Elijah is silver-grey in the light of dusk and turns to shadow with his hands on the wheel.
Dom looks at him through half-raised eyelids in the dim light of the car. His knuckles brush at the slightly fogged window.
I love you, Dom says. The streetlights flash like glitter in his eyelashes. The rain pounds heavily onto the hood of the car, quick staccato beats of water striking steel. I love you I love you I love you, Dom thinks, and the raindrops sing it back to him.
You're drunk, Elijah tells him.
This is true. Dom is drunk. But he still knows how he feels, and his skin is warm, blood and champagne rushing through his veins. He touches Elijah's jacket, tugs at the corduroy, dark gold and dusty-looking in the thin streaks of streetlights streaming through the windows. I love you, he says again, because it's true also.
Elijah smiles, lips curving up. You love me, huh? he asks.
I do, Dom says sincerely. It's just the two of them, he thinks. Just the two of them in the car in the rain in the middle of the night, and he draws his thumb over Elijah's cheekbone and says it again, I do, because Elijah has to know, he has to.
I love you I love you I love you, the rain taps steadily against the windshield.
I already knew, Elijah says, and brushes his lips against Dom's fingertips.