elijahfalvey - Tumblr blog

[elijahfalvey]

[ Elijah taps the speaker button on his phone and sets it down on the desk, following along with Juno's instructions by beginning to minimize open tabs — his emails, the Ledge forum, an eBay listing for a vintage Danelectro guitar. As stated, everything he needs is directly in front of him. ]

ELIJAH: Right — I see it. I could've sworn it was earlier, though, no? Why'd I put eight?

[ His eyes shift towards the calendar sprawled out beneath him, clearly confused. The chicken scratch below the day's date says '9', except there's a stray pen mark, just beside it, making it look like an '8'. He huffs a laugh. ] ELIJAH: Okay, yeah, that's a nine. Never mind. [ He scoffs in feigned offense as they offer to pull over. ] ELIJAH: I'm forty-one, Juno! Not forty-one-hundred. I can find my starred emails on my own, you know. ELIJAH: ... but thank you.

[ Juno’s contemporary classical music came to a stop as their phone rang through the speakers and they sighed. They should have known better than to send a voice note knowing who was at the receiving end but regardless they answered. ] J: The meeting is at 9:00. You should start setting up around 8:50 or even right now. Everything you need is screenshotted onto your home screen. So, if you turn on your computer, minimize any tabs you have opened and the information will be there.  J: You will need to type out the link, however. Unless you can remember where to find your important emails. They are the ones under starred. Which will be like your favorites. There’s an outline of a star also beside it on the left. J: I can pull over and facetime you, if you prefer.

[elijahfalvey]

TED LASSO 2.03 Do the Right-est Thing

[elijahfalvey]

HARRISON MORREY + the onion headlines.

[elijahfalvey]

ELIJAH FALVEY + the onion headlines.

[elijahfalvey]

As much as the sounds of Nilay’s broken sobs pierced directly through his heart, Elijah knew that he had to pull himself together — that this overwhelming feeling, ultimately, wasn’t about him. He’d spent months pushing the woman he loved away, little by little, until it felt like they were strangers stuck in the same home; he broke promise after promise, effectively breaking her heart in the process. Now, as the events of the summer washed over him in one big wave of regret, it was time for him to fix it. 

He wanted to fix it. 

He no longer desired to be the man who abandoned simple promises, who turned his back on his family when he should have been opening his arms to them instead. Not when it was ripping through Nilay so viscerally like this, so much so that she believed he no longer loved her. A notion so preposterous to him that the possibility of it running through her mind hadn’t even occurred in his mind. For fuck’s sake, he had to shape up. He had to accept that connection came at the price of vulnerability, and that being vulnerable about himself — about Harrison — wasn’t inherently a bad thing. Roman, Antonio, and Kaya — well. They were an entirely separate can of worms, one that he didn’t necessarily find it important to deal with right now; Nilay comparing herself to Harry, comparing his love for her to the love he felt for the singer, once upon a time, that was important. 

And that was going to change, if he had any say in it. 

“I - It’s okay, Nilay. It’s okay,” he reassured her, another apology landing on the tip of his tongue as she sunk her body into him, all loose-limbed. He stood up straighter, sturdier, being the physical support for them both in the way that he should have been the emotional one, all this time. He needed to support her, to take care of her — he supposed now was better than never. If only the same logic applied elsewhere. “I’m not going to — I was never going to leave, honey, I promise. I - I — I swear. On my life. On the girls. You’re not going to lose me.”  

He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t accept his loose assurance, but he meant it this time. He knew he had to mean it this time. He may have spent an entire lifetime running, but he didn’t want to run from her, nor did he want to give her the opportunity to run from him either. She was the one good thing that brought a cascade of miracles into his life in the past half-decade. He was in love with her. He was in love with her. He couldn’t stand to lose her, as much as she couldn’t stand to lose him either.

The tears began to burn his eyes as they mixed with the oils on his face, and they dripped down into Nilay’s raven locks as he blinked them away. He lowered his chin so that his lips pressed against her head, whispering into her body, “Whatever you want to know, whatever I can answer, I - I will. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry that I haven’t —” his voice broke, like he was choking back the emotion, “— haven’t been who you needed me to be, I haven’t been here, I haven’t … fuck, I haven’t noticed.” He should have noticed. He should have known. He should have done a lot of damn things differently.

“I love you so much. I’m — Nile, I’m so in love with you, okay? I —”I did love him, I do love him, but that doesn’t matter; he released a pent up breath. “I love you, too.”

There was no weight that was taken off her shoulders. Her heart remained as heavy as before, the weight consisting of fears that, within seconds, grew more. What if he left her? What if he sighed with relief that she's finally become wise and knows the truth now? What would they tell the girls? G-d, how could any of this be explained to them? How much is this going to hurt them? She felt like everything was falling apart now. Granted, there's been months building up to this moment. Yet Nilay has always hoped that they could figure things out and be okay in the end. That their relationship would be okay, that their family would be okay, and that they, as individuals, would be okay. That they could heal from this.

There were no words that could express how heartbreaking it was to realize that such a wish was, in the end, hopeless. And she couldn't look at him while he took her words in and planned what his next move would be.

She couldn't look to see if he was going to tell her that she was right. For the love of g-d, she wished more than anything that he was going to tell her how wrong she was. She has never wished to be more wrong about anything than she was right now, and she was wishing that this would be the case. But, as Eli spent what felt like eons being quiet, she knew that she was right. She was right and it was fucking killing her. And as her phone continued ringing, her hands cupped over her mouth. She was going to answer. She was going to tell them she was coming. With her face in her hands, she took a deep breath to try and choke back her tears.

But before she could even lift her face out of her hands, she heard her phone being pinned down to the table and the ringing and vibrations muffled beneath Elijah's palm. You're not going. Her hands dropped as she heard his words. Cautiously, slowly, she looked back at him over her shoulder and let out a strangled sound seeing his own tears. "E-Elijah?" she whimpered, searching his eyes. She couldn't breathe, gaging what his next move was going to be while he looked back at her.

Next thing she knew, he came closer to her and wrapped her in his arms. She tried to breathe as she looked down at the floor. Her heart was racing rapidly. I don't care that you're not—... He didn't have to finish that thought for her to know. And after months of comparing herself to the Amethyst singer, ones that had felt endless while she beat herself down over and over again every single day, she sobbed. Her hands reached up to hold onto his arm while she sobbed and sobbed, not realizing entirely until that moment just how much she needed to hear that. To hear that he loves her. And soon, she turned to hug him properly, her face in his chest and her arms wrapped around him tightly.

She cried harder and could feel his own dropping down on her head. The anthropologist was shaking as she whispered, "I love you so much... I don't want to lose you..." Every single day, aside from their relationship and Harrison, it's felt like she has been. Watching him be in pain yet drowning it out with work and distractions had been another kind of hell, especially when knowing that Roman and Antonio were in town. Knowing that his former best friends hated him and that them making amends seemed more and more unlikely as time passed on, she could only imagined how much that had been hurting him. She just wanted to be by his side and support him, to give him all the love that he deserves and help him through his problems with his emotions for Harrison and how losing him caused him to hurt Roman, Antonio, and Kaya in the process, and how reuniting with them has been hell. She just needed him to let her in as well and stop pushing her away. "Please, Eli... Please just let me in... I can't lose you... I love you."

📜@elijahfalvey

[elijahfalvey]

To Elijah, Antonio was always welcomed company — even if his company was more often sought after as soon as the clock struck midnight, when the moon hung in the sky, rather than when the rest of the world was wide awake. He wasn’t too sure how it wound up that way, how they spent most of their time together in the serenity of an empty studio, or a sleeping town, or — in this case — a near vacant tour bus, but he wouldn’t ever complain. Maybe because there was a part of him that preferred it this way, not because he didn’t want to be friends with Antonio when the others were around, but because it was … nice, really, sharing space with someone who didn’t take up too much of it, who also understood him. Or maybe it was simply a happy coincidence. Either way, as the guitarist slipped onto the couch beside him, his curious eyes practically nudging his own out of the way as he took in the scenery outside, he was grateful.

He didn’t have to be alone, not tonight.

“I did, actually, yeah,” he quipped back, a hint of sass lacing his words, although there was no malice whatsoever behind them; it was the type of conversational ease that came with several years of friendship, that showed love in its own way. “You dick. Are we even in the south? I thought we were supposed to be headed, like — up. South’s down.” 

He thought on it for a beat before his shoulders lifted in a shrug. He supposed it didn’t really matter. All that mattered to him was that it was warm, but in the bearable way that came with a summer nightfall, and that there was probably something cool out there somewhere if he — or they, seamlessly adding Toni into the equation — were to look for it. 

He was filled with excitement almost immediately as the other spoke, suggesting the presence of corn fields in a way that suggested an adventure along with it. They’d gone on so many by now, all beginning just like this, that he didn’t even bat an eye in return. He simply poked him back happily with his own foot while a lazy grin overtook his features. “You wanna go out there and see with me?” he asked, despite already assuming the answer as he shifted to stand. His gaze darted around the common area for a pair of shoes, preferably his own — but they landed on Harry’s sandals first, slipping them on without a second thought. They’d be back before he really needed them, anyway. 

“I’ll bring my phone so we don’t get lost,” he said, adding, “I mean, not that I think we would — but you never know. Maybe we’ll get swallowed by nature, could come in handy. Or maybe we'll see something cooler than a corn field and want to take a picture.”

Antonio thinks he’s seen more two-in-the-mornings in his twenty-some odd years of life than most people will in their entire lifetime. He could lie and say that’s not anyone’s fault — but that’s probably not the truth. There’s something wrong with him, inherently, and the errors in his coding are much more prominent in the middle of the night, when they can taunt him relentlessly on a loop. It happens so often it’s almost become comforting, in a way: some sick sort of ritual to stare up at what passes for a ceiling in this bus and count out all the ways he’s fucked something up, the way most people would count sheep. 

He’s stuck somewhere between snapped at Harry for staring at him too long and ignored mom’s third call in a row when his ears pick up the not-so-subtle sound of shifting from across the way. He holds his breath for a beat, listening to the curtain hooks slide slowly against the rod, almost as if the person pulling them back were doing a piss-poor imitation of someone trying to do it quietly. Antonio’s lips tighten in an amused smile — he knows of exactly one fucker whose ability to be subtle disappears the second his height becomes an encumbrance. The fondness that swells in his chest is as unwelcome as it is unfettered, and whatever pathetic instinct exists within him specifically to cater to Elijah Falvey is what drives his legs out of his own bunk to carry him out to the common area.

Lo and behold, there sits their pianist, staring out the window Antonio and Kaya usually reserve for themselves. For the most part, the bus is dark — save for some subtle moonlight reflecting off Elijah’s face, highlighting the soft lines of his jaw and the brown of his eyes in a way that makes Antonio feel like he’s staring at a Greek statue. He has the sudden urge to reach out and trace the edges of his friend’s face, but even running on no sleep (all fumes), he knows better.

It’s not unusual for Antonio to find Elijah in the middle of the night. In fact, most days, this is probably the only way to catch him — he spends most of his days attached to Harry’s hip, mooning after him so obviously it shocks Antonio no one else can see it. Then again, he supposes no one else is paying as much attention as he is to Eli, which says more about the discordance of emotions within him than anything about the rest of his bandmates. Two-in-the-mornings exist, in Antonio’s mind, for two things only: one, to remind himself of all the ways he’s built wrong, and two, to remind himself that Elijah Falvey was his first, before Harrison sucked him into his orbit without so much as a glance backward. 

He takes a seat beside Eli, looks out the window to try and see what he sees. If what he’s seeing is nothing but darkness, then he thinks he’s doing a fine job of it. Elijah acknowledges his presence, points out the scenery in an off-handed sort of way and alludes to the temperature. Antonio can’t help the twitch of his lips upward into a teasing smirk. “You figure that one out all by yourself?” he asks, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow. Ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest is almost second nature by now, when he looks directly into Eli’s eyes. They’re warm and familiar in a way that makes his throat close up, a desperate want attempting to claw its way out through his mouth. “A warm, southern town in the summer? You’re practically a psychic.” 

He thinks they’re somewhere south, anyway. Antonio doesn’t pay much attention to where they’re going, if he can help it. Makes the road feel endless, if he does. He has nothing to go back to, nowhere to look forward to — he’s just along for the ride, most days. He stretches his foot to poke at Elijah’s calf. “Bet you we could find a corn field out there.”

[elijahfalvey]

Elijah had always been tentative to discuss deep, personal matters with Phoebe — outside of the realm of his relationship with Nilay, or new developments with his kids, that is — but once he began, it was like a dam had broken, and suddenly he wasn’t really sure why he was so hesitant in the first place. She was right, she was an excellent listener, and while it was mildly uncomfortable to talk about something other than Taylor Swift or the latest music news, he did feel marginally better for it once the stubbornness wore off. Although, it could have just been because his feelings were out in the open at all, having repressed the real reasoning behind his sour mood for months. Even if that were the case, however, he’d give the credit to Phoebe. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so vague with her all this time.

He had to admit, he still wasn’t quite sold; it might have been about finding the right one, but what if there was no right one out there for him? What if there was no one out there who cared? 

It was like she read his mind, reminding him that even though his field of work was nowhere near the same as psychology, he put a lot of time and effort into those he welcomed into his studio. He cared about them, like she suggested, despite the monetary transaction involved — the fact that Phoebe was sitting here over a year since their initial piano lessons, the fact that hanging out here had become somewhat of a routine for her, said all that needed to be said about that. She was right, again. 

He fiddled with the pen on his desk, lifting it up and twirling it between his fingers. “I, uh — no. We haven’t. She’s —” Busy, he was about to say, the avoidant knee-jerk response crawling up his throat. He sighed instead. “I don’t … I don’t want to put my - my — problems onto her, you know? She has enough on her plate as it is, without me having a hand in it, and I’m — well. I’m supposed to take care of her, not let her worry about me.”

If he thought about it hard enough, he knew there was no sense to that logic — they were a team, they were supposed to be facing any challenges head on — but the Harrison of it all made it difficult to lay his challenges onto somebody else, even the woman that he loved, even the woman that would understand. He peered at Phoebe through his eyelashes curiously as his name was spoken, taken off guard by the question. 

And wasn’t that a whole can of worms he didn’t want to unpack. Maybe he’d draw the line there, save the logistics of it for a therapist after all — if he could find one. “No,” he answered simply, accompanied with a tiny shake of his head. “No, no. I — It’s … band stuff.” His laugh was dry as he continued, “Sad, old man band stuff.”

Phoebe wasn’t used to Elijah being this…open with her. Normally, he gave her some vague reply, and they moved on with the conversation, discussing music or something else within the pop culture sphere. But still, she listened intently, nodding along with his opinions on therapy, even if there were parts she didn't necessarily agree with, though could understand his opinions to a degree.

“Like I said, it doesn’t work if you feel forced into it.” The subject of the why hung heavy between them, and she wondered if she should bring up Antonio’s presence in town. If Elijah knew. If that would hurt more. So she stayed quiet. “And I think sometimes it’s about finding the right therapist too.” 

Surprised to hear he went after Rhiannon was born, though it made sense as it was a stressful situation for the whole family, Phoebe still didn’t add much, just letting Elijah talk it all out. She wished she could do more to help, but it was the sort of thing where she couldn’t do more than offer an ear, tapping awkwardly at her phone case. 

“You care.” She said softly, “About your clients. You just need to find someone who does. Have, uh, you and Nilay thought about going together?” God, Phoebe hoped there wasn’t trouble between the older couple, the couple she always viewed as proof love truly existed. Another thought popped into her head there, and Phoebe felt awful for even thinking it, but knew it would settle her a bit more if they got it out the way.

“Eli…you don’t like…you don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?”

[elijahfalvey]

There wasn’t a world where Elijah’s hushed admittance was ever going to be the magic fix, he knew that. Telling Nilay that he wanted her to stay in this moment couldn’t even scrape off a mere percent of their combined worries, but it was the best that he could come up with in his jumbled brain, quickly, while one wrong move could still send her towards the door. Beyond getting her to stop, though, he wasn’t entirely aware of what else he expected in return. It saddened him, because months ago a confession like his would have been laced with intimacy, companionship, a mutual understanding — he would have known exactly what type of reaction it’d elicit from her — but tonight, there was nothing else but desperation dripping off each word, like he needed the simplicity of his statement to be enough, like he was unsure if it would be.

As the air thickened around them with deafening silence, dragging on for what felt like fucking eons, he was starting to believe that perhaps, devastatingly, it wouldn’t be. He was starting to believe that he’d made the wrong move, in the end, and he was merely buying time before she turned her back on him . . . for the hour, for the night, forever, whichever she chose. The ball was completely in her court and there was a part of that realization that terrified him, too. The ball was completely in her court and she could leave, him and everything they’ve managed to build together.

The masochistic side of him — the very side that managed to inflict torturous nightmares, night after night — wouldn’t blame her if she did wind up leaving for good. In these past few months, he’d been a horrible boyfriend when he was supposed to be a life partner. He pushed her away at every turn, all because avoiding his conflicts always appeared as the easiest option; he broke just about every promise that he’d made, foregoing the therapy that he should have been attending for any excuse that he could make instead; he failed not only her, but Rhiannon and Hatshepsut, as the distance between him and his family grew larger and larger. It’d be warranted if she did, he believed, somewhere deep down, for these past few tumultuous months showed his inner character more than the past three years ever could have.

The reasonable side of him knew that these thoughts were simply manifestations of his own insecurities, one of his biggest fears having always been letting down those he loved — the possibility of such leading him to do irrational, foolish things. The reasonable side knew that she wouldn’t leave, that she was the type of person to venture down every alley of solution before giving up on something, or someone, entirely. However, it was difficult for the reasonable side of him to win the battle, with the voice of the masochistic side yelling out to him so loudly.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he had to say more, he thought, he had to come up with something else. Except, the upbeat chime blaring from Nilay’s phone interrupted him before he could, and the one thing going through his head then was reaching forward to chuck the damn device at the nearest wall, and all of his energy had been channeled into not doing that, and before he knew it she was speaking, and —

Everything froze.

His body, his mind, his lungs, the rest of the world around him. Everything froze, and he felt like the devil himself as he stood there with the ability to inflict so much pain onto someone so undeserving of it — while being so unaware of it at the same time. If he didn’t know what to do or say before, he definitely didn’t know now. He was rendered speechless as she continued speaking, sentence after sentence like she’d run out of momentum if she stopped for even a second to breathe. As she separated from the table for support, the volume and tone of her voice escalating exponentially, the only thing he could do was stare; there were many ways in which he didn’t recognize the woman in front of him, and as tears eventually began to slip down her flushed cheeks as if she’d held them back for all this time, his heart shattered.

You don't have to pretend anymore, müzisyenim.

What was she talking about? 

I know that you don't …

... Oh. 

He could feel tears of his own lining the inside of his eyes, a byproduct of the overwhelming shock that coursed relentlessly through his system. Fucking Christ, Elijah, now wasn’t the time to be silent, his thoughts continued mercilessly, his subconscious begging him to rectify all of this before it was too damn late. Physically, though, he still couldn’t move, paralyzed with guilt and remorse and fear, and — 

God fucking damn it, her fucking phone!

Panic quickly overtook every other emotion within his body, and he practically lunged to reach for the ringing device, feeling the vibration underneath his palm as he pinned it to the table behind her. “Nilay …” he spoke quietly, surprising even himself with how coarse his voice sounded, heavy with raw emotion. “You’re not going.”

There was no room for negotiation in his statement. If she so much as tried to go, he wouldn’t let her; he decided on such the second she’d told him the museum called in the first place, but now — with everything out in the open — he couldn’t afford to come across with any uncertainty. He couldn’t afford to stand there, dumbfounded, like he had many times already. He couldn’t afford to let her believe, under any circumstance, that he didn’t love her.

It wasn’t true. Elijah Falvey loved her with everything that he was; he loved her so Goddamn much it made him sick, most days, causing his head to spin with how often every thought of his revolved around her; he loved her, and no one else — not in the same way — since the very first afternoon they met, since they exchanged simple pleasantries in the record store. He’s been nothing but captured by her very being, by her soul, by the family they created. A dead best friend, nevermind the dead possibility of something more, didn’t change that at all; a piece of himself may have been buried six feet in the ground with Harrison Morrey, but the rest of him — every square inch of his own being, his own soul — lived with Nilay Bailey. He was unmistakably, irrevocably in love with her, and he’d spend the rest of his lifetime groveling at her feet in shame that he ever let her forget it, if he had to.

He just didn’t know where to begin.

There was a faint whisper in the back of his mind telling him to move, to comfort her, and that hopefully the rest — actually processing how his behavior had made her feel, all these months — would come after, and so he stepped forward to close the distance between them in a hug. His fingers instinctively curled into her hair as his chin rested seamlessly atop her head, like they were two pieces of a puzzle. He blinked, and finally the stream of pent-up moisture spilled down his face; he could hardly feel it dampening his skin with the intensity of everything else inside of him. “Don't ... don't cry, don't — please, baby, don't cry ... don't apologize. I don't care that you're not — I'm —” His words were choppy, watery, and he was clearly struggling to push them out, but he continued anyway. “I'm so sorry, Nilay. I - I love you. I love you so fucking much,” he repeated. “I'm so sorry.”

After months of constant pushing and pulling, months of conversations being avoided, and months of fear and insecurities being built up, over and over and over again, the hope that she has tried so hard to hold onto that they will be okay was starting to crumble. Seeing him sitting there, not ready while he was mindlessly on his phone and his greeting lacking the warmth his tone use to hold when he spoke to her (which... was that real? Was that warmth ever even real in the first place? Or was it another one of the lies?), despite her leaving work early and spending the past four hours getting ready and putting in all the effort she could muster and more, left that hope to start cracking. And the hardest part was that it felt like he didn't even notice.

Was this it? The thought came to her as she finally looked up at him. Was he finally done with pretending? Did he no longer wish to keep this charade up for longer? Was her getting ready to leave for the museum, something that she doesn't even want, the out that he needed? Was this it? She could hear her phone going off, the ringtone she set for the museum playing, yet she didn't look away from Elijah.

She silently watched him, waiting. Biting down on her tongue as she waited for, essentially, his judgement. Waiting for him to admit that all her fears were right and that he—

Don't.

... What?

Please... don't.

Nilay's jaw went slack as he uttered those words, no longer biting down harshly on her tongue as she was rendered speechless. What was going on right now? Her body and features were frozen, staring up at him with wide eyes, yet her inner being was going crazy. Her mind full of her inner fears, screaming at her about her insecurities and how he's lying to her. Her heart... Her heart, full of love and hope and belief and faith in the musician before her, tried to hold her hand and tell her to talk to him. To tell him everything that's been roaring in her mind loudly for months. That her insecurities are dead wrong about everything. That he loves her. That he's in love with her, the same way he's in love with Harrison, and that it's okay.

Her heart was the most logical part right now. And as she heard her phone quiet down, as her eyes searched his face, all she could do was shake her head while a strangled noise left her lips. A watery, pain-filled laugh and tear began to fill up her eyes. "Y-You want me to stay?" she echoed. The resolve she's tried to keep up for months now starting to crumble down while she shook her head. "You... You want me to stay, even though you're not even ready yet? You want me to stay, even... e-even though, we've barely spoken today? You want me to stay, even though there's a high chance that you won't even speak to me while at the restaurant, because for months now, we barely speak in our day-to-day lives?!"

She was no longer leaning against the table as her body straightened up and her tears grew, yet she kept trying to fight them back. Her voice, while initially soft at first, grew more and more the longer she spoke. Her body shaking as she tried to wrap her mind around it all. "You want me stay, even though every time I try to get you to talk with me and be vulnerable with you, you push me away?! You want me to stay, even though you refuse to let me all the way in?! You want me to stay, even though you're barely going to the grief support group like you promised?! You want me to stay, even though you refuse to talk about Harrison, after spending years not telling me that he'd been your first love?! Why?! Why do you want me to stay, Eli?! Why do you want me to stay when I am not the man you're in love with and want to genuinely be with?!"

There it was. There it finally was, and she couldn't take it back. Nilay's sobs broke through and her tears began to stream down her cheeks. All the raven-haired anthropologist could do was shake her head, her curls moving in motion, as she finally croaked out softly, "You don't have to pretend anymore, müzisyenim." All she could do was shrug weakly. Her breathing becoming more and more shallow. "I'm not Harrison. And I'm... I am so, so sorry that I'm not. I know that you don't..." Love me. She couldn't say it. Because once she says it, then it'll become more real. It'll become the truth. And by g-d, there was only so much heartbreak she could take in tonight. Especially tonight of all nights.

She turned her body slightly, looking up at the ceiling instead of him while she tried to regain herself. To finally process what was happening. Yet, as her phone began to ring again, she groaned deeply at the Chambers' ringtone. Looking down and rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. "I should go," she finally whispered again. Unable to look at him now that her fears and insecurities were laid out between them. Maybe it'll be a relief to him. Knowing now that she's realized he didn't love her. Maybe he can be himself, whoever that is. Because even though she wished greatly for him to love her back and to be in love with her, for him to choose her like she's chosen him every day for years now, she wasn't going to force him to love her. Not anymore. Not when it's been made crystal clear that he was secretly miserable all this time.

She should go. But her feet wouldn't move. "I'm sorry," she whispered once more. Shaking her head as more tears came. "I'm so, so sorry, Elijah."

📜@elijahfalvey

[elijahfalvey]

WHERE / Leon's apartment, Weaver Ridge.

WHEN / Best bro sleepover; late in the evening, any day.

WITH / Leon Wozniak — @leonwozniak.

It was downright comical how long Elijah had known Leon, how long they’d been living in the same town again, and it’d taken him until now to step a single foot inside the worn down apartment building he called home. He’d seen it from the outside plenty of times, on plenty of different occasions, but it never quite occurred to the musician that this was his first time seeing the state of his living room until he was standing there, a six-pack of beer and a small paper bag from the dispensary dangling from his hands. It was … well, he wouldn’t say nice — at least not in comparison to his own home, in which nice was a massive understatement — but comfortable, perhaps, was the better word. Lived-in. It reminded him a lot of his old apartment before he moved in with Nilay, which, granted, wasn’t located in Weaver Ridge (which seemed to bring its own charm unoften found in the other neighborhoods within Blue Harbor), but shared an alarming amount of similarities with the building Leon lived in now. It was either that, or the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to particularly care at the current minute, that had him overlooking a lot of the 'charm' he had the pleasure of finally seeing with his own eyes. He simply toed his shoes off at the door and continued walking on through, finding the nearest couch to sit on as he unloaded his things onto the coffee table like he was the one that lived there. “Thanks, Le,” he piped up, his words much more concise than the unspoken meaning behind them. Thank you for having me over. Thank you for letting me stay. Thank you for being a good friend. “You wanna watch a movie? I won't, uh — won't make you sit through Barbie as the Island Princess, don't worry. You can pick.”

[elijahfalvey]

WHERE / Blue Harbor Public Library.

WHEN / Any day, any time!

WITH / Jasper Finch — @fromharbor.

Elijah didn’t often come to the library — he wasn’t much of a reader, if he was honest — but he found himself there every so often, usually at the whim of his seven year old stepdaughter, Hattie, who absolutely loved finding new books to read. This particular trip was no different, the little girl having begged him to take her for no less than a week before he was able to find the time to make it there, just the two of them. He still didn’t really understand why she always asked him to bring her and not her mother, who he believed to be far more intellectually equipped to steer her in the right direction of literary choices, but he wasn’t going to complain when dragging him through the different sections made her so visibly happy. It’d been thirty minutes — maybe an hour — before she stumbled into the media center, browsing through what he hoped were kid-appropriate films for their next movie night. It was around then, typically, that Elijah dipped across the aisle, his interest perpetually caught by the hundreds of CDs that were available for rent. There was hardly ever anything that he’d actually take out, purely because he didn’t have a reason to, but he didn’t care. It gave him a similar amount of joy, just looking, so he would. Every time. “Oh.” His fingers caught the case of a Fleetwood Mac CD, pulling it out from the row to glimpse at the cover art. The Original Fleetwood Mac was written across the top, along with photos of the first incarnation of the band; an interesting find for a local library, that was for sure. Holding it gently in his grasp, he glanced up to find an employee mere steps away, and before he could stop the question from spilling out, he found himself asking, “Hello — excuse me, sorry. This is a ridiculous question, perhaps, but … do you guys happen to sell these,” he lifted the CD, showcasing it, “Or is it strictly borrowing?”

[elijahfalvey]

Within his relationship, underneath normal circumstances, Elijah was usually much more capable of restraining his negative emotions; frustration rarely trickled through his tone, his body language, as far as Nilay was concerned. However, to be entirely fair, they hardly argued, underneath normal circumstances. Dating back as far as he could remember, there seemed to be a mutual understanding between the both of them that negated any reason for arguments. They were gigantic believers in the ‘step away’ method, and it had always worked wonders whenever an issue would crop up. Underneath the current circumstances, though? It was almost as if all bets were off, and he hated it. He hated disagreeing with her, nevertheless fighting with her; hated being the reason that she was ever upset, in general. Although, unfortunately, these sorts of things were par for the course — especially when they both had the tendency to be a little bull-headed, at times. It only worsened as their typical dynamic was thrown entirely off kilter, thanks to his bull-headedness in particular.

Now, he still wouldn’t willingly call this — whatever the hell was bubbling between them — a full-blown argument (which might have been stubborn of him, yes), but he was certainly frustrated, and her response to his question heightened the feeling within him. In that moment, he was thankful that her back was turned to face him, lest the state of his expression make the situation ten times worse. His jaw was taut, aching with tension, and his eyes found the ceiling, which was a valiant effort to stop himself from rolling them. I don’t know, perhaps — meant yes, that much he was certain of, and he couldn’t believe it.

He had to stop her before she left, before he said something that he’d definitely regret. Something like ‘fine, then’ — the tip of his tongue nearly sparking in pain as he bit the words back. He was glad he did, because ‘Nile’ seemed to get a better reaction out of her; she’d turned to look at him, at least, even though her demeanor was no less challenging. 

What? What, Elijah? His mouth hung open, like he hadn’t quite expected to get this far, like the possibility of the question hadn’t yet reached his mind. There was an endless amount of words that he could say, that he should say — he knew that — but it was still ever-difficult to actually say them, to crack down another piece of the wall that flew up amidst Amethyst’s resurgence in his life, to offer a modicum of vulnerability when he was so, so tired of being vulnerable.

“Don’t,” was all he uttered, at first, his feet moving forward towards her, ever so slightly, before he could realize. “Please, don’t.” Don’t move another inch, don’t go, don’t leave me behind — she could take her pick, because somewhere within him, he meant them all. A beat passed, and his eyes were begging just as silently, his own volume lowered to a whisper to match as he continued, “Stay. I - I want you to stay, Nile.”

I can't keep doing this. The thought pierced her heart as she kept her gaze from him. As she kept her back to him, placing her work bag on the foyer table and opening it. She ran her fingers through it, making sure that she had everything that she needed, even though she knew that it was all so that she could keep busy. She knew that she had everything she needed. She was just stalling because, deep down, part of her was hoping that he was going to fight for them. That he was going to ask her to stay and go to dinner with him. That they could finally have this night together. That they could finally get back to who they were before finding out that Harrison had been his first love, not her.

But that damned ghost just had to run through her mind again. He just had to haunt her thoughts and play at her insecurities all over again. Because what if they couldn't get back to who they were before? What if they couldn't even have this night together, all because they still couldn't talk together like they use to? And even then: how false were all those conversations before? How much has he held back these past four years of being in each other's lives and spending three of them together as a couple? Were they even a couple in his eyes, or was she simply filling in for the singer he wished for, longed for, desired after? 1,461 days. 208 weeks and five days. 35,064 hours. 2,103,840 minutes. 126,230,400 seconds. Was it all a lie?

I can't keep doing this.

She was exhausted. Every single part of her being was exhausted and she wished, she absolutely wished, that he would talk to her. That he would earnestly ask what she's thinking about and tell her that her thoughts weren't true, that he was in love with her. That every single moment between them were true and that he wanted her. But how can that happen when he barely tells her about his day anymore? How can that happen when every time she tries to talk to him, he pushes her away? How can that happen when he refuses to let her all the way in? And how foolish was she to believe that tonight could change things? That what could happen: they have a night of pure love and then suddenly were back to normal tomorrow, without any work or anything to get them back to the couple they were before? Or a night of pretense and get back to their months-long strain tomorrow? If he couldn't even have gotten ready long before they're suppose to leave for dinner, how could she believe that anything could change over the course of a single night?

It was all wishful thinking, she now was realizing. And she could feel her heart growing heavier and her words sharper. Her body tensing as she continued rummaging through her bag. Nilay winced at his reaction, closing her eyes as her jaw tensed. They shouldn't be speaking to each other this way, all harsh tones and miscommunication. "I don't know, perhaps," she grumbled. This wasn't like them. This wasn't suppose to be like them. And there was the part in her heart, the part that contained hope that they could work through this, that was screaming out in pain at the both of them. That was begging, sobbing, for them to just talk. Well, she's tried to talk with him. But he didn't want to comply and talk with her. He doesn't want her. And she was finally starting to realize that. She was finally—

Nile.

She froze. When was the last time he called her that? When was the last time she heard that name utter from his lips, coated in that thick Welsh accent that always pierced through her heart like Eros' arrow? While her body didn't completely ease up and her jaw remained taut, her dark eyes did open. One word. One simple word that has tugged at her heart happily an infinite amount of times before, a name that she reserved only to him, and it did something to her. But she was still frustrated. She was still upset that they have become this. She was still hurt that, even though she's tried to love him with all that she is and more, he refused to be vulnerable with her and let her in.

And, slowly, she let go of her bag, set her keys and purse on the table, and turned around to look up at him. Leaning against the table and crossing her arms over her chest. She remembered why she refused to look at him: every time she looked at him, no matter what, she could only fall in love with him again. Over and over and over, like a repeated cycle. Did he feel the same about me?, her insecurities wondered. "What?" she asked the musician. Her tone, while still rough, was softer than before. How she longed to wrap her arms around him and to be in his embrace. To be held by him and to hold him, for them to talk. For them to go to dinner and have a wonderful night. For them to be happy again. For them to be in love.

She has never stopped being in love with him, not for a single second, even in spite of everything they're going through these past few months. Was he still in love with her, though? She needed to know. Because maybe, just maybe, this would be easier. Maybe they could get through this. She searched his face, her eyes quietly begging him as she whispered: "What, Elijah?"

📜@elijahfalvey

[elijahfalvey]

What Phoebe said made sense, he supposed. Perhaps there was comfort to be found in the fact that regardless of whoever wound up in Elijah’s corner, there’d always be someone there who was willing to listen — if he paid them a hefty sum, of course. The concept of paying someone to care about his feelings was what soured the idea of therapy altogether for him, though; if he was going to spill his guts, his deepest secrets, the inner-workings of his mind that only he knew of, he’d rather seek comfort in someone who actually cared, and not someone whose empathy came with a price tag. So while objectively he could see the appeal in such a transaction, he still couldn’t see the worth in it personally.

Even on a volunteer basis, like the structure of the grief group he began attending at the start of the summer, there was still some sort of fault in its integrity that he would sniff out — like the fact the sessions were timed, for God’s sake — but there was a high chance that was merely due to his stubbornness, his abrasion acting as a shield towards any good that the program could do for him, if he’d let it.

It was hard, making sense of all of his feelings, although he was ultimately glad that he asked — glad that it seemed to benefit her, at least. “Yeah, yeah, I ... I understand that. It’s just ... you know, I got forced into therapy after —” he waved his hand, certain that Phoebe would know what he meant without having to say it aloud, “— and it almost seemed like a scam, it wasn’t — helping. And I remember I wanted it to help so badly, back then, but it didn’t feel like she really cared in any sort of meaningful way, and it just ... put me off, I suppose.” He relinquished yet another wall he often held in place in the presence of the writer as he continued, “I tried again after Rhiannon was born, but that didn’t last long either. Same thing. And now ... Nilay, she wants me to, but I still can’t — go.” 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, the discomfort that came with his vulnerability difficult to sit with. That was a likely part of the reason, too, why it never worked for him — he could never push through it. Even now. Even in the face of someone who did genuinely care, like he wanted originally. Maybe he was always doomed to fail. “I’m glad you, um ... enjoyed it, though. That’s good.”

The thing was, Phoebe knew she had issues. Mommy issues, daddy issues, issues with finances, whatever the fuck Spencer had done to her over the torturous five years they had been together. But she simply never had time to dissect them, or particularly wanted to. She threw herself into her studies, into work, into solving the issues and conflicts her friends always found themselves in.

After her breakdown last January, after receiving the gift from her mom and the falling out with Foster and just feeling the darkness creeping up on her, therapy had helped. She didn't want to waste her limited sessions, didn't want Nilay to feel obligated to pay for it, either as her boss or her friend. So when the sessions she got on her insurance expired, Phoebe decided to pretend she was simply cured. And to go back to her avoidant tendencies.

For the most part, it had worked. Then there were days where she could see the darkness in her peripheral, and didn't know how much longer she could outrun it all. But it wasn't about her right now, snapping her attention back to Eli, fingers tapping against the sideboard her phone had been resting on. "Oh!" She exclaimed when he finally stammered out his explanation. "Oh, okay I see." If anything, Phoebe was just relieved Eli didn't notice anything seemingly amiss. "I enjoyed it. Well...enjoy is maybe not the right word but, Iunno, spending an hour with someone who is paid to hear you yap is nice, though it was hard at first to really talk. But, it also depends on what therapy you need." Now this was due to her extensive research on cat therapy for Misty, discovering there were so many different types of mental healthcare out there depending on what was affecting you.

"It only works if you let it work. No one can force you into it, or if you don't think it'll help, then it won't, if you get me?"

[elijahfalvey]

“Not pregnant,” Elijah echoed again, like he knew that Hero would need one more final confirmation that their hypothesis was incorrect — deliberately choosing to ignore the whole ‘right now’ bit, lest he manifest another uncertainty to wedge into the back of his mind. Honestly, the last thing that he needed to worry about was if Nilay was thinking about kids in the middle of all of this, if she wanted more, if she didn’t; he used to be pretty confident in what he figured her answer would be, months ago, but he supposed he wasn’t too sure anymore. 

That thought was accompanied with an ache in his chest, and so much for that — not manifesting another uncertainty. Before he could really stop it, anticipating another intrusive question from his friend, it joined the pile amongst the others, which all seemed muddied together at this point, blending seamlessly into one another. It would have been worse, had Hero asked what was lingering on the tip of their tongue, so thank God they chose that moment to hold some self restraint. He didn’t need to be thinking about if they’d break up, either.

“Thank you,” he said instead, glad that peace was the winning option over violence. “I, uh — I don’t know, maybe . . . tell me how the twins are doing? How’s Mars? Hattie's been asking.”

An eyebrow raised up, Hero giving him a look. They knew stories, after all. Try as they might, they knew that the couple beat them when it came to being Carnal Knowledge's best and finest patrons of the store. Exceeding even their own collection from the shop. And within months of their blossoming relationship, they had Rhiannon rather quickly. So the notion that them being pregnant again was being deemed "preposterous" by the musician... Yeah, fuck no; They were not convinced.

However... On the other hand... As freaky and passionate as the couple is, they knew that it was also likely that they were safe with said passion and freakiness. Nor did they blame them for being so. So maybe it truly was a stupid idea to think that they were growing their family some more. They nodded, brows furrowing at the "We haven't been" bit before he cut himself off, yet they will press on that later. "Not pregnant," they echoed. Finally sitting back in their seat. "Okay... So no more babies right now. Gotcha."

An unsettling question popped up soon after in their mind: Are you two breaking up? Hero had to bite down on their tongue—hard—to ensure that they wouldn't accidentally blurt it out. After all, they were Elijah and Nilay. It was impossible to imagine a world where they weren't together. The Labyrinth owner was certain that that didn't exist. Even though things seemed and felt a little off, they doubted that it could be that bad. Instead, they nodded. "For now," they said. They'll give him a short break. Clearing their throat, they sat up before asking, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

📖@elijahfalvey

[elijahfalvey]

“I’m not dissing Whitney Houston! I’m just saying, y’know — better songs exist, which isn’t untrue —” And Elijah would name at least five, right this second, if he needed to, although he hoped that Rachel would simply take his word on it, on account of him being tortured and all, “— and that maybe people need to exercise their freedom a bit more, go against the grain, don’t blow out my eardrums!” 

He scoffed, although her question brought up an excellent point. He’d much, much rather suffer through nothing but this particular Whitney Houston song than hear one of his own begin to play through the karaoke machine, for many reasons. There’d been once upon a time where they were chosen, deliberately, on a night out or two where embarrassing him was the goal, but it’d do far more than embarrass him these days. It’d drive him out altogether, if he was honest. Probably would ensure he’d never come back, too — for real that time. “Mine, definitely mine. Please don’t get any ideas,” he begged, angling his elbows on the table so that his palms could drag over his face. 

In the way of life updates, he wasn’t sure what Rachel wanted to hear; he wouldn’t give up the reason behind his bar decision without at least two more shots in him, and it wasn’t like there was much else he could fall back on without broaching the subject of his and Nilay’s deteriorating dynamic. The girls, his brain supplied, the safe option.  “I told you, I just … picked it. Everything’s fine. Work’s, y’know, picking up; Rhia’s enjoying daycare; Hattie’s blowing through summer work.” He spoke fast, as if she’d catch him in a lull and interrogate him, so he immediately flipped the question. “What about you? Tell me something interesting.”

"Don't try to diss Whitney Houston just because her song is being used as a form of personal torture to you!" Rachel would not let him slander the artist just because he wasn't happy with the renditions that seemed to happen at least once an hour. She didn't think someone's go-to karaoke song should always be the song, but it was more annoying to Elijah than it was to her in all honesty. Rachel actually found it rather comical in the grand scheme of things. "I think they all just have a personal vendetta against you. Would it be worse to hear one of your own songs or this song?" She asked actually curious now that she had a run in with another songwriter, who just happened to be Elijah's ex-bandmate. Rachel had yet to mention the run-in, curious if her best friend knew he was here.

She grinned, finding his frustration even funnier as he pleads his naivety. "Oh my sweet summer child, now why would you lead with such optimism?" Rachel teased him as she had desperately missed these types of hang outs with Elijah. They unfortunately didn't get to do this as often now. "Is now a good time to ask for life updates and wanting more information on why you chose this as our fun hang out spot?"

[elijahfalvey]

ELIJAH: fuck off ELIJAH: 👍👍

leon: its fckg weaver ridge man dont b a dick leon: its a crime when its u leon: come whenver its fine

[elijahfalvey]

[ Elijah listens to the voice note, debating between fumbling with the feature himself or simply giving Juno a call in return. It doesn't take long until the latter option wins out. ]

... ...

ELIJAH: Hey, Juno! That's alright, that's fine. You can take your time, I'm not really in any sort of rush for anything ... ELIJAH: Thank you, though. I, uh — I almost forgot about the meeting. It looks like I never wrote down on my calendar what the timeslot was for, it just says ... eight to nine-thirty? No other details, so that's, uh — that's a lifesaver, I appreciate it. ELIJAH: Where did you say the link was again?

— @hvneymelons.

Juno Cosette Behar📱 Elijah Ray Falvey

@elijahfalvey J: [voice note] Hello, Elijah. I will be arriving fifteen to twenty minutes late today. There is a funeral in front of me and I cannot bypass. Do not forget that you have a meeting this morning. They have already emailed the meeting link. It is screenshotted to your homescreen.

[elijahfalvey]

WHERE / Amethyst's tour bus. Middle-of-nowhere-USA.

WHEN / The summer during their second tour; any day, the middle of the night.

WITH / Antonio Beltran — @tonibeltran.

FLASHBACK THREAD.

Elijah, generally, wasn’t one to outwardly complain — not seriously, anyway, all of his dramatics aside — but if there was one thing he was the first to complain about, it was these damn tour bus beds. There was no amount of pillows and blankets in the world that could make the rock-hard mattress comfortable for his lanky, 6’2’’ frame, and the thin piece of fabric separating him from the others who slept merely feet away wasn’t excellent at blocking sound by any means. Every time he scrunched his limbs together and closed his eyes, he could hear the crickets chirping in the grass outside, Harry’s muffled breathing below him, and . . . a video, or some sort of podcast, presumably on someone else’s phone. Roman’s, if he had to guess. 

The days in-between destinations were always hard for him, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was the anticipation of exploring a new city soon, but not quite. Or perhaps it was the anxiety, instead; not knowing exactly where he was on the map, in some town he’d never remember, onto the next. Whatever it was, it was difficult to sleep through, and he grabbed his own phone to glance at the time — 1:37am — and blinked back at the brightness, suppressing a groan of disappointment from deep within his chest. He tried to close his eyes once more, but only lasted another minute or two before he checked the time again. Yeah, 1:39am.

He didn’t want to wake anybody else up, but he was sure he’d go crazy if he stayed squished in this cubby for much longer. So, as quietly as he could manage, he peeled back the curtain and stepped out, praying that the uneven floorboards of the bus wouldn’t creak underneath his feet. He padded his way towards the nearest window, opening that curtain as well to find a pitch black sky. As predicted, he couldn’t recognize his surroundings in the slightest — but it was pretty, he’d give middle-of-nowhere-USA that.

He debated just sitting there for a while, watching out the window, looking for a sign of life or something — like aliens, wouldn’t that be cool? — when it practically materialized beside him in the form of their beloved guitarist, who either had a similar idea or had gotten woken up by his stumbling around. Elijah wouldn't ask which one. “Hey,” he greeted in a whisper.

“It's kind of nice out there.” A beat passed. His eyes remained trained to the serenity outside. “Bet it's warm, too.”