Page 1 of Pistols and Plush Toys

Elliot startled awake at the vibration of his smartwatch going off under the comforter, asleep to awake in seconds as the watch buzzed on his wrist. He quickly slipped his other hand under the covers to turn it off, heart pounding as he desperately hoped he’d gotten to it in time before—

The room was silent. He made himself turn to look at his boyfriend, Mattia, on the bed beside him. In the dark of the room he could just see the slow rise and fall of Mattia’s chest, his body still. Asleep.

The tense ball of anxiety in Elliot’s chest eased just enough to breathe. Okay. It was okay. He hadn’t woken him.

Mattia hated, hated to be woken up before he needed to get up.

He worked long hours, often late into the night, and there was no surer way to put him in a mood than to interrupt his sleep.

He’d smashed three phones before Elliot had gotten up the courage to ask Mattia for a watch.

Something that could still wake Elliot up on time, but not disturb his boyfriend.

Mattia had agreed, even if he’d rolled his eyes at the request. He’d brought home a brand new, top-of-the-line smartwatch the next day, handing it over after Elliot had properly thanked him for it.

Slowly, carefully, Elliot slid out the other side of the bed, grateful as always for the ridiculous price tag on the mattress because the thick luxury foam allowed Elliot to escape without transferring motion.

The bedroom had timered blackout shades, so despite it being after sunrise, the room was very dark. Elliot had navigated this room for four years now, so he was able to walk almost blind to the door without knocking into anything.

He reached for the handle, heart still pounding as he carefully turned it so that the click was near inaudible. Then he opened the door and slipped out in one quick, practiced movement.

The daylight in the hallway burned as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Elliot sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. The large penthouse windows running all the way down the hall gave him a stunning look at the early morning city skyline, and he stood there for half a minute just to acclimate to the sun.

He couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate the view anymore, no matter how expensive. Instead, he’d come to hate the big windows, the blinding sunlight that burned every time he slipped out of the too-dark bedroom.

When he could see without his eyes watering, Elliot took the stairs down to the second bath on the lower floor. He’d relocated all of his personal things to the second bathroom years ago so he could get ready in the morning without bothering Mattia.

Elliot stopped at what was once a storage closet and was now his wardrobe, thumbing through the options before sighing.

He didn’t own any clothing he was really comfortable in anymore, because Mattia had certain ideas about how Elliot should dress.

Elliot had learned early on that it wasn’t worth picking fights about, but it did mean that he had precious little that was appropriate for him to wear to work.

Tight designer jeans and logo T-shirts had no place in the family-owned diner Mattia allowed Elliot to cook in, if only because Elliot spent half his shift terrified he’d accidentally stain something.

He knew from shopping with Mattia just how expensive his clothing was.

He also knew how angry Mattia would be if Elliot ruined any of them.

Finally, he selected a pair of dark wash jeans and a black T-shirt.

The shirt still had Gucci emblazoned across the front, and Elliot was well aware that coupled with the jeans, the pair cost more than his monthly salary.

He hated it, hated the logos, hated to be wearing so much money that was so easily ruined, but it hadn’t ended well for him the few times he’d tentatively asked if he could have some plainer things to wear, even if just for work.

“You want me to look stupid? Like I can’t dress you? For fuck’s sake, I’m giving you nice things, since when did you become such an ungrateful bitc—”

Elliot’s phone was waiting for him in the bathroom, plugged in and charged. He flicked through the notifications briefly, but there was nothing of note. No phone calls from anyone, no texts, no social media messages.

Once upon a time Elliot had had friends. A social life. It hadn’t been anything exciting, but Elliot hadn’t needed exciting. He’d often gone out with Xander and Ivy and Joaquin after a long shift at Melrose, just to share meals and grievances and plans for the future.

It’d been a long time since any of them had texted him to invite him out. When he’d left Melrose, he’d been so busy with Mattia’s schedule that he’d had to turn down invite after invite. Eventually the texts had stopped coming. Elliot couldn’t blame anyone for it but himself.

He sighed and stripped for the shower.

As usual, he spent a long time under the spray. He cleaned himself but also prepped himself too, just in case. There was never any telling when Mattia would want him, but a lack of preparation had come back to bite him more than a few times.

Mattia cared about cleanliness, tidiness. His whole apartment was a mausoleum to minimalism in clean lines and empty space. Everything about him was neat, and when Elliot messed with that, there was hell to pay.

The few times Elliot hadn’t been ready when Mattia had wanted him, just home from the diner, sweaty and smelly, Mattia had dragged him to the shower, berating him the whole time.

I don’t have time for this, he’d hissed, carelessly fingering Elliot open under the spray. Then he’d take Elliot rough as punishment.

It was just… best to be prepared.

When Elliot was clean, he turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower. He dried and tried to avoid his own reflection, but caught himself looking anyway.

His reflection frowned. He looked… tired. Worn.

Here he was in a beautiful apartment, all of his needs cared for, and on the arm of a successful, impressive man.

So why did he look so haggard?

It was no wonder Mattia had been so short tempered with him lately. Mattia cared about how things looked. About how he looked. Mattia had made it no secret that one of the big reasons he was with Elliot was because he was pretty .

Was he letting himself go?

He didn’t think he looked like the Elliot of four years ago. Didn’t even look like the Elliot of a year ago.

He touched his cheek and winced at the hollow there.

The gauntness in his face. Mattia asked so little of him for all he provided, but Elliot kept failing to live up to his end of the bargain.

Something had changed in him, and Elliot was no longer that pretty, interesting partner on Mattia's arm anymore.

Now he was a constant burden that Mattia put up with, because Mattia loved him.

Elliot had no idea why he’d suddenly become incapable of handling even basic small-talk at parties or dinners. Mattia was important and he saw a lot of important people. His job was about connections, about appearance. Mattia had made that so clear to him.

“I’m a salesman, baby. Antiques are all about style, so that’s what my clients expect. If I don’t look serious, they won’t take me serious, capisci?”

Elliot understood. It was just… exhausting. Mattia's friends all seemed to look down on him or ignore him like he was an annoyance. It was hard to keep a smile when he felt like everyone else didn’t want him around.

But then again, Mattia’s friends all probably knew that Elliot wasn’t good enough for Mattia. So Elliot supposed he really couldn’t blame them.

He pulled on his clothes with a vicious anger at himself. He didn’t know what his fucking problem was. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just get all of this right . Mattia was so straightforward with him all the time about what he wanted. What he expected.

Once dressed, Elliot opened the drawer where his makeup lived. He dotted some concealer over the dark circles under his eyes.

It helped, somewhat.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked better for the shower and the makeup, but there was still a worn look to him, like a threadbare sweater that was close to unraveling.

Elliot couldn’t help but feel like a failure. People dreamed about marrying a man like Mattia. The riches, the fame. This was supposed to be it.

So why did he feel like he was sabotaging himself? Like he kept failing in the hopes Mattia would finally be done with him?

“Fuck,” he mumbled to his mirror self.

Who got this lucky and then ruined it?

He met his eyes in the mirror. They looked flat. Dead.

Elliot Brooks, that was who.

***

After a quick check to see if Mattia was still sleeping, Elliot headed for the kitchen. On the way he passed through the living room, and his eyes automatically went to his backpack lying on the couch. His hands itched to grab for it, but he made himself keep moving.

He couldn’t–he couldn’t do that now.

Mattia made enough money to hire a chef, but between Elliot’s background in the culinary arts and Mattia's famous distrust of strangers in his home, Elliot made most of their meals.

Or at least, he tried.

Was Mattia off today? Elliot shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

If he made food, and Mattia wasn’t going to be up soon, he’d be annoyed later to find the food cold.

But if Elliot didn’t at least try to make breakfast, Mattia would wake up and accuse Elliot of not making him food before he had to rush off to work.

Elliot’s fingertips drummed against the marble countertop.

He hated not knowing what the right answer was.

Other people seemed to understand relationships so easily, like they had some kind of inherent knowledge on how these things worked.

Elliot, as he’d learned since moving in with Mattia, did not.