He's Not My Type

16

Nick Grimshaw has the fourth-highest student ratings of all the lecturers at the university. He's a good teacher.
Elijah isn't even in his course but he'd taught Elijah some good lessons, anyways.
He'd taught him that when a man says, I want that, too that what he really means is I'll say what you want to hear until you realize that you're too young to want to settle down anyways.
He'd taught Elijah that there was no point in asking questions if the answers were lies.
He taught Elijah to observe instead.
And was he really supposed to think that a 23-year-old boy, covered in tattoos, who went clubbing every weekend, who'd been fired from almost as many jobs as he'd ever held, who couldn't even feed himself fruits and vegetables on a daily basis - was he supposed to think that boy was more ready for a committed relationship than a thirty-year-old man who had his life all in order?


But.


Christian spends hours every week hunting down a wayward friend to make sure he has a proper meal to eat.


Christian devotes just as much time to elaborate pranks to cheer up the broken-hearted housemate he hadn't even used to like.


Christian had kept the orange sticker.


What if Nick's lessons were lies, too?


Elijah gets home from the nursery, picks the dried finterpaints from under his newly painted nails, scrubs the stray paste off the back of his neck, tugs on a pair of jeans and hurries out again.
He waits impatiently for his bus but then gets to the record shop too early. So he gets himself lost wandering around the town centre. He's about to open his maps app when instead he gets the sudden courage to check his unread texts.
And then has a minor breakdown over the i don't know what just happened and the do you really think we're not compatible? and the could we talk a little more? waiting for him there.
By the time he recovers and gets himself un-lost, he has to sprint to make it back to Vinyl Tap in time.
Elijah comes to a halt abruptly just as Christian is coming out the door. He watches, panting to catch his breath, as Christian's blue eyes widen in the late afternoon light.
"I got your texts," he blurts out.
Christian looks tired, gaunt, eyes sunken. He just stares back at him.
"Shit," Elijah swears. "That's now what I meant to say - I was coming to see you and I finally had the courage to open them and I'm sorry I didn't read them sooner. I'm sorry I didn't reply. I'm just - I'm so sorry, Lou."
Christian still hasn't said anything.
"Um." Elijah bites his lip. "Do you still want to? Talk, I mean?"
Christian looks like he's about to say something, but then stops himself, looks across the road, eyes unfocused, to where a group of teens are gathered in front of the comic book shop. Then he turns back to Elijah and says, "No."
Elijah staggers a step back, feels tears already well in at his eyes. "Right. Yeah, okay, I just wanted to say I was sorry and-"
"No. That's not." Christian's voice is rough. He clears his throat. "I can't right now.
Elijah hugs his arms over his chest.
"I have to meet Richard."
"No, I understand." Elijah swallows. "Maybe, um, another time? If you still want. You can text me. I promise it won't take me a week to read it this time."
"Another time," Christian repeats faintly as Elijah cringes at his own weak joke.
"Okay, I'll just, um, go?" Elijah takes another step backwards and, when Christian doesn't stop him or say anything else, just stares off again across the road, he turns to walk back to the bus stop.
"David's missing."
Elijah turns back around at the soft words. "He's missing?"
"Well, he's always fucking missing, that's not news." Christian tugs distractedly at the grey beanie covering his hair. "He's just more missing at the moment."
"Lou?" Elijah takes a cautious step closer to him.
"It's fine," Christian says. Then he shakes his head and gives a short laugh. "Well, no, it's not fine. It's been almost two weeks now and I can't find him. There was only one other time it had been this long and -" He cuts himself off. "Well, none of his bloody 'friends' even know where he is this time and Li's going mad." Christian suddenly meets Elijah's eyes again, shoulders slumping down. "I'm sorry. This isn't your problem."
"Of course it's my problem," Elijah interrupts. "I mean, I want it to be my problem. If you want it to be."
Christian stares at him in confusion.
"I care about you so much, Lou. What can I do?"


Elijah isn't sure he wants to know what happened in the past to make Christian check for David in every alleyway they pass and peek behind every skip.
But they don't find him in an alleyway. Or the carpark where Elijah had seen him the first time. Or at the skate park. Or under the railway bridge.
Christian pulls out his phone again to check for a nonexistent message, and then shoves it back into his pocket with a sigh.
Elijah's never seen him anxious like this. Without thinking, he reaches for his hand and slots their fingers together.
Christian's mouth drops open, staring down at their joined hands.
Elijah starts to pull away and there's an apology at the tip of his tongue, but then Christian tightens his grip, squeezing back.

They meet Richard near the town centre and, judging by the agitated way he's pacing and rubbing his hand over his short stubbled hair, he hasn't had any better luck.
His expression falls as soon as he lays eyes on them.
"Elijah?" he asks, sounding confused. "What are you doing here?"
"I-"
"Do you really think you can just show up after what you did-"
"Save it. He's helping." And then before Richard, who looks like he has some more words to say, can get them out, Christian asks, "You hear back from Malay yet?"