[ Quentin regards the quiet as the sound of discomfort. He never quite liked a full silence. He always needed tones of ambience to fall asleep. The sound of fire crackling, crickets, water flowing, the hum of an electronic, TV turned to the lowest volume, a pool filter. Right now, here, quiet amounts to a calm before a storm. One drifts into a trial and if there's too much silence, something is terribly terribly wrong. With him, outside of one, if there's too much silence - too much of that ambience with nothing louder to... he can drift off too easily. With added exhaustion, anything he put in his system wearing off and too far from this spot for how tired he is to wander off towards. He's considered himself pretty damn doomed and it's time for his allotted 30 minute naps.
Since Kate and her guitar, or anyone particularly chatty and boisterous isn't around he's doomed to drift. He could, perhaps, engage Steve in a conversation instead. But Steve knows his shit. It should be fine, right? He'd wake up and then get him up if he moved. Quentin's at a limit and Steve's pretty damn tired too, he thinks. The guy shouldn't be going anywhere for a bit. And that's made all the more obvious when Steve has delayed response to his question. Quentin frowns at him, eyebrows knitting together in concern and then increasing embarrassment the longer it takes to get an answer. Still, he moved over next to him anyway, sliding to sit on the ground with his back to the log. He pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them with his head canted to the side to look at the other.
He starts reconsidering if that was a good idea at all, pulling his sleeves over his hands. How many pills are in his pocket, actually? He had three-- no two left. The okay comes and he straightens out some, stretching a leg out. His eyes just lighting up and smiling tiredly at him. ] Okay? [ A pause, to double check but also because that was very articulate, Steve. ] Yeah? Cool, cool. [ He points ] Should I sit up there?
( is he tired? maybe, though, not exactly physically. he's in a rare moment of worn down, just, overall. Steve makes a good show of trying to retain as much normal as he possibly can. not be too obviously affected by anything, because then people are just going to worry. hell, he doesn't particularly like to dig into things either, because it's sort of a slippery slope, isn't it? really dwelling on what things are like here? better to just not. better to just not deal with it. because maybe it can't actually be dealt with.
still, there's only so long a guy can truck along without getting at least a little wearied. in a drawn, hollowed out, lonely sort of way. and Quentin breaking him out of that for someone to literally lean on — it's weird how that sort of charges his batteries again. Steve hates the feeling of uselessness, that there's nothing he can do for people that he cares about.
even just being Quentin's pillow qualifies as something. )
Yeah, yeah. ( Steve repeats, like that clarifies anything. it does though, right? and he's straightened up, a little, not quite sure how they're doing this thing but by god, they're doing it. he's only got limited practice in trying to be a pillow for anybody, but he's gonna do his damnedest to be the best human pillow he can be. especially because this involves Quentin resting. that alone feels incredibly monumental, makes it even more vital he be comfortable. somehow. that hint of a smile is enough for Steve to be a full time sucker.
as for joining him on the log... ) No — ( Steve stretches gangly legs and melts down to the ground, too. ) This is better. Right? ( ground is sturdier than a log. he's gonna say yes. it's better. )
[ He's never been good at hiding his own feelings. He won't say them but Quentin is, much against his own will, an open book. His heart on his sleeve. His face unable to hide a damn thing. Try as he might, it's not a talent he shares with Steve. Steve who looks like he can brush off just about anything while Quentin, unfortunately, might look seconds from tears in the same situation. It makes the moment of Steve looking like he shared a tired sentiment that clicked the decision in his mind to just ask. Because he thinks they both need it.
He nods slowly, humoring that extra yeahs might add anything and of course he agrees. It does sort of, because it makes it almost ironically less awkward to add some extra awkward yeahs. He just ends up holding his smile in place longer in response to it as he rubs an eye with his knuckle and sits up even further than before, fighting the sinking feeling. That floaty drift.
Steve slid to the ground in what he thinks is a incredibly fluid motion. He wants to see this guy dive into a pool. It's probably good form.
It's better. He says yes. ] Mmhm. [ Close enough. ] I'll be honest, I probably would've fell backwards off the log if we had to stay up there. [ He points back at it with his thumb and lifts his head from being tilted away from Steve. And then he just ...tips towards him. Completely sideways. There's not really more warning than he already gave that it was going to happen. Quentin's head moves onto his company's shoulder like it can't keep upright a second longer. It really can't. He's dead tired. Quentin leaned in and slouched over like he's deflating against Steve's side. ] I've done it before. Landed on a rock once. Claudette had to stitch my head. We have since moved the rock.
( the extra yeahs don't actually clarify anything, it just seems that Quentin can translate 80s teenage boy into something legible. maybe 80s teenage boy isn't that much different from 2000 something teenage boy, just much sillier hair. the point is, Quentin gets it. yeah, they're doing this. yeah, it's not a big deal, because they're not making it a big deal. if some distant part of him is freaking out a little, it's fine, because as a product of the midwest 80s, Steve is really great at suppressing things!
freaking out might not be the right word, anyway. he's just ... very aware that this is outside of normal dude behavior, as far as his limited (and notably homophobic) upbringing was concerned. it's outside of that, in a good way. in Quentin's time, it isn't that weird, apparently. and maybe even if it is weird, it's a good weird. Steve likes being close to people, why should it be off the table because they're both guys? it's fine. he's fine. so fine!
strangely, Quentin's head lolling suddenly on his shoulder like a baby that doesn't have the neck muscles to keep its own head upright does make everything feel fine. like, actually fine, and not just manic repeating the word over and over waiting for it to be true. anticipation is a bitch, once they're in the middle it sort of evens out. the joke (is that a joke??) helps, too. ) Jesus, ( Steve laughs, but he does feel a little bad about it. ) You got a scar or something? I always wonder if anything around here sticks.
( Steve's not sure what to do with his arms. should he do something with his arms?? he decides on propping the one closer on the log behind Quentin's back. makes the leaning easier. which is the objective, here. )
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Date: 2022-11-10 12:51 am (UTC)Since Kate and her guitar, or anyone particularly chatty and boisterous isn't around he's doomed to drift. He could, perhaps, engage Steve in a conversation instead. But Steve knows his shit. It should be fine, right? He'd wake up and then get him up if he moved. Quentin's at a limit and Steve's pretty damn tired too, he thinks. The guy shouldn't be going anywhere for a bit. And that's made all the more obvious when Steve has delayed response to his question. Quentin frowns at him, eyebrows knitting together in concern and then increasing embarrassment the longer it takes to get an answer. Still, he moved over next to him anyway, sliding to sit on the ground with his back to the log. He pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them with his head canted to the side to look at the other.
He starts reconsidering if that was a good idea at all, pulling his sleeves over his hands. How many pills are in his pocket, actually? He had three-- no two left. The okay comes and he straightens out some, stretching a leg out. His eyes just lighting up and smiling tiredly at him. ] Okay? [ A pause, to double check but also because that was very articulate, Steve. ] Yeah? Cool, cool. [ He points ] Should I sit up there?
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Date: 2022-11-27 04:37 am (UTC)still, there's only so long a guy can truck along without getting at least a little wearied. in a drawn, hollowed out, lonely sort of way. and Quentin breaking him out of that for someone to literally lean on — it's weird how that sort of charges his batteries again. Steve hates the feeling of uselessness, that there's nothing he can do for people that he cares about.
even just being Quentin's pillow qualifies as something. )
Yeah, yeah. ( Steve repeats, like that clarifies anything. it does though, right? and he's straightened up, a little, not quite sure how they're doing this thing but by god, they're doing it. he's only got limited practice in trying to be a pillow for anybody, but he's gonna do his damnedest to be the best human pillow he can be. especially because this involves Quentin resting. that alone feels incredibly monumental, makes it even more vital he be comfortable. somehow. that hint of a smile is enough for Steve to be a full time sucker.
as for joining him on the log... ) No — ( Steve stretches gangly legs and melts down to the ground, too. ) This is better. Right? ( ground is sturdier than a log. he's gonna say yes. it's better. )
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Date: 2022-11-27 06:46 am (UTC)He nods slowly, humoring that extra yeahs might add anything and of course he agrees. It does sort of, because it makes it almost ironically less awkward to add some extra awkward yeahs. He just ends up holding his smile in place longer in response to it as he rubs an eye with his knuckle and sits up even further than before, fighting the sinking feeling. That floaty drift.
Steve slid to the ground in what he thinks is a incredibly fluid motion. He wants to see this guy dive into a pool. It's probably good form.
It's better. He says yes. ] Mmhm. [ Close enough. ] I'll be honest, I probably would've fell backwards off the log if we had to stay up there. [ He points back at it with his thumb and lifts his head from being tilted away from Steve. And then he just ...tips towards him. Completely sideways. There's not really more warning than he already gave that it was going to happen. Quentin's head moves onto his company's shoulder like it can't keep upright a second longer. It really can't. He's dead tired. Quentin leaned in and slouched over like he's deflating against Steve's side. ] I've done it before. Landed on a rock once. Claudette had to stitch my head. We have since moved the rock.
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Date: 2022-12-18 02:33 am (UTC)freaking out might not be the right word, anyway. he's just ... very aware that this is outside of normal dude behavior, as far as his limited (and notably homophobic) upbringing was concerned. it's outside of that, in a good way. in Quentin's time, it isn't that weird, apparently. and maybe even if it is weird, it's a good weird. Steve likes being close to people, why should it be off the table because they're both guys? it's fine. he's fine. so fine!
strangely, Quentin's head lolling suddenly on his shoulder like a baby that doesn't have the neck muscles to keep its own head upright does make everything feel fine. like, actually fine, and not just manic repeating the word over and over waiting for it to be true. anticipation is a bitch, once they're in the middle it sort of evens out. the joke (is that a joke??) helps, too. ) Jesus, ( Steve laughs, but he does feel a little bad about it. ) You got a scar or something? I always wonder if anything around here sticks.
( Steve's not sure what to do with his arms. should he do something with his arms?? he decides on propping the one closer on the log behind Quentin's back. makes the leaning easier. which is the objective, here. )