He gets up, makes sure he doesn’t look too rumpled, in case it’s anyone other than Charlie outside his door, and then shuffles into the hallway.
It’s not Charlie outside his door. He should have known, because Charlie knocks.
It’s Elliot.
And he’s dripping.
“You’re all wet,” Blake says.
“It’s raining,” Elliot replies.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Blake looks at him, at the Ravens shirt plastered to his chest and the dripping curls sticking to his forehead. He looks absolutely miserable.
“I’m sorry,” Elliot says, “Some guy who felt bad for me let me in through the front door and I guess I should have called, but I was scared that you’d tell me not to come and–”
“Hey,” Blake says and tugs Elliot into his apartment. “It’s fine.”
Elliot nods, breath catching when Blake pulls him into a hug. Blake’s shirt is getting wet now, too, but he doesn’t let go for at least a few minutes. Elliot clearly needs this hug, has probably needed it ever since they lost the first game against the Knights.
Blake doesn’t say he’s sorry, because Elliot likely wouldn’t want to hear it anyway.
“Here, let’s…” Blake gently pats Elliot’s back. “Let’s find you something dry to wear and I’ll throw your stuff in the dryer. Did you walk here from the station?”
“No, I parked my car in the parking garage down the street and I didn’t have an umbrella,” Elliot mutters as he takes off his shoes.
Blake finds him a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and then gets a shirt for himself, too, because he didn’t stay dry when he hugged Elliot either.
“You want anything to eat?” Blake asks as he wanders out of his bedroom, because he’d rather not hover next to Elliot while he’s changing.
“No.”
“Water? Or a beer?”
“What time is it?”
“Not sure if that matters today,” Blake says.
“Water is fine.” Elliot comes out of Blake’s bedroom, tugging at the shirt Blake gave him, a little big on him, and Blake instantly wants to pull him in again. He leads the way into the kitchen instead.
“Ice cream?” Blake asks.
Elliot hesitates for a moment. “I guess…”
Blake nods at the freezer. “Get whatever you want.”
Elliot grabs a pint of Phish Food and a big spoon while Blake grabs them two glasses of water.
“What do you wanna do?” Blake asks.
The look Elliot shoots him is probing. “Movie?”
“Okay.”
“Can I…”
“What?” Blake asks.
Elliot shakes his head.
“What?” Blake asks again. Today Elliot can have whatever the hell he wants and Elliot probably knows that. There’s no way Blake will say no to a single thing.
“I don’t wanna go back home.”
Blake nods. Elliot can stay. Hell, he can stay for a week.
“Really?” Elliot asks.
“We have practice tomorrow, but you can stay as long as you want.”
“I’ll make you breakfast,” Elliot says.
“You don’t have to,” Blake mumbles and sits down in his favorite corner on the couch, Elliot next to him, right there, not even pretending that he’s trying to leave some space between them.
Elliot picks a movie they’ve both seen a million times, then glances at Blake, glances at the TV, then back at Blake.
“Here,” Blake says and reaches for him, pulls him closer until Elliot’s head is on his chest. His hair is still damp.
“I’m so tired of losing all the time,” Elliot whispers. “I know we’re better than this, I don’t know why we never make it.”
Blake doesn’t know what to say. For the past couple of years, the Ravens were okay. They weren’t terrible, but they weren’t great either, always only barely making the playoffs, sometimes slipping out of a wildcard spot altogether. They only made it past the first round once. It’s better than not making it at all, but Blake gets it. He would probably be hiding in bed for a week if his team got swept in the first round. He curls his fingers around the back of Elliot’s neck and drags his thumb over the soft skin there.
Elliot sniffles.
Blake doesn’t try to talk to him, leaves him be, because there’s nothing he can say anyway. The Ravens lost. It’s part of the game. And it hurts. And Elliot will get another chance next year, but next year is ages away. Blake can’t believe Elliot came to him after all this, sort of wants to ask him how he can even stand being in the same room as him right now.
He stays very still, and doesn’t realize that Elliot has fallen asleep until Angus joins them on the couch and Elliot doesn’t reach out to pet him. Blake runs his fingers through his hair for a while, grabs his phone and texts Noah.
Elliot sleeps through the entire movie and Blake isn’t really paying attention either, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram, posting another picture of Squid that he took this morning.
“Hey, Angus,” Elliot whispers, scaring the crap out of Blake.
He nearly drops his phone on Elliot’s head.
“Did I just… nap on you?” Elliot sits up and tugs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping and I–”
“It’s okay,” Blake says quickly. “Hungry?”
Elliot nods. “You know,” he says, “I think you owe me fifty dumplings.”
“You want those today?” Blake asks.
“Nah, I think I can wait,” Elliot says and gently pats Blake’s chest, then pulls his hand away and sits up.
Blake almost wants to pull him back against him. “I’ll throw something together for dinner, okay?”
“Do you mind if I cook?”
“Um… if you want to?”
So he ends up watching Elliot dig through his kitchen, putting together a stir-fry, shooing Blake away every time he asks if he can help, giving him the evil eye – which is not very evil in Elliot’s case – every time he tries to steal raw vegetables from Elliot’s cutting board.
“Careful,” Elliot
