128- They say you’re sworn to protect, but who’s going to protect me from falling for you?
DAMIEN
Eli stares at the wreckage of the kitchen like he’s waiting for it to somehow resurrect itself.
“So… Now what?” He asks after a long, tension filled pause. I sigh. A deep, soul weary sigh. My skin itches. My hair itches. My soul itches. I’m tired, half drenched in purple sludge, there is glitter in places glitter should NEVER be and I STILL don’t have coffee. I grab the mop, sticky and sad as it is.
“Now, we clean.” I say grimly. Eli makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. We get to work in resigned silence. Well, I’m working silently. Eli is humming to himself. It’s slow going. We quickly realise the mop isn’t doing much. So we end up using dustpans and even my old coffee mug to attempt to scoop the purple sludge into buckets without spreading it even further. Every scoop leaves trails of glitter behind and I have no idea how we’re going to deal with the glitter that is covering every inch of the kitchen. Maybe I can leave it and convince everyone that someone set off a glitter bomb in the kitchen as a prank. It’s not THAT far from the truth, right? The next issue we face is how to DISPOSE of the purple goo. We end up dumping bucket after bucket of the gunk into the toilets at the end of the hall, flushing repeatedly and praying nothing horrible happens to the plumbing. If this stuff comes back up… Well then I hope it’s not while I’m working. I am more than ready for this to be someone else’s problem. At this point, it wouldn’t even surprise me if the toilet started glowing and demanded a sacrifice. I bet it would demand coffee as a sacrifice. Damn it all. There are a few items that refuse to come clean, my shirt, a few ruined towels, even a pair of mop heads. We double bag them all and haul them straight to the dumpster out back. Better to be safe. I’m not taking any chances of cursed laundry. I’ll probably throw out the rest of my clothes when I get home. Just in case. By the time we’re back in the kitchen, we’re both sweating, glittery, and exhausted. The floor is technically, kind of clean if you don’t look too closely. Which, frankly, I’m planning not to. Hopefully no one notices the purple smudges. We did our best to clean up the glitter but everyone knows that is basically an impossible task. I’m aiming for better, not perfect.
I scrub a hand through my hair and wince. It’s stiff with dried glitter, dried goo, and probably broken dreams. I don't even know if the itching is getting better or if my body’s just given up on sending signals at this point. I’m going to need the world’s longest, hottest shower to even begin to feel normal again. And the glitter? I’m pretty sure it’s officially part of me now. Like some kind of curse. Honey would probably know how to deal with this. She’s got three kids under ten. I bet she’s seen worse.
“I wonder if she has any tips for getting glitter out of hair. She’s had to deal with worse.” I say absently to myself, mostly thinking out loud. The words are barely out of my mouth before I notice it, Eli goes weirdly still beside me. His broom freezes mid sweep, his whole body stiffening like someone hit an invisible pause button. I frown, glancing at him. He’s suddenly very interested in the floor. Like it’s got the secrets of the universe printed on the tiles. Which is weird for someone who was so unenthusiastic about cleaning in the first place.
“What?” I ask, tilting my head slightly.
“You’ve met my partner. I was just wondering if she had any tricks for this disaster. Is there something wrong with that?” I press, confused by how uncomfortable he suddenly looks. It’s not the first time he’s reacted weirdly when I’ve mentioned Honey. I figured maybe they’d had an awkward first meeting or something. Honey CAN be blunt. So can Eli. Maybe one of them said something that rubbed the other the wrong way? But Eli’s never been the type to hide stuff like that. He’s usually... PAINFULLY honest about his feelings. He tells me about nearly every moment of his day. So if there was an actual problem, he would’ve said something by now. Right?
“Nothing.” Eli says too quickly, the words tripping over themselves.
“Just... You know. Good for you. That you have someone to... Uh, help you. With that. Glitter. Hair. Stuff.” He gestures vaguely toward the general disaster zone that is me. I blink at him, completely lost.
“Yeah, I mean, we’re partners. It’s normal for us to help each other out.” I respond. And that’s when I see it, the way Eli stiffens even more at the word partners. The way his hand tightens slightly around the broom handle. It’s subtle compared to Eli’s usual dramatic displays. Most people probably wouldn’t notice. But I know Eli. I’ve learned how to read him over the past few months, piecing together the small, honest tells underneath all his big, loud distractions. And this? This isn’t normal fidgeting. This isn’t casual. ‘Partner.’ The word clearly hit something deeper than it should have. I start to frown, but before I can say anything, Eli mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to catch it.
“Yeah. Must be nice. Having someone like your Honey to help you out.” He remarks. The way he says her name, flat, almost mocking, makes something in my brain click. I narrow my eyes at him, studying the stiffness in his posture, the tension in his jaw. Oh. OH. Does he know that Honey is her actual name? He thinks it’s a nickname. A pet name. He thinks… He thinks I’m dating her. The realisation hits like a punch to the gut. And suddenly, a lot of things make sense. The weird tension every time I mentioned her. The way he’s quick to change the subject. The stiffness tonight. He thought I was keeping it secret. Hiding a relationship. Maybe he thought I didn’t trust him enough to tell him? Maybe that’s why he looked so... Hurt? Because Eli's always been loud and obvious about wanting to be part of my life. About wanting in. Not just in the cases, or the work stuff, but everything. He basically declared himself my best friend a few days after we met. He’s been open about sharing his life with me and introducing me into the magical world. And if he thought I was shutting him out... I guess I can't blame him for being upset. No wonder he looked ready to bolt.
“No, no, no.” I say quickly, waving both hands.
“I think you’re misunderstanding something here. Honey is her ACTUAL name. She’s my work partner. We work the same shifts when I’m not doing overtime like tonight. She’s usually my firefighting partner. Emergency calls. Not a couple. Not anything like that.” I insist. Eli freezes mid mop, and for a second it’s like he’s buffering. Then he visibly deflates, a huge whoosh of tension bleeding out of him.
“Oh. Her name is Honey?” He repeats mildly, blinking like he’s not sure he heard me right.
“Yeah.” I shrug helplessly.
“Not a pet name. Her parents just... Named her that way, I guess.” I explain awkwardly. Eli relaxes so hard he nearly drops his mop. I narrow my eyes at him, something tugging at the edges of my mind.
“So, did you think that Honey and I were-” I start.
“Nope! Nothing!” He says way too fast, already going back to aggressively scrubbing a patch of floor that’s been clean for the last ten minutes. I watch him, shaking my head in amusement, and something warmer and sharper underneath it. Something I don't really want to name right now.
“Just so you know, Honey’s married. With kids.” I add casually.
“Okay, great!” Eli chirps, his voice way too high and way too bright. He seems lighter now. Happier. But there’s still something lingering under his forced casualness. Something real he’s still trying to shove down. I COULD push. I could ask him what he really thought. What he really wanted. But honestly? I’m too damn tired. My everything aches. My dignity’s in a dumpster somewhere, along with my ruined shirt. I’m half glitter at this point. And I STILL don’t have coffee. One crisis at a time.