[ The thing is that Eliot has been looking for Adrian. Hasn't been able to sleep right since that time in the motel all those months ago. There's a black hole where his memories should be, but that doesn't stop his mind from trying to fill in the gaps. Especially since though Eliot never went to college he can put the ache in his knuckles together with the bruises on Adrian's face and come out with a halfway decent answer.

(And sometimes, when he dreams he sees—)

So he's been looking for him. Just to see whether— Just to see. Maybe get some answers. Texting got him nowhere, just polite nothing answers, like Eliot wasn't even worth the time of day. Which means that it should be a good thing, finding him here, now. Looking at him and knowing that Eliot didn't— that he's fine. A good thing that this time Eliot's there to help him, and not— anything else.

But no. Eliot grunts as his back hits the wall, injuries flaring, grunts again as Adrian's magic seeps into him, fills him like an overbrimming cup, so sweet it his teeth ache with it. Adrian's here, but instead of answers he's got Adrian yelling in his face, and it's like his anger is the spark that kindles his own. ]

Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Am I supposed to keep fucking walking? You were seconds away from being gutted.

[ His voice has been rising this entire time, anger at Adrian and at himself—inexplicably because he was helping, what the fuck else was he supposed to do?—churning inside him. And now Adrian is crying because of him and suddenly he can't stand Adrian's hand on him—

deep breaths. put your hand on mine.

—so he slaps it away. Can't stand his back up against the wall so he flips it, pushes Adrian into it instead, hand fisted in his top. ]

But let me guess, it's none of my business, right? Well maybe if everything wasn't a fucking secret with you I'd have known what I was walking into. You ever fucking think of that?