Sequel to Springing the Lock.
The beep when you press the first number startles the shit out of you. For so long this call has been an illusion; now it’s real. Panic sets in, but you can’t stop the movement of your fingers. It’s too late. You’ve ignited the fuse, started the countdown, toppled the dominoes.
There’s no guarantee he’ll answer, of course. Elijah won’t be sitting around pining, waiting for your call. He has his own life, filled with friends and interests that don’t involve you. He may in fact choose not to answer. After so much hurt and so many lost years, with so much time to make up and so many complications, he’d be wise to ignore you. But if he does, you think it might honestly kill you.
He answers on the first ring. Your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat; your palm sweaty around the phone.
“Sean? Fuck, I don’t believe it. I was just about to call you.”
His voice sounds deeper, throatier, but it still rocks you on your ass, and every repressed longing and dream bursts out of hiding. It’s painful, but oh so glorious, to feel again.
“Sean? You still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry, it’s just… good to hear your voice, Elijah. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Fuck. I was at Comic-Con and saw Peter, and…”
“I know. I saw the photo. That’s why I called.”
“You always did understand me better than anyone.”
“Elijah, you can’t go home again.”
“I can quote literature, too, Sean. Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.”
Tears flood your eyes.
“Now are you going to get your ass in gear and drive over here, Astin, or do I have to come get you?”
And just that easily the lock is sprung.