Page 15 of Margins

“They have everything they need right now,” Elijah assures him, quiet and almost too still before he goes on. “And what if I said that I only dragged you here to help you relax a little? To get you out of your house for a night?”

“You mean you didn’t want—I mean, it’s—I thought this was about the books?”

“Don’t worry. It is about the books,” Elijah shrugs. “But what if?”

Alex takes a sip of the beer to keep from reaching for the tattoo again, and while he’s pretty sure Elijah already plans to wait for an actual answer, he also knows he can’t help but want to give him one, like a puppet on a string that he doesn’t want to cut. Sure enough, he sets the glass back down and takes a deep breath, Elijah far more patient than he should be with money waiting to be earned elsewhere.

“Okay, well, I’d say thank you—and that I probably needed it. And then I’d stay a while.”

“Good.”

“Does that mean you’re going to tell me about the book and then get me drunk off my ass?” Alex asks.

“Definitely not getting you drunk, no,” Elijah promises. “Not now anyway. And give me just a few minutes and I’ll be back with your food and what I found in the next message from E.”

Alex’s first thought as Elijah walks away is “If not now, when?” and that’s followed quickly by the realization that he’ll have to stop reaching for his beer just to have something to do. He pulls his book out instead, resting it carefully on top of the bag and out of the way while he waits, Elijah back with a plate in his hand not long after. It’s barely down on the table before Elijah steals a french fry.

“Help yourself,” Alex grins.

Elijah smiles back but says nothing as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Okay, so I didn’t bring the book with me because, duh, work, but I took pictures for you. And again, I really am sorry about being in a dumb mood on Monday night and for looking at the book without you there.”

“It’s okay, I get it, and you don’t owe me any more apologies for it,” Alex says. “But I’m not gonna let you take any more fries if you don’t show me the damn pictures soon.”

So Elijah hands him the phone and Alex turns it sideways to read the message captured there, as steady as he can be while Elijah’s watching him so closely.

P, we should find a way to make that happen, meeting by the warehouses. It could happen late at night, in the shadows I know so well. After I’ve worked too hard for too little, my scarred and calloused hands will be desperate for something beautiful and tender beneath them. Please let me see you there. Please come take what’s already yours.

“Any reaction to that?” Elijah asks.

“I—maybe. ‘Scarred and calloused hands’ sounds kind of—”

“Yeah,” Elijah interrupts, his fingers tap-tap-tapping on the table until Alex can almost feel them, too. “Go to the next one.”

P, I haven’t stopped thinking about tonight, about the feeling of your strong body crowding mine, and even though we weren’t brave enough for more, even if it lasted no more than a minute or two, I will never forget the sensation of your perfectly shaven face brushing against the hint of stubble on mine. I can only hope it didn’t hurt you, as it healed everything in me.

“Oh. Shit. It's—they are—” Alex starts. “That’s—we didn’t even—”

“Nope.”

“We just assumed.”

“Yep.”

“But they’re both men.”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Elijah sighs. “And I think the class difference would’ve been some kind of obstacle on its own—a wealthy attorney falling for some kind of warehouse worker, I guess—but to be gay on top of that would’ve been absolutely disastrous for them.”

Alex can’t even say anything else right then, stuck staring at the phone instead, and he feels Elijah studying him until he must have to go back to work, leaving Alex alone with a chest so tight he doesn’t think it will be possible to take more than a single breath. He lifts his glass for another drink and pretends his hand isn’t shaking, and while he hates that he’s so trapped inside this story, everything hurts now, and he can’t imagine that there’s a way back out. He looks toward the bar and finds Elijah busy with several people at once, then he starts on his dinner because he can’t freak out over a tragic love story that must have ended years ago, swallowing bite after bite while he tries not to wish for a happy ending he doesn’t think would’ve been possible.

He's just finishing the last of his beer when a new one lands on the table, Elijah’s finger dragging through the condensation, and any eye contact fleeting.

“Saved a few fries for you,” Alex offers.

“Didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to be here at all,” Alex points out.

“So, why are you?”

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