make you miss me • q. hughes

35

My free hand messes with my necklace as I showed the, admittedly, kind of boring hoodie I had ordered that morning. "That's gonna be for Jemmer."

All Quinn says is, "Okay."

We're on my couch like we have been for the past hour or two. I go back east tomorrow for the holidays so even though I had shit to do, I wasn't going to tell Quinn we couldn't hang out. We were going to go out and get lunch or something. Instead, we ended up on the couch with me tucked into his side.

I huff and turn off my phone. "Spit it out."

"I mean, not everyone can be as great at giving gifts as me," he says.

"Okay." I do my best to copy his tone from before. Shockingly, I do it fucking perfectly.

"What? I'm great at gifts."

"I'm sure you are."

He takes his arm off my shoulders and sits up straight. "Do you need me to give examples or some shit?"

"Go for it." I sit up too, angling to face him.

"The necklace you're literally wearing."

It's too easy. It's simply too easy to fuck with him. He practically gives me a step-by-step invite. Over and over. He must like getting worked up by me because it's almost ridiculous at this point.

"This one?" I ask. He nods and I make a show of shrugging. "It's alright. Didn't think it was from you. Since there wasn't even a note and you were flirting with a girl the night before."

His face tumbles into confusion. "I didn't think I needed to leave a note."

Okay. Wait a second. I somehow forgot that I quite literally do not know why he went about the whole necklace thing the way he did. But what the fuck does he mean he didn't think he needed to leave a note? Not even a little, "From Quinn To Schuy"?

"I mean," he continues. "It's... That's the Canucks mascot and the whole thing with the necklace your grandpa got you and— and come on."

I lean back, shaking my head slightly. "Come on? That is straight-up me-not-having-a-profile-picture-on-Instagram maniac behavior. A random gift with that much sentiment left without a note?"

"I was gonna give it to you face to face but you were avoiding me," he argues. Which, to be fair, is true. For very good reason though.

"Well, yeah. I was pissed at you. I didn't want to be anywhere near you ever again. You," I pause to laugh one of those cold laughs of mine. "You were the reason I was crying on the way home."

No response. Other than that stupid doe-eyed look on his face that tells me I just slapped him in the face with my words. I want to stop doing that. How can I though when it's the truth? He was the reason I was crying.

"Quinn—"

"What did I even do?" He sounds so genuinely lost. "I get you said I ruined your birthday but you refused to fucking tell me how."

I don't mean to raise my voice a little. It kind of just happens. "You said it yourself! You barely spent it with me! Had plenty of time for that blonde girl though."

"Blonde— What?"

"You offered to go get me a new drink and then forgot my drink and talked to that blonde—"

Quinn shakes his head. Any hurt is gone and all that remains is annoyed confusion. "I didn't forget your drink."

"Really?"

"Even if I did, I gave you mine instead," he says.

"Because you panicked."

"No, Scout."

"What other explanation could there even be?" I snap.

"They had to restock something for your drink then I saw Val was making a speech and I gave you my drink so you didn't have to wait any longer for me to go back over and get it." He looks down and smiles so softly that I want to melt. "It was your birthday celebration so..."

"The girl?"

He looks back up. His eyes flick down to the necklace and he bumps my hand out of the way, taking the end of the necklace into his own. "I was supposed to pick it up earlier that day but I sort of fucked up and just missed her and she was nice enough to give me it there instead."

"It looked like she was flirting with you," I state. "You brought her over to our group."

"I was talking about you the whole time."

Oh, this idiot is going to be the death of me. His hand is searing into my skin and who knew how fucking intimate a man simply holding your necklace can be? The necklace he bought you when you weren't even dating? I could die right here.

He hums. "I wanted to hear the speech and she wanted to see who was getting the necklace. Before she left like five minutes later, she said you were the perfect choice for it. I doubt you paid attention to the fact she was there for that short of time though."

I could die right here. Quinn's hand flips, pressing his palm to where my heart would be. His fingers splayed up over my collarbones. All I can think about is him. Our like one, real bout of bad communication getting resolved. The way my heart broke in that bar and now glued itself back up with these missing pieces of information.

He nods slightly. Sort of in a way similar to a doctor listening to your heartbeat. I'm sure mine might be a bit quicker than usual. Which he probably expected from the other time he did this same thing. There's nothing I can do to stop it. He drives me crazy.

You know what? It also kind of drives me crazy that he took this long to ever even talk about the necklace. Sure, I didn't bring it up either but it's quite the hefty subject for me. He's also the one who had all the information. I'm the one who's been missing parts of the story.

I reach out and push his chest gently. "Are you fucking kidding me, Hughes?"

"What?" He asks.

"You saw I was pissed off at you for no real reason and didn't think to try and explain?"

"You didn't give me much of a chance."

"Could've made yourself a chance," I say. "Know what you could've done?"

"I have a feeling you'll tell me no matter what."

"You should have given me the necklace yourself and I would've questioned you then and there, you dick."

He laughs. "Babe, I know. I'm sorry." He tries to take his hand away from my heart and I stop him, putting my hand over his.

"I was so pissed at you, I kicked you out of my room as a way to end a fight. That was basically a pussy out and I do not pussy out of fights."

"Noted. If Scout tries to end a fight by kicking me out, I should glue myself to the floor instead," he says. To be honest, I never want to fight with him again. Not when he's smiling at me the way he is.

No, all I want is to kiss him. Which seems to be a feeling that happens so often, it should have a name. There's sad, happy, mad, and want-to-kiss-Quinn. A bit wordy.

He reads my mind, leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine. A quick peck and then he's leaning back. I chase after him. In fact, I move closer until I'm able to get one leg over to straddle his lap. His hand never leaves my heart. My other hand finds his hair because of fucking course it does.

Our lips move together in that in-sync way they do. The soft but rough feeling of passion. I wish I wasn't going back home tomorrow so I could do this for days on end. His free hand holds me firmly, using that hold to press my hips downward.

I pull away slightly. His turn to chase me. My hand in his hair keeps him back. "Gonna give me something to make me miss you a little bit less this next week?"

"Hm, I don't know," he says. His voice is so perfectly deep. He's so perfectly him. "Think it'll make you miss me more."

"That works for me."