Elijah woke to the sound of someone swearing in the kitchen and the smell of burnt toast.
For a full minute, he didn't move. Just lay there on the floor, arm slung over his face, a coat that wasn't his acting as a blanket, and someone's sock half-tucked into his hoodie pocket. His head throbbed in that soft, fuzzy way—like it wasn't angry at him for drinking, just disappointed.
Voices floated in from the hallway. Laughter. Ryan and Robert bickering, probably about cereal.
But all Elijah could think about was midnight.
The noise, the cheers, the pop of cheap prosecco. And then—
Her.
Ophelia.
Kissing him on the cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. No big deal. Just a press of lips, a soft second of closeness. But it had knocked the breath clean out of him.
Not because it was romantic. Not really. More because it could've been. Because it used to be.
Because, for a heartbeat, it felt like being let back into a dream he'd been shut out of.
He sat up slowly, the coat sliding off his shoulders.
"Elijah, you up?" Ryan's voice yelled from somewhere.
He ran a hand through his hair and groaned. "Yeah."
Robert popped his head into the room a second later, sunglasses on inside, holding two mismatched mugs.
"I made tea. One of them might be coffee. It's a gamble."
Elijah took the one that didn't smell like regret. "Cheers."
Robert dropped down beside him dramatically. "Did we survive?"
"Barely."
There was a beat. Then: "She kissed you, didn't she?"
Elijah stared at him. "How the hell do you know that?"
"I always know," Robert said smugly, sipping his definitely-wrong drink. "It was written all over your mopey face, noticed as soon as i walked in the room."
Elijah rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a real kiss. Just a cheek thing."
"Ah, yes. The most dangerous kind," Robert said with mock gravity. "More deceptive than a full-on snog. They linger. Like pigeons."
Elijah squinted. "Don't start."
"I'm serious," Robert said. "Pigeons mate for life, you know. But they pretend they're chill until one of them blinks and suddenly they're flapping around like lunatics."
Ryan wandered in mid-sentence. "Please don't say 'flapping around' ever again."
"Morning to you too," Robert said brightly.
Ryan raised an eyebrow at Elijah. "You alright?"
Elijah hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I mean, it was nothing. But it wasn't... nothing."
Ryan threw himself onto the floor next to them. "Do you want it to be something?"
"I don't know." Elijah stared into his tea. "I think part of me always does. But there's a lot of mess between us. We weren't great at the whole relationship bit."
"People grow," Ryan said.
"People also repeat their worst habits when they're comfortable," Elijah muttered.
Robert let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "We are way too sober for this level of emotional depth."
But then he bumped Elijah's shoulder gently and said, more seriously, "Look, mate. Whatever it was, whatever it still is—you've got to talk to her. Don't let it hang in the air like that. Gets heavy. Trust me."
Elijah nodded slowly. "Yeah. I will."
Ryan grinned. "And if it all goes horribly wrong, you can channel it into another heartbreak anthem. We'll back you, as always."
Robert stood with a dramatic groan. "Alright, enough heartache. I need food. And possibly divine intervention."
He wandered off toward the kitchen shouting something about leftover garlic bread.
Elijah stayed behind for a moment, alone again.
He looked out the window—London all fogged up and glowing pale in the January sun. He didn't know what would happen next, if anything. But the weight in his chest didn't feel quite so suffocating.
