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ottelis · 4 years

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"I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix.

09—la vérité

august 11th, 1968

07:55

caen, france

Eliott sleeps much better the night after his appointment than he thought he would. Perhaps the exhaustion took over and freed him from his thoughts. He's grateful for that, but now that he's awake, he has to face Lucas again. He's not afraid of looking Lucas in the eye, or seeing all the expressions that could flicker across his face in half a moment. He's afraid of what Lucas might say, of the way his tongue may curl and slash in his mouth, or the way it could lie still and tie itself in a knot. But he can't let his fear show anymore, not when he knows Lucas is in pain, when he knows he can try to help his best friend.

He decides to talk to Lucas before mass, since he knows he'll be there most of the morning. He dresses for mass, too, putting on his white shirt and tying his black tie beneath the collar. He hasn't been to mass, let alone inside the church, since his father's funeral, and he supposes that now could be a good time to go.

His dress shoes are too small for him now, something he never would've anticipated. He borrows one of his father's pairs, and though they're a bit too big, they fit better than his own. They're old, but his father was buried in his nicer ones. It feels a bit strange, wearing his father's shoes, but he doesn't expect to be wearing them for very long. Just until after mass.

His mother is in the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast as he gets ready to leave. He apologizes to her quickly and tells her where he'll be, and that he'll meet her at mass. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and tells her he loves her.

He takes a deep breath as he opens the door, but it catches in his throat when he sees Lucas on the other side, his hand raised and ready to knock.

"Lucas, hey," he stammers. "Is everything okay?"

Lucas nods, bewildered, too. "Yeah. Yeah. Um, this might be an odd question," he begins awkwardly. "But I've kind of become the organist at our parish, and I have a key to the church. I like to get there early and practice some songs. It's just… It's lonely in there sometimes. The echo gets too much when you're alone. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?"

Eliott blinks, fumbling for an answer. "Of course," he manages, smiling. "I've missed hearing you play anyway." He's not being untruthful, but his mind starts running even faster once the words leave his mouth. Maybe he can steal a moment to talk to Lucas. Maybe on the way there, or right before mass.

Lucas smiles, and his eyes brighten. "Thank you so much," he sighs. "It's honestly so eerie in there and it was about to drive me crazy."

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, smiling warmly. "Were you planning on leaving now?"

Lucas nods. "If that's okay."

"Okay," Eliott nods back. He calls over his shoulder, "See you in a bit, Maman."

"See you, honey," she calls back. "See you, Lucas."

"See you, Madame Demaury," Lucas responds as Eliott goes through the door.

Eliott shuts the door behind him, taking another deep breath. Now he has to wait for the right moment to talk to Lucas. And he has to hope it won't go poorly like he's worried it might. He has to trust Lucas.

They don't say a word as they walk to Lucas's car, but the silence is strangely comfortable, easy. Perhaps this should be the moment that Eliott grabs by the horns, but it's too precious for him to ruin. He's too enamoured by the sound of their soft footfalls on the grass, the slightest whisper of a breeze in the air. It's going to be a beautiful day.

"It is," Lucas says suddenly, startling Eliott. He must've said his thought aloud without realizing. "Most Sundays are. The whole world is at peace on Sundays."

"Remember when we would build sandcastles almost every Sunday?" Eliott asks quietly, still afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment.

"Because the sea was calmer," Lucas chuckles lightly. "I just can't believe we basically built the same sandcastle every week. How did we not get bored of it more quickly? We did that until we were almost ten."

"Maybe after mass we can build a sandcastle," Eliott suggests. "I think it'd be nice to come back to that."

"I like that idea," Lucas smiles warmly, letting his head tilt slightly down.

They reach Lucas's car, piling in quickly. Lucas keeps the radio off again, but Eliott's parents never played music on the way to mass, either. Eliott doesn't mind the silence here, either. He thinks they've carried the silence from outside with them.

The sun has risen considerably by now, but it still casts a soft, faint light on the city, coaxing it awake. It's kind today, loving. Fatherly, almost. It flows gently through the windows of Lucas's car, bathing them in a thin but warm layer of light. Eliott lifts his hand ever so slightly, letting it swim through the light. It's like water. He wiggles and curls his fingers, holds his palm face up to illuminate the lines there.

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks with a chuckle.

"With my hand?" Eliott laughs, too. "Swimming."

Lucas smiles, glancing at Eliott's hand. His eyes follow the smooth, graceful movement of it until the car starts to swerve slightly. He quickly looks back up to the road, but the smile lingers on his face, small and content.

Eliott hopes that that smile means Lucas is doing better, that he won't have to ask him what's wrong. But Lucas was always good at hiding things, he's had so much practice with it anyway. Eliott keeps finding himself hoping and hoping.

The parking lot is empty, and it's a strange sight for Eliott. He's so used to hearing his father complain about how there weren't any parking spots left when they arrived for mass, he never thought it could be so barren. He could see what Lucas means when he says it can be eerie seeing the church deserted. He could only imagine what it's like in the chapel.

They don't talk in the brief time it takes to get out of Lucas's car and to enter the church. Lucas still seems at ease, though, a stark contrast to his behavior at the cemetery last week. Eliott takes it as a good sign.

The lock unclicks with a creaky thud, and the door squeaks faintly as it opens. Lucas lets Eliott walk in first, making sure to lock the door behind them.

Eliott pauses just past the threshold, gazing at the chapel. It's still exactly as he remembers it—the stone floors gray as ash, the pale columns, the smooth arches, the statues with faces as familiar to him as someone he's known in real life. All the old paintings are still on the walls, all the elaborate stained glass is still intact and shining, all the same chairs are sitting in front of the altar like sentinels. He can still smell all the burning wax, the incense, wet stone. But there's something different, something in the air he doesn't recognize. Maybe he really has been away for too long and forgotten it was ever there. But it's heavy, leaves something crawling just beneath Eliott's skin. Maybe it's the ghost of memory—the ghost of a boy who prayed to God to make his papa feel better and not get sick anymore, the ghost of his father, the ghost of the flowers and incense that clouded and covered his coffin, the ghost of hymns played and sung through bitter tears.

"Spooky, isn't it?" Lucas teases, nudging Eliott's arm.

Eliott nods, gulping. "I can see why you don't wanna be alone in here," he agrees, his voice thin.

Lucas chuckles lightly. "It's not as bad once I'm sitting at the organ. Then all of it's behind me."

"But you said the echo gets to you, too, right?" Eliott asks.

Lucas nods, sighing. "I think you hearing it, too, will help. It won't be as lonely. It'll feel real for once. Not just some cruel trick of my imagination."

Eliott nods back, imagining the shrill yet regal notes of an organ filling such a cavernous, empty room. No voices to accompany it, no other instruments to help it swell and wane into sacred, gorgeous music. The thought sends a chill down his spine.

"Tu viens?" Lucas asks softly, tilting his head towards the direction of the organ. His hand brushes against Eliott's, his touch another ghost in these hallowed halls.

Eliott nods weakly, and Lucas smiles kindly. He leads Eliott to a corner of the building that he doesn't quite remember being there before, where a stone staircase lies in front of them. He can see the organ at the top, sitting below one of the large stained glass windows. He follows Lucas up the stairs, their footfalls only a quiet shuffling in the silence of the chapel.

"Do you want to sit next to me?" Lucas asks as if he takes his place at the seat in front of the organ. It's wide enough to fit both of them. And Lucas is looking at him with a warmth that he could never deny.

"Yeah," Eliott smiles, sitting next to him. He can't help but look up at the stained glass window above them. It's so simple—just a mosaic of diamonds dyed with gold and silver and oceans and clouds and jewels—but the way the light filters through it is enchanting, even in the half-light they're in right now. The sun hasn't risen high enough yet to shatter through it completely. Eliott can only imagine how beautiful it must be, then. He wishes he had paid more attention to this window before.

"This is my favorite thing in the whole church," Lucas says, his eyes gazing up at the window, too.

"It's beautiful," Eliott replies, reverent.

"Selfishly," Lucas begins, shrugging, his brow furrowed. "I feel like it's mine, in a way."

"I don't think that's selfish," Eliott shakes his head.

Lucas smiles, looking down at the organ keys. His smile fades, but quiet thought takes its place. His hands hover over the keys for a moment, his fingers taking shape after shape of a thousand chords before settling on one. Lucas begins playing gently, slowly growing louder as the prelude progresses. Eliott instantly recognizes Ubi Caritas, and he lets himself smile.

The organ was never Eliott's favorite instrument, despite hearing it his whole life. It was so easy to play too loudly, too dully. But in Lucas's hands, the organ is as elegant and stately and warm as it possibly could be. Lucas takes the love Ubi Caritas speaks of and lets it pour from his fingers and into the keys. Lucas could take any instrument and turn it to gold with the slightest touch, after leaving the faintest scar of a fingerprint on it. The echo of the music rings sweetly from the cold, aged stone, and Eliott can't imagine it sounding eerie or lonely.

Eliott looks at Lucas, and for the first time today, he seems tense, anxious. His shoulders are tight, his back is hunched, his hands are shaking, his lower lip is caught beneath his teeth. But he doesn't let it betray his playing. The music still flows out of him so easily, so beautifully.

But at the same time, Eliott has never seen Lucas like this while he's playing. He's been nervous before, of course, but it usually melts away once his fingers find their place on the keys. He's never started relieved and confident then grew nervous and stiff.

Eliott feels the easy, comfortable dynamic between them start to break. His mind starts to reel, and his heart begins to stutter, all for Lucas.

The hymn is over quickly, though, and Lucas releases a deep yet trembling breath. He stretches his hands, curling his fingers over and over. He's studying them as if they were someone else's hands, as if they don't belong to him.

"Does the echo bother you that much, Lucas?" Eliott asks softly, grasping at straws.

Lucas shrugs fraily, hiding his hands between his thighs. His eyes flit across every visible thing around him except for Eliott.

Eliott feels helpless, watching Lucas retreat into himself again. He shakes his head, maybe to help his brain rattle out a way to help Lucas.

"What if I played?" he tries, shrugging. "I know I don't how to play, but that's the trick. Maybe if I play a hymn off-key it won't make it quite as eerie in here."

Lucas smiles weakly, considering.

"Would that be sacrilegious?" Eliott asks under his breath, as if someone would hear them. "Playing random notes on a church organ?"

This makes Lucas chuckle, and Eliott already feels a thousand pounds lighter. "I don't think so, Eliott," Lucas shakes his head. "Just try not to play too loudly, okay?"

Eliott nods, hoping he'll know how to do that. He sees his hands trembling slightly as he places them just above the keys, playing whichever one each finger lands on.

He starts out with a discordant burst of music, one that nearly makes Lucas guffaw if he hadn't covered his mouth in time. After that, Eliott decides to not use all his fingers at once, instead plucking out a few random notes at awful, unsettling intervals. It's really not as awful as it could be, since he's not trying to play a real melody, but it's still not anything you would ever want to hear in a mass.

Soon, Eliott thinks he's getting the hang of it and starts trying to make the notes string together, rather than play them stiltedly one by one. It doesn't work very well, though, and he only rushes into each note, making them bleed together until it's just noise. But it makes Lucas laugh, and maybe cringe a bit.

"Okay, okay," Lucas interrupts after another one of Eliott's clumsy attempts at playing. He takes a moment to keep himself from laughing again before continuing. "I'm going to help you play because I don't think I can take anymore of this."

"You're going to teach me a lesson?" Eliott smiles, raising his eyebrows.

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly. "I guess you could say that, yes," he agrees begrudgingly, but teasingly. "Here, let me take your hands," he continues, placing his hands just above Eliott's. "First, your form is terrible."

"Thanks," Eliott remarks sarcastically.

Lucas bites back a chuckle, ignoring Eliott's comment. "Pretend you're holding a ball in both your hands," he instructs. "They should be curled just slightly, they should never be completely flat. And straighten your back a bit, you're such a sloucher."

Eliott pouts, but follows his instructions. "Yes, maestro," he drones jokingly. Lucas can't hide his laugh that time.

"You know 'Hot Cross Buns'?" Lucas asks through his laughter.

"I don't think so," Eliott answers, genuinely this time.

"It's really simple," Lucas continues. "It teaches you chords. Like this."

Lucas guides Eliott's hands to the correct place, gently pressing down on each finger that needs to press a key. They go through the song rather slowly and haltingly, Lucas letting Eliott get the hang of using his hands correctly. Lucas sings the words quietly as they go through it each time, and Eliott thinks that putting the words to it helps. He has something to pair the chords with, something he can picture in his mind while his hands bring it to life.

"Okay," Lucas sighs, satisfied. "Try it by yourself. Go as slowly or as quickly as you want."

Eliott nods, picturing the balls in his hands and the words to the song in his head. He gets through it slowly, but doesn't make any major mistakes until the very end when his left hand slips somehow.

"It's okay," Lucas says quickly, taking Eliott's hand and putting it back in the right place. "Try again if you want to."

He does, but messes up at the same spot. He admits a small mite of frustration flashed in his chest, but Lucas's comforting voice made it vanish as quickly as it appeared.

"Let's try just that part with me helping you again," Lucas suggests, only putting his hands on Eliott's once Eliott gives him an affirmative nod. "Here we go, slowly."

They take a moment to pause between each chord, slowly moving to the next one and making sure everything is in the right place. Slowly, but surely, Lucas takes his hands away and lets Eliott play by himself.

Eliott plays the whole song, top to bottom, without any mistakes. It's the slowest version of "Hot Cross Buns" ever, but it's a successful attempt.

Lucas beams, telling him to play again, then again, then again.

"We should play together," Eliott suggests after his fourth or fifth time through the song. "I'm on one side and you're on the other."

"That'll be hard on an organ," Lucas replies, his eyes flitting across the keys. "It's not as similar to a piano than you would think it would be."

"Do you think we could try?" Eliott asks, shrugging.

Lucas studies the keys for a few more moments, then nods slowly. "I think so," he mutters, finding his place on the keys. "Go as slow as you want, I'll follow your lead."

"You're not going to show me up?" Eliott asks, raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Maestro?"

Lucas smirks. "I won't make any promises."

Eliott chuckles, taking a moment before starting the song. And he realizes all too quickly that Lucas didn't promise for a reason.

Lucas is moving all around the keys, finding the perfect octave jumps and steps and half-steps. It sounds beautiful, of course, but a little too elaborate for a song like "Hot Cross Buns."

Towards the end of the song, Eliott's left hand and Lucas's right hand land on the same area of the keys, Lucas's on top of Eliott's. They both stop suddenly, taking their other hand away, but Eliott's hand stays pinned beneath Lucas's. Lucas's skin is so warm and soft, and his hand looks so small against Eliott's. It makes Eliott smile, small but still brimming with joy. Lucas clings to Eliott's hand, awkwardly but sweetly intertwining their fingers.

As Eliott turns his head to look over at his best friend, Lucas's lips are suddenly crashing into his.

Eliott's eyes widen, but flutter closed as Lucas deepens the kiss. He feels Lucas's hands in his hair, pushing him closer and closer to him. Lucas still tastes the same, like sleep and salty sea air. His lips are chapped, desperate, but Eliott would kiss them forever if he could. Eliott starts kissing him back once he's out of his stupor, cradling Lucas's face in his hands, fighting back a smile as their noses smush against each other. He feels Lucas's eyelashes brush against his cheeks as his eyes fly open. Lucas takes Eliott's hands and yanks them off his face. Eliott stumbles forward slightly at the force, his eyes opening now, too.

He looks up and sees Lucas stepping backwards from the bench, his hands clasped over his mouth, his eyes too wide and his face too pale. He starts shaking his head, holds out his hands pleadingly. "Eliott, please," he whimpers, his voice shattering. "I-I didn't mean to, I—"

"No, Lucas, it's okay," Eliott interrupts, approaching Lucas carefully. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stays stuck there, thick and aching. "I'm not mad at you. It… It just happened, right? We got carried away."

Lucas shakes his head, tear after tear rolling down his cheeks. "No…" he chokes out. "I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to. And I did, and—" his tears stop his voice, his breath. His chest rises and falls so sharply Eliott feels his own breath strangle in his throat.

He takes another step towards Lucas, still careful as he can be. "Lucas…" he begins, unsure of what he'll say next. He reaches out a hand, nearing Lucas's shoulder.

Lucas takes a few more steps back, a sob tearing out of his throat. "No, no, don't touch me, please," he begs, holding out his hands again. "Please, Eliott, just stay away from me."

Eliott opens his mouth, but nearly gets the wind knocked out of him as Lucas suddenly shoves him aside. Lucas rushes past him, heading towards the stairs. He pauses just before it, though, nearly falling to his knees before supporting himself against the wall. He leans against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, his whole body trembling.

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, softly, sitting in front of him. "I'm not leaving you again. I'm not going to do that to you. I can't. I care about you too much, and you're hurting too much right now for me to leave you like this."

"Please, Eliott," Lucas sobs. "Just leave. Please. You haven't done anything wrong, and I don't want to ruin that for you. I can't ruin you. I'd never forgive myself."

"You're not ruining me, Lucas," Eliott reassures, still careful not to touch him.

"I love you, Eliott," Lucas cuts in. His voice had been hard to discern through his tears, but for some reason those three words rang out clear as a bell. "I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. Don't you remember me telling you that? When we talked about everything that happened? I told you the exact same thing."

Eliott does remember. He remembers Lucas practically screaming it out of a bleeding throat. He nods at Lucas, feeling tears run down his face.

"The more time I spend with you," Lucas begins, hopeless. "The more I realize that we're not meant to be together. Not even as friends. Because we could never be just friends anymore. Every time I look at you, I remember the times you would kiss me and love me like I had always wanted someone to. But what I want doesn't matter. It's wrong. It's a sin. And I don't want you to become a disgusting sinner because of me."

"We talked about this before," Eliott replies desperately, his heart beginning to hammer against his chest. "Remember? We agreed that it wasn't. God made us this way, Lucas, and God doesn't make mistakes. So how could we be mistakes? How could the way we love be a mistake?"

"God didn't make us like this," Lucas shakes his head bitterly. "And you have a chance to be saved, Eliott. You could meet a girl and love her with everything inside of you. I can't. It's too late for me."

"Lucas, what are you talking about?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "You have Chloé. You're marrying her next year."

Lucas buries his face in his hands again, shaking his head weakly. "I don't love her, Eliott," he weeps, his voice muffled by his hands. "I can't love her. It doesn't matter if I marry her or maybe start a family with her. It's pointless if I don't love her. I'll always want someone else instead of her. I would still be sinning."

Eliott is speechless, unable to find an argument. He feels completely helpless, useless.

"Sometimes I wish you had just let me die that day," Lucas whispers, his heart climbing up his throat to nearly shatter Eliott's.

Eliott feels himself sway, feels his breath getting crushed out of his lungs. His body grows numb, his head spins, his blood chills.

"Why didn't you?" Lucas asks, lifting his head. His eyes are glassy, nearly empty as they meet Eliott's. "Why didn't you just let me drown?"

"You're my best friend," Eliott chokes out. "And I love you. And it would've been my fault if you didn't make it. And I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

"If I had just died you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself," Lucas says, his voice losing its emotion, as if he's thought of this a thousand times and it's as natural as breathing.

"That's not true," Eliott whimpers.

"And you never would've gone to the institution—"

"That's not true—"

"And they wouldn't have done all those awful things to you—"

"Lucas, stop—"

"And you would've learned to be happy again. To miss me and smile like your papa said—"

"Please—"

Lucas rises to his feet then, pacing the balcony. He tugs on his hair, claws at the back of his neck. "I should've died. I was supposed to die. I never saw a light. Just darkness. I was never going to make it to heaven. I was supposed to die and go to hell and—"

"I said stop, Lucas!" Eliott begs, practically shouts.

"Why can't I just die—"

Lucas's fist collides with the stone wall with a sickening crack. He screams, falling to his knees, holding his now broken, bleeding hand in his other one.

Eliott rushes to Lucas, gathering his trembling body in his arms. He cradles him close to his chest, lets him sob into his shirt. He rocks back and forth, as if it would lull Lucas to sleep or take all his pain and torture away. He knows it won't, but he has to try something.

"I can't be a queer, Eliott," Lucas weeps, Eliott's shirt muffling his voice. "But I don't know how to stop it."

"You don't have to stop, Lucas," Eliott tries again softly. "You don't have to try to be someone you're not."

"What if I hate who I am?" Lucas asks weakly, bitterly. He lifts his head slightly, turning it to where his ear is resting against Eliott's chest. "What if who I am keeps myself from getting everything I want? I'll be sent to hell. Everyone I love will be in heaven, and when I die I'll never see them again. I'll never see you again. I'll never see Maman again."

Eliott starts gently shushing Lucas, holding him a little tighter, but Lucas keeps talking.

"My poor Maman," Lucas chokes out, sniffling. "How many times have I broken her heart over the years? I can't break her heart again. I'm the only thing she has left. And who knows when she won't have me anymore? Who knows when she'll die or when I'll die and then eternity comes between us? How has she lived with having me for a son? I'm not her baby boy anymore. I don't think I ever was."

"She loves you more than anything, Lucas," Eliott replies. "I've seen it. She's your maman, and she loves every second she gets to be your maman."

"She fell in love with someone else," Lucas shakes his head. "Everyone has. You have, too. I can't be that person anymore. But I can't be myself either, because I can't bear to look at myself. I'm… I'm trapped, Eliott. I'm either trapped in someone I've created to make everyone happy, or I'm trapped in myself, who's a disgusting, filthy sinner—"

"Lucas," Eliott interrupts, taking Lucas's face in his hands and making him look at him. "You're not disgusting. You're not filthy. You're not a sinner. You're Lucas. And because you're Lucas, you love so much and feel so much that you explode sometimes. You're exploding right now. You've had all this weight to carry on your shoulders and on your mind, and you're starting to let it go by telling me how heavy it is. And I know how heavy it can be. Believe me, I do. And it's breaking you open and that's okay."

For once, Lucas doesn't have a rebuttal. His voice is silent and his tears are quiet. He rests his head on Eliott's chest again, and Eliott lets him.

"I haven't believed in God much since Papa died," Eliott continues, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. "But when I did, I always felt He just wanted all of us to be happy. And when we're with someone we love, we're the happiest we could ever be. And that can't ever be wrong. Love can never be wrong. Especially from someone who calls Himself the God of love. Right?"

Lucas doesn't answer, but Eliott can feel him trembling.

"Listen, Lucas," Eliott sighs, gingerly weaving his hands through his hair. "When has that whisper the clergy always say is God speaking to you ever told you that you're wrong for being queer? When has that little voice ever told you anything like that? Or has it always been the clergy? Or has it always been other kids' parents whispering about queers before mass? Or has it always been Sunday school teachers? When have you ever felt a truly divine voice tell you anything that those people have told you?"

Lucas is quiet again for a moment, but then shakes his head weakly. "Never," he replies fraily.

"You can love God and be devoted to Him and not go to mass every Sunday," Eliott says. "You can pray to Him and let Him speak to you in whatever little ways He does and you can get all your answers and comfort that way. You don't have to listen to other people who say they know what's best for you in the eyes of God, because what do they know? What do they know about the way God loves or speaks to one of His queer children? What do they know about the way He loves or speaks to any of His other children? God speaks to all of us in different ways, and maybe this isn't the way He needs to speak to you. Maybe you hate the way the music echoes in here because God speaks to you through music, and this building gets in the way of it. Maybe you need to take some time to find the way He speaks to you and hold onto that. Whether it's music, or reading His word, or a combination of multiple things, or whatever. And never let anyone take it away from you. Do you hear me, Lucas?"

Lucas nods. "I do."

Eliott smiles to himself. "Good," he sighs in relief. "And… We don't have to talk about us or do anything drastic until you've made peace with everything. You come first right now. I'll hold your heart for you once it's healed, once it tells me it's okay for me to cradle it. And then I'll give you mine, too. I'll wait as long as I need to."

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, sighing. "Thank you so much, Eliott."

"Anything for you, Lucas," Eliott smiles, kissing the top of Lucas's head. "And we're going to leave here now, and get that hand checked out. They'll find someone else to play the organ in your place."

He feels Lucas nod.

"And one more thing," Eliott continues. "Remember when you and Chloé ran into me outside of the psychiatry office?"

Lucas nods again.

"If you want to, you could start being a patient there, too," Eliott suggests. "Dr. Garnier is extremely kind and patient. And he's like us, Lucas. He understands. He was in the same place you were once, and he knows how to get out of it. He can tell you so many things that you probably need to hear right now. I think he'll help you."

"Okay," Lucas agrees, his voice a little stronger now.

Eliott closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I love you, Lucas," he says quietly. "I don't want you to hurt like this anymore. I want to be here, no matter how awful or angry or lost you feel. Okay?"

"I love you, too, Eliott," Lucas returns, and Eliott can feel him smile. "And I'll let you be there. I promise I will."

Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head again, unable to fight back his smile now.

"Eliott?" Lucas says softly.

Eliott hums in response, lifting his head.

"What would you have done?" Lucas asks, his voice getting quieter. "If I had died that day?"

The thought has invaded Eliott's mind a million times, has appeared to him in countless nightmares, and it attacks him again once the words leave Lucas's mouth.

Eliott resting his forehead against Lucas's, waiting, begging please open your eyes so I can see them again please wake up please come back to me please please please don't leave me, but Lucas never breathes again. His body is hollow as Eliott takes it in his arms, as he clings to it and his grief comes back to him in a tidal wave. He cries until he can't anymore, until the sun has nearly set. Someone approaches him, their footfalls soft, almost frightened on the sand. Then a scream, so agonized Eliott feels his own grief has shrunk to a spec of dust. Lucas's mother. Someone else comes, too, carefully removing Eliott's hands so they can take Lucas's body away. Eliott is too weak to fight back, to hold Lucas tighter, to refuse to let him go. His arms are emptying, and the last thing he feels is Lucas's lifeless hand brushing against his thigh. Madame Lallemant follows the person carrying her son's body, weeping and wailing, leaving a new ocean behind her. Eliott stays on the shore, broken and empty, the tide receding further and further away.

It always ends there, Eliott alone with the weight of Lucas's body haunting his arms like a ghost. He always wakes up then, or something snaps him out of his thoughts. He never knows what happens next. He's never wanted to know.

"I don't know," he answers. He holds Lucas a little tighter, lets himself remember the way they fit together. He closes his eyes and lets himself smile. "But you're here now, Lucas. And you're alive. That has to mean something. If you really were meant to die that day, God would've found a way to stop me from saving you."

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding slightly.

"Do you remember what I said to you when you came back?" Eliott asks quietly.

Lucas shakes his head.

"I'm so happy you're here," he recites, his tears finally leaking into his voice. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Lucas lets out a sob, bunching Eliott's shirt in his hands. Another sob ripples through his body; another, another.

"You're safe now," Eliott whispers. "You're here. You're okay. God loves you. I love you. Your maman loves you. We all love you so much, Lucas. You're alive and you're so loved."

Lucas cries harder, but Eliott can feel him smiling against his chest, hear his relieved sighs between sniffles and sobs. He smooths soothing circles into Lucas's back, holds him as closely as he can, waiting for Lucas's tears to dry, but almost hoping they won't. It's nice here, tucked away in a corner of the church; the stained glass window spilling heavenly light on them, all the bad memories that live in this place being slowly burned and faded away like incense, Lucas in Eliott's arms and Eliott in Lucas's. It's calm, tranquil, peaceful. All the cold stone and lifeless statues have been chipped away, only leaving the warmth you're supposed to feel from holiness, from sacredness. The warmth of love, understanding, safety, life. Eliott could stay here forever, knowing it means that Lucas will be safe in his arms, and that they can just exist. They don't have to be anything or mean a certain thing to each other. They're together, and they love each other, and they're meant to be close to each other. Eliott has always known that, but now Lucas does, too.

But soon, Lucas isn't trembling with sobs anymore. He's breathing deeply, easily. Eliott actually thinks Lucas has fallen asleep for a moment, but Lucas speaks when Eliott is about to check.

"Eliott?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Can we go to the hospital now?" he asks. "My hand is killing me. I think it's broken."

Eliott looks down as Lucas pulls away slightly, revealing his hand. Scarlet blood is slicked all over it, gushing from his knuckles. And if Lucas's hand is broken, the blood is covering up any bruising. Eliott's stomach turns at the sight, nodding hurriedly. "Okay. Can you get up?"

Lucas nods, slowly rising to his feet. There's blood all over his pure white shirt, and when Eliott looks down at his shirt, his is, too. Somehow, these sights make him feel nauseous, too, but he manages to force the bile down. He rises, too, guiding Lucas down the stairs and out of the church.

Luckily, Eliott is able to drive from the church to the hospital. Eliott goes a little faster than he should, but it's still fairly early, so the roads aren't too busy.

When they're nearly there, Eliott looks over at Lucas and sees him cradling his injured hand close to his chest, his eyes closed. He watches for a moment as the stains on Lucas's shirt get darker, and he involuntarily pushes the gas pedal a little further forward.

"I'm not dying, Eliott," Lucas mutters, almost chuckling. "You don't have to speed to get me to the hospital."

Hearing Lucas joke puts Eliott slightly at ease, and he lets his foot slightly off the gas. He exhales slowly.

Everything is going to be okay.

They arrive at the hospital about five minutes later, and their first priority (besides Lucas's hand, of course) is to call their mothers. They'd be going to mass soon, and when they realize that their sons aren't there and that Lucas's car is gone is a recipe for panic and chaos. Eliott will have to use the hospital payphone of course, he doesn't have a potentially broken hand.

"But what am I gonna tell them?" Eliott frets as they wait for someone to take Lucas back. "They're going to ask what happened, and I can't tell them you punched the church wall."

"I don't know," Lucas shrugs. "But, I'm pretty sure a bit of my blood is on the wall so maybe we should just tell the truth. Well, not the whole truth."

"How much do I tell them, then?" Eliott asks.

"Say the empty church got to my head and I started panicking and I punched the wall," Lucas suggests. "That's all true."

"Okay," Eliott nods, writing out a script in his head. "What if your maman gets upset?"

"She's going to, Eliott," Lucas sighs. "That's how she is. The best thing to do is tell her a few times that I'm okay, and that we're at the hospital and someone is taking care of me. If she says she'll be coming down here, don't tell her not to. If she's here with me, it'll make her feel better."

Eliott nods again. "My maman will probably want to come down here, too."

Lucas nods. "A Lallemant-Demaury party at the hospital," he chuckles lightly.

Eliott chuckles, too, his head thudding lightly against the wall. He sighs deeply, and Lucas does, too, next to him. He looks over and Lucas's eyes are closed again, bursts of pain flashing across his face. "Are you sure you're okay, Lucas?" Eliott asks again for the twentieth time in the last hour.

Lucas nods, opening his eyes. "It'd be nice if someone would see me already so they can fix me up and then I can sleep. I forgot how exhausting attacks like that are. I could sleep for a week, I think."

Eliott opens his mouth to reply, but someone calling Lucas's name interrupts him. Lucas sighs in relief, rising to his feet.

"I'll go ahead and call our mamans," Eliott tells him as he leaves. "Get better, okay?"

Lucas smiles at him over his shoulder as he follows the nurse down the hall.

Eliott watches Lucas disappear into a room, letting out another deep sigh. He hopes Lucas's hand won't be as badly hurt as it seems like it could be. He hopes Lucas will remember everything Eliott told him today, that it won't be lost in the fog of panic. He hopes that today is a turning point for Lucas, that he can actually start healing, that he can nurture his heart the way it needs to be.

Eliott smiles to himself as he stands up, feeling cold coins on his fingertips as he fishes through his pockets. Now's the hard part: calling their mamans.

august 14th, 1968

10:58

caen, france

"I still don't know how you managed to punch a stone wall and walk away with barely a fracture," Eliott teases, noticing how nervous Lucas seems. They're sitting in the waiting room of the psychiatric office with Madame Lallemant. It's a dreary day today, heavy with the humidity of a coming storm, making the usually warm office not as welcoming as it has been before. And, of course, that doesn't ease any of Lucas's worries.

Lucas smiles weakly at Eliott's comment, but it doesn't linger. He's gone back to his old habit, even with an injured hand. His right hand is clasped over his left, rather than the other way around, and he doesn't squeeze as hard as he usually does. Eliott's noticed that if he squeezes the slightest bit too hard he winces, exhaling sharply.

"Are you sure you don't want me in there with you, mon cherie?" Madame Lallemant asks kindly, placing her hand on Lucas's shoulder.

Lucas pauses a moment, then nods. "Yes, Maman," he sighs. "I'll be okay."

"Would you want Eliott to go with you?" she asks, looking at Eliott.

Lucas looks at Eliott, too, and there's something in his eyes that Eliott can't quite read. He sighs, then shakes his head. "I'll be okay."

Eliott finds himself smiling, pride flitting softly in his chest like a heartbeat. "Dr. Garnier is really easy to talk to, Lucas," he says. "He's really good at what he does. He'll help you a lot."

Lucas smiles, too, exhaling slowly.

"Lucas?" Dr. Garnier's voice calls as he steps into the waiting room. He smiles when he sees them all, approaching them. "You're his mother, I presume?" he asks Madame Lallemant, holding out his hand.

"Yes, sir," she smiles, shaking his hand. "Madeleine."

"Nice to meet you, Madeleine," he smiles back. "And Lucas, nice to meet you as well," he says, shaking Lucas's hand now. "What happened to your other hand?" he asks, staring at Lucas's injured hand.

"It's a bit of a long story," Lucas replies shyly.

"We can talk about it once we're alone," Dr. Garnier dismisses. He looks over at Eliott, smiling wider. "It's good to see you again, Eliott. How are you?"

"I'm well," Eliott nods, smiling back.

"You don't need to see me today, either?" Dr. Garnier asks.

Eliott shakes his head. "Just Lucas."

"Very well," Dr. Garnier nods. "Are you ready, Lucas?"

Lucas nods, standing. He says a quick goodbye to Madame Lallemant and Eliott before following Dr. Garnier to his office.

Once they hear the door shut behind them, Madame Lallemant sighs deeply, almost shakily.

"I always worried he would end up like me," she says quietly, biting her nails.

"What do you mean?" Eliott asks, his heart aching for her at her words.

"Sick," she replies, thin and tired. "I don't know if you noticed, you were so young, but… he was different after his father left us. He was able to move on from that, of course, but it changed him more than he admits. He's been becoming more and more like me. He's getting sick."

Maybe it's the exhaustion the past few days have left him with, but tears start filling Eliott's eyes. He shakes his head weakly, fights back the tears. "Lucas is strong. He's just not as strong as he usually is right now. He's not sick."

"You haven't seen him the last two years, Eliott," Madame Lallemant replies fraily. "Nightmares, these… spells where he's panicked beyond belief and I can't calm him down… The whole time I was waiting for him to break like I have before. He never did, but… He came so close so many times. He…" A tear rolls down her cheek, then, but she quickly wipes it away. "He started drinking at one point. He would be gone all night but then I would see him at the table at breakfast every morning like nothing ever happened. Like he'd been sound asleep in his bed all night instead of drinking himself dizzy."

Eliott's eyes are wide, his mouth dry. "He was drinking?" he asks quietly, his voice almost not coming out.

"He stopped when he met Chloé," she replies quickly, seeing Eliott's worry. "And even if he hadn't, I was planning on sitting him down and talking to him about it. Back then, I was worried the drinking would have the same effect on him that it did on his father. He was already so much like me, I didn't want him turning into his father, too. But after Chloé, he was almost himself again. He still had nightmares sometimes, but they were only once in a blue moon, really. He wasn't gone all night anymore. And at breakfast, his eyes were sparkling and alive, not glazed over because he's still the slightest bit drunk. He would talk to me, tell me about his day, tell me about all these plans he had with Chloé," she smiles widely, chuckles lightly. But she bites her lip, looking down the hallway where Dr. Garnier's office is. "Now he's not talking to me again. He's going out at night again, but he's never out too late, so I don't think he's drinking again. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's my son and I don't know what's wrong with him. I'm his mother. I'm all he has and he won't turn to me anymore."

Eliott stands, quickly moving to the seat Lucas was sitting in as Madame Lallemant cries harder. He places a careful arm around her shoulder, takes a moment to gather himself before offering any words of comfort.

"He's learning right now, Madame Lallemant," he begins. "He's learning how to rely on people. He's getting the help he needs to do that right now as we speak. He's talking with Dr. Garnier, and the more he talks, the easier it'll get. He needs time. It's painful, but that's all you can give him right now. Give him time and space and make sure he knows that you're there for him when he's ready. And, thankfully, that's all he needs."

Madame Lallemant nods, breathing deeply and wiping away her tears. "Okay," she sighs, nodding. "Okay."

"He's going to be okay," Eliott promises, and this time, his voice doesn't waver. "He's going to go off to school and become the doctor he's always wanted to be, and he's going to be married, and he's going to be the happiest man in the world. He's meant to be successful and happy and the most wonderful person we've ever met."

"He is," she grins, nodding. "He is."

Eliott grins back, giving her shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze. He waits patiently for her breath to even out, for her tears to dry.

"I never thanked you," Madame Lallemant says before Eliott can think of a way to pick the conversation back up. "For saving him that day. And I never apologized either, for the way I acted when you came to visit him."

Eliott shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize," he dismisses. "It was so long ago."

"You're like a son to me, Eliott," she cuts in. "How could I not apologize to my son?"

Eliott smiles, getting emotional again, nodding once. "I didn't know how to tell you I almost lost him," he shrugs. "I don't think I'd fully processed it anyway. I wouldn't have been able to talk about it."

"I understand," she nods. "I just remember them starting to take his shirt off, and there were all these bruises on his chest…"

A wave of nausea washes over Eliott for a moment, but he's able to keep himself steady.

"The doctor and the nurses all looked at each other, like they were having a conversation without saying a word. One of the nurses started feeling all over his chest, then he stopped at one spot, saying that one of his ribs was cracked. And the doctor nodded and asked me if my son was unresponsive before we brought him here," her voice catches, and she takes a moment, breathing deeply. "And I asked him if he meant dead, and he nodded. And I said I didn't know, because I wasn't there when it happened, but you were. So he sent someone to find you and ask you about it."

Eliott nods, the memories briefly passing through his mind.

"I think I was in shock," she shrugs. "First, you run in telling me Lucas needed to go to the hospital because he almost drowned. Then, not even thirty minutes later, someone asks me how long my baby boy was dead for," her voice breaks again, but she keeps talking. "I think I felt guilty, too. I had no way of knowing it was happening, of course, but I wouldn't have been there in his final moments. I wouldn't have been able to tell him how much I love him one more time. I couldn't remember the last thing I had said to him. It had been almost a full day between that last night and the moment you came running in. I was… I was such a mess."

"It's okay," Eliott says softly.

"I need you to know that I was never mad at you, or upset with you, or anything like that," she adds. "If it weren't for you, I would've had to bury my son. It was simply too much for me to handle. Just the thought of it. Everything was happening so quickly and—"

"It's okay, Madame Lallemant," Eliott repeats, a little louder. "And I forgive you. I know how much you love Lucas. I've felt how overpowering and all-encompassing a mother's love is. That's all it was. After nearly losing him, you loved him even more than you have before."

Madame Lallemant is quiet for a moment, smiling with teary eyes. "You really do have Noémie's heart, Eliott," she says quietly. "So… full and pure."

Eliott bites his lip to keep from smiling to wide.

"And you look just like Eduard did when we were all younger," Madame Lallemant adds, a notable sadness in her voice now. "I wonder how your mother stands it sometimes, you know. Seeing so much of him in you."

Eliott's smile fades, and his lower lip remains caught beneath his teeth. He nods weakly, looking down at his lap. "If I had a penny for every time someone's said that to me…" he mumbles, shaking his head now. He doesn't think Madame Lallemant heard him.

"He was about your age when he volunteered for the military," she continues. "Imagine, a boy as young as you are right now going off to war…" she trails off, shaking her head. "I pray for a lot of things every day and night, and one of them is that you and Lucas will never have to go through what your fathers went through."

"The war killed Papa," Eliott thinks aloud. He doesn't know where the thought came from, only that it ended up on the tip of his tongue. "It doesn't matter that it took over 20 years for it to kill him. It did."

Madame Lallemant places her hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I know, Eliott," she says softly. "I know."

She drops her hand, and Eliott pulls his arm away. He occupies his hands with the hem of his shorts, absentmindedly tracing the seams. The small curves of each stitch are comforting, steady and constant like a heartbeat. He doesn't mind the silence between him and Madame Lallemant, either. It's not quite comfortable, but it's not intrusive, either. He keeps tracing seams, keeps himself occupied.

Outside, rain begins to pour gently, tapping almost rhythmically on the pavement, on the asphalt. Eliott wishes he could hear the sound of the rain as it falls on the ocean right now. It always sounds different accompanied by the waves, like black and white keys on a piano being played at the same time. Maybe him and Lucas can listen to it when they get home, if Lucas is feeling up to it. Maybe Lucas can memorize the combination of black and white keys and hold it gently in his hands until it's written in the lines of his palms, his fingertips. Then maybe he can play it whenever they miss the sound, or whenever they don't want to go out into the rain themselves. Eliott smiles at the thought, at another secret him and Lucas can keep until later.

A door opens down the hall, and Lucas steps out first, the picture of relief. He smiles as Dr. Garnier steps out and pats him on the shoulder, easy and comfortable. Lucas's smile widens when he looks over and sees Eliott and Madame Lallemant, waving at them as he walks a little faster. Eliott notices faint tearstains on Lucas's cheeks as he approaches them, and a tint of pink at the corner of his eyes, but he's smiling still and breathing easily.

"How was it, mon cherie?" Madame Lallemant asks, pulling her son into a tight hug.

"Good, Maman," he replies, kissing her cheek. "I needed it."

"You're feeling better?" she smiles, wiping the stray tears from his face.

Lucas nods. "Much better."

"If it's all right with you, Madame," Dr. Garnier begins. "I'd like to see him again next week. But, of course, we can have him back whenever you're available."

Madame Lallemant nods. "Of course. We should be okay for the same time next week."

"Great," Dr. Garnier smiles. "It was nice meeting you, Madame," He turns to Eliott then, holding out his hand. "It was nice to see you again, too, Eliott. Remember to call if you need anything at all, okay?"

Eliott shakes Dr. Garnier's hand, smiling back warmly. "I will."

"Drive safe, okay?" Dr. Garnier says, waving goodbye as he turns on his heel and walks back down the hallway.

Eliott shifts his gaze over to Lucas, and their eyes meet. He relaxes when he sees Lucas smile, take a step closer to him.

"Thank you, Eliott," Lucas says. "For telling me to do this."

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, nodding.

"Do you and your maman want to join us for lunch?" Lucas asks. "Maman always buys too much food and we just end up throwing it away. It'll be like the old days, too."

Eliott grins, nodding. "I'd love to. And I'm sure Maman would love to join, too."

Lucas grins, too, bowing his head. His grin has shrunk to half of a smile when he looks back up. "Let's go."

august 16th, 1968

18:34

caen, france

Since he came home from the institution, Eliott helps his mother with the dishes almost every night. She reassures him she can do them herself on the days where his mood was lower than usual, but for the past few weeks they've been able to do them together.

It's comforting to Eliott, doing something so casual and mundane with his mother. They talk about what their days were like, or whatever random thoughts come to their mind. Lately, his mother has been talking about all the TV shows she's been watching. Eliott hasn't seen any of them, but he lets his mother explain every character and every plotline because it always makes her smile, makes her eyes light up.

"Have you talked to Lucas recently?" she asks tonight, a hopeful yet relaxed look on her face.

Eliott shakes his head. "Not since we had lunch with them the other day. He told me right before we left that he was going up to Paris for a couple of days to tour his school."

"He'll be starting his first semester soon, won't he?" she replies, cleaning a spot on a plate that Eliott missed.

"Beginning of September, I think," Eliott nods. "Hopefully he'll find someone that can help him like Dr. Garnier while he's there."

"I'm sure there's plenty of people in Paris that can help him," his mother smiles, but it begins to fade from her face as a beat of silence hangs between them. "I just feel bad that you two just reconciled and now he has to go to school."

"It's okay, Maman," Eliott reassures her. "We'll write letters. He'll be here for the holidays. This isn't goodbye for us."

"But you'll miss him," she says, rather quietly.

"Of course I'll miss him," Eliott agrees, shrugging. "But I know that he'll miss me, too."

His mother smiles again, sighing contentedly. "You know, Ellie, Papa always said that God gives us people we're meant to fall in love with. But I think He also gives us best friends, someone we love in a different way, but we love them with a love just as powerful as the romantic kind. I think God meant for you two to be best friends."

"Was Papa your best friend, too?" Eliott asks, unable to help but think the two loves could be intertwined. "Or was he just the person you were meant to love?"

She considers, tears filling her eyes. "He was both," she nods. She fidgets with her wedding band, smoothing her finger over it. "He was both."

"I think I've found someone who's both, too," Eliott begins, not stumbling over a single word. He remembers saying the truth resting on the tip of his tongue to his father's grave, remembers the way saying it aloud reminded him that he'll never know if his father's love was unconditional. He remembers Lucas's voice echoing hauntingly in the empty chapel as he says they could never be just friends again, as he says that he loves him, always has loved him, will never stop loving him. He remembers how much he kept from his mother whenever she asked him what had happened with Lucas. He wonders how much his world will change all over again once those fateful words leave his lips.

"You have?" his mother asks after a moment, her face unreadable.

Eliott nods, tries to breathe but his chest is too tight. Somehow, the words strangle out of his throat: "I love Lucas, Maman."

"Oh," breathes, her eyes flitting as they must be scanning through memory after memory. She looks back at Eliott after a moment, softening when she sees his tense, nervous expression. "Is… that why you were so upset when you came home? You love him, but he's in love with Chloé."

Eliott nods weakly. "And because we were together. Before I had to go to the institution. I thought we were still together, but somewhere along the way it ended without me knowing. I came home, and it was over."

His mother blinks, shaking her head slightly. "How long were you together? When did you…"

"About a month and a half before Papa died," Eliott replies, his voice growing thin and weak. "Not very long at all, since after that night we just wrote letters. But that month and a half held some of the best days of my life, Maman. Because he was mine and I was his. Because he loved me and I loved him, too."

"Does a part of him still love you?" she asks quietly, watching for any reaction from Eliott that says she's crossed a line, asked the wrong question.

"I don't know how much of his whole it takes up," Eliott sighs, shrugging. "But there is a part of him that does. He's… He's told me so. That he still loves me."

"Does Madeleine know about this?" his mother continues, subconsciously looking in the direction of the Lallemants' house.

Eliott looks too, his heart sinking as the answer comes to his mind. "I don't think so."

Tears spring in his mother's eyes again. "Did… Papa know about this?"

Eliott instinctually bites down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He shakes his head as he waits for the lump in his throat to dissolve. It never does. "No," he chokes out. He realizes the lump in his throat is the memory of telling the truth to a stone. It claws at his throat, scratches behind his eyelids. "He never knew. I never got to tell him…" He trails off, a sob stopping his voice.

A tear rolls down his mother's cheek, becomes lost in the crease of her wobbling frown. "Then tell me, honey," she sobs. "Tell me. Tell me what you never got to tell him."

The lump, the memory in his throat seems to burst, filling his chest and mouth with a burning, bitter taste. He almost chokes on it, but he's able to take a deep, steadying breath. "I'm queer, Maman," he repeats from that day at the cemetery, the first time living ears will hear him say the words. "My heart's stammered for girls before, but it can skip a beat for boys, too. My heart can fall in love with anyone I think, but it's loved Lucas above all else. It loves him because he's beautiful and stubborn and wonderful and paper-thin and warm. I've… I've loved him my whole life, I think. I think I'll love him forever."

"Even after everything that's happened?" his mother asks, still quiet, hesitant. "Even still?"

"Even still," Eliott nods, his voice clearing enough to make the words sound as resolute and sure as they feel on his tongue. He holds his breath once they leave his mouth, though, his heart bracing, steadying itself against his ribcage. He can't bear that awful weight he felt at the cemetery again. He can't.

But his mother smiles, ear to ear, a new sun appearing and shining in her eyes. She lifts her hands to cradle her son's face, wipe away his tears. This only makes Eliott cry harder—the warmth of her hands, her love. He places her hands on top of hers, holds them as tightly as he can.

"My sweet Ellie," she sighs, her voice thick with tears now, too. "There's nothing else in this world I love more than you."

A sob bursts like joy from Eliott's throat, choking him with the refrain of a majestic orchestra. He drops his hands and envelops his mother in his arms, wishing he'll never have to let her go. She slowly guides him to the floor as his knees become weak with relief, keeping him safe close to her chest.

"I'll never forget," she begins, running her hands through his hair. "The day Papa and I went to the doctor and he told me I was pregnant. We'd been trying for over three years to have a baby, and suddenly we had one. I squeezed Papa's hand and looked down at my belly and my heart burst like it never had before. You were the smallest you'd ever be and my love for you was bigger than my body will ever be. And it was immediate. The love I had for the baby I was carrying. The love I had for you. And it keeps growing. The day you were born, and I held you and looked at your sweet, little face for the first time and you were real and you were mine. The day you learned to walk and talk and sing and play. Every birthday and Christmas. Every drawing you've ever given me, every smile. My love for you grows every single day. It could never shrink, let alone disappear completely. Especially in a single moment. There's nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you."

Eliott's tears keep running down his face, staining his mother's shirt. "What about Papa?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"I wish you could've known just how much he loved you, honey," she replies, close to sobbing now, too. "Every time he got sick, he would get scared that it was his time and that he would leave you. He was always afraid he wouldn't get to say goodbye to you. That night… He was begging everyone who would listen that he needed to see his boy one last time, before God took him home. Every doctor, every nurse, random people passing by his room. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing you again. If you had had the chance to tell him, I think he would love you even more for being so brave and so yourself."

Another sob escapes Eliott's throat, his mother's words replacing the memory of the silence of the cemetery. He urges the words to echo in his mind, to keep filling the silence, to keep reminding himself of the fact that he was blessed with two best parents he could've asked for. He reminds himself to never forget that he is loved, despite everything.

"I'm so happy you trusted me enough to tell me, Eliott," his mother says, kissing the top of his head. "I'm just so proud of you. You'll always be my baby boy."

"Thank you, Maman," Eliott replies, his voice flooded with tears of joy. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," his mother returns, pulling away and helping him to his feet. "Let me make you some tea, honey."

"We just did dishes," Eliott replies, slightly fatigued now.

"I'll just need the kettle and a cup," she dismisses, turning around to give him a kind, reassuring smile. "It won't be the end of the world if I use those."

Eliott returns the smile, sitting at his usual place at the table. He watches her make the tea, the way she treats everything so carefully and so lovingly. He's overwhelmingly glad his doubts about her were so wrong he wonders where they came from in the first place. The whistling of the kettle doesn't make him jump like it usually does.

She sets the tea in front of him, the teabag already steeping and curling in the nearly boiling water. He wraps his hands around the cup, the warmth becoming softer when his mother moves her hands on top of his. She squeezes lightly before pulling away, sitting across from him.

"What's happening between you and Lucas?" she asks quietly. "Is he going to stay with Chloé?"

Eliott bobs the teabag, shrugging. He doesn't want to recount what Lucas had said about her in the church earlier that week, so he comes up with an innocent lie. "Probably. I don't blame him. I never could."

"But he loves you," his mother replies. "He loves you the way you love him?"

Eliott nods. "I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous it is for people like us, Maman. He doesn't want to fight the rest of his life."

"Do you?" she asks, even quieter now.

Eliott bites his lip, looks at the darkening liquid in his cup instead of his mother's eyes. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "For Lucas, I would. But I can't force him into a battle he doesn't want to fight just because I want him to. That's not what loving someone is. It's fighting with them, not for them."

"The people we love can only fight for so long," his mother replies. "We need to let them rest. That's when we fight for them. When they can't fight for themselves." She sighs, taking Eliott's hand again. He looks up, his heart softening when he sees the earnest, passionate curl to her lip as she continues. "Honey, maybe… Maybe Lucas needs to rest right now. Maybe soon he'll be ready to fight again. And if he is, he'll find you and stay by your side as long as he can."

Eliott smiles, squeezing her hand. "Maybe."

His mother smiles back, tears reappearing in her eyes. "Don't give up on him. Even if he doesn't love you the way you want him to, you still need each other. You still complete each other. You're still best friends."

Eliott nods. "I won't, Maman. I promise."

"He needs to hear you promise that to him, too, Eliott," she tells him. "Especially after the week he's had…"

Eliott nods again. "I know." He sighs, looking over his shoulder to stare at the small part of Lucas's house he can see through the window. "I know."

"There's a reason you were able to save him that day," his mother continues. "And there's a reason he was able to save you that night."

"I know," Eliott repeats one more time, remembering him saying the same thing to Lucas in the chapel. "But I'm not sure if Lucas knows has fully realized that yet."

"All the more reason to talk to him," his mother smiles. "There's still so much more he needs to know and you need to tell him those things. As soon as you can."

Eliott looks back again at Lucas's house. "Should I go over there now? See if he's home?"

"I think it's worth it to try, honey," she nods.

"Okay," Eliott nods back, rising from his seat. He sighs when he sees the pride in his mother's eyes, pride of his own filling his chest. "I don't know what I would do without you, Maman."

His mother's watery smile widens as she rises, too, giving her son another tight, loving hug. "I love you, Ellie."

"I love you, too, Maman."

Then, a knock at the door. They both jump, pull away from each other's embrace.

"I'll answer it," Eliott tells her, crossing to the front of the house.

A laugh nearly escapes his throat when he opens the door and sees Lucas standing there, hopeful.

"I was… I was just about to come and see you," Eliott says, letting himself chuckle.

Lucas chuckles, too, his eyes crinkling. He pauses, his smile fading slightly. He looks towards the sea, taking a deep breath. He looks back at Eliott. "I know it's not Sunday, but… Do you want to build some sandcastles?"

august 16th, 1968

19:10

caen, france

Eliott lets Lucas lead him down the beach, making sure he doesn't force him closer to the shore than he's comfortable with. He watches Lucas, too, trying to pay as much attention to his body language as he can. Lucas doesn't seem anxious at first, only wound up slightly, but his nerves seem to build with every step. His eyes keep flitting between the sand beneath his feet and the horizon ahead of him, most likely trying to keep himself from going too far, too. He's squeezing his hand again, right over left. He'll stop occasionally—look beneath, ahead, behind, at Eliott—but then keep walking. He walks a little slower each time, his shoulders drawing further and further inward, his body close to collapsing in on itself.

"We don't have to do this, Lucas," Eliott says, almost begging. "I can tell you're anxious. You don't have to do this for me."

:Lucas stops again, turning around. He bites his lip, keeping his eyes on Eliott's as they plead trust me, please. Lucas must've seen the recognition cross Eliott's face because the plea is gone with a blink. "Here's a good spot," he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Eliott takes a deep breath, nodding. He sits next to Lucas, who's already started gathering handfuls of sand. Eliott watches the streams of gritty glass flowing from between his fingers, watches them catch the light of the setting sun and send out a burst of crying, white light. He feels the urge to find every grain of it and hold it in the palms of his hands, let them bury themselves in the lines there so they'll know they're safe. He knows, too, how it feels to slip from Lucas's grasp, if only for a moment. Maybe empathy is what's giving him that urge, too.

Lucas isn't looking at him. He's studying the piles of sand he's built into a small mound, the piles currently melting in his hands. His mouth is open as if he's about to say something, but a minute or two passes by and not even the smallest sound comes out. He looks out at the sea, and Eliott can't see his face.

"I can still taste it sometimes," Lucas says. "The ocean. Filling my lungs and…"

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He sighs, debating whether he should reach out and place his hand on Lucas's shoulder. But Lucas turns and looks at him again, his face tired, reassuring him that he doesn't need Eliott to say anything at all.

Lucas's lips are chapped, Eliott notices. Pink as can be, but cracking. Eliott remembers all the times he kissed those lips, all the times those lips formed the words that his heart and mind needed more than anything. He imagines those lips kissing Chloé, kissing a bottle or a glass—

"Your maman told me about the drinking," Eliott blurts, the image too strong in his mind to simply ignore it.

Lucas's hands open completely, the sand falling with a dull thud. His head snaps towards Eliott's direction, his eyes wide but never meeting Eliott's. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyelids falling slightly as he nods. "I hated it, but it made me forget everything for a few hours. And it was easier to kiss girls when I could barely tell they were girls."

"But you stopped because of Chloé," Eliott replies. "Right?"

"Technically yes, but not really in the way you'd think," Lucas shrugs as he trails off. "She made sure I never went to pubs or parties. She made sure we went places where it was hard for me to get a drink. I'm glad she did, don't get me wrong. God knows, I could be dead right now if she didn't. But she wasn't as good of a distraction as the drinks were. I just latched onto the fact that she probably saved my life, and how can I not love someone who's done that for me? What kind of heartless… thing would I be if I didn't?"

Eliott bites his tongue as the only logical question he could come up with appears at the back of his mind. You really loved me, right? He knows the answer, but the doubt and discouragement in Lucas's voice makes him second-guess, if only for a moment.

"You're not heartless," Eliott says instead, choosing comfort over query. "Your heart just doesn't belong to her."

Lucas shakes his head. "It can't."

Eliott nods, almost hesitantly. "It can't."

"You don't have to be afraid to talk about her, Eliott," Lucas sighs, pity written in his voice. "Or the way I am. Sometimes I feel like you're more afraid of everything than I am."

Eliott is speechless. "L-Lucas, what—"

"I think we need to stop dancing around what happened to us. What we are," Lucas continues when Eliott trails off. "We're queers. I drowned, and I was dead. You tried to kill yourself. You have manic depressive disorder. There's words we can use, Eliott, and I think it's time we start using them."

Eliott nods weakly, slightly overwhelmed by Lucas's sudden conviction.

Lucas sighs deeply, composing himself. "I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but… I've been thinking a lot since Sunday, since my appointment with Dr. Garnier… There's a reason you were able to save me that day, Eliott."

Eliott can't fight the smile that appears on his face. "And there's a reason you were able to save me that night."

Lucas smiles, his eyes brightening as he nods. "Yeah. There's a reason we're both alive right now. I don't know what the reason is, but maybe we could spend some time looking for it."

"How will we?" Eliott asks, trying to sound brave. But Lucas is right. He is afraid.

Lucas chuckles, shaking his head. "Where do I begin," Eliott hears him mutter. He looks up, speaking louder now. "I have some things to tell you first."

Eliott shifts uncomfortably, nodding. "Okay."

"I talked to Chloé," Lucas begins. "I told her that I'm queer."

Eliott's eyes widen. "Oh," he replies dumbly.

"And I told her that I'm still in love with you."

Eliott feels pink creep along his cheekbones, reaching the tips of his ears. "Oh."

Warm blossoms bloom on Lucas's cheeks, too, but he somehow manages to make them wilt and disappear. "Eliott, she was relieved."

Eliott's jaw drops now. "What do you mean?"

"She's a queer, too," Lucas replies, disbelief and amusement mingling strangely in his voice. "Chloé is queer, like us. She's in love with her best friend, Maria."

Eliott laughs, too, clumsily. "So?"

"We've called off the engagement," Lucas sighs in relief, gathering more sand in his hands.

"Have you told your maman?" Eliott asks cautiously.

Lucas's shoulders tense; barely, but enough for Eliott to notice. "Not yet," he answers quietly as his shoulders relax. "I thought about just telling her that Chloé is queer, but that'd be terrible of me. I don't know if I'm ready to tell her the truth."

"It's okay if you aren't," Eliott reassures him, digging his hands in the sand next to Lucas's.

"I know," Lucas shrugs, smiling sadly. "I don't want to live the rest of my life without telling her. I know I would regret it." He glances at Eliott, then, silently asking for confirmation.

Eliott nods, unable to admit out loud that not coming out to his father is quite possibly the biggest regret he'll ever have. His throat is starting to swell with tears again.

"She won't be here forever," Lucas says quietly, trying to knit his fingers to where no sand would slip through them. "No matter how much I beg God that she will."

Eliott reaches, cupping his hands beneath Lucas's to catch any falling sand. Only a small trickle escapes, but it lands warm and soft onto Eliott's waiting palms. He's careful to keep them directly beneath the stream, refusing to let a single grain touch the ground.

He looks over at Lucas when he feels his eyes on him, his breath catching. There are tears in Lucas's eyes, but they aren't a puddle pooling at his lashline. They're like stars scattered in the night sky; freckles of light set randomly yet perfectly in place.

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, as if the words were sealing his final breath.

Gravity rubs circles into Eliott's back, gently pushing him forward. Eliott lets himself fall, feeling heat rise and bloom like a heartbeat as he draws closer and closer to Lucas. He only resists the pull when their lips aren't even a breath apart.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice a note away from silence.

"Yes," Lucas responds, his own voice breaking. "Please."

Eliott tilts his head until his lips fit perfectly against Lucas's. In that moment, the entire world and every parallel universe fell back into place. It feels like it all had been standing still until now. It's all moving again now, dancing in its natural rhythm as the kiss deepens, broadens.

Both their hands fall open and spill the sand they were holding as they suddenly remember the path they're supposed to be on—weaving through Eliott's hair, standing steady at the curve of Lucas's neck. How could they ever have gotten lost? How could they have ever forgotten the places that were made for them?

Eliott's hands say, forgive me, as they find Lucas's heartbeat. Lucas's hands reply as they kiss Eliott's scalp, there's nothing to forgive, now that we've found each other again.

Eliott remembers him and Lucas's very first kiss feeling like coming home. But after two years, after everything that's happened, Eliott is realizing that first kiss was finding home. The exhilaration and peace of finally having a place you know belongs to you. Finding home comes with tears of joy, breathlessness. This kiss, the one he wishes will never end, was coming home. A sigh of relief, a calming of the heart. You walk through the door and the smell you've become blind to comes rushing back, and that name of home is the only way you can describe it. Everything is the same, exactly how you left it. Safety, familiarity—something bigger, stronger than belonging. Home is everything you can't name but know better than the back of your hand. Kissing Lucas is home.

Lucas must have come to the same conclusion, because the kiss becomes a mess of lip-splitting smiles and knocking teeth. Eliott has never had a kiss like this, and he prays that every time he kisses Lucas from now on he'll have that exact same thought.

Eliott's lips feel weightless, slightly numb when Lucas pulls away to laugh, but feeling explodes in his chest, bubbles in his stomach. He laughs along with Lucas, their music more beautiful and rich than the crashing of the waves could ever be.

They kiss again, but in bursts. Their lips touch, then break apart, touch, break apart. The brief moments where their lips are pressed together are more relieving than the only slightly longer moments of fresh, salty sea air. Soon, the kisses last longer as their laughter dies in their chests, replaced with fuzzy, addicting warmth. They kiss until they need to stop for breath, still never pulling too far away from each other, never quite opening their eyes.

When Eliott finally does open his eyes, the sun has become a golden, crescent moon upon the lip of the sea. The first shadows of night are beginning to touch Lucas and Eliott, bringing the slightest bites of cold with them. Lucas shivers, his eyelids fluttering, his lip trembling.

Eliott pulls him into his embrace, letting his eyes close again. All he wants is to stay here. The world could end just beyond his eyelids and he wouldn't bother to notice. But then again, the world has shrunk into the Lucas-shaped mass quaking in his arms, and he wasn't going to let anyone touch it.

Eliott's heart finally bursts when he hears Lucas whisper, "I missed loving you."

#ttmc #skam france #elu #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #hush bailey #my writing

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