Blake tried to be patient with him, waited for Elliot to make up his mind, could tell that Elliot was constantly torn, never sure what he wanted. Elliot was scared of someone finding out, but he always came back to Blake. It’s his choice, though. It was his choice from the start.
Now Blake is much too aware that this is the last time he gets to kiss Elliot and for weeks he’s been wishing they had more time, but the days kept slipping away and now this is it and Blake can’t decide where to put his hands, a knot in his stomach because he wants to remember everything as much as he wants to forget it all the second they go their separate ways.
Elliot pulls away with a sigh, ducking his head.
“Hey,” Blake says, his hand still on Elliot’s back, “don’t…” He doesn’t quite manage the don’t go yet, but he doesn’t have to anyway.
Elliot tilts his head, bumps into Blake’s chin. Blake kisses his temple. It occurs to him now that he’s never done that before, or at least he doesn’t remember ever doing it. There are so many things he wishes they could have done together, so many things they did that he’ll miss.
“I should go,” Elliot says.
He kisses Blake again. And Blake starts to count. That’s one.
“Already?” Blake asks.
“I’m sorry,” Elliot mutters and then his lips are back on Blake’s, careful, gentle, hands in Blake’s hair.
This time, when they pull apart, neither of them says a word.
That’s two.
Another kiss, one that lingers, and that’s three.
Elliot always had this thing about kissing Blake three times for good luck before games. There was never a fourth, so Blake knows that this is it. Blake takes Elliot’s hand before he can walk away. “I…” He takes a deep breath. There’s nothing he can say now that’ll make a difference. He wouldn’t know how to say any of it anyway. “Good luck tomorrow,” is what he settles on. It’s easy and it’s safe.
“Thank you,” Elliot whispers, like his voice might crack if he said it any louder.
He steps away and the motion sensor catches him and the lights flicker back to life like they did when Elliot first pulled him out into the stairwell.
Blake doesn’t want to look at him, forces himself to look down anyway. Elliot’s always smiling, only now he isn’t, and it’s not Blake’s fault, not really, but he hates that he had a part in this.
“Don’t forget about me when you’re a big star,” Blake says.
It tickles the smallest of laughs out of Elliot. “Never,” he says. He means it, Blake can tell.
Then Elliot tugs his hand out of Blake’s, and they’re done.
#
Elliot tells himself that he’s relieved when the New York Ravens select him with their first round pick. No other feelings. He isn’t happy, he isn’t sad, just relieved. He goes second and his mother hugs him and his dad has tears in his eyes and Elliot walks up onto that stage and plasters a smile on his face and shakes hands with important people whose names he knew five minutes ago and can’t remember now that he’s standing right in front of them.
He’s handed a black and red jersey and a baseball cap and he smiles for the cameras and tries not to think about why he’s so lost.
This was supposed to give him direction. He finally knows where he’s going to spend the next few years of his life. And maybe a few more years after that. He wonders if Blake can see him right now, if he’s taken one look at Elliot’s face and seen right through him. He barely remembers it after, sees a replay on TV and silently congratulates himself for looking 100% delighted and 0% terrified, when it was, in fact, the other way around.
Once he’s off the stage, someone hands him a phone and his fingers only shake the tiniest bit when he takes it.
“Elliot, I just wanted to say welcome to the Ravens,” says someone extremely French-Canadian on the other end of the line.
Jacob Desjardins. Captain.
Elliot is glad that he managed to remember his name. He thanks him, tries to retain all the information he’s given during that two-minute phone call and forgets everything as soon as he’s said goodbye.
He’s whisked away to take pictures with the Wildcats’ first rounder, Yuri Petrov, who looks about as lost and confused as Elliot feels, and David Santana, who was selected third by the Connecticut Cardinals and who looks so delighted to be here that Elliot finds himself smiling when Santana pats his back in passing.
That could have been him.
Elliot could have just as well gone to Hartford. He tried not to think about it before, didn’t want to pick a favorite, because he didn’t want to end up being disappointed, but he can’t help but wonder now how Blake would feel if Elliot had gone to the Cardinals. He gave Blake a Zach Goldman shirt for his birthday once and he wore it so much that it literally fell apart. The Cardinals aren’t a bad team. They got their pick in a trade and Elliot might have had a better chance to at least make the playoffs with them, but the Ravens have potential, too, especially if they make the right moves in free agency. They have already signed a new coach for next season and they have drafted some good players during the last couple of years, so Elliot is tentatively excited.
Blake finds him later and hugs him and Elliot doesn’t want to let go, wants to pull him with him, but last night in that stairwell was the last time. Elliot’s stomach
