#but we all love a dash of angst even in out sweetest threads don't we?

[runcnlove]

[ O P E N for Quentin; set in the Mosaic verse and in spirit sort of continuing this and this, in a way that it's gonna be a different story since I'm writing El in it but with scenes resembling those still sort of happening previous to this one, because I can't quite put 'Eliot falling ill not that long after Ari passes away' plot out of my mind, not to mention I have such a soft spot for stories about one character taking care of the other when they are sick / recovering, and imagining these two in this scenario is 😘👌 ]

Eliot wakes when something warm and heavy just enough to feel comforting without being suffocating ( quilt, his brain supplies helpfully, sleep-hazy as it still is ) lands on top of him, smoothed out by the gentle touch of hands he would ( and did ) recognize anywhere and anywhen, even running a high fever.

The same hands then move to his forehead, feeling wonderfully cool against his still a little too warm skin, but he lolls his head to the side a little to escape the caress, the temperature check.

You worry too much, Q. You're gonna get wrinkles before your age.

Quentin's sweet sweet care felt nice when Eliot was sick but now he's recovering, there's no need for the other man to look as worried as he knows he does without even needing to open his eyes – Eliot feels guilty enough for all the sleepless nights and premature gray hairs he caused Q already, not to mention the flashbacks the other man probably experienced that Eliot is very very carefully not thinking about because it would break his heart all over again.

( Ari was as much a part of him as she was a part of Q; the closest friend he'd had after Margo and Q himself, and the only close friend he's had in this reality... losing her, and so young, hit hard, and he still hasn't let himself feel the grief fully – couldn't, really, because then he knows he'd fall apart, and Q and Teddy needed him to be the strong one )

There's a familiar small warm weight pressed against his side ( Teddy, he'd dozed off telling him a bedtime story, he remembers now, the boy's curiosity prolonging it way past his scheduled bedtime and Eliot's recent illness making him tire much too easily during the day and doze off multiple times a day, though usually not for long, just minutes at a time sometimes ), so Eliot opts to focus on him first, blinking his eyes open to watch that dear little face, peaceful in his sleep, and leaning down to place a kiss against the top of the little boy's sweet-smelling head.

Then, he finally lolls his head back to look at Q, giving him a wide smile even though keeping his eyes open more than half-way still feels like too much effort – he's so warm and comfy, he might go right back to sleep as soon as they finish talking.

❛ Hey, ❜ his voice is hoarse, both from the illness he'd suffered through and the bedtime story that unexpectedly stretched for hours, and Eliot swallows, clears his throat and tries again ( he sounds no better, though ), ❛ You're frowning again. Don't. I'm fine. ❜