The work day finally ended and Eliot stopped at the liquor store to pick up a couple bottles of wine, then using a portal went to The Station. He took the elevator up to the fourth floor and to Quentin's apartment. He was cooking dinner and Eliot was looking forward. He couldn't help but be curious at what the other had made.
Things were better with him, but it was still a rocky road with good and bad days. He hoped more good than bad days were ahead of them. The roller coaster life had been lately wasn't a ride he wanted to stay on. Eliot took a deep breath then knocked on the door.
Dinner. It was just dinner. In his own home, with Eliot Waugh who had a most refined palate. And he knew that no matter what he might want to do, his cooking skills were just not up to that level. SO he stuck with something simple, well simple enough for him anyway: baked chicken and veggies. It smelled good so that was a plus.
He had just finished setting the table when he heard a knock on the door. It had to be Eliot, only Julia knew where he'd moved to and he doubted she would be coming by unannounced. He stepped over and pulled the door open. "Hey. You made it." He did half expect to get another 'something came up' text. He nodded and stepped aside. "C'mon in. Dinner's ready, was just keeping it warm until you got here."
"I did." Eliot stepped inside and looked around before turning to Quentin. "This one is for dinner," he said holding up a bag, "and this one is for you. Sort of a house warming gift." He handed them both off then tok off his jacket and hung it up.
He walked further in following Quentin to the kitchen. "Do you need help with anything?"
Quentin took the bags from him and smiled up at him. He wasn't worried, Eliot did have good taste. "Thanks, El." He shut the door behind him then walked into the kitchen and set the bags on the counter then pulled out the bottle designated for dinner. "You could open the wine while I get the chicken out of the oven?" He pushed the bottle across the counter to him then turned to get dinner plated up. "How'd work go today?"
He carried the plates over to the table once they were ready and grabbed them glasses. "I don't have any wine glasses yet, so these will have to do"
"You're welcome," he replied returning the smile. He took the corkscrew and opened the wine. "It was a little hectic. Some rich client was there and had everyone in frenzy. I can't recall the last time I've seen that much ass kissing." Eliot did his part and tried to stay out of the way as much as possible.
He took the wine to the table. "Those are just as good as wine glasses." He poured them each a glass then sat down. "How was your day?"
Quentin chuckled. "Sounds like a good day then." He looked the table over and then nodded to himself. Everything looked good so he took his seat. "I mean, busy days go by faster don't they?"
He shrugged at the question. "I had a meeting with Ms Smith about getting my credentials sorted out so I can use my degree for something. But what good is a literature degree really?" Which was something he'd heard from his mother on many occasions. HE shook his head and waved a hand vaguely, dismissing his last statement before he picked up his glass. "So, my first meal cooked in my apartment. Thank you for sharing it with me."
"Mmm," Eliot grumbled and rolled his eyes. "I just don't get why rich people often have to be assholes." He never would, but such was life. He drank some wine then started in on his food. "That is definitely not always the case. Today felt like it dragged a bit."
Eliot almost said something, but didn't. "You could teach. Be a hoity toity professor," he grinned. "You could be an editor or a writer. Or hell, do something completely different. New place, 'new' you, why not?" Anything was possible. "I'll share a meal with you anytime, Q. How is the place? I know it hasn't been long. Now you can bring guys and gals to your place for hot sex anytime," he grinned.
"Because people let them get away with it." He shrugged. He didn't really understand why they got away with so much either, but things were the way they were. "That and especially in retail, the shop needs their money to keep going. It is completely ridiculous of course, but what're you gonna do really?" He couldn't think of a single thing that could change it.
"Oh yeah, I can see me being that professor." He laughed and shook his head. "More like the one who is constantly misplacing his glasses, and his jacket has a permanent smudge of something on the elbow where he's constantly hitting it on the whiteboard." The absent-minded professor trope was practically written with him in mind. "I don't know about a new me. The old me is alright." Mostly anyway.
He was so thankful he was not taking a drink when Eliot brought up hot sex. He just stared at him a moment then laughed, much louder than he meant to but he recovered quickly from the outburst. "Sorry..." He just shook his head. He was still trying to get settled. Julia's had just never felt like home to him. This place didn't yet either, but it was better than feeling like he was trying to fit himself into someone else's life. "That's not gonna be happening anytime soon."
Eliot didn't want to talk about work anymore. He didn't know what he wanted to talk about to be honest. He was feeling numb for the most part which was better than everything crushing down on him and feeling like he was going crazy.
Closing his eyes for a moment Eliot could picture just that. Quentin searching his desk and pockets for his glasses and an ever present smudge on his jacket that everyone pointed out, but he didn't care about. It brought a small smile to his lips. "You'd make an excellent professor." Shrugging a little he drank down his wine then poured himself more. "I meant figuratively speaking. The old you is pretty great." Just as he is, but there was no getting that through to Q. He wouldn't agree.
"It's just sex, Q. Hot, hard, sweaty sex." Eliot paused. Fuck. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." Jesus, his brain was not firing on all cylinders. "The food is good." He hadn't ate much so took another bite.
That smile just warmed Quentin's heart. With everything that he knew Eliot was going through, to see that little smile meant the world to him. He had an idea what Eliot was thinking about, and that made it even more special to him. He couldn't help it.
He gave him a half shrug then took a sip of his wine. "I think I could, and honestly? I probably going to end up doing that." It was the wrong time of year for starting a teaching job, but he was sure he could find one even if he had to find something else in the meantime.
Quentin stopped his hand midway between the plate and his mouth and just looked at him. He wanted to say he wasn't interested in just sex right now. Maybe getting laid would do him some good, but the way he saw it? It would be like putting a bandaid on a bullet wound, and he'd be left with that kinda empty feeling at the end of the night. He just nodded at the apology and had his bite of food. It was good, but he knew he could do better. "Thanks." He smiled and continued eating.
"Professor Coldwater. It has a nice ring to it." It all fit the man. Quentin would do well teaching. He'd do well at anything he put his mind to. "Maybe you could freelance write until you start teaching." There had to be a lot of different publications and what not online that would hire freelance writers.
The look on Quentin's face, the nod and the fact that he said nothing told Eliot he'd stuck his foot in his mouth and practically gagged on it. Goddamn it! He had to stop being so Eliot around Q, or take another pill to numb himself and his brain even more.
He ate a little more before pushing his half full plate off to the side. If asked he would say he had a late lunch. Reaching for his glass he took a long sip. "If we have dinner again I'll make some dessert. I've been into muffins this year. Josh would be proud."
He wasn't sure about freelance writing, though it was an idea. "I do like the sound of that." He smiled at him and ate a bit more. He wasn't sure what to say, he just couldn't understand why everything felt so tense around Eliot. This was not them, and he knew they both felt it.
He was finishing his glass of wine when Eliot pushed the plate away. Should he say something? He wasn't sure so he just put his glass down and nodded at the suggestion. "I'm sure he would be, or he'd get jealous because they were too delicious and have to make some to save his reputation." He eyed the plate again and couldn't just let it go. "You're not hungry?" He didn't think he'd served him too much.
"See? You can do anything you want and put your mind to." A job might help get Quentin out more and not worry about other things as much. "You should definitely look into the freelancing. Or I'm sure there are plenty of other jobs to fill the time until school starts."
He took another sip of wine. "He would try to out do me. I'd let him. He's a pretty good cook." He almost made a face when asked about his plate. "Not too hungry. I had a late lunch. I'll take some home with me to have for lunch tomorrow. It was good though. Do you want to go sit on the couch?" Eliot didn't wait for an answer before he topped off his wine glass then stood and walked into the living room. He tucked himself into one corner of the couch.
"I will." It felt good to have someone believe in him, especially when that someone was Eliot. Somehow that man had always believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself. He just wished he could get Eliot to believe in himself again. It hurt him to see the man in so much pain and he couldn't understand how anyone who knew him could ignore all the signs that he was drowning. The not eating was one of them but he knew he had to walk that fine line between letting Eliot know he saw and pushing him away and further into himself.
"Well he would fail miserably as far as I'm concerned." He was just a little biased. "Oh...okay." He wasn't sure he believed the late lunch line but he let it go. "I'll see if I have something to pack it up for you." He had mostly finished his own food, but he'd been pretty hungry by the time they started eating so he just scooped their plates up and carried them into the kitchen while Eliot settled on the couch.
"I did buy some tiramisu for dessert. I can put some of that aside for you to take too." He looked over then turned back to putting everything away, a separate container for Eliot to take along with the dessert. Once everything was in the fridge and the dishes were rinsed an in the dishwasher he washed his hands and collected his glass and the bottle to join Eliot on the couch.
He put the glass and bottle on the coffee table and moved to sit beside him. "C'mere." He reached over and took the glass from him and set it down before he pulled Eliot over into his arms for the cuddles he knew the man needed...even if he didn't want to say it outloud.
"You are biased, Q." Still, it was nice to hear. Shit. Eliot hadn't thought about Quentin not having containers for leftovers. He also knew he should be helping clean up, but there he sat, drinking his wine, staring at the wall in front of him. "That would be nice, thanks."
He looked up when Quentin came over and sat down. He'd brought the wine bottle. He knew him so well. He took a sip of wine and searched for something to say. Not much was coming to mind. Then Quentin took his glass and sat it on the table and moved to sit right next to him. He was pulled into his arms, wrapped up in them. Part of him wanted to say no, he shouldn't do this, shouldn't need it, but deep down he knew he did.
Eliot let out a shaky sigh and laid against Quentin, his eyes closed. Maybe for a little while he could just be, let Q hold him and pretend everything was okay. "Thank you," he softly whispered.
Quentin wouldn't even bother trying to deny that. He just grinned. "That's me." He didn't have much in the way of containers, but he found enough for what he needed. He added those to the list of things he'd need to buy for his apartment then joined Eliot on the couch.
Once he had his arms around him, Quentin just shifted enough so that he was comfortable then brought his hand up to comb his fingers through the man's hair. He gave the barest hint of a head shake and gently kissed Eliot's temple. "It's okay. I've got you, El." And he always would.
Eliot wanted to say something, anything, but he was so tired, so drained. What was there to say anyway? His brain would most likely spit something out that didn't make sense or it would come out wrong. Instead he pressed a little closer soaking in the warmth.
He wished he could sleep, but that hadn't been easy lately and he was starting to wonder if it ever would. But here and now he could rest, let everything else fall away. Somehow he would thank Quentin for his support.