A very (very) long, overdue, and difficult conversation about their relationship and the problems they've been having. But you know what? Forgiveness is a hell of a thing.
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Angst! So much angst!
There was no hesitation in his movements. As soon as Eliot had let him know where he was, he put his phone down and climbed off of his bed to head downstairs. He was on a mission of sorts and that mission was to see Eliot, even if it was still very much at the front of his mind that he didn't want to see him. Or talk to him. Of course, that never seemed to really work for them - not talking.
He'd barely managed to pull a hoodie over his head before he was outside, making his way toward where he thought he'd be. At least it wasn't super cold. "El?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.
Eliot was still in an emotional whirlwind. Story of his life it seemed. He wasn't supposed to want to talk to or see Quentin. Really he didn't think he'd be there, but he'd know he was there, in his room hidden away, the moment he entered the cottage.
The plan was to get his shit, get out and go back to Morningside. Once inside he looked around and was overcome by everything. He'd quickly exited to the back of the cottage and had a smoke. There he still was when he heard Q call his name. He stood hidden in the shadows a moment longer before stepping out. "I'm here, Q."
No matter how old he got, or where he was, his bedroom was always the space he found solace in. It was his safe space. The place where he could just exist in whatever way he needed to and knowing Eliot was coming over to collect the rest of his things, making things even more final than they had been the night before, didn't change that.
But somehow their conversation had shifted and somehow Quentin had been pulled from that safe space to seek Eliot out. He stood there in the quiet of the back patio area for what felt like... well, longer than it actually was, before Eliot made his presence known. "Hi," he said quietly, looking over at him. He was glad for the dark because he was sure he, himself, looked downright horrible. Not that Eliot hadn't seen him like that before, but he wasn't keen to have it noticed right now, either. But still, he took careful steps over to him until he was within a few feet, his hands shoved firmly in the front pocket of his hoodie. "Do... do you want to go inside?"
It was strange to be standing so close to Quentin yet feeling far away. The feeling left him feeling anxious and sad. Maybe he should have just left instead of sticking around. No. Even he knew that wouldn't have been the right thing to do after their latest texts.
"Yeah, that would be good." Eliot waited for Quentin to turn around before he followed him inside. He just stood there like he was with some acquaintance rather than his best friend and former lover. Current lover? Ex lover? Fuck if he knew at the moment. "How did your session go today?" That was a safe topic. Or maybe not, but something had to be said.
He wanted to reach out and take Eliot’s hand to lead him inside, but again, they were at a standstill and Quentin didn’t know what was and wasn’t allowed. What boundaries existed now. So it was better safe than sorry, he assumed, if he kept his hands to himself right now.
“It was… um. Well, not great considering it was kind of an emergency session.” Quentin sighed a little as they made their way inside and toward the main living room area. “She’s upping the dose of one of my meds and wants to try me on something new.” There was a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, fingers fidgeting inside of the pocket. “I was, um, worried she’d want me to admit myself for a psych evaluation.” Wouldn’t have been the first time, anyway. “We don’t have to talk about that though.”
Eliot listened to everything Quentin shared, nodding a little. "I hope it helps." Which felt ridiculous and flat when he spoke the words. It was sincere, but obviously Quentin didn't want to talk about it. He needed to go see his own shrink, but had been fighting himself on it and doing what he did best, self medicating.
The silence felt deafening and unnerving the longer they stood there. Was it always going to be like this? "I don't know what to say." Or maybe he did, but couldn't. "You really fucking pissed me off last night and scared me." And hurt him, but that was a given. Somehow the words came out and they were rough and raw.
The way the words left Eliot felt like a cut, but a well deserved one. He knew he shouldn't have said what he did and he was sure he'd be apologizing for it the rest of his life -- that wasn't uncommon with Quentin. Apologizing for things for what felt like forever after the fact. "I know and I'm just... I'm so fucking sorry, El." His own voice was tired, meek. He felt deeply ashamed. "I swear I didn't say it to hurt you. I wasn't-- I wasn't thinking. And I know--"
His emotions had been just under the surface, but now they were threatening to come up and he blinked, looking down at his feet. He didn't know how to apologize for always being such a disappointment, but God, he felt it. He wanted to ask if he could hug him, but instead of waiting, he just closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Eliot's middle.
"You've never said that. You've always said this is where you want to be because it's better than what's waiting at home." Which they were both well aware of just what was waiting for him. So Quentin saying that now, saying it was the first thing in his head and heart, was like a knife to Eliot's heart. "It's not that you're feeling that way, it's that you would say it in that moment and think I would just accept it, like it was nothing. Fuck, Quentin, saying shit in the heat of the moment and when you're upset and hurt, but saying you'd rather not be here which equates to...well, you know what it means...It fucking hurts to know you'd rather be there than here."
Eliot sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was so tired, so drained. Quentin walking up to him and putting his arms around him was a surprise and threw him off for a moment before his own arms wrapped around Quentin. He said nothing more, letting the moment be what it was.
He listened to what Eliot had to say and felt like a hand had reached into his chest, clenching a fist around his heart. Truly, he hadn't meant to hurt him. That was the major downside to what his brain did sometimes - not that it was an excuse. But when he got like that? It never really crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, the person on the receiving end of hearing something like that would be hurt by it. Because to him, he was a burden and it didn't matter whether he was here or not.
Quentin allowed a quiet silence to fall between them as he held onto him, his arms tightening just a little, and he turned his head to press his face briefly into Eliot's chest. To breathe him in. To just be with him in that moment. "I didn't mean it when I said that, not really," he finally said, turning his head again, but keeping his cheek pressed against him. "I thought I did, but I was fucked up on my own emotions."
There was a pause and he turned his head again, lifting his chin a little to look up at him. The light in the room gave away how exhausted and pained he looked. "I don't want to be anywhere you aren't, Eliot."
"I know all about being fucked up on your own emotions. That's been me the last three or four months." He'd never been so emotional in his life which made everything more difficult. He worked hard to hide his emotions, but since coming to Vallo that was a losing battle.
Eliot looked down into Quentin's face and felt his heart squeeze in his chest. "Me, too. I don't want to be anywhere I'm not." He grinned the tiniest bit. "You drive me crazy some days, but I don't want to be anywhere you aren't, Quentin." He held Quentin's gaze then tucked some hair behind his ear. "But we need to talk. Really talk. The kind of talking where we may get mad, hurt, yell or cry because if we don't get our shit out, what we want, what we need and feel then we're not going to make it. I can't take this anymore. It's exhausting on every level." Physically and mentally.
He nodded a little. "I know. And I feel like I apologize so much, but I really am sorry for not making it easier on you." He should've been able to, right? At least it felt like he should have.
Quentin couldn't help leaning into the touch when he tucked some of his hair back behind his ear and he closed his eyes for a moment. It was always so affectionate and something he absolutely loved when Eliot did. It pulled a quiet, shuddering sort of breath from him and his eyebrows furrowed a little as the emotions he was feeling pushed at the surface. "I know we do," he admitted quietly. He knew he wasn't any good at having hard conversations, but if it came down to having to really talk or lose Eliot? He knew which one he'd choose without a second thought. "Like, I know it needs to happen, because you're right about... all of it, but it scares the fucking shit out of me."
"It scares me, too." Because Jesus, every time they tried to talk it seemed to go to shit ending in fighting and nothing getting resolved or moved in at least a better direction. "I think we should have one ground rule. No walking away slash leaving no matter what happens. I'm going to let it all out. I'm not gonna hold back and I want you to do the same." Eliot cupped Quentin's face looking directly into his eyes. "Do you understand, Q? Even if it's scary, even if it hurts and even if it's uncomfortable. We have to be truly and brutally honest because nothing less will do."
Another shaky breath escaped him, but he looked up into Eliot's eyes, trying to read them. Not that he needed to, but fuck, he was desperate. He nodded, a small nod, but brought his hands up to rest on top of Eliot's and hold his hands there. "Can we- okay, no leaving. No walking away. But if, if we need to, can we temporarily pause the conversation for ten minutes or something? If one or both of us feels like it's starting to get out of control. This can't just be... like, I need to know that even if everything is going to shit, that there's going to be some kind of comfort given. Does that make sense?" He paused, frowning, but still looking up at him. "I'm sorry if that's asking a lot."
"Yes, we can absolutely take breaks when needed. All you need to do is say you need a break. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, whatever is needed." He had no doubt a few breaks would be needed. You couldn't start peeling back all the layers and think everything was going to go smoothly. He knew better.
"It's not asking too much. It's another ground rule needed." Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin's forehead. "Let's go sit on the couch." He gently moved away and went to sit. He felt super anxious and scared, but he also had something he had in a very long time, hope. "Is there something you'd like to talk about first?" he asked when Quentin joined him.
Oh. Oh. He meant right now, didn't he? Quentin could feel his walls trying to rapidly build inside of him, but he did his best to force them down. Was he terrified? Yes. But his walls didn't need to be up around Eliot. Did they? Or maybe that was the point of this whole talk - to get to the root of shit so no walls were needed by anyone.
He blinked back tears when the kiss was pressed to his forehead and felt something in his chest release. Relief, maybe? Sure, they weren't out of the woods, but after what had happened the night before and the reason Eliot was even there at all... it felt like progress.
Quentin moved cautiously to the couch and sat down. "I don't... I don't know." He was quiet, thinking. "I wasn't really prepared to have this talk right now, so I don't, um, know exactly what to start with."
Quentin looked like a scared little kid when he sat down. Eliot could feel the fear, the uncertainty rolling off him. He had to keep from sighing and rolling his eyes when Quentin said he wasn't prepared to have this talk right now. If not now, when? It couldn't be put off any longer.
"Tell me what you're unhappy about, what's making you sad or mad or feel down. What you don't like about our current situation or me...or anything."
Ugh. He almost felt like he was in therapy again and he had to mentally shake that off - this wasn't therapy. It was a conversation that needed to happen with the person he loved most in the universe. He closed his eyes and took a breath, thinking. Mulling over his emotions. Of course, there was one thing that really stuck out in the front of his mind.
"I always feel like a fuck up," he answered softly, his voice hushed. "And like I constantly disappoint you no matter how hard I try not to. It's like I can't do anything right or that I'm never good enough."
It hurt every time Eliot heard those words. "You don't always fuck up. Yeah, sometimes you do, but so do I. You're so sensitive and have this bad opinion of yourself. And I know that comes from your mental health struggles. Which I don't think I help any," he said honestly.
"When we're fighting or going through hard times you go to the dark place like any normal person does because of the pain and feeling not good enough. You don't constantly disappoint, ok? I can see how and why you've felt that way the last several months. We've been going through a lot and I haven't been strong for you or there for you. I'm sorry for that." Eliot swallowed and looked down for a moment. "You're more than good enough. You're special and there's no one like you."
Unfortunately, Quentin's dark place tended to be darker than a lot of people and he knew it. The night before had been no different. He looked down at his hands in his lap, not realizing he'd been picking at a loose thread. "But I fuck up and disappoint you probably more than I should." Chin up, Coldwater. He sighed to himself and lifted his gaze, glancing over at Eliot. "Do you feel like you have to be strong for me? Because it's okay not to be. I know that's a two-way street and I haven't really been doing my due diligence where that's concerned."
"And? I fuck up and disappoint you. I think one of the biggest issues is that when those disappointments, fights and everything happen we bury them, ignore them instead of talking them out." Communication was definitely something they had to work on.
"Of course I have to be strong for you," said firmly. "I love you. It's my place to be strong for you and take care of you." That had never been a question or point that even needed discussion.
Eliot looked down again. "Yeah, sometimes it feels like you're not strong for me, but I know you're fragile and it's not always easy to be strong. I know that. I can take care of me. I always have."
Being called fragile made him frown more and he looked back down at his hands. "I can be strong." Of course, saying that made him feel like a child who was determined to act a certain way. "I've been strong. Maybe I'm not all that great at it, but I want to be. For you." He blinked again and sniffled quietly, looking back over at Eliot for a moment.
"You shouldn't always have to feel like you have to take care of yourself, you know? You say it's your place to be strong and take care of me, but sometimes I need to be strong and take care of you. And sometimes you need to let me. You're... you're a fucking incredible person who has been through so much shit and done so many wonderful things. But it's okay to not be strong sometimes and I want to be able to take care of you in those moments."
"Hey, you are strong. I'm not saying you're not. You've been through a lot, too and you're still standing, still fighting." Eliot reached over and placed his hands over Quentin's. "I haven't always made it easy to take care of me when I've spent so much time running away." Emotions welled up and he felt on the verge of tears. "It seems to be what I do best." Run away when things are scary or too hard or too complicated to figure out.
"No one’s ever really taken care of me, Q....except me. It's the way my life has always been." He took a shaky breath.
Eliot stood. "I'm not upset or leaving and I don't need a break. I just need to stand. I'm about to get real with you and I need a little space." He began pacing slowly as he spoke.
"It's been really fucking hard adjusting to Vallo and you don't seem to get it or understand that. I told you at least three different times I was really struggling here. One time you asked me what you could do, but didn't actually do anything. You didn't say hey, let's go for a walk and talk about it. Or hey, let's go to the city and get an ice cream or go shopping. Something to show you understood and help me adjust. That hurt a lot. It feels like you didn't care. And I think that's where all my problems, our problems stemmed from. I thought us getting together, being a couple would help things, but it didn't. It added another layer to everything because relationships can be hard. As we've proved."
He paused and turned to look at Quentin. "You always think that I think you're not acting/reacting the way I think you should. That's never been the case. Sometimes you're cold for lack of a better word, then you act like I'm the bad guy when I speak up. Like Valentine's Day. I cooked a good part of the day, a special and romantic meal for you, us. I bought you three gifts that I put a lot of thought into to be special and make you happy. You didn't hug me, kiss me, nothing Quentin. You said, 'wow, thanks. The flowers are beautiful and that's about it. Really? I was crushed and when I shared with you how I felt, when I communicated with you, I was turned into the bad guy. So why would I keep trying? It's not the first time something like that happened."
"I'm by no means saying I'm perfect or haven't fucked up, but I need more from you, Q. I don't want to always have to be the strong one or take care of myself, but when it feels like you're not there or don't care then I have no choice but to be strong and take care of myself. I'm not telling you this to hurt you, but to save us, to get us moving past the hurt and pain to a better place."
He sat quietly as Eliot moved and talked, giving himself the space he needed to be able to say what was on his mind. Quentin let his eyes follow him; he didn't want to sit there with his head hanging like he was being scolded. Because he wasn't and he knew it, even if somewhere in the back of his brain it was trying to convince him that he was.
"Okay, um. Okay. I hear you and I am going to do my best to try and understand all of this, I promise." He paused, allowing himself a breath, a chance to gather his thoughts. "The first thing I want to acknowledge out of the things you just said is the fact that I make you seem like the bad guy. Firstly, I'm sorry that I do that. It's never my intention, but that doesn't mean I'm not doing it. Secondly, can you... I guess clarify on that? I don't know if it's just a lack of self-awareness on my part or what, but I'm not entirely sure what exactly it is that I say or do that makes you feel that way. If I know what it is I do, I can work to correct it."
He frowned a little, looking at him apologetically. "I wish I knew without you having to tell me, but shit goes over my head so often and I just don't realize it."
"I just gave you an example, Valentine's Day." Eliot sighed inwardly. "I told you how I felt, what I was thinking and you made me out to be a bad guy for you not acting how I thought you should act. Your words not mine. Do you see what that did to me? I felt even worse after planning out that special day, like I had no right to feel or think what I felt. Like I can't tell you what I feel because it will be turned back on me and I'll be made to look like a bad guy for bringing up how I felt."
"Almost anytime I had or wanted a drink when we had a difficult talk you'd ask if I needed to talk to you or something like that. Or give me that look that said the same thing. That equals bad guy. Yes, I do need it. I'm not a fucking alcoholic, or maybe you think I am." He didn't know. Perhaps it was exactly what Quentin thought.
"Castle Whitespire. I asked you to go there with me and you asked me why." It still floored Eliot as to Why Quentin would ask that. "Then you asked if I just wanted to get drunk and hang out in the throne room. You made me feel terrible for even asking you to go there with me. Bad guy Eliot, why would you ever want to go there?"
Eliot took a deep breath. "You just have a way of making me feel like a bad guy sometimes. When all I want is support and understanding." He sighed again. "I don't know. Maybe if I was just numb I wouldn't care." But he did.
Quentin was confused. How had any of that equated to him making Eliot out to be a bad guy when it was simply just... not understanding? At least in his own mind that's how it seemed, but clearly that wasn't the case.
"Okay, so... bear with me, please. Going back to Valentine's Day; we talked there, at the time. I listened to what you said. When I suggested that I be more aware of you wanting affection when showing my gratitude for a gift, you said no, I didn't need to change. But you want more from me. Which, I mean, on some level is going to require that I grow as a human. But to counter it, and in no way am I saying this as an attack or anything like it, I expressed how I felt to how you felt. At that point it was coming across like I just... wasn't reacting the right way, you know?"
He bit back a sigh of his own and leaned forward, resting his arms against his legs as he looked at Eliot. "Additionally, and I hate admitting it, but I honestly don't remember asking if you needed a drink to have a difficult conversation. Not that it matters whether I remember it or not. I'm sorry for coming across that way, El. For causing you to think that I think you're an alcoholic." Sure, once upon a time Eliot definitely had a substance abuse issue, but that had been before Fillory. Before being a king.
There was a moment of pause and he ducked his head long enough to run his hands through his hair. He distinctly remembered discussing the Castle Whitespire incident and he still felt badly about it, for having made Eliot feel that way at all. He never meant to, and yet...
"We've done the literal bottled emotions thing before, it sucks. So, no. Being numb would not be good. As tempting as it can be." Quentin rubbed his hand over his face and then his eyes. "I truly just want to do right by you, El. I hope you know that. My intention is to always listen and be supportive and understanding. You're never, ever the bad guy in my eyes. Ever. And it really sucks knowing I've made you feel that way. I'm so sorry."
"Do you really think you acted "good" or appropriately for lack of a better word on Valentine's Day? No, this is one thing we need to get cleared up." It bothered Eliot a great deal and had led to him spiraling and falling further into darkness. "I heard everything else you said and will get to it, but this needs to be discussed more first."
"Yes, we talked that day, you listened and expressed how you felt to how I felt, but showing more gratitude and affection isn't the issue. You've never acted like that when I gave you something or did something for you. Never. It was Valentine's Day. I'd done so much to make the day special and pick out three special gifts for you to make you happy. And you acted cold. You acted unimpressed like you didn't care. Would you have been perfectly fine if I had opened the ring box, said 'that's nice' then tossed it on the coffee table and went on? Would you? Because that's basically what you did. It was fucking Valentine's Day, Q. We'd been struggling so hard and I wanted the day to be nice, happy and all that, but it didn't turn out that way. On a day when I needed and wanted to feel your love, support and yeah, gratitude I didn't feel any of it. So if you really think how you acted was fine, okay, then we've got bigger issues."
He was absolutely dumbfounded and looked at Eliot, his eyebrows knitting together in some sort of confusion and frustration. Was he just remembering things wrong? His brain did like to trick him sometimes, so maybe it wasn't out of the question.
"I don't-" Quentin cut himself off and took another breath, momentarily pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes before gathering himself again. It was a quick moment, but one he'd needed. "I'm not saying that I think I acted fine; clearly I didn't, right? And I said I'd work to correct it, which I feel like I'm trying to do. I love you and I was very happy with those gifts. Like, fuck. I pressed the flowers and let them dry out so I could frame them. The bear is still on my bed; Kismet loves it as much as I do. I wore part of the outfit for our dinner the night before your birthday."
He frowned and shook his head a little, trying not to let himself get worked up and ramble. He tended to talk himself into a hole when he did that. "All that to say, I didn't think I was coming across as cold, but I did, I guess. And as much as it sucks, because what I thought was actually a pretty great day falling apart like it did at the end felt horrible, it was a learning point for me. You know me in ways no one else has ever known me, but I'm still learning how to navigate being with you and the things you need from me. I mean, that's why we're here right now, isn't it?"
Quentin finally let out the sigh he'd been holding in and leaned back into the couch again. "I can't change what happened on Valentine's Day, El. I can only try to do better moving forward, but I know not giving you a physical gift for your birthday was a time when I came up short."
"Clearly you saying you didn't react fine, right? means you think I'm overreacting. It's fine," Eliot said with a wave of his hand. "Clearly you liked the gifts if you pressed the flowers and all that." Not that he'd seen any of that, but that wasn't the point.
"You guess you did?" Eliot stared at Quentin dumbfounded. "Can't you just give my feelings some validation? Instead of acting like I'm an idiot for having felt that way? I'm still learning my way around you and us, too. When I open up to you that's me letting you see me vulnerable which is fucking hard for me. You get to see that more than anyone, so a little credit would be nice instead of acting..." His words trailed off. He felt his temper bubbling up and that was the last thing he wanted right now.
"I won't bring it up again, so no need to worry about it." He had said they would get hurt, upset, fight, cry or even yell, but he was trying not to do those things which maybe wasn't so good. Getting it all out meant feeling those things and letting himself, them, be cleansed. "That's all I can do, too. Don't worry about the birthday gift. We've been in a bad place for a while. I didn't expect anything."
"Don't fucking put words in my mouth, Eliot." He grit his teeth and pulled his legs up onto the couch, feet burying themselves against the cushion beneath him with his knees bent. "It doesn't mean that I think you're overreacting. It means that I'm not seeing the situation exactly like you are, but I'm trying to understand your perspective, okay?" Which he felt he was. Trying, at least.
He pushed his head back into the couch behind him and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, letting his thoughts swarm in his head. His own temper was starting to bubble, but god dammit, he was going to keep calm. Where was a stress ball when you needed one? "How am I not validating your feelings? I'm acknowledging what you're saying, I'm agreeing with you, I'm trying to understand what I did and when I did it. I didn't feel like I was being cold, but you did, so I guess I was being cold. I'm literally agreeing with you. Like, am I phrasing what I'm trying to say wrong?"
"And-" he pushed on, lifting his head again to look at him, eyes wet with the threat of angry tears now. "Don't lie to me. Obviously you were expecting something beyond the dinner and the amusement park and the drinks since you put it in that letter. It hurt you. You said so."
"Repeating what you said isn't putting words in your mouth. I'm finished talking about that day. It is what is. You work on you, I'll work on me." Honestly, he was just done with anything to do with that day.
"Okay." Eliot simply replied. He was done. Done.
Eliot narrowed his gaze as he stared at Quentin. "I didn't lie. Don't assume you know what I was thinking. I did want something, but I truly didn't expect anything. So yes, not getting something hurt, but given everything, I didn't expect one."
"Don't you assume to know what I was thinking by accusing me of thinking you're overreacting!" He scoffed quietly to himself, grabbing a pillow and pulling it to his chest to hold. It was better than screaming into it or throwing it. It helped ground him, at least, and when he spoke next his tone was calmer. Quieter, sure, but there wasn't that angry edge to it there had been. Or at least less of one.
"I'm genuinely sorry that I hurt you, but given the fact that I spent two days on your birthday, making you dinner, pampering you, taking you to Blizzard World and then dinner and drinks after, I didn't- I didn't realize you'd also want a tangible gift. Which is valid, it just... it didn't cross my mind to do that in addition to what I was already doing because I'm not used to having to get people gifts for birthdays. Okay? And that's on me, I get it, and I'm sorry."
"That wasn't me assuming. It was me judging by how you were acting." Fuck if that mattered or made it better or worse, but at the moment he didn't really care.
"I spent a week planning out our Valentine's Day plans and getting everything read. Is it a contest now?" Eliot rolled his eyes and made no attempt to hide it. "It didn't cross your mind to get me a gift?" Really? "That's great that you're sorry, but don't bother getting me any gifts again. I don't want to put you out or whatever. I don't want any from you."
With that he walked over to the bar and scanned it. Jesus, where was the good stuff when he needed it. He quickly whipped up a cocktail and downed half of it then turned his gaze to Quentin. "Next?"
Quentin sat there and stared at him in disbelief. He didn't care that he was going to get a drink, but fuck's sake. This conversation wasn't going to get anywhere, was it? "Do you even see how the way you're acting right now is one of the reasons I feel like I constantly fuck up and can't ever do anything right? How I always say the wrong thing? We can't even have a seriously hard talk without you nitpicking the absolute shit out of everything that I'm saying and twisting it to suit you."
"What the fuck do you want, Quentin?" Eliot yelled. "Fuck," he sighed. "I can't say anything without you telling me I'm the reason you constantly feel like a fuck up and can't do anything right or say the wrong thing." Did it ever occur to him that he made him feel that way at times too?
"Why are you here or even trying if that's how you feel? Because you say it all the time. All.The.Time. Christ." He finished off his drink and mixed up a second one. "I'm tired of all this. It seems clear to me that I'm not what's good for you. So why don't we just face the truth for once."
"I don't say it just to hear myself talk," he said softly, letting himself go quiet, tucking his chin against the pillow he was holding.
"I want you to be happy. Us, to be happy. I want us to get past this shit and figure out what we both need to make this work, because we have worked before. I don't- I don't understand why it's so different this time, and I guess that's where I screwed up from the start. I held onto that proof of concept when I shouldn't have."
He closed his eyes and sighed, moving his head to press his face against the pillow for a moment. He wanted to scream, but he swallowed it instead. Then he lifted his head, the tears more evident now, but he sniffled and didn't acknowledge them otherwise. "What do you want, El? What do you need from me for this to work?"
"I know you don't. You say it because it's true." Whether that was just Quentin's truth or both of those Eliot wasn't sure.
"It's different because we're not in Fillory from three hundred years ago or whatever. Everything is different here. We're different." He sighed heavily and slowly walked back to the couch to sit.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't know why this is so fucking hard. It's like we both hurt and hurt and hurt and can't seem to let go of it. Maybe that's the problem. We keep throwing our shortcomings at each other. We don't seem to do a lot of forgiving for being flawed and fucked up."
If ever there were a pair of two deeply flawed and fucked up individuals, it would be them, but hearing Eliot say it outloud pulled a short, quiet half-hearted laugh from him. Not that he found what he said particularly amusing, but... well, it kind of was in its own twisted way.
"I think you might be onto something with that," he said quietly, turning his head then to look over at Eliot. "It crossed my mind earlier - briefly, albeit - that I think maybe I take my own disappointment at myself out on you when I don't mean to. Like..." He sighed. "Like saying that I feel like a fuck up and I can't do anything right. It's- I don't just feel that way when we end up fighting. It enhances the feeling, but I always feel that way. I always have, my whole life. It's just inherently a part of who I am." Quentin frowned then and blinked, using the pillow briefly to wipe away his tears. "Which I know is a me problem. But God, the flawed and fucked up aspect of it is real, huh?"
The quiet laugh made Eliot smile a bit because he understood where it came from. He knew Quentin wasn't laughing at him or the situation. Though, Jesus, some laughter right about now wouldn't be a bad thing.
"I know that, Q. I think the universe threw us together because we're our own special brand of fucked up." Truth. "It's easy to take out our disappointment, hurt and anger on each other. The thing is, we hold onto it and never let go of it. Fucks sake, I'm still holding on to Valentine's Day." Eliot actually laughed. That didn't negate how he felt about that day, but it was time to move on.
"It's so real it's tangible. But it is who we are." He turned so that he was facing Quentin. "You asked me what I need and there's a couple of things. I need you to forgive me for all my fuck ups and shortcomings. The things that have caused you hurt and pain. I'm going to do the same. If we can't forgive and move past then we're going to keep going in this cycle and never get back together. The second thing...I said I need more, but I never clarified that. You know how I love to play with your hair? I need that. Things like that. Holding me just because or when I've had a bad day, playing with my hair, drawing on my chest with your finger. Little signs of love and affection that show you care and are thinking of me. Does that make sense?" God, he hoped it did.
No, it didn't negate how he felt about it and Quentin did think Eliot's feelings were valid, no matter what. There was truth to what he said, though. It was too easy for them to take it out on each other - it didn't help that neither of them had anyone else in their lives they were particularly close with, someone who could listen and offer a hug. They just kind of had each other in this world.
When Eliot shifted to face him, he sat up a bit more and moved the pillow, turning to face him as well. He listened and his expression softened a little the more he talked. "Yeah, it makes sense." Something in him felt like it was about to crack wide open, but he couldn't put his finger on what. Either way, the feeling of it was encouraging. He sniffled again and then moved, quietly, without a word, and climbed into Eliot's lap. He straddled him and wrapped his arms tightly around him, burying his face against his shoulder. "I forgive you, Eliot," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
It made sense. It fucking made sense. They were talking without hurt, anger or yelling. They were fucking talking. It felt good, like at last they were letting go of all their baggage and ready to start a new and (hopefully) better journey together.
His arms wrapped tightly around Quentin once he settled onto his lap. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I forgive you, Q." He took a deep breath and let the moment fill him. Holding Quentin, actually feeling better like a heavy burden had been lifted from him, from them.
"I love you, you awkward, sweet, sensitive super nerd." He smiled and nuzzled Quentin, taking in his familiar scent.
He couldn't explain the sense of relief that was washing over him when Eliot's arms wrapped around him, but he was sure that the other man was feeling the same. Something had shifted the moment forgiveness was mentioned, like they both knew that without a doubt, that was exactly what needed to happen. They weren't perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, but they were at least capable of this.
Quentin could hear and feel the smile on Eliot's face and it made him smile, turning his head enough to tuck his own face against his neck and inhale his scent. "I love you," he replied, before taking a chance and pressing a sweet kiss to the spot where his mouth was. It was brief, but then he lifted his head and pressed another kiss near the corner of his mouth and sighed, quietly, contentedly. He wouldn't push past that though, instead nudging his nose gently where his lips had just been. "I love you, you beautiful, charming, kind, strong soul. My pillar of strength."
Eliot smiled at the sweet affection. It warmed his heart and soul. "Thank you." He knew he couldn't be all those things all the time, but for the first time he felt like maybe it was okay that he couldn't, that it was okay to not feel and be his best every moment of every day.
He sifted his fingers through Quentin's hair. God, it felt like it had been years since he'd done that. "Thanks for hanging with me through this. I wanted to leave a few times, but I'm so glad I didn't. I've missed you, Q," he said looking into his eyes. "So damn much. Can I stay here tonight?" He asked tentatively.
Truthfully, Quentin wouldn't have wanted him any other way. He needed someone who was just as fucked up as he was in their own way and he found that in Eliot ages ago; he was grateful to be finding it again.
"You said no walking away or leaving, so I'm glad you didn't, too. We're going to get through all of this shit together, okay? The shit we've got now and whatever shit we'll have in the future." Quentin sniffled again softly and smiled, following it with a tiny nod. "Of course you can stay here tonight."
His arms loosened from around him and brought his hands up, gently cradling Eliot's face between them as he looked at him before pressing his lips softly to the space between his eyebrows.