Page 23 of Margins

“Have you peeked at the books at all?”

Elijah’s eyes narrow a touch, a smirk on his face. “No, why? Have you?”

“No, but I’m not the one who did it last time,” Alex says, knocking into Elijah’s shin with the toe of his shoe as he takes a sip. “I’ve been perfectly patient.”

“Okay, yes, fine. I was kinda restless at the beginning, when we were trying to figure out what we were even looking at. But now, we—I think I know enough that I'm willing to wait and see.”

“You’re not curious?”

“I’m incredibly curious,” Elijah huffs. “But not in a rush anymore.”

“It’s not gonna be easy for them—for Peter and E,” Alex sighs. “And there’s no way to know where it goes from here. I’m curious too, but it’s scary—having no control over what happens next. I’m nervous about how much the story might hurt and how abruptly it might end.”

“Had enough of that for a while?”

Alex scrapes something bittersweet from his tongue. “I have.”

“But you still don’t want to walk away from this.”

It’s not a question, but Alex answers anyway. “I wouldn’t begin to know how.”

Elijah’s quiet for a while, and Alex thinks he’ll probably have to go back and check on everyone at the bar soon, but a quick glance shows them both that there’s not much to do, and Elijah doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to worry about it. His finger draws an invisible line back and forth across the table and Alex gets mesmerized by the predictability of it, silently drinking and unprepared for Elijah to change the subject.

“It’s still none of my business, and I know I told you to ignore me, but if you—” Elijah stops his drawing and reaches for Alex’s coaster instead, tracing the edge until the continuous motion threatens to leave Alex under another spell. “What did Cassidy say to you when she first wanted to leave? You told me you were best friends all along, and maybe it had started to feel like that’s all you were, and that she needed more or deserved more, but was there—” Elijah’s gaze flickers higher just in time to meet Alex’s there. “I really want to know what she said out loud.”

Alex takes a much longer drink, and he’s about to respond—he really, really is—but then three people walk in from outside and grab seats at the bar, and Elijah frowns.

“Go,” Alex whispers.

It’s as much for himself as it is for Elijah, encouraging someone to leave and knowing that this one will come back when he can. Still, Alex’s throat is tight with everything he’s screwed up so far and everything he might be about to screw up again. He’s so fucking confused and the beer isn’t helping, the things he wants coming into focus just as the rest of the world begins to blur, but Alex knows he was wrong about his feelings for Cassidy for years and he doesn’t want to make that same mistake now.

He’s terrified to get this all wrong, too.

Still, Elijah keeps leading him here, into conversations about Alex’s past that only help make him sure he wants something different in the future. Simple words that lead to complicated thoughts, any actions wholly unfamiliar to Alex, and breathtaking if he doesn’t fight the very idea of them away.

Elijah, whose forearms are pressed to the bar right now as he leans forward with a brilliant smile, one Alex has seen often, even though it’s so much wider than the ones usually aimed at him. Less honest, too.

Elijah, who is gone for a while, maybe because of the three people who arrived or the two who are getting ready to leave or the food he runs from the kitchen or the drinks he’s still serving, or maybe just because he needs this break too, no matter how willing he’s been to bring them this far along.

Elijah, who finally, finally returns to Alex’s table to find an empty glass and a silent, dark-eyed plea.

“I’m sorry,” Elijah says, and Alex assumes he’s referring to the fact that he has to wander off to work every now and then, but he doesn’t ask that, unwilling to take too many chances at once.

“Will you pour me a shot?”

“You driving home tonight?”

“I don’t have to,” Alex tells him, and he pretends neither of them blinks. “Tequila?”

“Cheap shit with salt and a lime, or the good stuff without?”

“Without. The salt and lime are better when someone else is drinking with you.”

Elijah chews on his lip, picks up the empty pint glass, and backs away, only turning his back on Alex when he has to. When he returns, he’s holding three shots of clear tequila and another beer, the beer landing in the middle of the table, two of the shots set next to it, and the first one held in the air for Alex to pull from Elijah’s grip.

“Brought a few just in case. You know, as long as you’re not driving,” Elijah says, stupidly slow when he licks at whatever must’ve spilled over the side of his hand.

Doing his best to ignore him, Alex downs the first shot of tequila without flinching and reaches for the next one. “Cheers.”

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