[ Quentin woke to something the smell of something delicious wafting sweetly in from the kitchen of their tiny cottage. He recognized the smell of Eliot's special blueberry pancakes, and for a few moments everything was blissfully nice, the only thoughts in his mind those of Eliot and the wonderful food he made and their sweet domestic life here together--
And the puzzle and how they would never solve it and never get to leave and god Quentin Coldwater was a pathetic excuse for a hero if he couldn't even solve one dumb puzzle about the meaning of life or whatever. And why was Eliot even with him anyway? Probably only because they were alone here. He wasn't anything special, Eliot Waugh could have anyone.
Just like that, he felt that weight smash down on him again, the little voice whispering in his ear how worthless he was, making him question the point of any of this, even of life. The only consolation was that he actually wanted to get up today, he wanted to have Eliot's pancakes, they were among his favourites. Yesterday he hadn't even had the energy to get out of bed at all.
And Eliot... Eliot had stayed with him, curled up around him. He'd let him sleep, brought him breakfast in bed and insisted he ate it. He'd just been there and hadn't judged at all. Quentin couldn't remember the last time anyone had really taken care of him like that, the last time he'd been like this and someone had understood.
That wasn't fake, he knew that much, Eliot obviously truly cares for him. And yet he couldn't help but think they only had this because they were here. Eliot wouldn't want to be with him if they were back home, if they ever got to leave here, Eliot would surely not want to continue this either.
Fuck, can't his brain just stop being such a dick? He sighs, shoving his face against the pillow. Maybe he should just go back to sleep, maybe...
The pancakes smell so good, though. And if he didn't get up, surely Eliot would just be in to poke him into eating them. He was pretty hungry too. Which was good, maybe he could do better today. Even though the thought of working on the mosaic at all threatened to send his treacherous brain spiralling all over again.
Forcing himself to sit up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, trying to prepare himself to get up. It's harder than it should be, but not as impossible as it was yesterday, when any kind of motivation had escaped him.
Pulling on one of the loose fitting pairs of pants and shirts he and Eliot had gotten from the nearby village, Quentin closes his eyes, then opens them before quietly making his way out into the kitchen. Or rather, the main room, since their cottage was really very small. ]
Uh, hey. [ He said softly, his voice small as he approached Eliot. He felt a tug of affection at his heart when he saw him, something soft and nice that persisted even through yesterday's fog of depression.
Folding his arms, he looked at the floor, feeling ashamed and silly for it all at once. Eliot hadn't judged him before, yes, but he still hated this. These days when he couldn't get out of bed, it brought him back to a time before all this, to when the future in front of him seemed grim and colourless. ]
So, um, sorry, El. For yesterday. We could've gotten more done on the puzzle and I-- I get like this sometimes. I thought I wasn't doing that bad anymore but I guess I'm still-- [ he makes a vague gesture at himself ] like this.
[ Eliot gets it. He understands what it's like to think the weight of the world is crushing you, or that you're never going to get anywhere you're trying to go. He's been there plenty of times. The difference is that while Quentin deals with it by lying in bed and shutting the world out, Eliot drinks and does his best to let the world in. But it's been easier for Eliot here. The mosaic is total bullshit and Eliot's not going to admit it, but he's not sure if they'll ever really get it. He tries not to think too much about everyone back home (that's when he really finds he needs to drink to numb things), but. It's easier.
Eliot falls into the routine easily. He takes to the calm of the cottage in the middle of Fillory, he enjoys the sound of the stream not far off and the people in the village are kind. He's even gotten over tapping once again into his farming background and he tends the garden that gives them their vegetables. Domesticity, as far as Eliot is concerned, is exactly what he needed in his life to ground him. He has a purpose here.
And, yeah, it doesn't hurt that he has Quentin, too.
Maybe it's just luck that they've ended up on this quest together. For every thought Quentin quietly has about how this would never happen back home, Eliot has it, too. So he's clinging to it while it lasts. He takes advantage of being able to lie beside Quentin, and to kiss him, to just live life with him. There are days where, yes, that means making sure Quentin eats. Days where he alternates giving Quentin space or wrapping around him while they in bed. Honestly, he doesn't mind. He likes it.
So he smiles when Quentin shuffles into view. ]
Hey, you're up.
[ Eliot doesn't bother saying anything else. It happened, and it's time to move past it. After all - it's okay to feel like a depressed sack of dicks, so there's no need to apologize. Instead, Eliot leans in to press a kiss to Quentin's lips before popping a blueberry into Quentin's mouth. ]
The blueberries are unreal right now, right? I picked them yesterday but I have no fucking idea what to do with all of them before they go bad. Maybe we can sell or trade them in the village.
[ Something in Quentin's chest unwinds the moment he sees Eliot's smile, sees Eliot being happy to see him. He sways just a tiny bit, pressing back into the brief kiss, another knot untying inside him at that soft brush of lips. Yesterday this comfort had been soothing, too, but the strength of it had only been enough to hold back the absolute worst of Quentin's demons.
Now he thinks maybe it could be enough to banish them.
The blueberry helped, too, reminding him of how hungry he felt this morning, and it tastes damn good. He takes his time chewing it, savouring the way the flavour spreads over his tongue. A small smile even fights its way onto his lips. ]
Yeah... We could trade them. Maybe. But, tomorrow, we don't have to go today, right? [ the thought having to go and be around people and pretend to smile or feign happiness in order to be pleasant be as really threatened to kill all these good feelings he was having. He doesn't think he can handle doing that and trying to work on the mosaic today. He doesn't even really want to do that, either, but they have to.
He leans forward more now, arms coming up to wrap around Eliot's waist. This is better, nicer, he wishes he could just be here with Eliot all day, their little cottage full of the smell of delicious food cooking, the fire warm, their little piece of domestic heaven. ]
It smells good... [ he spoke softly, head turning slightly, still pressed against Eliot, to glance over where the pancakes were quietly frying in the pan. ] Thanks, El. For everything.
[ Quentin's smile, no matter how small, makes Eliot smile. He can't hide the relief that washes over his face. If Quentin's not happy, if he can't make Quentin happy, then what's even the point? Eliot slides his hand over Quentin's cheek and gives him a soft kiss. Lingering, but soft. ]
The only thing I want to do today is do absolutely nothing with you.
[ The mosaic can wait. Whether they get it today or tomorrow, it doesn't matter right now, and Eliot had worked on it yesterday between checking on Quentin. They need to take a break sometimes, anyway.
He turns away to flip the pancakes out of the pan. Before he starts on more, he takes a another blueberry, which he presses to Quentin's lips before popping it into the other man's mouth and kissing him again. ]
[ Quentin really very much likes the sound of all that. Do nothing. Yeah, that seems nice. Or at least, spending a whole day together relaxing, maybe, perhaps in bed, too, seems really nice. Eliot kisses him softly then, making a warmth spread through him. He cares about you, he cares, he cares, Quentin keeps telling himself softly, an active affirmation that he must proclaim so his broken brain stays quiet.
Too bad it doesn't shut up a little longer. Because doing nothing, that's what he did yesterday, and every day of his teenage life and beyond where he couldn't get out of bed. It wasn't good, it was something only pathetic, depressed, lazy people did. Eliot just made it sound nice. Probably because with him it would be. Because every moment spent with Eliot can't be anything besides nice, it can't be just doing nothing. ]
Okay... [ He says it softly, tryng to hold onto this justification, this argument against his stupid anxiety brain.
He watches as Eliot turns and flips one of the pancakes--fuck, they look and smell so good--before he turns back and offers Quentin a blueberry. Or rather, puts one into his mouth, which he takes easily. ] Mmmm... [ He can't help but voice his pleasure at sweetness on his tongue, chewing slowly to savour it. ] Holy shit... Wow, I know I say this all the time but your cooking's amazing, El. And I know you didn't actually cook that but you did such a good job growing them.
[ He moves to the fireplace where the pancakes are cooking, keeping close to Eliot. He hesitates, trying still to hold onto these good feelings. ] Um, are you sure we should do nothing? I mean it sounds good, but I can't shake this feeling that we're wasting a day and it's my fault because I can't keep my shit together and I'm-- I'm sorry, El, for being such a depressive, anxious idiot. I wish there a way to just make my fucking broken brain shut up so I could just. Stop being so. So... This. [ He gestures feeably to himself, frowning.
Sigh. Trying to think positively was fun for the five minutes it lasted. ]
[ He looks over his shoulder at Quentin, just to give him a pointed look to let him know that Eliot means it. That Eliot's not going anywhere.
He slides the pancakes on to a plate as they finish up, and that plate is promptly shoved at Quentin. He needs to eat, after all, and Eliot's own serving won't be far behind. ]
I think there's still some syrup if you want it. Or honey. And, hey - there's honestly nowhere I'd rather be right now than here, with you, playing house.
[ With his own pancakes fried up, Eliot ignores them, watching Quentin to make sure he takes a few bites. After a moment, he takes his own plate, and as he reaches around Quentin to grab the butter, he presses his nose into the skin under Quentin's ear. ]
Maybe we can go to the river. Clean ourselves up a bit.
[ Eliot's hand slides down to Quentin's hip. He squeezes it, and smiles against Quentin's neck, just a hint at being suggestive. Because of course, bathing in the river means getting naked together in the river. ]
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And the puzzle and how they would never solve it and never get to leave and god Quentin Coldwater was a pathetic excuse for a hero if he couldn't even solve one dumb puzzle about the meaning of life or whatever. And why was Eliot even with him anyway? Probably only because they were alone here. He wasn't anything special, Eliot Waugh could have anyone.
Just like that, he felt that weight smash down on him again, the little voice whispering in his ear how worthless he was, making him question the point of any of this, even of life. The only consolation was that he actually wanted to get up today, he wanted to have Eliot's pancakes, they were among his favourites. Yesterday he hadn't even had the energy to get out of bed at all.
And Eliot... Eliot had stayed with him, curled up around him. He'd let him sleep, brought him breakfast in bed and insisted he ate it. He'd just been there and hadn't judged at all. Quentin couldn't remember the last time anyone had really taken care of him like that, the last time he'd been like this and someone had understood.
That wasn't fake, he knew that much, Eliot obviously truly cares for him. And yet he couldn't help but think they only had this because they were here. Eliot wouldn't want to be with him if they were back home, if they ever got to leave here, Eliot would surely not want to continue this either.
Fuck, can't his brain just stop being such a dick? He sighs, shoving his face against the pillow. Maybe he should just go back to sleep, maybe...
The pancakes smell so good, though. And if he didn't get up, surely Eliot would just be in to poke him into eating them. He was pretty hungry too. Which was good, maybe he could do better today. Even though the thought of working on the mosaic at all threatened to send his treacherous brain spiralling all over again.
Forcing himself to sit up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, trying to prepare himself to get up. It's harder than it should be, but not as impossible as it was yesterday, when any kind of motivation had escaped him.
Pulling on one of the loose fitting pairs of pants and shirts he and Eliot had gotten from the nearby village, Quentin closes his eyes, then opens them before quietly making his way out into the kitchen. Or rather, the main room, since their cottage was really very small. ]
Uh, hey. [ He said softly, his voice small as he approached Eliot. He felt a tug of affection at his heart when he saw him, something soft and nice that persisted even through yesterday's fog of depression.
Folding his arms, he looked at the floor, feeling ashamed and silly for it all at once. Eliot hadn't judged him before, yes, but he still hated this. These days when he couldn't get out of bed, it brought him back to a time before all this, to when the future in front of him seemed grim and colourless. ]
So, um, sorry, El. For yesterday. We could've gotten more done on the puzzle and I-- I get like this sometimes. I thought I wasn't doing that bad anymore but I guess I'm still-- [ he makes a vague gesture at himself ] like this.
no subject
Eliot falls into the routine easily. He takes to the calm of the cottage in the middle of Fillory, he enjoys the sound of the stream not far off and the people in the village are kind. He's even gotten over tapping once again into his farming background and he tends the garden that gives them their vegetables. Domesticity, as far as Eliot is concerned, is exactly what he needed in his life to ground him. He has a purpose here.
And, yeah, it doesn't hurt that he has Quentin, too.
Maybe it's just luck that they've ended up on this quest together. For every thought Quentin quietly has about how this would never happen back home, Eliot has it, too. So he's clinging to it while it lasts. He takes advantage of being able to lie beside Quentin, and to kiss him, to just live life with him. There are days where, yes, that means making sure Quentin eats. Days where he alternates giving Quentin space or wrapping around him while they in bed. Honestly, he doesn't mind. He likes it.
So he smiles when Quentin shuffles into view. ]
Hey, you're up.
[ Eliot doesn't bother saying anything else. It happened, and it's time to move past it. After all - it's okay to feel like a depressed sack of dicks, so there's no need to apologize. Instead, Eliot leans in to press a kiss to Quentin's lips before popping a blueberry into Quentin's mouth. ]
The blueberries are unreal right now, right? I picked them yesterday but I have no fucking idea what to do with all of them before they go bad. Maybe we can sell or trade them in the village.
no subject
Now he thinks maybe it could be enough to banish them.
The blueberry helped, too, reminding him of how hungry he felt this morning, and it tastes damn good. He takes his time chewing it, savouring the way the flavour spreads over his tongue. A small smile even fights its way onto his lips. ]
Yeah... We could trade them. Maybe. But, tomorrow, we don't have to go today, right? [ the thought having to go and be around people and pretend to smile or feign happiness in order to be pleasant be as really threatened to kill all these good feelings he was having. He doesn't think he can handle doing that and trying to work on the mosaic today. He doesn't even really want to do that, either, but they have to.
He leans forward more now, arms coming up to wrap around Eliot's waist. This is better, nicer, he wishes he could just be here with Eliot all day, their little cottage full of the smell of delicious food cooking, the fire warm, their little piece of domestic heaven. ]
It smells good... [ he spoke softly, head turning slightly, still pressed against Eliot, to glance over where the pancakes were quietly frying in the pan. ] Thanks, El. For everything.
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The only thing I want to do today is do absolutely nothing with you.
[ The mosaic can wait. Whether they get it today or tomorrow, it doesn't matter right now, and Eliot had worked on it yesterday between checking on Quentin. They need to take a break sometimes, anyway.
He turns away to flip the pancakes out of the pan. Before he starts on more, he takes a another blueberry, which he presses to Quentin's lips before popping it into the other man's mouth and kissing him again. ]
Today is just a Quentin and Eliot day.
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Too bad it doesn't shut up a little longer. Because doing nothing, that's what he did yesterday, and every day of his teenage life and beyond where he couldn't get out of bed. It wasn't good, it was something only pathetic, depressed, lazy people did. Eliot just made it sound nice. Probably because with him it would be. Because every moment spent with Eliot can't be anything besides nice, it can't be just doing nothing. ]
Okay... [ He says it softly, tryng to hold onto this justification, this argument against his stupid anxiety brain.
He watches as Eliot turns and flips one of the pancakes--fuck, they look and smell so good--before he turns back and offers Quentin a blueberry. Or rather, puts one into his mouth, which he takes easily. ] Mmmm... [ He can't help but voice his pleasure at sweetness on his tongue, chewing slowly to savour it. ] Holy shit... Wow, I know I say this all the time but your cooking's amazing, El. And I know you didn't actually cook that but you did such a good job growing them.
[ He moves to the fireplace where the pancakes are cooking, keeping close to Eliot. He hesitates, trying still to hold onto these good feelings. ] Um, are you sure we should do nothing? I mean it sounds good, but I can't shake this feeling that we're wasting a day and it's my fault because I can't keep my shit together and I'm-- I'm sorry, El, for being such a depressive, anxious idiot. I wish there a way to just make my fucking broken brain shut up so I could just. Stop being so. So... This. [ He gestures feeably to himself, frowning.
Sigh. Trying to think positively was fun for the five minutes it lasted. ]
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[ He looks over his shoulder at Quentin, just to give him a pointed look to let him know that Eliot means it. That Eliot's not going anywhere.
He slides the pancakes on to a plate as they finish up, and that plate is promptly shoved at Quentin. He needs to eat, after all, and Eliot's own serving won't be far behind. ]
I think there's still some syrup if you want it. Or honey. And, hey - there's honestly nowhere I'd rather be right now than here, with you, playing house.
[ With his own pancakes fried up, Eliot ignores them, watching Quentin to make sure he takes a few bites. After a moment, he takes his own plate, and as he reaches around Quentin to grab the butter, he presses his nose into the skin under Quentin's ear. ]
Maybe we can go to the river. Clean ourselves up a bit.
[ Eliot's hand slides down to Quentin's hip. He squeezes it, and smiles against Quentin's neck, just a hint at being suggestive. Because of course, bathing in the river means getting naked together in the river. ]