Notes:

I wrote this a couple of years ago, before season 3 aired.
I've never posted it because English isn't my native language (and I don't have any beta reader) and I wasn't very happy about the writing. But time has passed, and I thought, why not?

The new season is right around the corner, and hopefully you will enjoy my take on the post season 2 finale!

Elliot wakes up, but he doesn't open his eyes. He can't, anyway. He can't feel much, he can't think much, and his stomach hurts a lot.

Oh right. He has been shot. Hasn't he?

He hears a voice. He knows that voice, it's very soothing... with an accent. Tyrell? He's talking to someone. Over a phone. About him? He can't talk about him. That would make no sense. Why would he talk about him? Why here? Where is he anyway? The mattress he's on doesn't feel familiar. His surroundings smell asepticized, it sure ain't home.

Elliot tries to move a muscle but it's useless. His brain is too foggy and his body too heavy.

The voice comes closer. It's not just a voice now. He can hear something else. Something that makes him uncomfortable, if only…

He's crying. Tyrell is crying.

"I love him."

It's not real. Mr. Robot isn't real, you aren't real my friend, nor is Tyrell.

Elliot's brain can't process an information such as this one, it would infect him like a virus, a malware, he can't have that, he must be safe, he must—

The voice stops. Elliot doesn't move. He still can't anyway. He only hears a breathing sound. He feels something. Something else than the pain. It's wet, warm. It feels good. What is it? His brain is fucking with him again.

Tyrell can't stand to see Elliot like that. Lying in a bed, barely breathing. By his fault. He knows he did what he had to do, he knows that he did right, but the guilt and pain crawl inside him, and the more he stares at Elliot, the more he can't suppress his feelings. Oh, how he wishes things would be different.

So he does what he does the best. He leaves.

Elliot finally manages to open his eyes. Angela is there, next to him. Deep inside, he knows she's not the one who should be there. She tells him things, things that make him understand, things that confuse him. But he doesn't pay attention to her. He tries to remember a dream he had. It felt nice. Tyrell's not here. Was he the dream? Angela mentions his name, now he pays attention. She says something else, about some plan. Where is Tyrell? Was he real? Why would he miss someone not real? He's never had imaginary friends as a kid. Now he has too many. He feels like something is missing. Someone. He hugs himself. Tight. Too tight. Angela stops talking. She probably notices something is off. He feels a burn rising from his chest, going through his throat and jaw. Where is he? Now there's only silence. No, not silence. He can hear himself. Is he sobbing? Something wet falls on his arms. He's crying, he knows he's crying, why is crying now? Someone else was crying. Someone—

Someone he desperately needs.

Tyrell doesn't last long away. He can't focus on anything in his new life, if you can call it a "new life". Everything reminds him of Elliot. One morning, he sees a man in a black hoodie and he just hopes, he hopes so much Elliot found him, found him like he did before. But of course it's not him. How could it be? He just left.

He thinks about Elliot all the time. It's painful, like needles piercing through his heart, but at the same time it feels so good. So good to imagine his face, to fantasize about him, to picture him by his side, how life would be oh, so perfect. The drinks, the fights, nothing make it better, though.

After a couple of weeks, he can't take it anymore. He calls Angela.

At first, he tries to be subtle about the reason of his call. He explains the reason he left New York City, because the FBI is looking for him, what else would it be? He starts to talk about stage 2, but Angela isn't stupid. She knows why he called. His heart misses a beat when she cuts him off and pronounces Elliot's name.

He stays silent when she tells him how he has been. How he's slowly recovering from the bullet wound, still in the Dark Army's makeshift hospital.

He stays silent when he learns about Elliot's downs. How he's barely speaking to her, crying himself to sleep when he thinks no one is watching.

He stays silent when his own tears roll down his face.

He stays silent when his whole world already in pieces is crumbling, when he feels nothing but guilt and only wants to be near Elliot, to hold him tight and never let go, telling him that everything will be okay.

He stays silent when Angela hangs up and he finds himself on his knees, his palm bleeding from tightening into a fist too hard for too long.

Elliot wakes up. At first he thinks it's just like any other day, when he barely slept during the night, he feels groggy and tired, he's still in this awful room on this awful mattress with an IV plugged to his arm, releasing the sweet morphine into his veins.

But not today. Today something is different. He can feel he's not alone anymore. It can't be Angela, she hasn't come in days. His mind can't yet process how or who until he turns his head to the side.

He sees him. Tyrell. Peacefully sleeping on the side of the bed, his bed, mouth slightly open, coat still on. Jet lag? No, it's a dream, dreams don't get jet lag. Then why does Elliot feel his hand against his stomach? Why does he feel his breathing against him? His hallucinations have always been so real, but he can't believe that his drugged brain would fuck with his feelings, with his entire self like this.

He doesn't know how long he's been staring. Minutes. Hours, maybe? He can't look away from such a beautiful delusion. Tyrell's body eventually stirs. He slowly opens his eyes, all red and puffy. Has he been crying? When was it? Mr. Robot has never cried.

Tyrell sees Elliot staring at him and softly smiles, as if he's having the most pleasant view. He slowly lifts his hand to Elliot's face, stroking the back of it against his right cheek. Elliot has barely the time to notice the tingling sensation on his skin that Tyrell grabs his face with two hands and moves closer. Elliot's heart is going to explode, he's sure about that. That doesn't keep Tyrell from getting even closer to his face to finally put his lips against his, kissing him slow and sweet.

Elliot doesn't close his eyes. He keeps staring, doesn't blink. He's afraid Tyrell will disappear again if he does. He keeps kissing him, holding Elliot gently as if he was the most fragile thing in the universe.

Tyrell finally stops and moves back, still holding his face, still close, their body heat mixing all together. He wipes something wet from Elliot's cheek. How did it get here?

"Why are you crying, Elliot?"

Hearing his own name from that voice makes him want to shed more tears. Tyrell's concerned face as well. He knows the answer but he doesn't want to say it. He's afraid that if he does, it'll become true.

"Elliot, tell me."

"I wish you were real."

The words barely escape his dried throat, lower than a whisper.

Tyrell frowns. Elliot can sense his confusion, worry and sadness all at once and it overwhelms him. He's about to take back his words when he feels Tyrell's grip getting tighter, resolution on his face. He moves closer and Elliot doesn't except the intensity of the movement. He finds himself pinned down by Tyrell's weight on top of him, clutching him ever harder as seconds pass. He's kissing him hard and rough this time, using tongue and biting lips till they almost bleed.

Elliot can't help but melt into it, kissing him back with as much fervor, holding him tight. He's overwhelmed by the pressure, by the feels, by his proximity. He just wants to crawl inside Tyrell and never go back, the two of them becoming one.

Out of breath, Tyrell finally stops and steps back a bit, Elliot moaning at the loss. His eyes are closed. When did that happen?

When he opens them, he sees Tyrell close, so close, panting, his blue eyes piercing his soul. Elliot looks down and can't help staring at his now red lips, the same lips that were on his own, oh he so wants them back, where they belong.

As if he's been heard, Tyrell lays one more soft chaste kiss on his lips before putting their foreheads together, still holding him close. He takes a satisfied breath and whispers to Elliot, in the most needing way:

"Does it feel real, now?"