F I C : following .

The second time Elio dreams about Lucifer, it's with his scent fresh in his nostrils, his pillows and blankets still smelling like the other man after he stayed over the night before. They slept together, tightly entwined on the honestly much too-narrow couch, Elio's arm slung haphazardly over Lucifer's midriff, feeling the strength of him, the heat. Understanding a little bit better this time. Lucifer's head rested on Elio's other shoulder, his face pressed in against the side of Elio's neck. They'd kissed before then, softly at first and then with an increasingly growing passion, though it never broke. They never reached that point and it was fine. It was beautiful. Elio treasures it. He doesn't know what it means, really. He isn't going to assume anything, but it was a calm, quiet night, sound and safe.

The following night is restless. It takes him a long time to fall asleep and when he finally does, he's back at his parents' summer house, in his old room, the one his father's doctoral students used to move into during the month of July, he's lying on his old bed, the linen freshly changed, Mafalda's been here, it says. Everything smells like chamomile. He's lying on his back when suddenly, the door opens and Lucifer steps inside in his pristine suit and his red-soled shoes. Like the last time, there's nothing about the fit that's off. Elio turns his head slowly and smiles at him.

"Come lie with me," he says, voice soft but inviting and inches to the side to make room. In his dream, too, he remembers Oliver declining his bed that Christmas, like he couldn't even bear being near him in that context anymore. He waits for Lucifer to join him, but doesn't get his hopes up. Even in his dream, it's too vulnerable a position. Hoping. So when Lucifer sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath his weight, it feels like the first stage of an embrace. When he lies down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, his shoes leaving no marks on the sheet, Elio draws in a long, hard breath and more or less climbs across him, lying down with his cheek against Lucifer's shoulder, one leg thrown over his two legs, arm holding him close. There's nothing sexual about it, it's comfort, it's promise.

I'm not leaving.

When Elio wakes up, it's with he words, "I'm not letting you" on his lips and Lucifer's scent permeating the very place on which he's resting his head.