Elliot

9 - Pizza

It had been seven days since Elliot—the stubborn, cute, and endlessly cheerful whirlwind of color and smiles—had shown up at Nate's apartment with that box of homemade muffins. Then Alec had that great idea to force him to go over there with Lasagna, knowing full well how the cute blond was affecting him. Five days of trying, unsuccessfully, to put the memory out of his mind. The way Elliot had lit up the room with his vibrant energy, the way his laugh had wormed its way under Nate's skin, and, worst of all, the way he'd looked in those damn dance clothes every time Nate caught a glimpse of him in the hallway.

Those glimpses had been maddening. Tight-fitting leggings that left nothing to the imagination, tank tops that showed off the lean muscles of his arms, and that ridiculous bounce in his step as he moved around like he was always on his way to the next performance. Every time, Nate told himself to look away, to not think about how those fleeting moments fueled more than one inappropriate daydream during his grueling shifts at work.

Work had been hell lately—long hours, endless emails, and a boss who seemed determined to suck the joy out of everything. And then there was Alec. Nate loved his brother, but Alec's constant teasing and loud personality grated on him when all he wanted was peace and quiet. Thankfully, Alec had been spending more nights at Mia's place lately, giving Nate a rare reprieve from his antics. The apartment had felt emptier without him, but it was a kind of emptiness Nate could handle. Or so he thought.

He'd just pulled into the driveway after another exhausting day, the weight of the week settling heavily on his shoulders as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment. He was already fantasizing about collapsing onto the couch with a beer and some mindless TV when he spotted something—or rather, someone—sitting on the floor outside the door to his apartment. Elliot.

He was leaning back against Nate's door, his legs stretched out in front of him, one foot tapping absently to some rhythm only he could hear. His phone rested in his hand, its screen casting a faint glow against his face in the dimly lit hallway. Even sitting on the cold floor, Elliot looked effortlessly put together—his bleached hair a little messy but in that deliberate way that somehow made him even more attractive. His bright hoodie and tight fitted jeans as colorful and lively as his personality.

The sight stopped Nate in his tracks, a flicker of concern cutting through his exhaustion. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

Elliot's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise before softening into a familiar, disarming smile. "Oh, hey, Nate! Fancy seeing you here."

"You're literally sitting outside my door," Nate said flatly, but there was a tug at the corner of his lips he tried to suppress. He crossed his arms, his dark brows knitting together. "Why?"

Elliot pushed his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and gave an exaggerated sigh, looking up at him with an almost sheepish expression. "I, uh, locked myself out. My friend has the spare key, but they're out of town until Monday, so... here I am."

"And you thought camping in the hallway was your best option?" 

"Well, I considered breaking in," Elliot said with a grin, "but I figured that might give the wrong impression."

Nate rolled his eyes but couldn't help the faint smirk that broke through. Typical Elliot—lighthearted even in the most inconvenient situations. Still, the thought of him sitting out here alone, waiting who knows how long for him or Alec to arrive stirred a feeling in Nate's chest. Not pity, exactly. Just... something.

"Look, I'm not the landlord," Nate said, digging his keys out of his pocket. "But you can't just sit out here all night."

Elliot cocked his head to the side, his grin widening as if Nate had just walked into some sort of trap. "So... does that mean I can crash on your couch?"