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“And you don’t think me trying to explain ‘how we got together’ might be a little complicated? Please trust me that it’s not something we’ve talked about yet. He thinks I’m just ‘concentrating on my studies’ these days.”

“But what about – yeah, okay.” Fingon subsided at the withdrawn look on Finrod’s face. “I won’t push it. But you’re, uh, you’re doing okay with yours? Your Fëanorion?”

“Yes.” A light broke over Finrod’s tired face. “Yes, I am.”

They stopped in front of Finrod’s apartment, and Finrod brushed a hand over his hair as a wind sprang up, kicking leaves down the sidewalk. “Any interest in coming up?”

“Sure, actually,” said Fingon, after thinking for a moment. “Maitimo’s doing lesson plans all night, and I figure I’ll let him have a quiet place to himself. Also I haven’t seen Turno in forever and I do try to make sure he’s alive periodically.”

“He and Bëor are planning a movie night, I think,” said Finrod, unlocking the door. “You’re welcome to join.”

Bëor and Turgon were ensconced in what, at first glance, looked like a fort. But then Fingon saw it was simply that they’d piled every pillow in the apartment on the floor, hung blankets over the windows – “It froze last night but our landlord won’t fix the radiator yet, so we have to insulate,” Finrod explained as Fingon’s eyebrows raised – and collected as much food as possible. There were also several six-packs of beer.

“Aw, you guys planned for company,” said Fingon, coming in behind Finrod, and immediately tripping over Ulmo Junior. “A whole six-pack, just for me?”

“Company?” Bëor pulled a jumbo bag of Cheetos into his lap. “Uhh, yeah, right. ‘Company’.”

“Finno!” Turgon sprang to his feet, tripped over Ulmo Junior in turn, and hugged his brother. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, little brother,” said Fingon, reaching up to tousle Turgon’s hair. “I only 15% thought you were dead.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that 15% dead and med school are basically the same thing?”

Finrod picked his way carefully over the pillows and dropped gratefully onto the couch. Bëor patted his knee. “How’s it going, Goldie?”

“My brother is engaged.”

“No shit!”

Finrod reached over to take some of Bëor’s Cheetos. “It’s true. I was in my old place to do the crossword puzzle with my sister – ”

“Sure.”

“ – and then our brother – our other brother – ”

“Spiky.”

“Yes, him – comes leaping out of his room, stark naked and yelling.”

“Is this common in your family?” Bëor batted Finrod’s fingers away as he reached for more Cheetos.

“Our branch of the family is actually the least naked, generally. But he has spent a lot of time with our cousins, and that sort of thing wears off. Anyway, Aiko comes out naked and yelling about a text he got that Angaráto is engaged.” Finrod shook his head. “Our parents are going to be so delighted, they’ve been wanting to throw another extravagant party for one of us ever since Artanis’ debutante ball.”

“You mean that graduation party they threw for you, with the ice sculpture and the customized champagne glasses wasn’t extravagant?”

“No, that was ‘low-key.’”

“Your family is wild, Ingo.” Bëor opened a beer. “You at all bothered that your kid brother is getting married before you?”

Finrod chuckled. “I always expected one of my siblings would get married before me, though my money was on Artanis. I don’t know if marriage is in my future.”

Fingon and Turgon had come over and Fingon sprawled out on the cushions with a beer while Turgon propped his back against the couch and sat on the floor.

Bëor nudged Fingon with a foot. “How ‘bout you, Mister Veep? How are you doing? I can’t even get a meeting with you half the time anymore.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Fingon took a swig of his beer. “I’ve been told I need to ‘delegate’ more.”

“Ooh, Mr. Big Shot…”

“Yeah, right.” Fingon didn’t look too pleased.

“How’s work been going?” asked Turgon quietly.

“Fine.”

“How’s work been going, Finno?”

Fingon let out a long breath. “It’s shit, honestly. And believe me, I feel like an asshole for saying that. But it’s like I fell into cubicle life 15 years before I was ready.” He stretched his legs out, putting his feet on the coffee table. “If I was ever gonna be ready. But I’m already career-track and enmeshed in this thing I never even considered for myself, and I can’t cut and run. I’m trapped in a position people would kill for, and it’s not anything I even wanted.”

Bëor opened a beer and passed it to Finrod. “What did you see yourself doing instead?”

Fingon shrugged. “I dunno. Being on the campaign trail, maybe, doing grassroots work for some candidate or issue. Affecting change, not working as some corporate drone.”

“That sounds like a hard place to be in, mentally.” Turgon rubbed his forehead. “Have you talked to Maitimo about this?”

“Naw. He’s got enough on his plate right now, he doesn’t need my shit too.”

“But – ”

“You think he wants to hear me whine about my high-paying job that used to be his before he nobly sacrificed his career? He’s barely making a salary working his butt off in underfunded public schools and I’m complaining about being too successful too soon?” Fingon gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Turgon frowned. “It doesn’t matter, though, he’s your partner. He’d want to be there for you.”

“He’s there for me plenty.” Fingon shrugged again. “Plus, I got you suckers to bitch to, so I’m set.”

“And you wouldn’t want him to see you weak, would you?” said Finrod softly. He was lying as if half asleep on the couch, taking up most of it, though Bëor had lifted his feet into his lap in order to fit.

“What?”

“He’s always idealized you,” murmured Finrod, gazing at the ceiling through half closed eyes. “Strong, steady, fearless Findekáno…There is no part of you he doesn’t believe in, and he thinks of you as unshakeable.”

“Ingo – ”

“And to be fair, you are all those things – strong, reliable, brave – but that’s not all you are, are you? And not all the time. But you’re afraid of shaking his faith in you. You’re afraid of him realizing you are only human after all.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes, his face darkening. “You know it’s profoundly annoying when you do that, right?” he said, his words light enough but his tone unamused. “Psychoanalyze without being asked.”

“You know that he will love you even if you show yourself to be human, right?” said Finrod seriously, as if he hadn’t heard. “He doesn’t love you because he thinks you’re perfect, he loves you because you’re you.”

“He gets plenty of examples of me being human,” said Fingon shortly. “Knock it off, Ingo.”

“You don’t have to be flawless for him– ”

“Drop it,” said Turgon in a low voice, touching Finrod’s hand. “You’re right, but – Drop it.”

“Good call,” said Fingon, with false cheer, and a slightly dangerous glint in his eye. “So it’s a movie night, right? What are we watching?”

Some hours and two movies later, Fingon’s phone rang and he got to his feet to take the call in Turgon’s room.

When he came back into the room half an hour later, he caught sight of the figures on the couch and broke into a laugh. Bëor was sitting in the middle of the sofa, holding the remote control carefully and trying to turn off the TV without jostling the other two, who had fallen asleep against him. Turgon was tipped over against his shoulder, snoring gently, and Finrod had dropped to sleep against his other side, his long legs curled tucked up beneath him.

“Hold still,” said Fingon in a stage whisper. “I’m going to need a picture of this.”

Bëor made a distressed noise as Finrod curled more tightly against him. “For god’s sake, man, help me.”

Fingon ignored him, pulling out his phone. “Say, ‘There are two men who are each at least half a foot taller than me asleep on top of me’,” he said, grinning.

Bëor made a face instead. “And yet both of them combined probably weigh less than I do. I need to pee, can you help me move them?”

“I’ll help you in just a sec,” said Fingon cheerfully, heading into the kitchen. He came back with a bowl full of popcorn, which he set gently in Bëor’s lap. “There,” he said, as Bëor glared at him. “Now you won’t starve to death! What should we watch next?”

“Fingon, you rat bastard. Can you help me shift them?”

“Getting Finrod off a man,” Fingon shook his head sadly. “Never an easy task.”

Finrod’s eyes opened a slit. “I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

“The insidious whispers of a beloved cousin casting aspersions on my character and libido.”

“Shh, you’re dreaming.”

Finrod narrowed his eyes at Fingon, and then closed them again, burrowing back against Bëor’s shoulder. Bëor shook his head, then threw the blanket that was slipping off the couch back over Finrod’s legs, tucking it around his toes. Then he settled back and helped himself to a handful of popcorn.

Fingon was watching him, amused. “I thought you needed to pee.”

“I can hold it a while longer.”

“Pushover.”

“I’d like to see you say no to this one.”

“Easy, I do it all the time. I’ve been doing it since I was eight and he asked to borrow my bulldozer.”

Bëor smiled down at Finrod’s golden head again. “Then fine, I’m a pushover.” He tossed another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Don’t tell the union boys.”

Fingon folded his arms. “They wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“Are you gonna stick around?”

“No.” Fingon glanced at the clock. “I should head home to my guy and see if he’s ready to take a break from lesson planning to play a little ‘hot for teacher’.” He winked at Bëor. “I’ll leave you to your two string beans here.” He ruffled up Turgon’s hair one more time as he left, but Turgon barely moved.

Once the door clicked shut behind Fingon, Finrod opened his eyes a crack again. “Do you really need to get up? I can move.”

“Don’t worry about it, Goldie. I can wait.” Bëor rested his hand on Finrod’s leg for a second, then reached for the remote. “Now hush up, we’re gonna watch Goodfellas.”

* * *

The room was illuminated only by the dim bedside lamp and filled with the rumble of the furnace from downstairs. The house was mostly quiet, its occupants either away or asleep, and Aredhel realized it must have been the heat kicking on that woke her; she had to have been drowsing off for almost an hour now. Netflix had stopped auto-advancing to the next episode, and her laptop had gone quiet, its screen black where it was perched patiently on the end of the bed. Scrubbing her hair out of her eyes, Aredhel rolled over and poked her toes against Elenwë’s legs. “Heyo. You awake?”

“Yes.” Elenwë’s voice was very quiet, and Aredhel realized that far from sleep-hazed, Elenwë looked like she’d been awake for hours.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Elenwë, still brushing her hair impatiently out of her face. “Sorry I fell asleep. Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Elenwë smiled wanly, and then, seeming to realize this was unconvincing, sat up, Aredhel’s old Tirion Field Hockey 09 shirt slipping off one shoulder. “Everything’s okay.”

Aredhel scooted closer and snuggled against Elenwë. “Hmmm. You look like you’re thinking hard, though. What’s on your mind? More work stuff? Interviews?”

“I have my second interview with that company next week,” acknowledged Elenwë. “But I haven’t really been thinking about it.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing we need to talk about now.” Elenwë kissed Aredhel’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Um. I love you too.” But Aredhel frowned, raising her head from Elenwë’s shoulder. “Nothing we need to talk about now? Okay, that freaks me out more than ‘we need to talk’. Spill, El.”

“This isn’t,” protested Elenwë, “This isn’t how I wanted...I didn’t mean for…”

“Oh, come on. You know I’m not going to let it slide NOW.”

Elenwë caught Aredhel’s hand again and held it tightly. “I love you, Irissë. You know that, right? And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Wow, that’s a terrifying lead up.” Aredhel tried to laugh. “Now you are scaring the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I should lead off with the reminder. I only wanted to bring up something I noticed,” said Elenwë softly. “Just because it’s been worrying me a little. I mean, I think I’d noticed it before, but this summer… Every time we talked, you were drinking. Not always,” she amended, as Aredhel opened her mouth, “sometimes you had been drinking, sometimes you were having a little bit of wine, whatever. Sometimes you were pre-gaming on your way to go out. Sometimes you were hungover. But you were always…”

“What was I always?”

“I don’t think you were ever sober when we talked.”

Aredhel sat back from Elenwë, her arms folded, her jaw set. “How do you know? Was I out of it?”

Elenwë shook her head. “No, you almost never are. You don’t…you never look drunk.”

Aredhel rolled her eyes. “So what’s the problem? Almost everyone we know drinks and gets wasted at parties and stuff. Why do I get singled out?”

“It feels different,” said Elenwë, haltingly. “I’ve known you a few years now, and been in love with you for almost two, and I see patterns. You drink when you’re freaked out, you drink when you’re confused, you drink when you’re bored. And I know you’ve been chafing at the bit just working for your mom and staying around here, and I know this summer, us doing long distance, was hard. I worry that you drink more than you should, and maybe for reasons that – ”

“Up until last year, you drank too. Have you just gotten super judgmental now that you don’t get trashed at parties anymore?”

“I decided to stop getting trashed because I behaved like an idiot a few too many times,” said Elenwë, a note of frustration in her voice. “But that was my choice, and it doesn’t have anything to do with what I think other people should do. I don’t think everyone should abstain – or even that you should! But I needed to let you know what I’ve been worrying about. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I am going to tell you when I’m worried about something. And I do think there might be better ways of dealing with stuff than getting drunk and ignoring it. I know that, well, you’ve been having bad dreams again…”

“Okay,” said Aredhel flatly. “I am so not here to talk about this.”

“I didn’t mean for us just to launch into this,” said Elenwë weakly, “But I’ve been…I’ve been thinking about it since before I left. I saw the bottles, Irissë, when you were moving – ” She broke off, distressed, as Aredhel slid out of bed and began hunting for her clothes. “Irissë, where are you going, this is your room!”

“You know, somehow I’m not in the mood for this.” Aredhel yanked her jeans from the floor and pulled them on.

“Please let’s just talk,” begged Elenwë. “I just get scared sometimes, thinking that you don’t tell me, or anyone, when things are feeling hard or unpredictable, and instead… Did you ever call that therapist?”

“I’ve been busy, Elenwë.” Aredhel grabbed her sneakers. “I knew this was going to happen. Jesus, I should never have told you about the stuff with Eöl if you were just going to read it into everything I fuckin’ do.”