Page 2 of Pistols and Plush Toys

It was no wonder Mattia had been so short tempered with him lately. Mattia cared about how things looked. About howhelooked. Mattia had made it no secret that one of the big reasons he was with Elliot was because he waspretty.

Was he letting himself go?

He didn’t think he looked like the Elliot of four years ago. Didn’t even look like the Elliot of a year ago.

He touched his cheek and winced at the hollow there. The gauntness in his face. Mattia asked so little of him for all he provided, but Elliot kept failing to live up to his end of the bargain. Something had changed in him, and Elliot was no longer that pretty, interesting partner on Mattia's arm anymore.

Now he was a constant burden that Mattia put up with, because Mattia loved him.

Elliot had no idea why he’d suddenly become incapable of handling even basic small-talk at parties or dinners. Mattia wasimportant and he saw a lot of important people. His job was about connections, about appearance. Mattia had made that so clear to him.

“I’m a salesman, baby. Antiques are all about style, so that’s what my clients expect. If I don’t look serious, they won’t take me serious, capisci?”

Elliot understood. It was just… exhausting. Mattia's friends all seemed to look down on him or ignore him like he was an annoyance. It was hard to keep a smile when he felt like everyone else didn’t want him around.

But then again, Mattia’s friends all probably knew that Elliot wasn’t good enough for Mattia. So Elliot supposed he really couldn’t blame them.

He pulled on his clothes with a vicious anger at himself. He didn’t know what his fucking problem was. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just get all of thisright. Mattia was so straightforward with him all the time about what he wanted. What he expected.

Once dressed, Elliot opened the drawer where his makeup lived. He dotted some concealer over the dark circles under his eyes.

It helped, somewhat.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked better for the shower and the makeup, but there was still a worn look to him, like a threadbare sweater that was close to unraveling.

Elliot couldn’t help but feel like a failure. People dreamed about marrying a man like Mattia. The riches, the fame. This was supposed to beit.

So why did he feel like he was sabotaging himself? Like he kept failing in the hopes Mattia would finally be done with him?

“Fuck,” he mumbled to his mirror self.

Who got this lucky and then ruined it?

He met his eyes in the mirror. They looked flat. Dead.

Elliot Brooks, that was who.

***

After a quick check to see if Mattia was still sleeping, Elliot headed for the kitchen. On the way he passed through the living room, and his eyes automatically went to his backpack lying on the couch. His hands itched to grab for it, but he made himself keep moving.

He couldn’t–he couldn’t do that now.

Mattia made enough money to hire a chef, but between Elliot’s background in the culinary arts and Mattia's famous distrust of strangers in his home, Elliot made most of their meals.

Or at least, he tried.

Was Mattia off today? Elliot shifted his weight from one foot to the other. If he made food, and Mattia wasn’t going to be up soon, he’d be annoyed later to find the food cold. But if Elliot didn’t at least try to make breakfast, Mattia would wake up and accuse Elliot of not making him food before he had to rush off to work.

Elliot’s fingertips drummed against the marble countertop. He hated not knowing what the right answer was. Other people seemed to understand relationships so easily, like they had some kind of inherent knowledge on how these things worked. Elliot, as he’d learned since moving in with Mattia, did not.

Every time he messed up, Mattia gave him this look. This look like he couldn’t believe Elliot could be so stupid or thoughtless. Like he was surprised that something so simple needed to be explained to Elliot, and beyond annoyed that he had to do the explaining.

Being around someone as capable and important as Mattia had enlightened Elliot to all his own shortcomings. It hadshown him exactly how immature, selfish, and stupid he was. He should be grateful that he was no longer ignorant of it at least. Grateful that Mattia had even taken the time to point it out.

Elliot pushed away from the counter and went to the fridge. He thought… maybe Mattia had something work-wise today. There was a memory just on the edges of his mind. Something about today, something important.

So he’d make breakfast, and hope that inkling was right.

---