The walk back to Arlo’s flat is awkward and wet. The light summer drizzle that had started earlier in the evening had turned into a full-blown rainstorm that had soaked the boys through. Elijah laments the fact that he doesn’t have a jumper or jacket to offer the shivering, underdressed detective beside him, instead, he offers the warmth of friendly banter which, suffice to say, is not received particularly well. For the entire duration of the walk, Arlo was struggling with what he was doing; meeting with and taking home a witness in an ongoing case was bad enough - not to mention it was his first case and he was being highly monitored at all times - but to also only be doing so because of the tiniest of gut feelings about him was borderline insane. After about fifteen minutes of zero reciprocation, Elijah gives up his witty attempts at friendship and walks quietly the rest of the way.
Approaching the block of flats, Arlo breaks the silence, “This is my building. I’m afraid I live on the fourth floor and the lift isn’t working, so I hope you’re prepared for some exercise.” Elijah groans and chuckles.
“I just swore off exercise forever after my long-ass run today.”
“You run?” It was the first time Arlo had looked at him since he found him and it made Elijah’s ears blush. Thank god for long hair and the cover of night.
“Sometimes.” He stutters a little, and he can almost swear he sees Arlo crack a tiny smile before he looks away again.
Climbing the four flights of stairs is largely uneventful, apart from Elijah tripping, almost falling flat on his face, and Arlo trying and failing at coving up a laugh. They pass a twenty-something year old girl on the second floor rifling through her bag to find her flat keys, holding a phone between her ear and shoulder. Elijah thinks he overhears something notable, but Arlo’s walking too fast for him to slow down and process. They finally reach the fourth floor and Arlo pulls a key out of his pocket to unlock flat 4C. Watching the detective walk in and drop his keys on the coffee table, Elijah stands in the doorway, still dripping wet.
“You can come in.” Arlo says over his shoulder, sensing Elijah’s hesitation.
“Um, your floor-”
“Will dry. Just avoid the rug. I’ll find you a towel or something.” Arlo disappears into the only other room in the flat - the bedroom, Elijah supposes - and reemerges with a large grey towel. “Here.” He says, passing the towel to Elijah who takes it readily.
“Thanks.” Elijah replies, scrunching the ends of his hair into the towel.
“I’m going to go change, I’ll see if I have anything you can wear while your clothes dry. Make yourself at home.” As Arlo disappears back into his bedroom, Elijah takes the opportunity to look around the small space he had been brought back to.
The shades of grey and blue in the room did well to hide the small breaks in the facade, but, looking closer, Elijah could make out the bright colours of the Monopoly and Operation boxes hidden behind a half-closed cabinet door, and the magical glint of the small glass dragon statuettes pushed too far back on the very top shelf of the bookcase, which also hid a pristine copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland amongst the countless dark and gritty crime novels. Elijah runs his hand along the back of the old leather sofa but doesn’t dare sit down. His jeans felt three times heavier than usual because of the waterlogging, and he was sure that Arlo wouldn’t appreciate a soggy settee. He moves to the kitchen, making note of the exact type of coffee Arlo drinks, and stares at the refrigerator. There’s a single item stuck to the front of it with a touristy London skyline magnet, and it makes Elijah’s heart ache. A photograph of four people, two adults and two children, huddled together in front of the London Eye. They’re all dressed in brightly coloured raincoats and their red faces are smiling and joyful despite the thunderstorm that’s clearly taking place. A beautiful family moment in the midst of what looked like a shitty day, just like a diamond in the rough. The ache in his chest refuses to shift. Elijah frowns and tries to think back to the last time he had a family photo on the fridge.
It was Christmas of 2011 and he had just finished helping his mother decorate their tree. Father had just put the angel on top when he called for everyone to take a photo around it. Mother set up the camera on a timer and kept running back and forth, checking the photos were coming out alright. “This one’s too blurry. This one’s too high up. Luke, for Pete’s sake, you blinked. Keep your children under control, Michael!” On and on it went, it felt like the twelve days of Christmas were spent solely in front of that camera. Eventually, though, she got a photo she was happy with, and it was printed and put on the fridge right between the electric bill and the weekly shopping list. Elijah spent a lot of time staring at that photo that night. His grandfather looked half asleep and his brother still blinked in the end, but it brought him some comfort, even if it was a lie. The photo didn’t stay on the fridge for long, it mustn't have even been twenty-four hours, now it burned a hole in Elijah’s pocket, where it hasn’t been unfolded, or even glanced at, for twelve years.
Elijah’s train of thought is abruptly interrupted by Arlo once again reentering the room, this time dressed in black sweatpants and a burgundy Sherlock Holmes t-shirt, barefoot and hair still damp. They lock eyes momentarily before Arlo averts his gaze anxiously, scratching the back of his hair in his usual nervous manner.
“I’ve left some old clothes in the bathroom, you can go get changed and hang your wet clothes up on the shower rail to dry.” Arlo says, motioning toward the bedroom. Elijah smiles warmly, finding the other’s sheepish disposition quite charming, and obediently walks past him into the bedroom. He was surprised to discover that this room mirrored the last. He had hoped that where Arlo slept would be a more personal reflection of his true self, but all Elijah saw was more grey, more blue, and more facades. Scanning the room for the door to the en-suite bathroom, he notices the detective’s badge and gun discarded on top of the dresser. It was nice to know that he wasn’t seen as that much of a threat since Arlo didn’t have his firearm glued to his hip. Although, some may have called that poor character judgement.
There was a small pile of neatly folded clothes on the side of the bathtub; some grey jogging bottoms and a lilac t-shirt with a rather faded retro gaming pattern. Laid on top of the pile were also a fresh pair of black socks that Elijah was amused to find had tiny images of bunnies printed on the sides. Quickly changing into the dry clothes, he finally looks in the mirror and examines the dripping, scruffy reflection that looks back at him. His brunette hair had gotten darker due to the moisture, his greys now practically invisible, and the wavy, curly locks he had woken up with were now straight and tangled. He twisted his hair between his hands and rung out as much of the residual water as he could into the sink. He runs his fingers through his hair, combing the tangles free to the best of his ability, and sighs at his reflection. Deciding that the image isn’t going to get any neater, he leaves his wet clothes hung on the shower curtain rail, and exits the bathroom.
Arlo’s boiling the kettle when Elijah reemerges. He looks over his shoulder at the now-dry stranger in his living room and briefly considers admitting that this was all a huge mistake and kicking him back out onto the street. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking of every possible way this scenario could backfire from the moment he invited Elijah in, but he was always a curious sort, and the mystery surrounding one Mr Elijah Asher was just too tempting to discard so carefreely when he had been presented such a perfect opportunity to potentially solve it. Arlo catches himself staring a little too long and quickly turns his head back to the kettle.
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“Coffee?” He asks, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet above his head.
“Got any tea?” The smile plastered on Elijah’s face whenever he was around Arlo was evident in his voice, every word sounded so pleasant and comfortable, as if they had been having chats over tea and coffee their whole lives. It made Arlo feel a mix of emotions he couldn’t seem to untangle and analyse, so he ignored it.
“No, sorry, I don’t drink it.”
“How very un-British of you, an incredible disappointment, truly.” Elijah closes his eyes and pulls a face in mock disgust which coaxes a small smile out of Arlo. Opening his eyes, he sees Arlo still looking at him somewhat expectantly, and mirrors his smile, “I’ve never had coffee.”
“You’ve never had coffee?” Arlo splutters in response, clearly taken aback. Once again turning back to the kettle, he sets to work filling both of the mugs with coffee grounds and milk. “There are a lot of odd things about you Elijah Asher, but that takes the cake by far.”
“Eli.” The tone of Elijah’s voice has shifted so quickly that it sends a shiver down Arlo’s spine. “Just Eli, please, Arlo.” Hearing Elijah use his first name for the second time that night makes Arlo hesitate before taking a deep breath and carrying the two mugs over to the coffee table. He looks at Elijah’s face and instantly he’s hit with a pang of regret. His usual optimistic demeanour seemed to have been replaced with one much more exhausted and sombre. It was the same expression Arlo had seen flash across Elijah’s face in the tea shop, only now it lasted longer than just a fleeting moment.
“I apologise, I’ll do my best to remember.” They exchange small, sad smiles and Arlo scratches the back of his hair. “Come, sit.”
As Elijah joins him on the sofa and cradles his mug in both his hands, periodically bringing it to his lips and gently blowing the steam away, the pounding in Arlo’s chest and that familiar churn of anxiety in his stomach starts to ease. He finds himself examining Elijah in excruciating detail, mentally cataloguing every aspect of the mysterious stranger he had brought home. He had, of course, already done this to an extent when they had met for the first time at the tea shop, but that was Arlo’s job, that was merely observing a witness. This? This was curious, intimate, like analysing a particularly compelling photograph of a legendary beast in the rural outskirts of northern Scandinavia. Needless to say, Arlo was more than a little captivated by Elijah. Needless to say, it was not unreciprocated. Arlo’s thought process, however, is interrupted by a sudden spluttering from across the sofa where Elijah was grimacing and holding his tongue between his teeth, clearly disgusted at the taste of the liquid in his cup. Arlo presses his lips together and the corners twitch up briefly as he stifles his laugh.
“It’s, um, interesting.” Elijah says as he sets his mug back down onto the coffee table.
“And now the truth?” Arlo’s still examining Elijah’s face, amused. Elijah grins sheepishly.
“I would rather drink puddle water.”
“Well,” Arlo cocks his head toward one of the windows, “it is raining.” They share a bemused grin for a mere second before Arlo hurriedly averts his gaze and busies himself with his mug of coffee.
Breaching the topic of who on earth Eli even was was a more difficult task than Arlo had first assumed; the possible outcomes were building up in his mind and the majority of them weren’t great. As the anxiety pounded in his ears, he could hear Eli babbling on about something. Maybe tea? He didn’t know, he wasn’t listening. Finally, he spoke,
“Why don’t you have a phone?” Elijah stops, mid-sentence, and affixes Arlo with a slightly confused stare. A few awkward seconds go by and there’s no response. If there was no other outcome to this conversation, Arlo at least now knew how to finally shut Eli up. He swallows the lump in his throat and continues, “Why don’t you have a wallet, or any money?” By this point, Eli isn’t even staring at Arlo anymore, it’s almost as if there was a big hole in his head and he’s staring right through him. A few more seconds go by, “Elijah?”
“Eli.” His sudden growl takes Arlo by surprise. Everything in him says to back off, but instead, he sits straight and holds Eli’s now-steely glare.
“That. What’s that about?” More silence. Arlo takes a deep breath and rethinks his approach. Softer, he says, “You are in my house because I’m guessing you had nowhere else to go. I’m risking my career and my reputation just bringing you back here, let alone having coffee with you. I think I deserve some kind of answer.” The expression on Eli’s face softens. Arlo can immediately pinpoint a certain sadness in his eyes and he swears he can see him start to tear up. Eli adjusts his posture and finally looks away, into his lap.
“My family weren’t very nice people.” He’s quiet, quieter than Arlo had ever heard him before. It was almost terrifying.
“Weren’t?”
“Weren’t.” Eli nods slowly before continuing, “I haven’t seen any of them since I was twelve.” Arlo blinks slowly and tries to mask the immense feeling of dread pooling in his chest.
“So you’ve been alone since-”
“Since I was a kid, yes.”
“And you don’t like your name because… it reminds you of them?” A whisper of a smirk appears on Eli’s face, but that, still, was shrouded in despair.
“Are you religious?”
“I, uh-” Arlo stutters, clearly taken aback by the seemingly left-field question, “-I was raised Christian I guess, but we only ever went to church once a year, and I’m pretty sure that was just because my dad wanted the free food at Christmas mass, and-” Arlo takes a breath and feels a quiet sense of relief as he hears a slight chuckle from across the sofa. He smiles sheepishly and recomposes himself. “No. I’m not really religious. Not any more.”
“Well,” Eli starts, the brief lightheartedness fizzling away and being replaced once again with melancholy, “my family were extremely Catholic; Church every morning, bible study before bed, Jesus on pretty much every wall in the house, you get it.” Arlo gives a small nod in acknowledgement and Eli continues, “One day, at Sunday school, we learnt about marriage and how love only exists between a man and a woman, blah blah blah, all of the standard stuff you desperately need to know at seven years old, of course.” Eli rolls his eyes, “That same lesson got drilled into us again and again for years, and I never understood it. Why on earth did I have to marry a girl when boys were just so much prettier?”
At that sudden declaration, Arlo realises he’s staring at the ends of Eli’s damp hair, watching them slowly curl, and hastily averts his attention back to his coffee mug, desperately pretending there was no subtle flush upon his face.
“So that’s exactly what I asked my priest.” Arlo halts, mid sip, and his eyes shoot back up to Eli’s in horror.
“You told your priest you were gay?” Eli’s sad smile is all the confirmation Arlo needs.
“I was only nine. He called my father right there and then. I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal.” Arlo hesitates, terrified to ask the question bubbling in his mind as he was certain he already knew the answer.
“What did your father do?” The pain in Eli’s eyes was too much to bear. The question felt damning coming out of his lips and the regret welled up in his chest. Eli’s eyes shine with the threat of tears as he attempts to formulate an answer.
“When I got home that afternoon he…” Eli trails off as he chokes back a lump in his throat and then straightens his back. “He was a really violent alcoholic, let’s put it that way. My brother stopped speaking to me and my mother decided that I’d be better locked away in the attic so that I didn’t infect the whole family with the plague of homosexuality.” Eli scoffs amusedly through his tears that were now trailing down his face. Arlo couldn’t help but admire his relentless ability to put even the tiniest of witty spins on the darkest of conversations.
“Why didn’t you play along to save yourself the pain? Pretend you were “cured” and play straight until you could leave?”
Eli’s eyes finally met Arlo’s once again. “Why should I have to?”
The question hung in the air leaving a piercing silence between the two for what felt like an eternity. Eli was the first to break it. “Anyway… when I turned twelve I overheard my parents planning to send me away somewhere for conversion therapy. I ran away a few days later.”
“I’m… so sorry.” Arlo felt like his heart and stomach had hit the floor. Suddenly he wasn’t so suspicious of this poor man sitting in front of him.
All he felt was heartbroken.