Normally, Eliot likes being looked at. He certainly likes the little flutter of excitement he feels at being around Jack, now they’re both conscious of the attraction between them. But he doesnt feel at ease here.
Instead, he’s itchy at being seen as predictable. The cafe is a comfort; he likes good service, and he likes the barista well enough, but today it feels like he’s too exposed.
The thwip of the sugar packets is intrusive, too, and he has to force himself not to stare at Jack’s hands. There’s a moment where all Eliot can think of is the memory of his touch. He didn’t expect it would be this difficult to have a casual arrangement, and it’s clear Jack’s nervous too. Eliot needs to appear calm for both their sakes, and they can have a friendly conversation, and then with any luck they’ll look back on this and laugh.
“Well I hate to think that I’m being boring,” he answers, looking around the cafe. His gaze settles on the curling embroidered vine on Jack’s shirt, and he wants to simply reach out and run his fingers over it, but that would be far too intimate. A violation. “But we can certainly go somewhere else next time, if you like. In the spirit of…trying new things.”
“That is a nice shirt, though,” Eliot says carefully, clearing his throat. “It looks good on you.” He feels his mouth twitch in something like a smile, but he doesn’t ask where Jack got it. Doesn’t want to see him lie about it. He wishes Jack didn’t feel the need to hide it from him.
“Oh, and—” Eliot fishes in his pocket for the rings, feeling like he’s floundering in the conversation before it’s even begun, “here, I seem to be making a habit of holding your things hostage.” He drops them gently onto Jack’s palm. “Sorry about that. I have the knife, too, just…” he glances at the counter, where the barista’s making drinks that might be theirs. “In a bit, don’t want to go slinging blades around in a cafe.” Eliot laughs, soft and a little self-deprecating. “You’ve been all right?”
no subject
Instead, he’s itchy at being seen as predictable. The cafe is a comfort; he likes good service, and he likes the barista well enough, but today it feels like he’s too exposed.
The thwip of the sugar packets is intrusive, too, and he has to force himself not to stare at Jack’s hands. There’s a moment where all Eliot can think of is the memory of his touch. He didn’t expect it would be this difficult to have a casual arrangement, and it’s clear Jack’s nervous too. Eliot needs to appear calm for both their sakes, and they can have a friendly conversation, and then with any luck they’ll look back on this and laugh.
“Well I hate to think that I’m being boring,” he answers, looking around the cafe. His gaze settles on the curling embroidered vine on Jack’s shirt, and he wants to simply reach out and run his fingers over it, but that would be far too intimate. A violation.
“But we can certainly go somewhere else next time, if you like. In the spirit of…trying new things.”
“That is a nice shirt, though,” Eliot says carefully, clearing his throat. “It looks good on you.” He feels his mouth twitch in something like a smile, but he doesn’t ask where Jack got it. Doesn’t want to see him lie about it. He wishes Jack didn’t feel the need to hide it from him.
“Oh, and—” Eliot fishes in his pocket for the rings, feeling like he’s floundering in the conversation before it’s even begun, “here, I seem to be making a habit of holding your things hostage.” He drops them gently onto Jack’s palm. “Sorry about that. I have the knife, too, just…” he glances at the counter, where the barista’s making drinks that might be theirs. “In a bit, don’t want to go slinging blades around in a cafe.” Eliot laughs, soft and a little self-deprecating. “You’ve been all right?”