endlessflask | [ open post ]

((continued from here))

Christ. Things hadn’t been tgis way with Mike - then again, Mike doesn’t even compare to Quentin as far Eliot’s concerned. But, still, this is what he’d been afraid of. Messing it all up.

Eliot spends a good deal if time fussing with his hair. He’s nervous so he needs to look perfect (it’s reasonable). What does he even say? Is I’m sorry too simple? When he does finally see Quentin, he decides to just start easy.

“Hi. I would have been faster but - I wasn’t.”

Edited 2019-05-19 07:44 (UTC)

(( continued from here ))

[ Yeah, Quentin doesn’t really stand a chance against Eliot in person, does he?

When Eliot gets there, he presses a kiss to Quentin’s head, ruffles his hair, and climbs over the back of the couch. ]

I’m here. Start convincing me of this mystery, unimportant thing.

What the hell is Mike's Hard Lemonade because I've had three and I feel FANTASTIC.

[ 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.

[ever since he (drunkenly, of course) stumbled into the portal to new york, klaus has found that he almost likes it better than his own city. they're similar in ways he never expected, yet different enough, it keeps him on his toes. having someone like eliot around who totally understands him is also a huge plus. not once in his life did he anticipate running across someone so similar to himself; understanding in a way other people wouldn't be, it makes him wonder if the magician isn't someone he might've met in another life.

what a silly thing to consider, reincarnation. even sillier is the fact he's contemplating it when there are far more distracting things at hand.

eliot, standing in front of him, holding another drink he can barely see through the already present alcohol-induced haze. he blinks once, twice, reaches to take the cup and draws it close, holds it against his chest while he catches the straw between his lips. he sucks down a quarter of the glass in one go, eyelashes fluttering heavily as he casts his friend a half-lidded glance, unable to help the playful smirk curving his lips at the edges.]

Yanno, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're tryin' to get me drunk.

[joke's on him, he's already way past inebriated, working into the blacking-out part. thankfully, klaus's well-aware his limit's nearing and they'll need to stop once that point is reached if they have any chance of getting back home. until then though, he's more than happy with sipping on his drink, letting his gaze linger places it shouldn't when they're out in public. (like he really gives a shit? because he legit does not care a single fucking bit who might be watching.)

it's a little delayed, the tiny giggle he lets out at his joke, although no less sincere.] Just kidding, obviously, I'm already goddamn sloshed.

i'm out of menthol cigarettes and I think this this how I die

[ Eliot had gone and gotten them drinks. When Eliot comes back, Charlton is gone, although he does get a text a solid 6 minutes later: ]

[ image.jpg ]

I believe I'm somewhere quite moist.

hello im trying to reach a hottie
is this the correct number

[From here]

That is true. I'll be there in ten

[Nine minutes later and there's a knock on the door.]

Edited 2020-04-18 06:02 (UTC)

[ Eliot wonders if life will ever be simple for any of them. Clearly it's not going to happen any time soon, but it'd be nice to have days again where the biggest concern is what shoes he'll wear or what the theme for the night's party should be. In a lot of ways, he's sort of glad for the growth or whatever life forced him into, but he misses the way it used to be, too.

But Eliot's never been the introspective sort, so all that wistful thinking leaves him as soon as it comes, and instead he finds himself throwing on a robe and walking the short distance in the dark to Alice's room. There's no light on under her door, but he knows she's probably just as awake as he is. Maybe it's rude to impose himself on her like this. Maybe she, unlike him, enjoys the quiet solitude and needs it to sleep.

Well. It's too late now.

He doesn't even knock before he slips inside. The door is closed gently behind him and he uses the light filtering in from outside to find his way to the bed, and he crawls in. ]

@theqcontinuum; tfln

@floppyhair; tfln

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likely gonna head toward nsfw territory so FAIR WARNING??? winging it like eyeliner (as always)

@moderatelymaladjusted; texting texting texting

some texting bullshit;

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