InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I LOVE THE JUSTIN."

The memories of last week’s victory party were still fresh in Quinn’s mind (mostly the one where she stubbornly tried to go for her morning run and instead vomited on a tree five minutes into her warm-up), so she’d decided that partying responsibly was the sensible thing to do even though it was her best friend’s birthday party. That’s just what he got for having a birthday on a Wednesday. Tough.

She figured that taking a breather from the ‘small’ party inside would probably help her drink less—what, peer pressure? Quinn never succumbs to peer pressure!—and set up camp on an empty log by the bonfire. Stretching her legs out, she tapped her boots together lazily and mused over how weird it would be to play the wallflower for more than five minutes at a time. It would be both alienating and boring, and she had no idea why anybody would find it enjoyable.

Ty wasn't certain why he'd come to the party. He was still recovering from the victory party last week (after which he'd been so drunk he'd needed Rafael to come and walk him home), he barely knew Jesse, and the idea of running into Etta after the Amortentia fiasco made him want to crawl into a hole and die. Except...when he saw Quinn break away from the group and head off toward the bonfire, he did know. He still needed to talk to her, both to apologize for what a dismissive jerk he'd been while under the influence of the potion and to tell her about his conversation with Rafael. No matter how it was going to go down, he needed to talk to her. He took a moment to drain the remaining contents in the red party cup he'd been holding (he really hadn't learned anything, had he?), tossed it in a nearby trash bag, and jogged over to join her. It wasn't likely that she'd stay long or that the space around the bonfire would remain as empty as it was now.

Slowing to a trot and then to a walk as he neared, he pulled in a breath and spoke. "Quinn! Hey. Mind if I....?" He gestured to where she sat, indicating the intention to join her. His tone was casual enough on the surface, but he could hear the awkward unease just beneath and she probably would too. But there wasn't anything to do but just keep going. Not unless she told him to go away or something, anyway.

Quinn didn’t look up from her boots until she heard the hurried gait near her. Oh, great. Was the immediate reaction, Jesse’s set something on fire — except it wasn’t Ryan getting help, but Ty looking for a seat. She hadn’t been avoiding him all evening so much as she’d been... celebrating Jesse’s birthday. In ways where she didn’t have to make eye contact with the Coppertale or really cross paths with him at all. She’d considered treating him like nothing had happened, but her usual defense mechanism (relentless teasing) was starting to feel less tactful and more trite, or even tired.

Sweeping her hand over the rest of the log, on which there was enough room for two of Ty, she replied, “There might be enough space.” with a small smile that she hoped didn’t look forced. She’d insist it was only partially forced.

Regardless of Ty's rush to get here, when Quinn actually turned her dark eyes up to look at him and he was confronted with that tense smile, he didn't immediately know what to say or even what to do. The answer to that, though, was obvious. He forced a smile in return and dropped down to sit on the log beside her, leaning forward to prop his elbows against his knees and looking into the fire. The heat that radiated off of it felt good on his cold face and his cold hands, but he wasn't here for that. He looked back at Quinn, blurting out the first thing that came into his mind so that he could at least start talking to her. "Some party. You guys never miss a chance, do you? I'm a little jealous.”

“‘Work hard, play hard.’” Delivered with a fake gravitas meant to invoke the quoting of a literary master, Quinn’s smile comes a little easier; maybe everything didn’t have to be as heavy on the ‘serious’ as she’d been expecting (or, perhaps more accurately, dreading). “Though maybe it’s less work and more play for most of the house.”

This prompted a more genuine smile from Ty too. It was almost always like this with Quinn; they could just shut out all of the serious shit and joke with each other anyway. It was nice. And easy to get pulled in. "That's the housewide policy, I'd guess," he said, tone a little lighter now, "You and Cecil and Etta are just rebels. With all your hard work and ambition and stuff. Don't rock the party boat."

Apparently doomed to fluctuate for all time, Quinn’s roommate’s name makes her smile falter; not because of Etta herself so much as the connection between Etta, Ty, and the weekend’s Amortentia debacle — which was the whole reason she’d decided it would be easier to just avoid Ty altogether, at least for a little while. After what was really only a moment, the smile recovered and she replied matter-of-factly, “They hold a yearly referendum to decide if we can stay.” She balanced an elbow on her knee to rest her head in her hand, raising her eyebrows at Ty. “Frankly, I’m surprised any of us lasted this long without being voted off of the party boat.”

"Probably because Cecil cooks, you throw amazing parties, and Etta wins the Quidditch matches," Ty observed playfully, still smiling, though he had noticed the impact of his words on Quinn and he turned to look at the fire again as his easy expression waned. For an awkwardly long moment he was quiet, then he said, "I’m....sorry. For the other day. Amortentia or no Amortentia, I was an asshole. I just wasn't thinking about anything but, well, you know." He'd just said the other girl's name twice, but after this admission, it caught in his throat and he just couldn’t. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around everything that he’ said to her or everything that he’d felt for her.

Exhaling, he pushed one set of fingers into his bleached hair and raked it back from his face, flashing the darker roots that were beginning to show a little more than he normally liked. Touching up had sort of slipped his mind. “And I’m sorry that I waited that long to even try to say anything.”

Quinn, normally prepared with some spirited (if sarcastic) comment, took her time to respond. She didn’t particularly want to keep eye contact with Ty while she thought, so she let her gaze follow his hand into his hair. “The... delivery method wasn’t your fault. You were drugged, and I was the one that reached out.” She knew the words were true, but she’d been having a difficult time separating that from how they had made her feel in the moment. Quinn considered herself a level-headed person, after all, and had felt confident in her ability to set aside personal feelings when she provided assistance in an emergency. She was never shy about her Healing ambitions, but she had thought she had the right disposition until she’d spent too much of Sunday snapping at people who couldn’t help their behaviour.

She stretched her legs back out and pushed her hands into her pockets, opting to look again down to the toes of her boots. Quieter, she asked, “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

"I don't know." Ty's tone was quiet and strained and genuinely uncertain, so far removed from his typically vibrant chirping and quipping that he barely sounded like himself. "Rafael told me that you guys were done. That who you were with didn't have anything to do with him anymore and that you deserve to have fun; do what you want. And so do I. Just like you said he would. But I was drunk that night, totally gone, and I thought I might've missed something or..." He shook his head. "I don't normally do this. Over think everything. Over think anything, really. But we're all important to each other and the thought of messing that up just got to me. I think I would've said something. I wanted to say something. But." Defeated, he shrugged. There was no way to know what he would or wouldn’t have done now.

Finally his green eyes turned from the fire and he looked at Quinn, grinning weakly. "Big surprise, right? Green badge is a coward." He dropped his hand from his hair, leaving it it a bit disheveled, and added, "So. That's it. I don't have an excuse. But I'm sorry."

Quinn returned the grin with a small smile and reached up to affectionately smooth back the disheveled hair with a hand, careful enough that she hoped he understood she wasn’t trying to make a move. “Pansies and cowards are different things.” She returned her hand to its pocket as she thought over what Ty said — he’d alluded to their conversation over the journals but at that point she couldn’t do any better than infer what had been said between the two boys. “You may have been drunk, but Raf isn’t the kind of friend who’d lie just because it’s what he thinks you want to hear. That would be wrong.” The last sentence is delivered through a smirk. “But I think I get it; actually get it this time, instead of saying ‘yeah, no, but not really.’” There was a longer silence where she, obviously not finished, tried to figure out exactly what she meant to say; it had been a lot easier on journals when she could just replace every other word with an expletive and call it a day. She looked back at Ty, bit her lip, and decided to do what she did best (or at least, most often): unload everything at once without much warning or embellishment, and let the other person sift through the rubble for whatever they decided to hang onto.

She begins slowly, “When I suggested you talk to him there were... some things I didn’t think about. I don’t really have a ‘Ty’ or a ‘Rafael’ in my life, like, what you are to each other. The closest I have is a ‘Jesse,’ and that’s...” She shrugged and waved a hand toward the Grotto, “a different beast.” While it seemed like it was only fair to be honest and share these things in light of what Ty had been going through on account of her, she felt uncomfortable offering it all up — like she was imposing on him (which she kind of was). She drew her knees up near her chest and she made a show of inspecting her boot’s zipper. “I didn’t really let myself recognize what the fallout might be for you two if he wasn’t okay with whatever we were doing, and when I realized it, I was really pissed off with myself.” She snickered quietly and added the quiet clarification, “Livid.” Quinn shook her head, still focused on her boot and still not finished. “I shouldn’t have put you in the line of fire like that, Ty. I’m sorry. I think I was distracted by how much I liked you–like you–that I kind of just wanted to do what I could to keep... whatever it was, going, while I could. Before you decided it was more trouble than it was worth, or not your style, or something.” A pause, “I was selfish.”

Quinn’s face is flushed by the time she finishes, as much from the embarrassment of sharing so much unbidden information as from the breaths she forgot to take in her resolve to apologize. “So, that’s... me.” It wasn’t a very helpful conclusion, but she wasn’t sure how to finish. Although she stole a quick glance at Ty—was he annoyed? Indifferent, humiliated, bored?—she immediately looked back to her boot in an uncharacteristic display of discomfort. “Quinn, who bottles things up for a while until it gets to the point where I have to apologize for my apology because it turned into a five-act piece of performance art.”

Taking the gesture as what it was, an affectionate reassurance rather than anything flirtatious, Ty relaxed a little when Quinn smoothed down his unkempt hair. Then, keeping his eyes on the girl this time, he listened. It was a lot to take in, but when she finished he offered her a warm smile and teased, hoping to lighten the mood just a little, "You're cute when you blush, you know. So this 'bottling things up until they turn into performance art' thing isn't all bad."

Then the smile faded again and he shook his head. "You weren't selfish. You know Raf and you knew that nothing was going to happen. And if it were anyone but him...I wouldn't have been so weird about it. But he's more than a friend to me; he helped me through some bad stuff and he's always there for me and he knows me more than anyone else. I'd say he's like my brother, but my brother's a shithead. But he's Raf. So when I thought this might hurt him, I just freaked out. But I'm glad you get it. Get me, I guess." All of this serious, earnest talk was necessary...but it made him uncomfortable. He paused to pull in a breath and smiled reflexively and laughed a little at nothing. It wasn't a good habit, but he'd never been able to help it. "And, honestly? If it were anyone but you...I probably wouldn't have bothered trying. But I like you too. I always like being with you. Even this isn't as horrible as it should be. And the other night at the Grotto..." He made a small production of putting his hand over his heart and looking overwhelmed, then dropped it again and sobered. "I didn't want to let that go either."

He lapsed into silence for a long moment, then finally said, "So. What now? Since we've both had our chance for a one-man show."

Ty’s insistence made Quinn blush more and, for lack of any better way to deal with it, she crossed her arms on her knees so she could bury her face in them; a small ”You’re not helping!” could be heard from somewhere in the centre. The redness was mostly gone when she looked back up, although it had been replaced by a cheeky smile that reeks of ‘I’ll get you for this.’ Shaking the hair out of her eyes, she waited, listening, chin resting in her arms. “First, I think you’d get the five-star review, especially if you decide to include some of those flips you do.” True to form, she began with an attempt to derail the conversation into playful, teasing territory — which was fun but she knew it wasn’t going to help them figure anything out. “Aside from our bright futures in theatre, though, I think–” she stopped and bit her lip, watching Ty’s expression for any indications of how he might take what she was about to say, “–that it would be a shame if we spent all that time and energy on talking and thinking so that we could shake hands and part ways guilt-free.” Yes, it was a gamble, but Quinn was nothing if not forward.

There was nothing difficult about decoding Ty's expression. The smile on his face eased, no longer anxious or automatic, but relieved and happy and cautiously eager. This mess was finally getting sorted out and he...felt more like himself again. He didn't have to overthink or second-guess; he could just be. And he was with someone that was willing to just let him be. "You've got a point," he answered after a brief pause, his voice regaining some of its typical brightness, "There are all sorts of guilt-free options on the table now. And all of them are better than shaking hands and parting ways. Like, for example..." He moved closer to Quinn on the log, then abruptly leaned in and attempted to kiss her. Maybe it was just because it had been so long or so hard-won, but it felt electric. When he drew back, he bumped her shoulder lightly with his and teased, "Or....whatever."

Quinn’s own shoulders visibly relaxed as she watched Ty’s disposition do the same. Sure, she knew how much of a cliché it was that she felt like a weight had been lifted from them, but it was true; as a fairly impulsive person in her personal life, she never enjoyed feeling like she had to step carefully around any of her friends. And now she didn’t need to worry? Well, that’s peachy! And what’s more– Her internal monologue is cut short when Ty leans in, and Quinn would have to admit that she was caught by surprise. The kiss wasn’t unwelcome, though, and she just recovered enough to reciprocate right when he pulled away, which left her biting her lip again — this time for reasons completely separate from the uncertainty and discomfort that had hung over their conversation.

She laughed softly and let her legs stretch back out to gather some warmth from the bonfire. “Or whatever,” she repeated with a smile. Walking two fingers across the log in the small space between them, Quinn mused aloud, “I wonder what else ‘whatever’ might involve?” The question might have been phrased rhetorically, but the fingers now making their way from the log up to Ty’s leg proved otherwise.

"Could be anything," Ty responded with a grin and angled his body toward Quinn's, obviously encouraged and obviously aware of the significance of that wandering hand, "That's the beauty of 'whatever'." It was uncanny how easily they were both falling back into the way things had been before, only with all of the jokes and the ridiculous flirting and none of the uncertainty or the guilt. Or the considerable intoxication. He hadn't expected it, but after all the drama of the last few days...it was very welcome. He looked like he might be on the verge of kissing her again when his green eyes flitted momentarily away from her and then back. "Unless your not-Raf needs you?" Quinn had taken the time to care about his relationship with his best friend, after all; he thought he probably owed Quinn and Jesse the same consideration.

Quinn’s other hand was already halfway to Ty’s face when he brought up the birthday boy. Not wanting to be caught by surprise again, she’d meant to be proactive and move in for a kiss herself — but instead, her forehead and the hand thunked onto his shoulder. Her complaint was simply an ”Ughhh, Jesseee...” that conveyed a perplexing combination of both exasperation and endearment. She heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned her head ever-so-slightly to look towards the Grotto. “It’s not like he’d care,” she began to point out. “If he knew we were out here he’d say ‘Ew, gross, not in my Grotto, brochachos’ and then give us a wink and a–” she mimed Jesse’s signature finger-guns with her free hand. Another melodramatic sigh saw Quinn pushing herself off of his shoulder, watching the revelers inside the building to try and figure out whether or not they were too distracted to trouble themselves with her or Ty’s whereabouts. “I suppose you’re right, since it’s his birthday.” She sounded more stubborn than resigned.

"I hate when I'm right," Ty acknowledged with an exaggerated sigh that made it clear that he was joking. He understood and he gave the girl's head an apologetic pat before she could fully lift herself back up from his shoulder. Then he smiled. "Hey. There'll be other times, right? Want to go say hey to the birthday boy and dance and drink too much? Party hard?" His expression turned slightly sheepish as he added, "...though, maybe not quite as hard as last time."

“That explains why you’re always so happy.” Quinn’s response was delivered with a playful grin as she pulled herself up to her feet up to her feet. “I pledge to uphold my duty to party, but I will not repeat the last time.” She leaned in close to Ty and gave him a serious look, trying to imply that she was about to share something of grave importance and unimaginable secrecy. “I tried to run the next morning and I puked on a tree. When I got to Hermeticism I felt like Vector could sense the Grotto on me.” A pause, “... She could probably smell it.”

This quip at his expense earned an immediate, delighted laugh from Ty. It didn't even occur to him to be offended. Instead his eyebrows rose and he agreed easily, "Absolutely. Knowing what you're talking about is a lot of work." He did wince at Quinn's story, though. He gave a solemn and sympathetic nod. "Probably. That woman is scary observant. But so long as she couldn't prove anything...I guess it worked out?" Then he stood up too, smiling and stretching and suggesting, "Let's not get tree-puking drunk tonight. I've got Potions in the morning."

Then he paused, remembering their oh-so-subtle code phrase from that first night at the Grotto, and his smile widened into a grin. "And not the fun kind of Potions."

Quinn placed her hands on Ty’s shoulders and looked at him with a serious expression. “Hawkeswood, no. If we’re about to go back into the party, you are not to mention Potions to me again.” She shook her head and continued, “I don’t even want to think about how we have it in the morning.” With a grin, she let go of his shoulders and began moving towards the party proper, bringing him gently along with a hand on his elbow. “Tell me about the ‘fun kind’ all you want, but the actual class is off-limits for at least... six years.”

The stern expression and the hands placed on his shoulders were enough to convince Ty that Quinn was serious and his expression sobered...at least until she got to the punchline. His lips twitched, then broke back into a grin as he started to laugh, echoing her sentiment as he followed her along, "Better to be safe. Let's go with seven..."