Totally Platonic | Call Me By Your Name | 18+

1. Movie Night

Oliver's in the kitchen, shirtless, hair still a mess from sleep, flipping a pancake that's already burnt. Elio watches from the couch with a spoon in his mouth and cereal that went soggy ten minutes ago. He hasn't blinked in thirty-seven seconds.

"You flirting with that pancake?" Elio says, voice muffled.

Oliver turns with the spatula in hand, face deadpan. "The pancake or you?"

Elio shrugs. "The pancake, dude. I'm obviously out of your league."

They grin. This is their thing. Flirting like it's just a joke, like it's a language only they speak.

"Pancakes are done," Oliver says, bringing the plate to the couch and plopping beside him. "No syrup, because we're out. And I forgot to buy some. Again."

"It's fine," Elio says, stealing one. "You're a muscle guy. When it comes to your type, God doesn't bother with brains."

Oliver laughs. "You're so mean to me. Why do I keep you around?"

"You signed a lease," Elio says with a smirk.

Oliver just rolls his eyes, shoving another forkful in his mouth.

They eat off the same plate because they always do. One fork. Shared food. Utterly platonic. Bros sharing carbs and tension and twelve hundred unsaid I-want-you's under a mask of denial.

It's one of those Saturdays, too lazy to be outside, too intimate to be alone, and too chicken to confess. A movie plays - some 90s action thing Oliver loves and Elio pretends to hate.

Elio leans into Oliver, slow and casual like he's done it a hundred times before. Which he has.

"I'm sleepy," he mutters.

It's 1:14 PM.

Oliver doesn't flinch. "You always get sleepy when there's shirtless Bruce Willis on screen. Jealousy?"

"I'm jealous of all ripped men." Elio mutters.

Oliver chuckles, low in his throat.

The blanket goes around them like a treaty. Elio tucks his feet under it. Oliver adjusts so Elio's head lands right where it always does: his shoulder. It smells like detergent and skin. Elio closes his eyes for real this time, not because he's tired, but because if he looks up and sees Oliver's jaw clenched like that, he might do something irrational. Like whisper something stupid.

Like: Are we ever gonna talk about it?

But he doesn't. Instead, he pokes Oliver's ribs with one finger. "Tell me something embarrassing."

Oliver doesn't miss a beat. "In high school, I cried during The Notebook. Not even at the sad part. Just when they kissed in the rain."

Elio lifts his head just enough to look at him. "You're so dramatic."

"Takes one to know one," Oliver says calmly. "Your turn."

Elio grins. "One time I tried to record myself playing guitar and cried because I sounded like a dying otter."

Oliver makes a face of betrayal. "You always say your music's 'raw and honest.'"

"Yeah," Elio mutters, snuggling back in. "So is diarrhea."

Oliver laughs again, louder this time. The kind of laugh that knocks his shoulder into Elio's face, which Elio pretends to be offended by. He nuzzles in closer to prove a point.

They fall quiet. The movie's still going. The blanket's warm. Elio's eyes flutter. Oliver shifts just enough that their thighs are pressed together.

"I can hear your heart," Elio says sleepily. "It's loud."