He's Not My Type

4

They go back to Christian's because he lives just around the corner and he thinks that his housemate might've recorded the Gogglebox that Pieter erased to make room for one of Shawn's hockey games.

They squeeze around the bike blocking the stairs of Christian's narrow little terrace and then Christian gestures grandly at the first floor and says, "Have a seat!"

"Okay. But, um, where?"

"What do you mean where?" Christian says. "On the sofa like a normal person, Elijah."

Elijah looks pointedly at said sofa. "Okay, but where on the sofa?"

Christian gives him an exasperated sigh, but he doesn't suppress his smile very well as he bundles up one of the piles of clean-looking but wrinkled clothing on the sofa.

"Come on, have a tour."

Elijah obediently follows him up the stairs and, when he trips over the cords poking out of the crumbling plaster wall, Christian grabs his arm with a "Whoa, watch it, babe" and somehow doesn't even drop any of clothes.

The second floor has two doors, one closed, the second open to reveal cracked bathroom tile. Christian yells an "Oi oi, Richard!" And gets a "fuck off" in return.

"Not too friendly?" Elijah asks when they're far enough up the next flight of stairs that he won't be overheard.

Christian looks taken aback by the very logical conclusion. Taken aback and maybe a little — sad? "Nah," he says finally. "Richard's just. He's alright."

And then Elijah remembers that this is the housemate that Christian has been making his life mission to prank, so perhaps that explains it.

Before he can think about it any longer, Christian shoves open the door to the room at the top of the stairs and releases Elijah's arm. "Come on in."

Christian's bedroom is small and cramped and made even smaller by the way the ceiling is slanted over the bed. A taped-up tapestry that's half hanging down covers the window in the roof. There's a Leeds Festival poster peeling at the edges and a few others for bands Elijah doesn't recognize.

The double bed, which doesn't quite fit, is an unmade twist of duvet and sheets and a beat-up laptop. A wardrobe's jammed in between it and the wall, though it doesn't look like one of the doors could even open all the way.

"I've seen this room before," Elijah blurts out.

"Have you now? Been sneaking in me bedroom, then?" Christian arches an eyebrow at him and then dumps the pile of clothing in his arms onto the bed.

"No," Elijah protests quickly. He picks up the stray pair of black boxers that fell onto the floor and hands it to Christian. It doesn't occur to Elijah that he should maybe not be touching Christian's underwear until Christian arches an eyebrow as he takes it from him.

Elijah looks away to hide the flush in his cheeks. "No, just, I saw your room in some of your YouTube videos."

"Oh." Christian turns to him, looking a bit cautious. "You watched them?"

Elijah pinches his lip between his fingers, caught in the unintentional confession."Yeah. I mean, um. Just a couple?"
"Weren't too shit, I hope?" Christian runs a hand over his hair, and then readjusts his fringe.
"No, no," Elijah hurries to protest. "You were — you were really good." He bites his lip. "I liked Drops of Jupiter."

Christian smiles slowly, looking pleased. "Yeah?"

Elijah nods, feeling strangely shy.

Christian gestures around his room. "Yeah, well, usually record them in the basement of the shop. But the place was flooded last month so I did a few here. That's why the sound was a bit more shit than usual."

"It wasn't, though," Elijah insists. "You have a really, um. You have a good voice."
Christian ducks his eyes for a second and says, "Thanks, E."
With the surprised-pleased look Christian gets at compliments, Elijah kind of wants to make him do it again.

"Beer?" Christian picks up two bottles from the narrow lime-green fridge.
Elijah reaches for the lighter of the two. Beer isn't his favourite , but the only other options Elijah can see over Christian's shoulder are the workout drinks scattered amongst takeaway of varying ages.

"Why do you have so many protein shakes?" Elijah asks, eyeing the curve of Christian's biceps under his long-sleeve Stone Roses t-shirt. He takes in the way his jeans hug his thighs. Christian certainly isn't taller or broader than him, but he's not that small. And he's more lean than skinny. Elijah can't really picture him in the gym but can see him spending his spare time on his skateboard and on makeshift footie pitches.

He might not be Elijah's type but that doesn't mean Elijah's blind. Completely objectively speaking, he's really—

"Not mine."

Elijah jerks his eyes up and feels his cheeks heat at Christian's raised eyebrows. He imagines Christian must be quite used to being ogled like this, but at least he seems more amused than offended by it.

"Um, what's not yours?" Elijah asks, struggling to remember what they were talking about.

Christian just gestures to the protein drinks in the fridge and then reaches out to cover Elijah's hand in his, trapping it between the cool condensation of his beer bottle and the warmth of his guitar-string callused fingers.

Elijah's eyes catch on the 2-8 over the backs of his fingers, the edge of a playing card tattoo peeking out under his long sleeve. He takes in the contrast of Christian's tattoos next to his own unmarked skin, the slender bones of Christian's hand next to Elijah's wider one, Christian's fingernails bitten short next to Elijah's neatly filed.

Then Christian pops the top off Elijah's beer and releases Elijah's hand.
Elijah blinks, feeling a confusing sort of bereft at the sudden loss of contact.

"They taste like crap, too," Christian adds.

"They only taste like crap because you'll steal them if I get the good ones," comes a voice from behind them.

Elijah startles again at the voice and turns around to see Christian's housemate. He doesn't look much different from the man in the photo Christian had sent, after eating the tainted granola. Though there's less disgust and his eyes are softer, more tired.

"Oh, hi," the man says, looking almost embarrassed at seeing Elijah there. He does look like someone who uses protein drinks, if by the way his thick bicep bunches when he runs his hand over his close-cropped hair is any indication. "Sorry, I didn't realise you had someone over, Christian."

Christian snorts. "This isn't someone, you twat. This is Elijah, nursery teacher extraordinaire."

The man frowns, looking at Elijah in confusion through oddly soft brown eyes.
Elijah gives a little wave. "I'm not a nursery teacher yet, I'm just starting my first internship this summer."

Christian squeezes Elijah's arm. "And this social butterfly is Richard. We still got that latest Gogglebox, mate?"

"We should. I haven't seen it yet." Richard starts to retreat to the stairs. "If you're going to watch it, I'll head back up—"

"Mate. Get your arse back here."

"Um?"

Christian grabs a third beer bottle from the fridge and points it meaningfully at the sofa. "Sit."