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“We are still friends,” said Glorfindel. “But – ”

“But?”

“I need…I don’t need labels,” said Glorfindel in a rush. “I just need to know that we can keep figuring this out, keep trying this. And that…that as we figure things out, neither of us will…end up with someone else?”

Ecthelion laughed. “Who on earth would I end up with?”

“I don’t know.” Despite the real anxiety in his voice, Glorfindel was grinning, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I know those USMC guys are hot, so I could understand if you were tempted - ”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Ecthelion leant forward and caught Glorfindel’s lips in a kiss.

Glorfindel kissed him back with his usual enthusiasm, but when Ecthelion moved his head to mouth at Glorfindel’s neck, Glorfindel pulled back. “Ah. You haven’t actually responded, though.”

“To what?” Ecthelion was distracted; Glorfindel smelled almost illegally good, and it was fogging his brain.

“While we’re figuring this out, you won’t end up with someone else?” Glorfindel said it evenly, but his cheeks were turning red.

“Oh! No, of course not.” Ecthelion brushed a loop of hair behind Glorfindel’s ear, his fingers lingering on the fine golden strands.

“Okay, good.” Glorfindel grinned again, looking relieved. “Same here, obviously. God damn it, I wish you weren’t leaving again though. What timing, right?”

“We can text and write,” said Ecthelion, sliding closer to Glorfindel and putting an arm around his waist. “And Skype. So I can see you.” His voice went low, and he bent his head so that his lips brushed Glorfindel’s shoulder.

Glorfindel shivered. “Yeah, I’m not about to give up seeing you in fatigues.”

“I can accommodate you there.”

They sat together for the remaining 45 minutes they had until Ecthelion’s bus arrived, tucked away on a bench just out of sight; talking some and kissing more, and Ecthelion never once let go of his grip on Glorfindel’s waist. Glorfindel was laughing at him, leaning his head against Ecthelion’s, murmuring jokes and trying to make Ecthelion smile. At one point Glorfindel’s hand slid up Ecthelion’s thigh and then hesitated as Ecthelion caught his breath and looked quickly around. The bus station was quiet but not entirely empty.

“We shouldn’t,” he said quietly, though he had to shift against the uncomfortable tightness of his pants. Not only would it be far too easy to get caught, but if they got interrupted, it would be far more frustrating to have to stop than to never start.

“You’re right,” said Glorfindel, and his fingers squeezed Ecthelion’s thigh for a moment before letting him go. “Not the place, eh?” His voice was jovial enough, but Ecthelion ached at the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

“Against the uniform code,” said Ecthelion, trying for levity, even as he remembered all the things they’d been told not to do while in uniform, and he started counting the number of violations he'd accrued. “They definitely told us no below waist fraternization while in uniform. Or something.” In fact, they had been told no PDA at all while in uniform, but he couldn’t see anyone around just now, and decided to subtly stretch his definition of ‘not-public’. With his luck, he’d be court martialed anyway for the next time he couldn’t resist pinning Glorfindel to an alley wall.

“It’s enough just to have some extra time with you, honestly, Thel.”

But even the extra time was nowhere near enough. Ecthelion’s watch beeped mindfully, and on cue, a bus lumbered into the station. Determined not to make a scene, Ecthelion got immediately to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder once again, smoothing down his clothes and trying to pull himself together. He was already squaring his shoulders and smoothing out his expression when a hand caught his wrist.

“Are you going to go, just like that?” Glorfindel’s voice was mild, but there was a note of reproach in it, and Ecthelion turned back at once, remorseful.

“I – ” he began, but Glorfindel was already pulling him into a kiss, his hands strong on Ecthelion’s lapels.

“You don’t get to leave without a proper goodbye,” he said quietly, pulling back just far enough so that he could speak the words against Ecthelion’s lips. “Even if you are already wearing your soldier face.”

“My – ”

Glorfindel kissed him again, and Ecthelion allowed himself to kiss him back, letting his hands sink into Glorfindel’s hair one last time.

“I don’t have a ‘soldier face’,” he whispered, tucking his face against Glorfindel’s neck and breathing him in.

“Like hell you don’t.” Glorfindel was grinning, but his fingers had knotted painfully hard in the back of Ecthelion’s uniform. “Dude, you’ve had one since before you enlisted.”

“If you say so, dude.”

Ecthelion felt Glorfindel’s shoulders shake with faint laughter, and raised his head reluctantly, Glorfindel’s grip on him loosening. “I’ll write,” he said, and touched his fingers to Glorfindel’s lips in brief farewell. Then, knowing he had to pull away quickly, lest he not manage it at all, he strode off towards the bus.

* * *

Glorfindel stayed where he was sitting, watching until Ecthelion’s bus pulled away.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to rouse himself to leave the bench, but couldn’t quite summon the will. All the energy had gone out of him with Ecthelion’s departure, his euphoria at seeing Ecthelion finally look at him like that, touch him like that – finally acknowledging him in the way he’d so longed for – starting to dissipate. The joy was now turning leaden and throbbingly painful in his chest. For all his delight that this had finally happened, he couldn’t stop the flickering resentment at the timing.

How is this fair?

He was distracted as another bus pulled into the depot, this one arriving from the airport, and it started to slowly disgorge its occupants. Watching listlessly without taking much in, his attention was caught as he heard a sudden exclamation of delight. A small figure with honey-colored hair had gotten off the bus and retrieved a suitcase almost as big as herself. Pulling her gargantuan luggage, a joyful whoop from somewhere Glorfindel couldn’t see had made her start up, break into a smile, and begin to run full out down the sidewalk. At some point, she abandoned her bag entirely, and Glorfindel turned in his seat to watch her throw herself into the arms of a waiting figure by the ticket booth.

Recognition dawning, Glorfindel grinned as he watched Aredhel swing Elenwë around, laughing and covering Elenwë’s face with kisses.

“You’re back, El, you’re back!”

“Yes, yes, yes, oh my god, Ireth, I can't breathe with you squeezing me like - no, don't let go.”

“I missed you so much, being without you is the worst thing, the worst.”

“I’m here now!”

Glorfindel ducked his head, trying not to eavesdrop as Elenwë whispered things into Aredhel’s ear and Aredhel clung onto her, still laughing, even though tears were wet on her cheeks. Eventually they broke apart and walked back to Elenwë’s abandoned bag, still holding hands.

Glorfindel smiled, despite the ache in his own chest, and pulled out his phone. He flicked through his contacts until he found Celegorm.

I see your cousin got her gf back today?

Ohshit, yeah, haha, she’s gonna be pumped! Howd u see em?

I’m at the bus station.

ahhhh seeing off Ecthelion, huh?

yeah.

Glrofindel swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, shaking his head impatiently. This is still better than it was.

hey, do you want to go for a run or something? I’ve got some steam to burn off.

I bet u do. But I cant actually, I am literally about to go in for my first job interview in over a year soooo

HEY holy shit dude, good luck! Beast ‘em ;)

I’ll do my best bro. ttyl

Glorfindel looked up; Aredhel and Elenwë were still standing not far away.

“Where should I load up this monster?” Elenwë was saying, gesturing to her bag.

“Oh. Ummm…” Aredhel scratched her head.

“What?”

“I totally forgot that you’d have baggage. I just walked here?”

“Ireth!” Elenwë threw up her hands, even though she was still smiling. “You didn’t bring a car? This thing weighs as much as I do, I’m not going to be able drag it all the way home.”

“I’ll help!”

“It’s miles to my place!”

“Hey, you girls need a lift?” They both looked up, and Glorfindel gave a smile and a wave. “Howdy. Sorry for eavesdropping, but I happen to have my truck in the parking garage across the way. Need a ride across town?”

Aredhel and Elenwë brightened up at once. “No kidding?”

“That would be great.”

Out on the street, the bag thrown into the back of Glorfindel’s pickup, they squeezed into the cab of his truck, Elenwë on Aredhel’s lap.

“There’s room on the seat,” Glorfindel pointed out, but Elenwë just put her arms around Aredhel’s neck and said, “Oh no, I’m comfortable like this.”

“Glorfindel to the rescue again,” said Aredhel happily, and Glorfindel started the engine.

* * *

Celegorm thumbed his phone off and shoved it into his pocket as someone came out of the office and beckoned to him. He ran a nervous finger under his collar, trying to resist the urge to push his sleeves up. His clothes were making him itch, but he was glad he’d gotten the haircut and bothered with the button-up shirt. It was a little unnerving how much he found himself wanting this, and how badly he wanted to make a good impression.

"I'm not used to feeling like this when it doesn't involve wanting to fuck someone," he'd said to Oromë that morning, peeved, and Oromë had laughed.

He’d spent the past week working on his resume and cover letter; sending iterations back and forth to Curufin for proofing, and rehearsing interview questions with Oromë before almost reverentially emailing his application in. And then he’d been totally taken aback by the fact that the Wilderness Preserve had gotten in back to him just two days after he’d sent in his application.

"Didn't they ever learn that responding fast makes you look desperate? Shit, man, I thought I'd have like another week at least. Now I gotta buy a new shirt by tomorrow. How late is Target open?"

He was used to taking temporary jobs doing unskilled construction and landscaping work; jobs where potential employers took a look at him, mentally calculated how much he could lift, and pointed him in the direction of the wheelbarrow. He wasn’t used to jobs where people scrutinized his experiences, asked about the summer internship he’d done years ago at a wildlife center – where he'd spent most of his time scrubbing shit out of kennels – and even about the classes he’d taken in college. He had never had such a real feeling interview, where he met with multiple people – both his direct supervisors and other members of the program – who wanted to know about him, his interests, his experience, his ability to work with others. He barely refrained from making bad jokes each time he got nervous, and had to keep catching himself from dropping curse words into his answers. By the end of the afternoon, his tongue was numb from speaking so carefully, and he had sweated through his shirt. Holding focus this long indoors was always a challenge, but every time he’d start to slip he’d remember that morning.

Oromë had done up the buttons on his shirt - bought late the night before - after seeing that Celegorm had fumbled and mis-buttoned them, and then had laid warm hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Remember to breathe,” he’d said. “And remember that you are entirely capable of this.”

“What if I fuck it up?” Celegorm realized, shocked, that the prospect had him jittery with nerves.

Oromë shrugged. “Then you fuck it up. There will be other interviews, other opportunities, other jobs.” Then he’d kissed Celegorm and murmured, as Celegorm gave into the urge to bury his face in Oromë’s shoulder, “But you can do this. And I’ll have dinner going for us when you get back, okay? You're going to do great, and I'll be here waiting for you - Just remember to breathe.”

So Celegorm slowed his racing pulse, breathed deep, and kept going – and when he got a moment, he ducked into the bathroom and tried to wring out the worst of his shirt.

Now there was just one final interview section.

He sat in the little room and tried not to wriggle uncomfortably on the hard, creaky chair. Maybe the fact that he’d gotten this far meant that he stood a chance – or maybe that just meant he had more to lose by screwing up at the last minute.

The door opened.

The person who came in was a well-dressed man in maybe his early thirties, his hair slicked back and his teeth very white as he gave Celegorm a broad smile. Something about the smile made Celegorm feel immediately clumsy and ill at ease.

“Celegorm, is it?” The man held out a hand and shook Celegorm’s hand briskly before sitting down opposite him and crossing his legs. He has a stack of papers in his hands that he glanced at briefly before setting them down and leaning forward to fix Celegorm with a penetrating gaze and more of that blinding smile. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Eonwë, spokesman and PR director for the Súlimo Foundation. You’ve already talked with the folks who will be your direct supervisors, the forestry program, all that, correct?”

Celegorm nodded. Eonwë’s eyes had an opaque quality, like milk stirred into tea, and something about that milky, unflinching stare was unnerving.

“I don’t have much to ask in terms of your qualifications. Your resume answers that, I’m sure the ranger crew have grilled you plenty on that front, and it’s not like I am the forestry expert, here. At any rate, I won’t be overseeing you and am not the one who makes the call on your suitability for the job, but I do like to lay eyes on our prospective new hires. Especially when they have a personal connection to the foundation.”

Celegorm shifted in his chair and stopped guiltily as it let out a squeak. “Sorry?”

Eonwë tapped the papers at his side. “You come to us via Oromë Aldaron, don’t you?”

“He’s not on my references,” said Celegorm quickly.

“Of course not,” said Eonwë. “You wouldn’t want a conflict of interest, good thinking. But nevertheless, you are implicitly one of Oromë’s finds, and I always make time for the people Oromë finds.” He laughed, and Celegorm smiled uncomfortably, not sure what the joke was. “I have never met such a one for finding people as Aldaron, and the kicker is that the people he finds are always worthwhile. So even though you don’t come with his official recommendation, I am inclined to think highly of you, because Oromë thinks highly of you.”

“How do you know – ”

Eonwë tapped the papers again. “It’s my job to know, Mr. Fëanorion. I do PR and public outreach for a major charitable foundation. It is my job to know what might affect it, either externally or from within. It’s my job to know that you are the third son of Fëanor son of Finwë, the same Fëanor who was tried in the court over which Manwë presided four years ago, and that you are the lover of Manwë’s old friend Oromë Aldaron, who was also your rugby coach during your time at Beleriand University, where you majored in forestry.”