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Curufin set his pen down on his desk. “You can’t remember middle-school level math?”

“I need to know through calculus for secondary education, and it’s been so long since I did any of it that I need a complete refresher.” Maedhros raised his eyes to Curufin, and Curufin saw that he looked embarrassed. “I would even pay you. A little.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “Generous. Also unnecessary.”

“And,” Maedhros pushed on, smiling wanly, “it would be only fair. I did help you with your geometry homework way back….”

“I never needed help with math!” said Curufin, offended.

“When you were an eleven year old taking tenth grade math, you did. And I helped you, that summer I was home when dad was away.”

Curufin chewed his lip. “What is it you need help with?”

“Calculus, and algebra.”

Curufin glanced at his whiteboard, already crowded with tasks. “I don’t really have time to school you in two entire mathematical fields.”

“Just a little time – with the calculus, at least.” Maedhros leaned forward, pleadingly. “I was never strong at that even when I took it, and it’s been so long I can’t remember any of it.”

“You will need the algebra first anyway for the calculus to make any sense.” Curufin ruminated. “I really don’t have the time for this.”

Maedhros rubbed his forehead, looking tired. “I figured. But Curvo, I’m a little desperate here. I suppose I could hire a real tutor, though that gets expensive, or –”

“Moryo.”

“What?”

“Morifinwë. Our brother. Tall, dark, and moody. You know the one.” Curufin clicked his fingers impatiently. “He’s always been good at mathematics and I know economics majors have to at least be decent at algebra. Use him.”

Maedhros opened his mouth, and then closed it, looking thoughtful. “Huh. That’s not a bad idea.”

“You should still come to me for the calculus,” Curufin went on, “but since I don’t have time for more than an afternoon to dedicate to this, do at least the first part of your tutoring with Moryo. He knows what he’s talking about. After all, it was he who took over ‘helping me’ that summer when the math got over your head.” Satisfied, he turned back to his computer, finished with the conversation. Behind him, he heard Maedhros stand up.

“Thank you. And thank you for the suggestion." He hesitated. "Does this mean that you are no longer –”

“No longer what? No, don’t answer, just go away. I have work.”

“I’ll text you about when you and I might go over some of the calculus.” Maedhros paused by his chair. He didn’t touch him, but he laid his hand on the back of Curufin’s chair, as Celegorm had done. Maedhros started to say something, then stopped, patted the back of the chair in lieu of Curufin’s shoulder, and left the room.

The door clicked shut, and Curufin shook his head at his screen. “You’d think I was the damn guidance counselor to this house.” But he couldn’t help from smiling briefly before he turned to pick up his phone and send a text.

Any interest in seeing The Martian when it comes out?

I don' t like movies, but this one I think I could suffer.

For science.

* * *

It had been a long enough since Celegorm had been to Oromë’s house that when he finally returned, he came through the unlocked front door feeling like an intruder. Oromë looked up from the counter where he was sitting, reading the paper. He looked down again as Celegorm leaned against the counter next to him, laying down the paper but not saying anything. There was a long silence.

Celegorm could feel the words he needed to say pressing against his throat, but his lips refused to open for them. I’m sorry had never been a phrase he could speak with much eloquence, a trait, Aredhel had once said, that was no more endearing for the fact that it was apparently genetic. She had said as much one night when she had come within an inch of slapping him, a night when he would have happily accepted it as well deserved.

But still, he didn’t say the words – that night, or now.

“It’s been quiet,” said Oromë at last, “not hearing from you.”

It had been the longest they'd gone without speaking in over a year, and Celegorm had chafed at every minute of it. And part of him, unable to believe that Oromë could go this long without seeking him out, felt stung. “Back atcha.”

Oromë sighed. “I didn’t want to try and talk to you until I was less angry.”

“You less angry yet?”

“Yes. A little. Not totally.” Oromë glanced over at him. “You left someone here when you went, you know.”

Celegorm felt a flood of shame entirely unrelated to the fight. “You mean Huan. I – yeah. I was being –”

“Petty? Thoughtless?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Celegorm. “But also I knew if I brought Huan home with me, he’d just make me want to come apologize to you.”

“God forbid he encourage such a thing.” Oromë smiled humorlessly. “He’s a terrible dog like that.”

Celegorm braced himself against the counter, drumming his fingers on the formica restlessly. “For the record, I did try to come by earlier this week, but you weren’t here.” That had been another blow; swallowing his pride and guilt enough to come over only to find no car in the driveway, the door locked, and no dogs in the backyard. It had made him nervous, and then angry all over again. “Where the fuck were you?” It came out harsher than he’d intended, tinged with his apprehension.

“I was hiking with the dogs in the valley.” Celegorm felt a surge of relief at this, though he wasn’t sure what he’d feared Oromë had been doing. “I needed to get away and cool down a little.”

“I get that.” Celegorm glanced at him and then quickly away again. “Did it work?”

“Somewhat.”

There was another long silence, where Celegorm shifted and finally sat on the stool next to Oromë’s. Oromë wasn’t reaching out to him, and being this close and not touching was turning out to be worse than not being there at all. “I got the job,” he said at last, for something to say. “They called and made me an offer.”

At this, Oromë did turn, finally facing Celegorm full on. “They did? What answer did you give them?”

“I took it. I start next week.”

Oromë broke into a true smile. “That’s great, congratulations. I’m really glad you’re going to give it a shot, and I’m not surprised at all that they wanted you.” His fingers twitched, like he was going to take Celegorm’s hand, and when he didn’t, Celegorm ached. It was seeing Oromë restrain himself from coming closer that made him yield.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words coming out in a rush, the tightness in his chest loosening as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went off like that, I don’t know why I lost it so bad, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t really about you.”

“I figured.” Oromë looked tired. “That didn’t make it any easier to hear, however.”

“I know.” Celegorm felt overheated, itchy, desperately uncomfortable in his own skin. “Those were shit things for me to say. I just get…scared sometimes. Sacred of losing you, or not really having you, or something.”

“You have me,” Oromë said.He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling like it held answers, or perhaps it was just easier to look at than Celegorm, just now. Celegorm fixed his eyes on the way Oromë's hair fell down his back, over the crisp white lines of his shirt. “I don’t know what more I can do to prove it to you, but I want you to have faith in me, and in us. Jealousy doesn’t work for me, Tyelko.”

“Yeah, well, I get jealous some times.”

“So I gathered. And I know there was more going on than jealousy, and that you’d just been thrown for a loop by that interview, but you don’t get to use me as your goddamn emotional punching bag. That's not fair. I don’t want to be afraid you’re going to use our relationship as collateral every time someone brings up your father and you lose it.” Oromë winced, looking as though he hadn’t meant to say as much as he had. “Sorry. I mean –”

Celegorm shrugged, resigned. “ You ain’t wrong.”

There was another long silence as Celegorm turned over what to say next, and Oromë said nothing at all, waiting for him to speak, or thinking, Celegorm couldn’t tell. Finally he fidgeted and turned pleadingly to Oromë. “Fuck, Oromë, can I just kiss you already? I’m so bad at talking.”

Oromë was unmoved. “Tough. Sometimes you have to do it anyway.”

Celegorm swore and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m bad at thinking I’m good enough for you,” he said, too fast. “And I get scared that you’re going to figure that out at some point and realize I’m not worth it.”

Oromë reached out and took his hand then, and Celegorm felt momentarily drunk with relief at his touch. “You are worth it,” he said simply. “I can remind you of that, as often as you need to hear it, though it’s harder to do when you’re yelling at me.”

Celegorm held onto his hand, squeezing his fingers too hard. “Look, when you left like that – I can’t deal with it at all when you leave during a fight, I can’t –”

“I wasn’t trying to leave the argument. I was leaving to keep from taking you against the wall while we were that angry.”

“What the hell would have been so wrong with that?” Celegorm felt the anger rise again. “We have good sex, we always do, we –” We get each other in bed, even when other things are complicated. I can distract you from all the other shit when I’m in bed with you.

“We’ve never made love during a fight, and I don’t want to start.”

“Why not?”

“That’s what…” Oromë took a breath. “That’s what I used to do. In my last relationship we had issues and never dealt with them, and instead he’d provoke me into a fight and it would get vicious and devolve into sex, and we could pretend that was close enough to emotional closure that we could ignore the rest. It kept me in destructive patterns for longer than I should have, and in a relationship that should have ended a year or more before it did. I don’t want to start similar patterns with you. I want us to work through our issues, not fuck and fight through them.”

Celegorm pulled his hand back. “Except you refused to sleep with me and then didn’t get in touch with me for more than a week, how is that working through anything?”

“You left in the night!” snapped Oromë. “You left without saying anything to me, no note, leaving behind the dog I gave you. What do you think that felt like? I was too angry to chase after you, and it also felt like you were giving me a clear message that you didn’t want to see me.”

“I always want to see you!”

“Then you shouldn’t have left like that.” Oromë controlled himself, and lowered his voice again. “It scared me, Tyelko. And it hurt.”

Celegorm flexed his fingers on the counter, agonized.

“If you wanted to see me,” said Oromë softly, “you knew where to find me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please let me kiss you now,” mumbled Celegorm. “I’m so much better at that than at this.”

Oromë sighed. “Tyelko…” But Celegorm could feel already how much he wanted to, how he was already leaning into Celegorm’s space, and he stretched out his hand and let his fingers brush against Oromë’s arm.

Oromë turned to him and Celegorm slid off his stool and into Oromë’s lap, winding his arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely, repentantly, and Oromë held him close and kissed him back. When they broke apart, Oromë buried his face in Celegorm’s hair, and Celegorm stroked the back of his neck, nuzzling against his shoulder.

“We can fight,” said Oromë, into Celegorm’s hair, still holding him tightly. “Even though I hate it, and it feels lousy, it’s okay if we fight, as long as we can…talk about it after. It’s bound to happen sometimes, especially since our tempers aren’t so different, even though I keep it together a bit better than you.”

“Just a bit,” Celegorm muttered against his shoulder. He pressed his mouth to the side of Oromë’s neck and pulled himself closer. He could feel there was more Oromë wanted to say, and he wasn’t ready for it, not yet. “I know you don’t do angry sex, but how about make up sex? Please?”

“There’s still more we should…” But Oromë was running his hands down Celegorm’s back, and Celegorm knew Oromë wanted it as much as he did. The physical was always, always easy for them, and Celegorm felt so much more at ease with touch than with talk. Touch came easy when words were a struggle, and Celegorm felt fluent in the press of fingers to Oromë’s skin, the warmth of his palms to the hard planes of muscle he knew so well, and the way Oromë responded to the heat of his tongue. His body could say all the things that he couldn’t articulate, and with Oromë in his arms, Celegorm had no doubts. “…Yes.”

They didn’t make it further than the couch, Oromë pressing Celegorm down and kissing him hard, and Celegorm could tell that whatever he said, Oromë was still at least a little angry, given how tight his hands were on Celegorm’s denim-clad thighs as he slid between Celegorm’s parted legs.

“Okay, let me have it,” said Celegorm at last. “You’re still –”

“Still mad? Yeah, I am.” Oromë tensed against him, and Celegorm could see his jaw was tight when he pulled back to look Celegorm straight on. “We can fight, and we can get upset with each other, and I have faith we can work it out. But listen,” Oromë caught Celegorm’s face between his hands, and Celegorm held his breath, not sure what was coming next. Oromë’s eyes were very fierce, the banked fire of his anger stirring something in Celegorm. “No matter how pissed you get at me, you do not. Abandon. Your dog. Got it?”

Celegorm opened his mouth, surprised and ashamed, and Oromë laid a finger to his lips. “Non-negotiable.” Oromë’s voice had dropped into a register that rumbled all through Celegorm’s body, and Celegorm shivered, pressing unconsciously up into Oromë’s touch.

“Got it.” He reached up and twisted his fingers into Oromë’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss so he could taste his sincerity. “Really,” he whispered. “I do. I’m sorry.”

“I realize,” said Oromë after a while, Celegorm breathing hard beneath him, both of them shirtless, Celegorm’s hands slipping beneath Oromë’s waistband, “I could have answered you more clearly too.”

“Oh, yeah? Ahh, ah, whatever, just…just keep…”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if anyone else had made a move on me,” whispered Oromë. “You are the one I wanted. You are the one I fell for. You are my great exception.” And when he covered Celegorm’s lips in a kiss, Celegorm had total faith.

* * *

Aegnor was half asleep, and Andreth allowed herself a moment of indulgence, her head coming to rest against his shoulder as he stroked a hand through her hair. She had to leave soon, she told herself; she hadn’t even meant to stay this long. Aegnor had said that Galadriel was going to be home by mid afternoon, and she had planned to be gone by then. But mid afternoon had come and gone, and Galadriel had returned and stayed, and they had done nothing but make sure the door was locked.

“You’re going to have to be quieter now,” Aegnor had whispered, his mouth at her ear, and his chest to her back, and she had reached back to wind her fingers into his hair.