The Perfect Poem (Elliott X Masc Reader)

Loneliness

Ever since Elliott had come over to help you out with working on the farm, your arm has been bothering you beyond belief. Keeping a bandage on it to keep it from swelling, and putting an ice pack on it every couple hours.

Elliot hasn't come to visit you since, and you really want to become better friends with him. So, you leave your farm in hopes of befriending the hermit in the cabin.

The valley is cloudy, but not gloomy. Perfect day to hang on the beach. You're not paying attention and run right into Elliott on the bridge.

"Elliott!" He spins around, and looks at you.

"Y/N. How's your arm?" It's hidden under your baggy sweater sleeve, but it's doing a little better.

"Still bandaged up. But it's healing. Thank you for asking." You respond. He smiles, moving his hair to his other shoulder.

"What brings you out here, Y/N?" He asks, sitting on the stone railing of the bridge.

"To see you, actually. I was hoping we could hang out a little bit today. If you're not busy, of course." He nods, a smile dancing on his lips.

"Why didn't you just say so? Let's take a walk. How often does the farmer go into the woods?" He asks you.

"Fairly often, actually. The secret woods are very helpful for hardwood and berries during blackberry season." He turns back and nods for you to follow him. You oblige and walk next to him.

"You must be very acquainted with the forest then. Have you met Leah?" You nodded. "She's a very good friend of mine." He tells you. You nod.

"She's very nice. A very quaint cabin by the river." The two people living by the water. Two people who probably have something going on between each other. That's okay with you though, Elliott isn't yours and never was.

No matter how badly you wanted him to call you, Farmer Y/N, a good friend of his, you were happy just being good enough to be able to hang out with him. But eventually, he may see you as a good friend.

"You look mighty deep in thought. Care to share? I may be a writer, but I am a great listener as well." He tells you.

"Oh it's nothing. I just realized how long I've been in the valley, and you're the first person I can actually call a friend." You tell him. It is true. You barely talk to any of the other villagers besides the ones who run stores and Harvey.

"I'm honored. But, if I may ask; why don't you speak to any of the others?" He asks you.

"I would say I'm not social, but if that were the case I wouldn't have walked up to you. I suppose they never struck up a conversation with me. So I never talked to them." You tell him.

"Interesting. I could write about one hundred reasons why people should talk to you."

"Really, what are they?" He laughs.

"I couldn't possibly list them all. But I could name a few. You're kind. You are very interesting." He pauses, "You have ducks." He says, looking forwards as you two pass by Leah's cottage. You laugh.

"Those are bland, Elliott. Anyone could have those." You tell him.

"I don't think so. You're the perfect protagonist. Any book would be very lucky to have you. And any man would be lucky to be allowed to write poems about how in love he is with you." You're not sure how he knew you were gay, but you're not complaining.

"I'm not sure I'd find someone like that here." You tell him.

"I think you're looking too hard, Y/N. The answer could be right in front of your nose and you're not even sensing it. You have to let people in, you keep your walls too tight and to yourself nobody is allowed in." He stops and turns to you. "I want to get to know the real you. The boy who moved to Pelican Town from the city."

You smile. "I used to work at Joja." You tell him.

"You made the right decision there," you both share a laugh. "But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean your hobbies. What does Y/N do for fun? Does he read? Crochet? Write poems under a pomegranate tree?" You laugh a little.

"I like reading. I take walks down by Robin's and I share my forageables with Linus. I fish, go mining."

"There he is! That's the kind of stuff people want to know when getting to know you. However I was hoping I was right about the poems. And the pomegranate tree." He smiles at you. "If you do write poems, I'd love to read them."

"You were right about the pomegranate tree. But I've never written a poem before." You've envisioned plenty of poems, but all about Elliott. One's after you met him after he hung in your mind for so long. Now that he's out of your mind, the poems elude you.

"Have you thought about it before? Writing?" He says as he continues walking beside you.

"A couple times. Never like an actual book or anything, probably just some poems to keep to myself."

"I would love to read anything you write." He says again.

"I'll let you know then."

"Let's sit down and talk. Or we can just enjoy each other's company in silence. Whatever you wish." He says. You nod and sit down under a maple tree.

You like the silence. You're comfortable with him. For the first time, you have a friend. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your head on them.

He sits down next to you, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. He doesn't say anything else. The silence, enjoying each other's company. You stare out at the river, and his focus remains on you.

You can sense him staring. But you say nothing about it. He's probably just zoned out. He moves slightly closer to you, shoulders touching. Your heart begins to beat faster and your stomach fills with butterflies.

"Y/N?" Your attention comes back to him. "You're a good friend." Friend. You see it now.

The lonely writer boy, in desperate need for a new friend. He becomes friendly with the first person who he meets.

"I was lonely before we met. I wrote without inspiration from another person. You showed up, gave me all the inspiration I needed and more. You're a very dear friend to me, and we've only known one another for a short time. Even if I'm nervous sometimes." He's nervous? Around you? That's odd.

"You're a very dear friend to me as well, Elliott. Thank you. For being there." He smiles warmly, unsure what to do now he looks forwards and you can't help but admire him.

He's very pretty. And you're not sure whether you should or not, but you want to hug him.

His eyes look watery, like he's about to cry. You move your legs to in front of you and place a hand on his shoulder.

"Elliott, what's the matter?" He looks at you with teary eyes.

"Oh, I'm okay. I'm just grateful. For you. You're someone I could get used to hanging around." You smile at him.

"I'm not going anywhere." You embrace him and he does the same. The hug is comforting and he makes you happy.

Once you two pull away he remains close to you, head almost leaning on your shoulder.

"You've given me so much inspiration for my writing, you know." He tells you.

"I'm looking forwards to reading your writing, Elliott. Your first ever published book as a successful writer." You tell him. He laughs.

"Thank you, Y/N. For everything." He leaves it at that and you two fall into silence for the last time before the sun sets.

He walks you home, and afterwards you head to bed content with yourself and how you and Elliott have developed a friendship.