#if I have a heart attack this semester I blame the fucking grind

[mimiteyy]

I’ll go to bed at a normal hour tonight. if I can just get this 2.5d assignment done—

[choupichoups]

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

The first big party of the semester is always a hit— people hooking up left and right with no hope of remembering any names come the morning light. At this point of the year, nobody gives much of a fuck about anything. Much less the first years, who’ve all got the same reinvent myself mentality that would either lift or destroy them in the long run.

Eliott is in his fifth semester already. He doesn’t give much of a fuck at any point in time.

A girl with burnt whiskey eyes catches his gaze while sauntering past, long dark hair falling in soft waves down her back. Her face is quite lovely in the midst of the sweaty heaps of bodies wriggling on the makeshift dance floor and Eliott smiles, eyes dark with challenge, but his feet don’t move from their spot.  

“Already scouting the first years, I see.”

Eliott turns towards the voice, only mildly irritated by the interruption. “You know how it is.”

“Uh huh,” Adrien chuckles into his bottle, taking a long sip from his beer before pointing out a nervous looking boy by the speakers. “Thought that was more of your type?” The boy is tall, not as much as Eliott but enough to make him noticeable. His features are rounded and his carefully styled hair is just begging for searching hands to muss it up. If Eliott’s a little less sober than he currently is, then maybe he can settle for it.

But alas.

“I don’t have a type,” Eliott says, eyes casting around for the girl with the nice hair. “Last time was a fluke.” Benjamin had been the resident know it all in his literature class; cute but talked too much, argued too much, stressed out too much. Eliott had done him a favour with that fling last year— no, really, Benjamin's still one of his most pleasant break ups to happen that year. Maybe even of all time. They still text sometimes and all.

“You’re the worst,” Adrien snorts.

“Aw, don’t be jealous, someone’s bound to kiss you before we graduate, you’ll see.” It’s not long before he gives up looking for the girl, mostly because he’s already half forgotten what she looks like and he can’t be bothered to put more effort into the search.

“Oh fuck off, I got game.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Eliott smiles, laughing as he dodges Adrien’s swing at his head. It’s an easy feat— the alcohol has made his best friend quite slow.

“Shut up!” Adrien frowns, but doesn’t try for another swipe. “Oh, I’ve got someone I wanna introduce to you, actually.” He starts looking out into the crowd but a displeased pout is quick to form over his lips when he can’t seem find the person he’s looking for.

“Someone cute?” Eliott teases, grinning when he dodges a kick to his shin. “Geez, no need for violence.”

“No fucking kidding, man, stay away from this one.”

“Then what’s the point of introducing us?”

“You’re hopeless, you know that? When will you stop looking at people as things to play with? That’s gotta be tiring, man.”

Eliott shrugs, immune to each and every one of Adrien’s righteous spiels. He doesn’t take offence to it, used to the lack of filter that comes with the copious amount of alcohol consumed.

Adrien eventually gives up on searching the crowd. Granted, sticking his head out in one direction or another like some confused imitation of a mother goose isn’t exactly the best way to find someone in a jam-packed apartment but Eliott isn’t about to call him out on it.

“Where are the others?” he asks instead.

Adrien nods towards the backyard. “Out back.”

“Cool, you coming?”

“Nah, I have to look for someone, catch ya later.” 

Making his way through the crowd is quite an interesting challenge. Eliott allows some wandering hands to pull him close, hoping that one of them would be enough to snap him out of this drudging atmosphere. But he quickly grows tired of that game— no amount of drunken grinding and senseless conversations tempt him stay.

Boring. Everything’s so fucking boring.

“Eliott!” His idiot friends cheer once he gets outside, getting a genuine laugh to pass through his lips. Idriss has his arms held out for a hug but Eliott very intentionally walks a giant circle around him, sitting next to Sofiane instead. Idriss flips him off.

“Having fun?” He nudges shoulders with a hunched up Sofiane, who blinks at him as if he doesn’t hear a word Eliott says. “Enjoying the party?” he repeats with a fond chuckle.

“Oh! Yeah, uh,” Sofiane hums, glancing back down at his phone. It lights up with a text from Imane. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Eliott rolls his eyes and leaves him to his pining. Sofiane gets extra sappy during the late hours of the night and he doesn’t even need the help of alcohol to get there; the fact that he doesn’t drink is probably a blessing for those around him.

He gets up to borrow a lighter from one of Idriss’ friends — Eliott can’t remember the guy’s name for the life of him — and pulls out the joint he’d been saving for much, much later into the party, but desperate times, desperate measures, etcetera etcetera.

“Eli, can you get us some more drinks, please?” Idriss calls out from where he’s slouched into a lawn chair, looking like he needs a nap and a huge bottle of water more than anything else.

“You sure?” Eliott surveys the piles of empty beer cans and bottles littering the ground. The amount is just a tad bit worrying but nobody else seems to be in a panic about it so Eliott lets it be. There must be a reason behind it and he’s also not about to act like any of their mothers.

“Super sure!”

He goes back inside with a shrug, unlit joint and lighter slipping back into his pockets. It’s not like the backyard company is any more stimulating than the ones inside. For god’s sake, he’s bored out of his goddamn mind. He might as well just go home and watch Animal Planet at this point. It’d probably bring about the same amount of joy as he’s feeling right now. Except he’d have the privilege of being in his pyjamas.

The fridge is empty of anything but cases upon cases of beer. Eliott turns each pack over, wincing at the brands. Even the alcohol is boring, fuck.  

“Top left cupboard.”

And alright, nobody can blame him for the little jump he does at the sound of that voice— he swears the kitchen was empty when he’d entered it.

Eliott whirls around to face the person who’d tried to give him a heart attack, prepared to bite back with a slightly snappy response only to find himself face to face with cutting cheekbones and full lips curled into the most adorable of smiles. The boy’s hair is a divine mess, falling over large eyes as blue as the deepest waters of the sea.  

Holy shit, he’s beautiful.

Eliott kicks the fridge shut, all thoughts of alcohol wiped from his mind. “What?”

The boy tilts his head. Cute, Eliott’s mind supplies.

“They’re hiding the good beer inside the top left cupboard,” the boy elaborates, legs swinging back and forth from where he’s perched up on one of the kitchen counters. Eliott’s eyes follow the movement, wondering how long it would take for him to get those very same legs wrapped around his waist. Preferably sometime soon. Behind closed doors. Sometime tonight, actually. Eliott isn’t made for waiting.

“And you know that how?”

“I’ve been in here for too long, apparently.” The boy shrugs, offering another tiny smile before he drops his eyes back down to his phone.

No, that won’t do. Eliott wants this boy’s attention all to himself. So he steps closer, wiping a hand over his lips as he thinks of which guns to pull.

But before he can make his move, another boy enters the kitchen with frantic hands waving in the air, heading straight for the space in front of Eliott’s boy without so much as a glance around. There’s a small, crooked joint sitting in between the newcomer’s fingers and from what Eliott can catch of his rambling, he’s gloating about scoring it for cheap.

“What?” His boy asks, sounding amused. “Slow down, Bas, I literally can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Eliott comes up behind the guy — Bas? — and picks the joint out of his grip, easy as stealing candy from a child.

“Hey!” Bas yelps, eyebrows furrowed as he turns around to puff up at his offender. Eliott almost laughs when Bas’ expression melts into half fear half wonder at the sight of Eliott hovering over them.

“You got tricked,” Eliott says, inspecting the poorly rolled mess in his hand. “This thing is shit. Whoever gave you this tried to pull a fast one.”

Bas squawks, mumbling equal amounts of gratitude and colourful curses as he takes the joint back from Eliott and rushes out of the kitchen, presumably to give his dealer a piece of his mind.

“Was that true?” His boy asks, and Eliott finds that he enjoys the playful glint in those pretty, blue eyes a little too much.

Just as playfully, he responds with a raise of an eyebrow. “Of course,” he says, digging his joint and the borrowed lighter out of his pockets. He wiggles it in between the two of them until a wide smile breaks out from the boy’s tantalizing bite over his lips. “I’m Eliott.”

“Lucas.”

Lucas, he repeats in the safe privacy of his mind. It’s only fitting— a pretty name for a pretty boy. He wonders how it feels for that name to roll off his tongue.

Eliott brings the joint to his lips, not once looking away from the staring match he and Lucas have unwittingly started. Lucas is the one to break first, glancing down at the darkened screen of his phone and then away to the side where a suspicious looking stain is splattered on the wall.

Wordlessly, Eliott flicks his thumb over the lighter and lets the smoke fill his lungs, the familiar sensation rolling over him as he thinks of the most delicate way to ask if Lucas is interested in examining the walls of Eliott’s bedroom instead.

“So what, are you some sort of weed master, Eliott?”

Eyes closed, Eliott chuckles, slowly inching in as he whispers, “No, I just know the good stuff.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.” He takes another hit, head turned slightly to the left as he exhales. They’re close enough that blowing the smoke right in front of Lucas would be considered nothing short of suggestive and while Eliott plans to do exactly that, he needs a bit more reassurance that Lucas is as on board with this as he is.  

And Lucas, bless his tempting little self, has that plush bottom lip trapped in between his teeth when Eliott glances back at him. “Not unless you share,” Lucas mumbles, looking up at Eliott from below his lashes. Eliott’s sure Lucas has got to be aware of what he’s doing. There’s no way any of this is done out of oblivion.

“I’m afraid you can’t handle it.” Eliott grins, daring himself to step even closer. A giddy part of him cheers when Lucas opens his legs wider to allow Eliott a space in between.

“You don’t think I can handle a little smoking?” Lucas leans back the slightest bit, balancing on the balls of his palms placed behind himself on the counter.

Eliott recovers the distance with a simple tilt of his head. “No,” he says, pleased when Lucas makes no other move to back off. “Something else.”

“Oh yeah?” The question is a whisper that sends heat coursing along Eliott’s bloodstream, which is ridiculous. Lucas hasn’t done anything but speak. “What then?”

Eliott brings the joint back to his mouth, taking a deep hit as he reaches over and presses a thumb over Lucas’ petal soft lips, almost groaning out loud when the boy opens up with ease, pliant under Eliott’s touch.

Their noses brush gently as Eliott aligns their mouths, lips parting to blow the smoke into Lucas’ waiting ones. He watches with hooded eyes the way Lucas’ own pair slide shut, breathing soundlessly as he takes in everything Eliott gives.

Magnetized by the alluring sight, Eliott falls forward, fully intending to close what’s left of the distance between them.

Unfortunately for him, Lucas has other plans. Their upper lips have barely grazed each other before Lucas tilts his head up, away from the loose touch of Eliott’s thumb. But with the distance as small as it is, Lucas’ mouth drags along Eliott’s own when he moves— a provocative hint of the taste Eliott’s been quite cruelly deprived of.

Stunned, Eliott can only nuzzle into the underside of Lucas’ chin, laughing in disbelief as this infuriating boy exhales the smoke up at the ceiling.

He feels Lucas’ body move soon after and Eliott shivers at the feeling of cool hands landing on the back of his neck. Lucas is smiling when Eliott straightens back up, looking equal parts endearing and dangerous. His fingers slide up the length of Eliott’s jaw, up behind his ears, and into the hair at the back of his head, scratching down until they land right back on his nape. The tips of his fingers have dipped into the neck of Eliott’s shirt, electrifying the small span of skin he touches.

Forcefully clearing the haze from his brain, Eliott goes in for another try, only for Lucas to curl up so that Eliott’s lips land on his forehead instead. Lucas’ laugh is a warm huff of breath over his collarbone and it feels like a cheeky apology, one that Eliott’s quick to accept with a chuckle of his own. 

Eliott can’t believe he’s getting so worked up over some boy who denies him kisses and makes it up to him with fleeting, barely there touches. His friends would be rolling on the floor if they see him now.

But it doesn’t matter, because Lucas is so fucking hot and Eliott wants him so fucking bad.

He doesn’t notice the joint being taken from his hand until Lucas has lifted it to his own mouth. Eliott is mesmerized as he watches Lucas’ tongue dart out to wet his lips before taking a hit, cheeks hollowing from the initial inhale. Eliott’s head isn’t constantly in the gutter, mind you, but Lucas isn’t leaving him with much of a choice over here.

Both hands now free, Eliott intends to take back his control over the situation, but Lucas lifts his arms, landing warm and light over Eliott’s shoulders, twining around his neck, and Eliott finds himself dazed all over. His hands are loosely gripping the back of Lucas’ knees, and they’d maybe give an illusion of a purpose if Eliott isn’t so acutely focused on figuring out how to kiss Lucas before he dies from all the teasing.

Lucas shuffles invitingly close and blows the smoke into the corner of Eliott’s slightly parted lips. Eliott can feel the heat from the joint behind his head where Lucas’ arms are still curled. Or maybe that’s just the heat from Lucas’ body. He doesn’t know, Eliott can’t tell shit apart at this point. All he knows is that there’s a warmth everywhere as he exhales, watching clouds of smoke mingle in the air below the fluorescent kitchen lights.

He’s just about regained control over his own limbs, hands starting to tighten around Lucas, just about ready to fucking carry him straight into a bedroom— it doesn’t even have to be Eliott’s bedroom, he doesn’t mind, when all of a sudden he’s cold all over. All traces of warmth is gone from his arms and he looks down just in time to see Lucas somehow sliding smoothly off the counter and then hopping towards the living room in one quick movement.

“Thanks, Eliott,” Lucas pipes up, looking back at Eliott over his shoulder. His grin is wide and buoyant, looking way too pleased with himself. Eliott feels like he should be offended about something but he’s having trouble keeping up as it is.

What the fuck just happened?

He stands in the kitchen, staring blankly at the counter as he replays the last couple of minutes in his head— because that’s all it's been. No matter how much his brain is dramatically insisting that an entire lifetime has passed since the whirlwind that is Lucas, it truly only has been a couple of minutes since they’ve met.

His feet take him out of the kitchen before his brain follows the movement. It also belatedly registers that the dumb smile that’s stuck on his face won’t go away any time soon.

Friends and acquaintances alike find him wandering the place with his eyes lifted far, their attempts at conversation politely cut short as he searches above everyone’s heads for the only face he wants to see.

It takes Eliott a full hour to understand that Lucas has stolen his joint.

His mystery boy has vanished into thin air. Eliott can’t find him anywhere, which doesn’t even make sense. It’s not like the apartment is massive or anything. But the crowd is gradually thinning out, those with sense still left in them are heading out to better prepare themselves for the torture that is the coming week ahead and—

Ah. There he is.

Eliott spots him beside the balcony doors, flanked between two girls who seem to be in a deep, animated discussion with him.

“Yo, Eliott, we’re leaving.” Someone calls out from behind him and Eliott thinks that’s Sofiane. He’s the only one always sober enough to relay proper information between their group.

The only response he can muster is a distracted hum, but he does twist around to spare a quick glance at Idriss, who’s now laughing way too loud at everything he sees around him. Nothing particularly entertaining is going on so Eliott assumes it really is about time for Idriss to make his leave.

Eliott rolls his eyes, sharing an exasperated glance with Sofiane as he watches the poor boy try to talk Idriss out of sitting in with the giant game of truth or dare in the dining room. Luckily enough, Adrien checks in on them soon after. For whatever reason, he’s the only one Idriss listens to whenever the latter is drunk out of his mind. The trio exchange quick, silent looks between themselves before an amused Adrien finally convinces Idriss to make his merry way back to the front door.

A commotion by the balcony steals Eliott’s attention away from his stumbling friends, and he looks back to where he’s last seen Lucas just in time to watch the latter laugh at some guy who looks like he’s spilled an entire can of beer down his shirt. The music’s too loud for Eliott to hear the sound of it but his own lips twitch at the mere sight either way.

He doesn’t realize Sofiane’s snuck up behind him, following Eliott’s line of vision, until he hears an incredulous, “Oh no, Eliott. I wouldn’t go for that one.”

Eliott has to peel his eyes off of Lucas’ radiant smile. “Huh?”

Sofiane eyes him dubiously. “You’re looking at the boy in the gray hoodie, right?”

“Uh.” Apparently his non-answer is enough. Sofiane reaches for his shoulders and starts shaking him quite violently. Eliott gathers his wits about him and brushes the offending hands away from his person. “Why not?” he complains, aware that he sounds like a scolded pre-schooler.

“Bro, that’s Lucas,” Sofiane says urgently and, well, yes? Eliott wants to voice out his thoughts but Sofiane’s looking at him like there’s some kind of revelation to be had. Whatever it is goes way past over Eliott’s head.

“And?” Eliott drags the word out, frown deepening when Sofiane’s expression pinches strangely, like he isn’t sure whether to fuss over worrying or just outright laugh. It’s a face Eliott’s grown very familiar with.

“Adrien’s Lucas?”

Eliott remains staring at him incomprehensibly.

Sofiane’s starting to look a bit constipated. “You know… his precious Lulu? That’s him.”

Oh.

“That’s Adrien’s little brother.”

Oh fuck.