Elliot hesitated. “Yes.”
“He came specially to say good-bye to you,” Golden said, more politely, but his tone also questioned Elliot’s intelligence. “I do not know if you are not interested, or protecting yourself, but you cannot guard yourself against the whole world. You only succeed in placing a barrier between yourself and the world.” He hesitated. “I know that from personal experience.”
It was the first crack Golden had let himself show Elliot, in his ivory-and-gold fa?ade: it was the first time Golden had shown Elliot that Golden wished to be known. Elliot appreciated that Golden wanted to be friends. He wondered what hurts Golden’s world had inflicted on him, and how they were different from the wounds the world had inflicted on Elliot, and Serene, and even Luke.
Elliot hoped he would get to know Golden better. But he had something to do first.
He shut up his book and pushed it away.
“I think I’ll go say a proper good-bye to Luke.”
The patient silence of his library mates indicated they thought that would be for the best.
They were right, Elliot thought. If he was not inherently unlovable, if he had not chosen someone who would never want him as much as he wanted them, then he had to take the risk and try. He had to trust that they would both try.
It was terrifying. It was what people did, all the time, on both sides of the Border.
Elliot lingered a little longer, out of panic, and addressed Serene. “I’ll give Luke your love, shall I?”
“He knows he always has my love,” said Serene. “So should you, by now. Go tell him something he does not know.”
She gave Elliot her small, almost imperceptible smile. It felt like a blessing.
“All right,” said Elliot, and ran out of the library.
There was frost on the ground, but Elliot felt the ice breaking under his feet as he dashed around the towers and cabins, down the dirt path to the gates where elves and humans were mounting up in preparation to go. Luke was already on his horse, scanning the horizon. There was a knot of people between them, checking saddlebags and saying good-byes, defying Elliot’s attempts to weave through them.
“Excuse me, sweetheart,” said Elliot. “Darling? A moment of your time? Sugarplum? Sugargrape? Sugarassortedfruitsandvegetables?”
Luke did not even turn his head.
“HEY, LOSER!” said Elliot.
“Elliot,” Luke said at once, looking around and then jumping easily off his horse. “What are you doing here?”
Just the truth, Elliot reminded himself. Not what he thought someone else wanted to hear, or what he thought would protect himself. Just the truth, and trusting that someone else would care to hear it.
He took a deep breath. “Just came to say good-bye,” he said. “And . . . I’ll miss you.”
It was absurd to feel like this, both embarrassed and too vulnerable. Luke was his boyfriend.
“Yeah?”
Luke’s voice scratched on the word. Elliot wondered what Luke would say if Elliot told him that Elliot thought Luke was extremely good-looking and that Elliot was terrified of losing him. He feared Luke would assume Elliot had head trauma.
Elliot probably would have to have head trauma to get that out. Luke was able to pay Elliot compliments, even though they came out with the clumsy force of insults or missiles. Luke was, Elliot thought, better at this than he was. Which made perfect sense: Elliot might have had a boyfriend and a girlfriend before, but Luke had been loved his whole life.
Elliot wanted to get better at this than he was. He wanted to learn how.
There were people all around: supercilious elven warriors, the commander watching with an expression both wry and judgemental.
“Yeah,” Elliot said, stepping up to Luke. “Take care of yourself. Don’t get hurt. Seriously, I know better than to ask for no heroics, but if it comes down to it, consider leaving someone else to die. For me.”
Luke pretended to consider it, for a minute. “Nah.”
“Well, okay,” said Elliot. “Just be careful, then.”
He took hold of Luke’s upper arms, pulled him towards Elliot and kissed him good-bye, the way he should have kissed him in the library. Luke relaxed against him, soldier’s muscles loose under Elliot’s hands, soldier’s discipline gone for a long thoughtless thrilling moment. It took Elliot another moment to open his eyes and realize the sudden shade and warmth came from Luke’s wings, which had not been out before.
“Um,” Luke said. “I’m very embarrassed. Please go.”
Elliot patted him on the shoulder. “Terribly sorry about all of this. Everybody is looking at you. Have fun with the elves.”
He pushed a wing affectionately aside and headed back toward the camp. Elliot looked over his shoulder and saw Luke already looking after him, Luke’s expression still startled but undeniably, transparently pleased by this turn of events.
Elliot enjoyed the warm glow for about half a second when he saw the other cadets who had come to say good-bye following him. In the lead was Dale Wavechaser. His face was set in stony lines, hard in a way Elliot had never seen him look before.
Dale caught up to Elliot. Elliot let him. They walked alongside each other in silence for a while.
The other cadets were hanging back, as if kept off by a forcefield of awkwardness.
“You and Luke,” Dale said at last.
“Ah,” Elliot responded, brilliantly. “Yeah.”
“So I guess you really liked him, all along,” Dale said. “I mean . . . you said as much.”
Elliot caught himself looking around, paranoid, as if he had committed a crime and he was scared someone would see. He crushed the guilty impulse, and nodded.
“And I guess . . .” Dale’s voice was heavy now, like footsteps dragging to an unwanted destination, “he always liked you.”
Elliot opened his mouth to deny this vehemently and completely, to say that he had never been wanted or wished-for, but he remembered Luke last night, telling him about the play, and shut his mouth again.
“And where does all this leave me?” Dale asked. His voice was bitter. “Aside from feeling like a complete idiot.”
Elliot kept walking silently beside Dale and tried to sort it out, the conflicted mess of not caring about someone else enough. He was not used to being the one who cared less, and having to admit all this to himself: that he had hurt Dale, both intentionally and unintentionally, that Dale had genuinely cared about him and been kind to him, that he still did not find Dale interesting to talk to, that he still did not want to associate with Dale or anyone else who thought about Luke or Myra the way Dale did.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Doesn’t change much, does it?”
It didn’t.
Dale sighed, and was kind for the last time. “Don’t worry about it, Schafer. I’ll be fine.”