Page 130 of Try Line Hearts
Eli stepped closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You looked like you knew exactly what you were doing.”
Lucas huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh. “That’s new information.”
Eli smiled gently. “Well. Whoever that guy is on television?” He reached out, his fingers brushing Lucas’s wrist, grounding. “He loves me. I’m a fan.”
Lucas finally turned away from the dark screen and looked at Eli instead.
Up close. Real. Warm.
The version of him that mattered.
“Yeah,” Lucas said quietly. “Me too.”
And for the first time since the final whistle, the tightness in his chest eased just a little as the world narrowed back down to something he could hold.
They didn’t talk much after that.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was full. Heavy in a way that didn’t demand to be filled. Lucas sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, while Eli scrolled through his phone with one thumb, pausing occasionally as messages stacked up faster than he could read them.
“Spice bags?” Eli asked eventually, glancing up. “There’s a place around the corner. Open late.”
Lucas smiled faintly. “That sounds… exactly right.”
Eli ordered without ceremony. Lucas watched him with quiet focus; the way his brow furrowed briefly, the way he leaned back once it was done, exhaling like that small decision had taken more out of him than it should have.
When the knock came, Lucas answered it barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, accepting the paper bag that steamed faintly in the hallway light. The smell followed him back into the room—salt and vinegar, fried onions, something spicy and grounding and unmistakably Dublin.
They ate on the couch, cartons balanced between them, knees brushing now and then. Lucas leaned back, head tipped against the cushions, chewing slowly. Eli sat sideways, one foot tucked under him, shoulder pressed lightly into Lucas’s arm.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.
Every so often, one of them would glance sideways and catch the other already looking—a brief smile shared, unguarded and real. Lucas felt something loosen in his chest with each one, like a knot being worked free patiently, over time.
When the food was gone and the cartons set aside, Eli stretched, arms lifting overhead, shirt riding up just enough to draw Lucas’s eyes without effort.
“Bed?” Eli asked quietly.
Lucas nodded.
The bedroom was softer than the rest of the suite; the light lower, the city beyond the large windows scattered gold by the rain. The world felt muted here, distant.
Eli didn’t hesitate.
He tugged his shirt over his head and let it fall where it landed. Then his pants, kicked aside without ceremony. By the time he climbed onto the bed, he was bare, unapologetic, utterly at ease in his own skin.
He sat back on his heels for a moment, watching Lucas with a small, knowing smile.
Then he patted the mattress once.
Lucas followed.
He moved onto the bed on his knees, the soft give of the mattress unfamiliar beneath him. Eli shifted forward, lowering himself onto his stomach and crawling toward Lucas across the sheets — slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving his.
The movement stole the air from Lucas’s lungs.
Eli stopped just in front of him, close enough that Lucas could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that their breaths tangled. Eli’s hands came up, light but sure, fingers brushing Lucas’s hips as if asking permission without words.
