The TV blared, Elliot's face, so damn handsome, so damn composed, filling the small apartment. Jonah stared, his gut twisting into a hard knot. Each word Elliot spoke – "fabricated," "photoshopped," "smear campaign", felt like a punch. He felt the familiar burn of anger, but underneath, a colder dread settled in. He grabbed his phone, his hand shaking so badly he almost dropped it. He jabbed at Elliot's number.
The press conference buzz still vibrated in Elliot's ears. Reporters swarmed, hungry for a soundbite, their cameras flashing like a relentless storm. He plastered on a polite smile, mumbled an excuse about needing to take a call, and slipped through the door, grateful for the momentary escape.
Seeing Jonah’s name on his phone made his stomach clench. He hesitated, then answered, his voice tight.
"Jonah," he said, trying to sound calm.
"Elliot," Jonah's voice crackled with fury, "I just saw the press conference."
"Jonah," Elliot sighed, "I can explain—"
"Explain what?" Jonah cut him off, his voice rising. "Explain how you stood there, in front of everyone, and lied? Denied *us*?"
"I didn't have a choice," Elliot said, the familiar excuse rising to his lips. "My father—"
"Your father?" Jonah scoffed. "Always your father! When are you going to grow a spine and stand up for yourself? For *us*?"
"I'm trying," Elliot whispered, his voice laced with desperation. "I'm trying to find a way—"
"A way to what, Elliot?" Jonah demanded. "A way to have it all? Your perfect life *and* me on the side?"
"That's not how it is," Elliot protested, his voice shaking. "I want to be with you, Jonah. I do. But I need time. I need to figure things out."
"Figure things out?" Jonah gave a harsh, broken laugh. "While I wait? While I watch you play house with Clara on TV?"
"It's not like that!" Elliot insisted. "I'm coming to see you. Now. I'll explain everything."
"Don't bother," Jonah said, his voice flat, dead. "I don't want to see you, Elliot. Not now, not ever." He hung up, leaving Elliot in stunned silence. Jonah turned back to the TV, Elliot's face still there, a mask of practiced sincerity.
He switched it off, the sudden silence amplifying the ache in his chest. He felt hollowed out, betrayed.
The drive was a blur of streetlights and blurry images.
Elliot’s thoughts were a chaotic mess, replaying Jonah’s anger, his finality. He *had* to see him. He had to make him understand. He couldn’t lose him.
He parked haphazardly, ignoring the stares, and ran up the stairs, his breath ragged. He didn’t knock; he just pushed the door open, his eyes scanning the small apartment.
Jonah was on the couch, curled into himself. His face was pale, his eyes red and swollen.
"Jonah," Elliot breathed. Jonah looked up, his face a mask of pain. "What do you want, Elliot?" "I had to see you," Elliot said, taking a step closer. "I had to explain." "Explain what, exactly?" Jonah asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"How you lied to everyone? How you made me look like a fool?" "They weren't all lies," Elliot pleaded, sinking onto the couch beside him. "Not completely. I care about Clara. But it’s different. It’s not… it’s not *you*."
"Oh, it's *different*?" Jonah scoffed. "So, what am I to you, Elliot? A secret? A dirty little secret you can sneak off to when it suits you?"
"No!" Elliot’s voice cracked. "God, Jonah, no. You're… you're everything to me. You're the only one who sees me, really sees me." He reached out, his hand hovering over Jonah’s arm. Jonah flinched, but didn't pull away.
"I know I screwed up," Elliot said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I know I hurt you. But please, Jonah, believe me. I never meant to. I panicked. I was scared." "You could have told the truth," Jonah whispered. "I know," Elliot said, his own voice barely audible.
"And I will. I promise. Just… not yet. I need to find a way. A way to do this without… without everything falling apart." He looked at Jonah, his eyes desperate. "Please, Jonah. Don't give up on me. Don't give up on us."
"Let me make it up to you at least just for tonight." Elliot begged. The silence hung heavy in the air. Jonah looked at Elliot, really looked at him. He saw the fear in his eyes, the raw vulnerability. And beneath it all, he saw the love.
The real, undeniable love that he knew was there. He let out a shaky breath. He knew he couldn’t just shut Elliot out. Not completely. He still loved him, damn it. But things were different now. Broken. He reached out, his hand meeting Elliot's.
Their fingers intertwined. "Stay," Jonah whispered.
Elliot nodded, relief washing over him. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Jonah’s. The kiss started tentative, then deepened, a desperate, hungry need taking over. It was a kiss full of apologies, longing, and a raw, aching love.
They broke apart, their breaths mingling. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal, it was all still there, simmering beneath the surface. But for this moment, it was pushed aside by something more powerful. A raw, undeniable need. Their hands moved instinctively, clothes falling away, the cool air on their skin heightening the senses. Elliot’s touch was reverent, exploring Jonah’s body like a map, his lips following the same path, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
Jonah’s hands clenched in Elliot’s hair, pulling him closer, their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. Moans escaped their lips, soft at first, then growing in intensity. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the feeling of their bodies entwined, the desperate need to connect, to find solace in each other's arms. They moved together, a slow, sensual dance, each touch, each breath, a whispered promise.
The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter, until it finally snapped, releasing a wave of pure, unadulterated passion. Cries and moans filled the small room, a testament to the raw, consuming love that bound them together.
They clung to each other, their bodies trembling, their hearts pounding in unison. In that moment, nothing else mattered. There was only the feeling of being together, of being one. The storm had passed, leaving behind a fragile peace, a silent understanding.
They lay intertwined, exhausted but content, the echoes of their passion still lingering in the air.
As they lay intertwined, the fragile peace shattered by a sharp rap on the door. Elliot tensed, his hand instinctively going to Jonah's. He glanced at Jonah, a silent question in his eyes. Before either of them could react, the door swung open. Standing there, silhouetted against the hallway light, was Clara. But her expression wasn't one of anger or betrayal. It was determined. "I know everything," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "And I'm here to help."