am, but I can figure out a person who is related to my boyfriend.

"You must be Elliot Hamilton." He had the same accent as Tobias. And he had a fairly, scary deep voice. "I'm Claude Antoine, Tobias' father. I've heard a lot about you." He also had the same smile.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Antoine."

We shook hands.

"You can call me Claude." He was still smiling. Dad surprisingly came up behind.

"Bonjour. I'm Connor Hamilton." And they shook hands as well. And a lot of introduction and greetings were made until we're all packed up on my father's pick-up truck with Claude and my dad on the front and Alvin and Clara on the back and Tobias and I on the truck bed.

I knew Dad and Claude were having their own conversation, the typical father-to-father conversation that they can only understand. Tobias was quietly looking around the place.

"I forgot how much I missed this place," he said. "But never how much I missed you."

"That's such a Tobias thing to say."

"What's wrong with that?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

"Hmm. I'm guessing you're practically calling me weird in your mind right now."

"Oh, right, I forgot. You're a psychic."

"I just know you, is all. Not that I have special abilities to read people's minds when I want to or need to."

"Who knows?" I shrugged. "You might actually have that ability."

"I got therapy, Elliot. Not a mission to find out whether I have superpowers or not."

"I was just teasing you." I knew he was smiling. That's because he was. "How did that go, by the way? I know you're not gonna magically be okay within a few weeks of session, but I hoped it made you feel better than you're used to feel."

He thought for a moment. "Have I told you the reason why I didn't want to get help in the first place?"

"A bit of it, yeah."

"Well, then, yes, it's that. The first time I got therapy was when I was sixteen. After my mother left, I was in a pretty bad shape. Dad assumed that I was depressed, not that I was denying it, but I didn't really know what to label how I feel. So, eventually, I got help. My first week of session wasn't that good. But I told myself to keep on trying." He shifted himself closer to me. "Then it just got progressively worse. The therapist kept talking to me, asking me how I've been, but I wasn't answering. One thing I remember, was the time I could feel my heart beating fast. I couldn't process what my therapist was saying. All I could hear was the beat of my heart. Like it would explode at any rate."

Tobias kept staring at the road. And I kept staring at him.

"I made a thought to myself that the therapy wasn't helping me at all. The feeling that I have, it wasn't going away." Then he finally looked at me. "So I stopped. I stopped and hoped that one day I would just heal. But I knew the world didn't work that way."

I didn't know what to say. I always didn't know what to say. I reached out to hold him closer to me instead. Hoping that my comfort would also be enough.

"I guess part of me was still living on that moments. But nothing would happen to me if I keep grounding myself."

"So your sessions now, are they okay?"

His eyes were somewhere to get lost to. And his smile-holy shit, his smile-was an art pasted on a museum wall.

"Yes, it was." He reached out for my hand. "Thank you, for letting me have a second chance on something that would help me heal."

"I told you, we're in this together."

And then I held him close. And held his hand tighter. And stared at the world in front of us. Together was a word we could hold onto right now.