Scars

The Beast

Eliot was occasionally violently affronted with how much he had learned to care for Quentin. It was an affection hard fought and won; and its nasty habit of socking him in the face at the most inconvenient of times was getting a little distracting. For this reason he noticed rather quickly when Quentin would start to love him back, because it made him feel a little less crazy about the whole thing.

Quentin still got depressed, he wasn't optimistic enough to think that it would go away. He still hadn't started meds or talking to a therapist like he said he would, but Eliot felt like a hypocrite by forcing him to follow through. But when he was lucid enough to get through to himself, Quentin left post-its.

Some were quite bland, occasionally flirty, on one occasion it was what Eliot could only describe as saucy(?). He stuck them in the fridge, on the clock, Eliot's pillow. By the time Eliot noticed one Q was usually spending the day catatonic, rolled over on his side like a kicked dog. It was easy to feel powerless, but a little less so when you found a doodle of a dragon with 'I trust you' stuck to your dresser drawer.

Q knew when he wasn't able to love like he should, and he compensated for it. It was a comfortable little rut to find himself in, it almost set him on edge, which was why Eliot felt the need to woo him all over again.

"El where are we going?"

"I told you it's not even that far. Another 5 minutes tops."

Q made a point to trail his kisses from his hand up his arm the rest of the way there, sweet Jesus.

The car kicked up just around them as they pulled in, the lot mostly empty and without lines to mark out each spot. Quentin's eyebrows did that little furrow thing they did when he got confused, but he smiled. He never wanted to make Eliot sad.

"Okay so I should explain."

"Why did you bring me to a barn?" Quentin laughed.

"God okay remember Cinco de Mayo?"

"You know I don't and I believe fewer and fewer of your supposed accounts of that evening."

"Okay okay so you were wasted and would shut up about Fillory.."

"No!" Quentin interrupted, burying his reddened cheeks into Eliot's shoulder.

"..And something called the cosy horse and how obsessed with it you were and how much you wanted to ride it.."

"No way."

"I couldn't find one the size of a house, but welcome to the ranch city boy."

Eliot cringed a little at his half-assed jab, but was too distracted by Quentins hug to care. Q's eyes always carried a sort of tiredness to them, but there was a light now that demanded attention.

Quentin made quick work of getting out of the car, although Eliot might have preferred Q stayed cuddled with him there a moment longer. Quentin's awkward little run made up for it. He knocked the wind out of himself running up against the pen fence, reaching out a hand timidly towards the horses twitching nose. It was white and glossy, little braids of ribbon in its mane.

"El come pet her!"

Eliot made his way over, tentatively reaching out his hand. It was soft and cold, just a little too rough to match skin. It whined and sent him stumbling back, not because he was scared it would bite. Rather he felt pulled by into something behind him rather than pushing away. While Q remained distracted Eliot took to the reservation desk, and felt a nagging voice in his mind criticizing its commercialism. This "ranch" had no greater purpose, and Eliot enjoyed that.

"Are you at 3:00?" The girl at the desk said as soon as the bell on the door chimed.

"Yeah, Eliot?"