dig

For Gabby Hope, with thanks to maggie for the idea.

Icewater
by Hetre Z

After one, Elijah's eyes go all globby, like they're made of jelly or something. Dom doesn't know if it's Elijah or him. They mute the television during adverts, and Dom feels clumsy and sticky from filming. They have a five o'clock call tomorrow morning, and all he can think is how much the walls look like dirt when he's this fucking knackered.

Dom says, "I saw a man stabbed in Dresden." Elijah nods. "You?"

Light from the television hits Elijah in patches, so he looks like he's underwater. He's like a fish, with his googly eyes, his half-open mouth. "Open-casket funeral, once. That's it." Elijah stretches his fingers out straight on the couch arm. "It sucked. She was all plasticky and nobody'd liked her anyway, and we had to sit there and look at it. I'm gonna get cremated, no question."

Dom says, "I'm going to live forever."

"How'll you work that?" Elijah looks at him, and Dom imagines him made of ash, that he could reach up right now and take a spoonful of powder out of Elijah's arm.

He shrugs. "Dunno."

Elijah asks, "Can I help?" and leans toward Dom on the couch. He breathes out and it hits Dom's nose and the side of his face, smelling of marmalade and dust. "I could live forever."

"Or die and get buried in a butter dish."

Elijah sits back, squinting. "Cunt."

Dom grins. His mouth feels heavy, and his nose, without Elijah breathing on it, is cold. The programme's come back on, but he doesn't turn the sound up. Elijah stands, and puts a hand on Dom's forehead for balance, holding it there for one hot, sharp second before walking away toward the back of the house. He walks crooked and wobbly, swimming around tables and past furniture, his shirt glowing a little in the dark, and says, "cigarette," as he goes.

Elijah's side of the couch feels warm when Dominic stretches out on it. He can feel Elijah's handprint on his face. He puts an arm up over his eyes, and looks at his wrist and thinks, this is the sky.