[ he'd found the books, wandered desperately to find q. it was unnerving. terrifying. everywhere he look, mike was still there. following. everywhere. touching, grabbing, baiting. laughing. mocking.
they were supposed to stick together. sure, they always do their own thing. it's normal. but when shit got weird so quickly, it was completely mind-boggling how simple it was to forget all of it in an instant because everything was wrong, and even quentin wasn't sounding quite like quentin because mike was always there. touching and grabbing. laughing in eliot's ear.
and then quentin had gone. he can't even remember when except that it had happened. eliot had waited. hoped maybe it was some kind of bad dream and if he woke up q would be there again, except that didn't happen, and mike was still there. mike was always there. when he finally worked up the nerve, ignored mike just enough that it felt like he was actually doing something quentin would want, that quentin really would want to see him and that eliot wasn't going to fuck everything up again somehow, that things were actually going to be okay and not a clusterfuck like it always was, days had unknowingly passed, and quentin was nowhere.
it hurt and ached, and eliot's insides burned with every movement. 'you did this,' mike would keep saying. laughing. 'you always do this. it's no wonder no one likes you. i couldn't even love you with a little help. remember?' and maybe he's right? he can't find quentin. quentin doesn't want to be found. he's well an truly alone. again.
and then he finds the books, and they're exactly what he needs because there's nothing left of q. only the books, which aren't even really--
it doesn't matter. they're enough. he returns to the cabin. he casts. the flame at his fingers casts no light, but he can see it, the way it seeks, points. that's how he finds quentin, worn, tired, and afraid. mike tells him that quentin will run. eliot isn't so sure. ]
the end.
they were supposed to stick together. sure, they always do their own thing. it's normal. but when shit got weird so quickly, it was completely mind-boggling how simple it was to forget all of it in an instant because everything was wrong, and even quentin wasn't sounding quite like quentin because mike was always there. touching and grabbing. laughing in eliot's ear.
and then quentin had gone. he can't even remember when except that it had happened. eliot had waited. hoped maybe it was some kind of bad dream and if he woke up q would be there again, except that didn't happen, and mike was still there. mike was always there. when he finally worked up the nerve, ignored mike just enough that it felt like he was actually doing something quentin would want, that quentin really would want to see him and that eliot wasn't going to fuck everything up again somehow, that things were actually going to be okay and not a clusterfuck like it always was, days had unknowingly passed, and quentin was nowhere.
it hurt and ached, and eliot's insides burned with every movement. 'you did this,' mike would keep saying. laughing. 'you always do this. it's no wonder no one likes you. i couldn't even love you with a little help. remember?' and maybe he's right? he can't find quentin. quentin doesn't want to be found. he's well an truly alone. again.
and then he finds the books, and they're exactly what he needs because there's nothing left of q. only the books, which aren't even really--
it doesn't matter. they're enough. he returns to the cabin. he casts. the flame at his fingers casts no light, but he can see it, the way it seeks, points. that's how he finds quentin, worn, tired, and afraid. mike tells him that quentin will run. eliot isn't so sure. ]