๐ข๐ฆ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐จ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฃ (mendingmancer) wrote in wtnvgame, @ 2021-07-30 02:00:00 |
|
|||
He'd fought so hard and so long to get Eliot back and then he'd died and it just felt unfinished.
And now Margo was here. And so was Eliot. And Eliot hadn't even said anything to him. Had he ever planned to? Was he that angry that Quentin had died that he just wanted to cut him out of his life? Or, that insidious part of his brain that loved to pick at his insecurities interjected, had he been relieved to not have to deal with him any more, and now he was disappointed? He shook his head. No. Eliot wouldn't do that. Eliot cared. He knew Eliot cared.
It didn't matter. He just needed to talk to Eliot. Even if the result was finding out Eliot wanted nothing to do with him here, at least he'd know. So he'd done a relatively simple location spell to track him down and just...gone after him without thinking too much about it.
And god, he hadn't even realized how much he missed Eliot until he saw him. He'd spent so long with the Monster, knowing the whole time that it wasn't Eliot - that something soul deep and indelible was missing. It had looked like Eliot, and spoke with his voice, but it wasn't him and could never be him. The movements had been wrong. The words wrong. It even smelled different. The parodies of intimacy had been nothing like the casual affection he had always shared with the other man. He would know Eliot anywhere, and he had known the absence of him just as plainly.
And now Eliot was here and real and Quentin felt it like a dagger between his ribs. And instantly all his hurt and frustration was subsumed in a deeper feeling that had never really left. "Hey," he said, the word slightly choked by the reality of how much he'd missed Eliot.
At least whoever was behind this had the sense to bring Margo along with him. It didnโt matter that they were separated by a few years of time, they were still them. It was natural, falling back into step beside her as if nothing leading up to Night Vale mattered, and it was a comfort amidst all this fuckery.
What wasnโt natural? Was the pit in his stomach that formed and grew with existential dread every time he thought about Quentin. It wasnโt that he didnโt want to see him. Every fiber of Eliotโs being was screaming. He could feel it -- rolling in waves and threatening suffocation. For all his talk? His nonchalant fuck the world and the emotions that went along with it? Deep down? He was terrified.
Facing Q again meant opening up a box that he had locked on top of that mountain with Alice. He could hide it from mostโฆ bury it deep within the recesses of his mind, but no matter how much he tried, he couldnโt conceal it from himself.
El loved freely and often, but Quentin? It had been real. So real that he constantly attempted to distance himself from it, and once the Nameless being that possessed his body was gone? The moment heโd resigned himself to stop running? The only hope he had of finally allowing himself to experience something real was taken from him.
A million pieces of him had died right alongside Q, and he believed heโd made his peace with it. Heโd said goodbye. Heโd tried to move on, but heโd been fooling himself, and now that he was getting a second chance? He was running again.
He honestly should have known he wouldnโt be able to run forever. Freezing in place, unable to make any moves that didnโt involve staring dumbly at Q, El swallowed hard and was thankful that for once? Charlton was no where to be seen. โHey.โ
And now Eliot was here and he didn't know what to say. Because he'd died. And before that, he'd resumed his disastrous relationship with Alice. Because he'd been hurting and she'd been there and he'd started to lose hope of ever seeing Eliot, the real Eliot, again. It had been a mistake. He'd loved Alice, but the two of them weren't good together.
It had been selfish and stupid to get back with her. And in the end he'd only died and hurt her, so it would have been better not to have done it at all. Especially when he was still in love with Eliot. Eliot who had made it clear he didn't love him back. Except-
Peaches and plums, motherfucker.
And now Eliot was right there and Quentin wanted so badly to touch him. To reassure himself that he was real. But he was frozen to the spot. "Hey," he said again.
Fuck. He was an idiot.
Proof of concept.
That was what Quentin Coldwater was. Perhaps that was why he'd striven relentlessly to keep his feelings for Q buried in the depths of his heart. It all came back to his cowardice when it came to his own emotions. It was easier for him to ostracize people, to make them share the same distasteful opinion he'd cultivated of himself over the years. It hadn't ever worked with Quentin, though, and while at times it annoyed him? He would be eternally grateful that he'd ultimately failed in that department.
"You sound like a fucking broken record," he finally said - breaking the silence and quickly closing the space between them before he lost his nerve. Quieting every last one of those pesky thoughts, he drew Quentin into his arms, and breathed out a sigh of relief.
He was here and alive. That was all that mattered, and for a little while, El could pretend his reasons for pushing him away didn't exist.
He'd missed this. He'd missed all of it. The warmth and the contact and the way Eliot felt so good. He'd almost forgotten how good this could feel, but as the tension drained out of him, it all came back to him.
"I missed you," he said quietly, hiding his face against Eliot's chest. "I just...I missed you so much. I thought I lost you. I-" He took a steadying breath, Eliot's scent calming him. Fuck, he smelled good. Nope. Not going down that path. Eliot had made it clear that wasn't what he wanted. Except-
Who gets proof of concept like that?
Except maybe Eliot felt something or maybe he didn't, and Quentin wasn't going to push. Pushing had only ruined things last time.
"I'm glad you're back," he said. "I'm glad you're you."
"I missed you too." God had he ever. The exponential guilt over Quentin's death certainly didn't make it any easier. It was something he struggled with daily, even after revealing a part of his soul to Alice on that cliff. That entire experience was cathartic, sure, but it hadn't set him free from the pang he felt in his chest whenever his thoughts wandered to his lost friend.
El could feel the quiet desperation in Quentin's voice, and it would be so easy for him to chase all of that away, but the words caught in his throat like they always did... demanding to be pushed back down.
Resting his chin atop his head, El let go of another heavy sigh. "You didn't lose me. You were a big fucking hero, Q. I'm here. I'm me and I'm really fucking glad to see you."
But that wasn't how the world worked and there were things they had to address. They couldn't just avoid it forever, no matter how much they might want to. Because Eliot had been a monster and Quentin had died and neither of them had actually gotten closure for that. They'd just had to carry on in their own ways.
"I didn't feel like a hero," he said quietly. "I felt...desperate. I just...there was nothing else I could do. And then it was just...over. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you."
It probably wouldn't ever be perfect, but they could make it easier and maybe close the book of the past once they'd gotten closure.
Opening his mouth to speak, whatever he was going to say was swallowed up by Q's words. It was like a quick punch to the gut, and he swallowed hard. So much for pretending. Unconsciously holding onto him tighter for a brief moment, his hands moved to frame Quentin's face and tilt it back away from his chest. Despite his overwhelming guilt, El never wanted the other man to carry any of it himself, and he intended to make that clear.
"Stop. You did the only thing you could. You don't have anything to fucking apologize for. I never believed for one second you wanted to leave, Q. I should be the sorry one, but we both know I'm shit at this."
"I feel like I should apologize," he said. "I saw you. All of you but...also you. Penny showed me. And I did that to you. Even if it wasn't what I wanted, it's still what happened, and it's bullshit. All that fighting...all that suffering...and..." Shit. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.
"I lost it when you were gone," he said. "I completely lost it. The monster was there constantly and I kept having to see your face and know it wasn't you and it was the worst feeling in the world. I was desperate and I would have done anything to get you back. And maybe it's selfish to say this. I don't know. I just know that I lost a part of myself when the monster took you."
He knew this was probably stupid, but he was clinging to what Eliot had said when he'd broken through the Monster's hold. Who gets proof of concept like that? "I know you think I was being stupid or crazy or..." He steadied himself. "I know you think you're not what I would choose, if I had a choice. But when I lost Alice...I wanted to get her back because I blamed myself and I thought I owed it to her. When...when I lost you, I wanted to get you back because the idea of a world without you...it wasn't a world I wanted."
But the expression on Quentin's face, the desperation in his voice, and the way his own heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his fucking chest held him in place.
The Monster had made him even more of a coward, and he wished like hell he could find someway to travel back in time. If he could? He wouldn't have pushed Q away after they returned from that alternate timeline that they both somehow remembered. If he thought hard about it, he would realize that the moment probably housed his biggest regret. El had been a coward then too, though, hadn't he? Convinced Quentin was better off with Alice and that he would fuck up the best thing that ever happened to him, Eliot had been desperate to keep him in his life.
If he didn't give himself the opportunity to screw things up, he wouldn't, and by extension Q would still remain his friend. Knowing now that he would ultimately lose him without ever telling him how he truly felt, only made his idiotic fears that much worse.
"You shouldn't choose me, Q," he finally said -- voice thick with all his regret. "I like to fool myself into believing the Monster stole our chance. In reality, it was me. I'm the thief, because I cannot articulate basic fucking human emotions."
With that, El closed the minuscule amount of space between them, pressing his lips to Quentin's. It was a slow deep kiss that threatened to become feverish, but he managed to reel it in. This wasn't about lust. No. It was about conveying everything that he couldn't bring himself to say through a languid gesture that frankly took his breath away. There was a significant amount of unspoken love built up in that kiss he lamented parting from when his lungs demanded air.
"Losing you was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, Q. All the bullshit before I knew you and everything that came after were nothing compared to living without you and pretending I moved on. It felt like I was betraying you... that I was betraying myself... and us. I should have told you. I shouldn't have let you die without knowing the truth."
Eliot pushing him away had hurt. Of course it had. He'd put himself out there, taken a risk and laid his feelings bare, and he'd been rejected. But even then, he'd understood. He'd known that Eliot wasn't in a place for his feelings. And he'd accepted it. But it didn't change how he felt. He hadn't stopped loving Eliot just because the feelings hadn't been returned. He wasn't sure he could stop loving Eliot even if he wanted to.
Now they were both - well, not in a better place for this. They were probably, objectively, in a worse place mentally. But they were both able to acknowledge it, maybe. If nothing else, Quentin could hope.
"Too late," he said. "I already chose you. I'm always going to choose you, El. That was never a question." He understood what Eliot meant. Knew how he struggled with his own feelings and how hard it was to admit he cared. He'd seen the broken pieces before. Had swept up his own. But he still loved him.
Kissing Eliot was at once new and so familiar it hurt. It was a beginning and a continuation of years and decades of this. He pulled Eliot closer, not to take things further but just to keep Eliot near him. To hold onto him and appreciate this. It wasn't perfect, because that was really cliche. But it was comfortable. It was real. And he couldn't help but sigh against Eliot's mouth as he pulled away.
"I knew," he said. "Deep down, I knew, El." He gave him a small smile as he thought again of those words. The ones he'd held onto when he'd thought he was losing his mind trying to get Eliot back. "Peaches and plums, motherfucker."
All he wanted to do was breathe, and it wasn't until he was standing atop that mountain with Alice that it seemed like he would finally be able to. There was something cathartic about finally uttering the truths he'd tried to deny for so long. Maybe that was why it was easier to confess some of it to Q now... because he'd already put it out into the world once.
He wasn't ready to divulge everything and wasn't entirely certain when he would make that attempt, but this was a start right?
Maybe it had a lot to do with being here, in the place, as well. In Night Vale, they didn't need to carry the weight of the world, or any world, on their shoulders. Sure, things probably wouldn't ever be perfect. They both possessed a plethora of internal baggage and were more often than not the epitome of train wrecks. After being on his own for so long, however, El had begun to realize it was better to have someone at your side.
'I'm always going to choose you, El.' Those words played over and over in his mind like the same broken record he'd compared Quentin to earlier, and he had to fight the urge to delve back in for another kiss. If he did that now, he may never stop. He was a colossal idiot at times, and wasn't prone to thinking with his head in scenarios like these, but this moment was far too important to allow himself to slip into old habits.
So instead, he brushed his thumbs over Q's cheeks before leaning in to press his lips to his forehead -- lingering to breathe him in before pulling back with a grin. "Maybe I was hoping that you knew." It wasn't long before that grin turned into a smirk, and he shoved the other man playfully.
"Peaches and plums, motherfucker."