[most of which klaus isn't planning to unload onto someone else, let alone quentin of all people-- but the way he keeps talking as if he understands (like despite his attempts to not be, klaus is transparent when it comes to hiding emotions), it makes him feel less small.
he sighs, a weightless, tiny puff of air as he reaches out and places a hand on quentin's knee.] Guess we're both just fucked then, huh? [it makes him laugh for some reason, warm and contented, his fingers squeezing slightly.]
Don't feel obligated to say the same, but... I really like you, Q. [another huff, the hand moving to withdraw.] I'll miss you when you go.
[ Klaus is very similar to Eliot--all limbs, all lanky posture, and just as much pain if not more. And that's the thing with Magic, that's the thing with all of this--it's just pain and harsh realities and the cold, cold thought of the fact that both of them are broken and don't give a shit.
Quentin, at least, gives a little bit of a shit. Or he tries to, and maybe Klaus is in here because he's started--he wants to get sober if he's here, right? It wasn't court ordered?--and Quentin actually lowers his usually shrunken, defensive posture the moment the other touches his knee. Hell, when he smiles, it's the most genuine he's ever given. ]
Promise me after I leave, you'll get sober? For real, this time? I don't know if it'll work for you, but I'll make a list of cleansing rituals to hopefully dim the voices. It's--uh. It's a trick I learned from my girlfriend.
[ Ex girlfriend? What the fuck were he and Alice? ]
Yeesh, I said, "Don't feel obligated," fool. Almost sounded like you meant it.
[he follows the comment with laughter that's so warm, it might actually heat the coldness of reality itself. in fact, klaus probably hasn't sounded (or looked) this happy during his entire time here-- and it's completely quentin's fault.
maybe in the beginning, it would've all still been for nothing: he'd put himself through this hospital visit, get out and dive headfirst back into his old habits, but seeing such a sincere smile on the other male's face almost makes what he's asking less surprising. almost being the keyword there.]
What? Quentin, no, I-I can't— [i'm not strong enough for it, he wants to say, but the rest of the words die in his throat for two different reasons altogether. klaus steels his expression the best he can, slowly withdraws his hand, drops it to fidget with the velcro on his shoes after he downcasts his gaze.] Write it down for me anyway and if it helps, the least I can do is try, hm?
[just like how he's hoping his voice doesn't sound as tight as his throat feels (and hell, isn't it selfish of him to blame quentin for that, too?)]
[ He did mean it, but Quentin--he's not really the shy kid in the corner anymore, not after all that's happened, but he's still shy about his feelings. He's a messed up ball of emotion, most of it negative, even if he's started to try to find the best in things. Like Klaus, who's smiling and even if some light faded a bit, Quentin chalks it up to being upset.
Hell, they're friends. God knows Klaus kept Quentin sane, would it be so bad to assume it was the same vice-versa? ]
Sure.
[ Quentin forces a smile, even if he finds he's getting strangely choked up about the whole thing, and reaches for an extra scrap of paper. He writes it first before anything else, and it's only once he slides it over to Klaus that he slides down onto the floor to get started with the ritual proper. ]
You know you remind me of one of my best friends from college?
[now there's an assumption that'd be safe to make-- for both of them, frankly, considering the ones klaus had made were not as prudent. from the looks of it though, quentin is none the wiser to the real reason why he feels like a total shitheel and he's fine leaving it that way.
let them part on good terms rather than not so great ones.
he accepts the paper once it's handed off, lower lip tucking between his teeth, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing while he scans the page. most of it seems relatively easy if what he's gathered during quentin's explanations are correct.]
Oh, do I? Are they as witty and charming as I am? [klaus snorts, shimmies to the bottom bunk's edge, grips the side of the upper part so he can stretch up enough to tuck the slip into his pillowcase for now.]
I'm sure they miss you a lot. Bet they'll be thrilled to see you.
A different type of witty and charming. [ They'd either love or hate each other, Quentin thinks, and he dips his fingers into the small container of chicken blood (where the hell had Klaus even got that?) and draws a line on his forehead. He grabs a piece of chalk next and clears the floor, drawing a symbol proper. God, this had better work.
He doesn't have the heart to tell Klaus that there might be the possibility of Quentin just never remembering this. Never remembering Klaus. He hopes not, but... Well.
Either way. This should get him to the Neitherlands, and from there--he'll have to figure it out. ]
Good to know our personalities won't clash if we meet. [likely the former more than the latter, but it can't be discounted. they've never actually met; some people can't stand klaus, especially when he's out of his mind on drugs (although, he'll hopefully be able to make good on his promise to quentin).
another thing that's best left unsaid-- along with asking how and where he'd gotten these 'ingredients' as it were. he watches intently, both enraptured and slightly disgusted at the fact quentin's putting blood on his head. animal blood, he reminds himself, so maybe it's not as weird.
he slumps back down on the bottom bunk, swallowing hard around the lump that's suddenly risen in his throat and doing his best to ignore the sudden white-hot burn of tears pricking his eyes.] Shit, [he huffs, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose.] I'll miss you, too.
But don't worry, you'll see them soon and everything will be fine.
[ It's soft and quiet, half because he means it and is sincere, but also because he's trying to focus his mind. His eyes slipped closed and he takes a breath, shaking out his hands, and clearing his mind as best as he can.
It's a few things--Proper 43, reversed Popper, Oeming's Cradle--and Quentin's breath exhales shakily, almost pained before he starts whispering a foreign language. His eyes droop closed before he forces them open again, movements sharper, whispering a little more hurried as he repeats it over and over.
It seems to have a little effect--there's a woosh in the room, wind picking up from nowhere, but Quentin presses onwards, repeating more and more desperately, hands moving at a furious pace. The wind picks up--not tornado levels, but something's resonating--and Quentin gasps sharply, grimancing. He drops the speech but keeps the hand movements going, trying to fight the dizzying feeling, shouting through gritted teeth as the wind picks up and the lights start to flicker-- ]
[and for once in his life, klaus stays quiet, sitting on the mattress with his legs crossed, elbows on his knees and cheeks in his palms. he's not sure what to expect when it comes to magic like this, but it's definitely nothing like he's ever seen before.
vivid, dark-ringed eyes stay locked on quentin's hands, watching every single bend of his fingers, the twist of his wrists – putting them to memory for later, despite the fact he doesn't know why he's trying to remember – then his roommate is speaking a different language, which derails his whole train of thought. something doesn't feel right about this.] Quentin?
[but his voice sounds much quieter than he thought it would, even more-so when the abrupt wind begins whipping around the room. klaus adjusts on the bed, shifts up onto his knees and cups both hands over his face, fingers pressing tighter over his ears as the sudden ringing begins to grow, louder and louder until he can hardly stand it--]
Don't be stupid, I'm not leaving you here!
[even when the lights start flickering, he holds firm in his position on the bed, working through the pain enough to grasp the lip of the upper-bunk and reach his other hand out as far as he can manage, stretching toward quentin's shoulder.] Quentin—!
[ he's almost got it, almost--almost--but there's something gripping at him. Quentin doesn't want to stop but the force is going to be destructive, powerful, and his next groan is slightly pained in between the whispering. He needs to get home--
--the lights flicker more and more rapidly before the droning sound turns more into a piercing screech and they shatter, showering sparks, but Quentin isn't reacting. His facial expression is calm, serene despite the whispering and chanting, despite the continued hand motions, like he's in some sort of strange trance with his eyes closed.
His hand reaches one final string of movements before it happens. The moment Quentin's eyes snap open fear is written all over his face, ashey and pale before there's a loud banging noise. Windows shatter, showering the two of them and Quentin goes flying straight into the middle of the wall, motionless. Unconscious. ]
[klaus responds with the manliest sounding squeak he can let out when the lightbulbs burst all of a sudden. he flinches, draws his other hand off the rung, wrapping it around his face to protect himself from the sparks while he continues straining forward, the pads of his fingers brushing the curve of quentin's neck—
except he hesitates at the downright tranquility of the other's expression, eyebrows knitting together with confusion, mouth hanging open. jesus christ, something is off, although he hasn't got a single clue as to what could've gone wrong here-- and that's about when quentin's eyes open, all the color drains from his face and there's a bang.]
Quentin! [he shouts again, regardless of the fact he selfishly curls into himself in an attempt to protect anything important from the spray of glass, but certainly won't come out unscathed. the moment everything stops, klaus leaps off the bed, scrambles across the floor on hands and knees (like a dumbass), forgoing the pinpricks of pain where he's being cut to clasp quentin's arms.] Jesus Christ, Q? [pause, then again with extra emphasis,] Quentin?
[not having an automatic response makes him panic further, tighten his grip and give an insistent shake.] Fuck, fuck, come on, man.
[ Quentin doesn't answer. His breathing is shallow, barely there, and once Klaus shakes him he coughs up blood, thick and crimson, but there's no other response. Quentin lays limp.
That's the same time the orderlies burst in, and immediately set to work. They separate Klaus and Quentin, drag them both to separate parts of the infirmary. They seem to go with whatever it is Klaus says happened, if only because no one's actually sure what could cause it. They even thank Klaus for helping Quentin.
When Quentin wakes up it's the same bed as when he first arrived here, and his vision is spotty but he swears he sees a moth. He's extremely drugged up, though, barely coherent, and actually needs help walking. The nurse explains that whatever had happened they don't know, but are waiting for tests to get back, but even through the haze Quentin knows it's bullshit. He knows exactly what happened.
His normally naturally tanned skin is still pale as he leans against the doorway. ]
Klaus.
[ He frowns, and starts slowly and carefully making his way to the bunk, words thick with painkillers he probably doesn't need. ]
[which prompts him to stop shaking as soon as that happens, his hands withdrawing, immediately moving to cup around his mouth.] No, [comes out, harsh and breathless, something comparable to a pathetic whimper, but far more pained.] Nonono—
[everything else tumbling from his mouth is either incoherent babble or some unintelligible bullshit about magic while he's kicking things under the bed after hearing the footsteps, hoping to scatter enough of it so nothing looks too skeptical-- and although he struggles the entire time the orderlies separate them (panic attack and all), he doesn't fight their aid. they're thanking him, telling he's done fine with what he could, taking him off to get his own wounds checked.
waiting in his infirmary bed is the hardest part. they won't let him see quentin because he "needs to be monitored because of hitting his head" and "klaus, you should be resting, too," but he can't sleep, not after... not after the catastrophe that'd just happened in their room. thank whatever higher powers out there, they give him pain pills when he puts up too much of a fuss during the removal of any leftover glass shards.
he sits curled on the bed, running through the list of things he'd been asked to get over and over again because obviously, it was something he'd done wrong. one of his contacts had gotten sabotaged-- or sabotaged him? either way, shit's gone sideways in the worst way.
hearing quentin's voice draws klaus's attention, makes him lift his head from his hands then instantly spring to his feet, bridging the slight distance between them from the bed to where quentin's only a couple steps away.] Q, you shouldn't— [he stops there, shakes his head and reaches to clasp quentin's shoulders, wincing slightly at the ache in his hands, although it doesn't stop him from carefully leading them to sit. damn, they're both high as kites, aren't they?]
Of course, I didn't run! There's no way I was going to leave you there by yourself.
[ In his haze, he can remember a few people talking about the rehab kids. How they're always unreliable. How they don't give a shit. How some of them will steal their meds. Not once did Klaus think to back off, to move, to do anything but stay with him.
He's a true friend. At least, after all of this, he'll be able to spend more time with Klaus.
The wave of sadness hasn't quite crushed him yet--thank you, meds--so he does wind up offering the tiniest of smiles. ]
Thank you.
[ And, to mimic what the other did before the whole mess, he reaches out to touch his knee. ]
[being unreliable, not giving a shit and stealing meds might have been how he'd have gone through this before, possibly dragging quentin down with him, except that it's quentin who'd made him want to change. at first, he might've thought the guy was nuts, but after the first trick, his continued use of magic and the belief he had.
how could he not have helped him? it'd benefitted them both in the end, although now it feels like he's failed his end of the bargain.
and yet, quentin's thanking him anyway.
maybe it's the drugs? maybe his emotions have gotten the better of him like they do sometimes? regardless of the reasoning, klaus clasps the hand on his knee, abruptly leans in, too fast and all at once, then he remembers: quentin's got a girlfriend. fuck, he thinks, but his movements are effortless-- a smooth adjustment he somehow manages through his intoxication, and their foreheads meet in an affectionate bump.]
S-Sorry, [he stammers, lifting his other hand to rub the back of his neck.] I just thought I— I might not get to see you again? [a pause. god, he feels extra stupid now.] ...you're welcome.
[ Klaus leans in and it's like heaven, having someone that close, someone you can trust. Quentin finds himself leaning in as well, and there's a fleeting moment where the heat rises up in the back of his neck because he swears they're going to kiss--and sure it's wrong, but it feels so right--and Quentin lifts his lips and--
--and they touch foreheads, and Quentin is left feeling strange and biting through shame and disappointment at the same damn time.
He's got Alice. Klaus, while probably at least gay, is also smart enough to realize that Qeentin's too much of a hot mess, anyway. He offers a smile instead, hazy, out of it until he spots the other's arm. He grabs it, gently, and pulls him closer. ]
[amidst the split second before his diversion, they're only inches apart, breath mingling between them, warm and intimate-- then he has to go and second-guess himself when it seems like quentin might be okay with being kissed, which makes him feel even more foolish to assume.
why would he want it while being with someone already? someone who's surely less of a dumpster fire than klaus, too.
both of these fools are hot messes in their own ways; it could have something to do with the attraction he has? not because he has some savior complex and wants to fix quentin or anything silly like that, but because they've been helping each other be better.
klaus blinks down at his bandaged arm, lets out a soft gasp (not a pained one) as he's tugged closer, eyebrows arching in slight astonishment.] Yeah, the windows, they... kind of exploded? My dumb ass crawled through the glass to get to you. [he giggles, soft, still blatantly high off his ass, thumbs rubbing over the bandages on his fingers as he directs his attention to his knees.] Battle scars, baby.
Oh. [ There's a dim part his foggy brain that knows he got a little messed up, too, but he's still honing on the fact that Klaus hurt. Klaus hurt for him, and he feels more than weird about it, he feels strangely touched.
He wonders if that's just because he's sick right now. Recovering from whatever had happened. A spell gone wrong. ]
I'm sorry, it was supposed to work.
[ he's not even sure why he's apologizing. Or not letting go of the other's arm. ]
How's your head? [even before he gets an answer, klaus is withdrawing partially, reaching his idle hand up to ghost his fingertips across quentin's temple, smooth and light as he works back through his hair, over his scalp. while his friend's fixated on his wounds, the taller man's drawing attention away from them, hoping it won't be such a big deal that he'd hurt and bled and felt something he shouldn't.
fuck, and then quentin's apologizing again, making him shake his head-- a little too vigorously, considering it causes a brief moment of dizziness.]
No, you don't have to apologize, just— [don't blame yourself? don't let go? what?] It must've been something with the ingredients. One of my people fucked us...
[for reasons unknown right now, but hand to god, he'll find out why or die trying. his attention lowers to where quentin's still holding his arm, eyebrows knitting, lips pressing into a thin line, then he lifts his gaze back up.] I'll fix it, okay? I don't know how yet, but I will.
[ Except for the part where it didn't, and Quentin is already trying to fight through the haze of painkillers and general sedatives. They haven't ruled out some form of weird suicide, which...
...Well. It makes sense. ]
Except for the part where it didn't. Uh--something stopped me. I think it's the same thing that sent me here.
Wait, what? You're telling me that was supposed to happen?
[doesn't make much sense to klaus, unfortunately, who's head is still swimming, eyelashes fluttering and expression creasing as he attempts to work through the confusion. in spite of the fact he's no magic user, he is pretty sure that's not how it was supposed to work.]
The Beast, yeah. [he lowers his hand, moves it to circle quentin's wrist, squeezes tight.] That guy fucked it up, huh? Messed with your magic like a raging dickhead.
[another shake of the head.] Wow, he really doesn't want you to go back. [a beat, his lips upturning somewhat.] Sucks to be him, I guess, because we're going to get you home.
Most of it was. Except for the part at the end, where, uh... [ He motions his head over to the wall and--oh, damn, they're in a new room. Makes sense. They had to clean up. He squints, trying to focus on something other than Klaus' hand, which he carefully sets down, and then draws his knees up to his chest to hug them. ]
I'll figure out some way.
[ Because there has to be a way, there absolutely has to be, and Klaus--God bless Klaus the junkie, Klaus the no one, Klaus the weirdo. He's none of those things, really. Even if he thinks he is, Quentin knows he's not.
but, fuck, even with the drunks there's a sinking feeling in his chest. ]
[klaus turns to look as well, sinks his teeth into the side of his cheek then returns his gaze to quentin.] Where everything blew up? [and just like that, quentin's putting his arm down, moving to curl in on himself. something white-hot pierces his chest, sharp, almost knocking the breath straight out of his lungs.]
Hey, it— it's okay. You don't have to do it alone, you know?
[considering he'd helped before, why wouldn't he this time as well? as a matter of fact:] Q, listen. [he shuffles up next to the shorter male, loops an arm around his shoulders and gingerly squeezes.]
We just gotta ride out the rest of the week, [he continues, gripping a bit firmer, his head tilting with consideration.] Then we can check out and you'll come home with me. We'll be able to work better from there.
[ The rest of the week? Yeah, if he'll get let out. Quentin has the sneaking suspicion, dread-like and in waves, that something's going to happen. That he's not going to be able to get out. He knows he can't think like that, but even through the medication, it's difficult not to.
How long has he been here? It's sort of blurred together. Or maybe it's blurring together now? He can't quite tell, and he slumps down in his position, no longer hugging his knees but sort of slumped, half on the ground half not.
It takes him a while to actually hear Klaus. He's physically heard him just fine, but: ]
Check me out? To your place?
[ Oh, God, Quentin had assumed Klaus was homeless and--hold on-- ] Do we get released the same day?
[so long as klaus lives and breathes, there's no fucking way he's letting quentin stay here by himself. who knows when they'd let him out (if they would)? all the magic talk might land him in more hot water, particularly after what'd happened an hour or two ago.
no, he can't leave his friend in the hands of these people who don't (and refuse to) understand. quentin slumps onto the floor and klaus shifts, watches him go down, eyebrows raising with consideration.] You comfy down there? [inquires the older male, bending so he's leaning over quentin, arms around his shoulders, looking at him from upside-down.]
Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. [pause] I mean if you'd want to come with me anyway? We have plenty of room.
[okay, well, to be fair: he's not totally wrong, but.] Close to it, I think. Maybe you're a few days behind me, but I'll wait if I have to.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
volunteertomatoes) wrote2019-04-16 01:33 pm
no subject
he sighs, a weightless, tiny puff of air as he reaches out and places a hand on quentin's knee.] Guess we're both just fucked then, huh? [it makes him laugh for some reason, warm and contented, his fingers squeezing slightly.]
Don't feel obligated to say the same, but... I really like you, Q. [another huff, the hand moving to withdraw.] I'll miss you when you go.
no subject
[ Klaus is very similar to Eliot--all limbs, all lanky posture, and just as much pain if not more. And that's the thing with Magic, that's the thing with all of this--it's just pain and harsh realities and the cold, cold thought of the fact that both of them are broken and don't give a shit.
Quentin, at least, gives a little bit of a shit. Or he tries to, and maybe Klaus is in here because he's started--he wants to get sober if he's here, right? It wasn't court ordered?--and Quentin actually lowers his usually shrunken, defensive posture the moment the other touches his knee. Hell, when he smiles, it's the most genuine he's ever given. ]
Promise me after I leave, you'll get sober? For real, this time? I don't know if it'll work for you, but I'll make a list of cleansing rituals to hopefully dim the voices. It's--uh. It's a trick I learned from my girlfriend.
[ Ex girlfriend? What the fuck were he and Alice? ]
no subject
[he follows the comment with laughter that's so warm, it might actually heat the coldness of reality itself. in fact, klaus probably hasn't sounded (or looked) this happy during his entire time here-- and it's completely quentin's fault.
maybe in the beginning, it would've all still been for nothing: he'd put himself through this hospital visit, get out and dive headfirst back into his old habits, but seeing such a sincere smile on the other male's face almost makes what he's asking less surprising. almost being the keyword there.]
What? Quentin, no, I-I can't— [i'm not strong enough for it, he wants to say, but the rest of the words die in his throat for two different reasons altogether. klaus steels his expression the best he can, slowly withdraws his hand, drops it to fidget with the velcro on his shoes after he downcasts his gaze.] Write it down for me anyway and if it helps, the least I can do is try, hm?
[just like how he's hoping his voice doesn't sound as tight as his throat feels (and hell, isn't it selfish of him to blame quentin for that, too?)]
no subject
Hell, they're friends. God knows Klaus kept Quentin sane, would it be so bad to assume it was the same vice-versa? ]
Sure.
[ Quentin forces a smile, even if he finds he's getting strangely choked up about the whole thing, and reaches for an extra scrap of paper. He writes it first before anything else, and it's only once he slides it over to Klaus that he slides down onto the floor to get started with the ritual proper. ]
You know you remind me of one of my best friends from college?
no subject
let them part on good terms rather than not so great ones.
he accepts the paper once it's handed off, lower lip tucking between his teeth, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing while he scans the page. most of it seems relatively easy if what he's gathered during quentin's explanations are correct.]
Oh, do I? Are they as witty and charming as I am? [klaus snorts, shimmies to the bottom bunk's edge, grips the side of the upper part so he can stretch up enough to tuck the slip into his pillowcase for now.]
I'm sure they miss you a lot. Bet they'll be thrilled to see you.
no subject
He doesn't have the heart to tell Klaus that there might be the possibility of Quentin just never remembering this. Never remembering Klaus. He hopes not, but... Well.
Either way. This should get him to the Neitherlands, and from there--he'll have to figure it out. ]
I miss them. I'll miss you.
no subject
another thing that's best left unsaid-- along with asking how and where he'd gotten these 'ingredients' as it were. he watches intently, both enraptured and slightly disgusted at the fact quentin's putting blood on his head. animal blood, he reminds himself, so maybe it's not as weird.
he slumps back down on the bottom bunk, swallowing hard around the lump that's suddenly risen in his throat and doing his best to ignore the sudden white-hot burn of tears pricking his eyes.] Shit, [he huffs, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose.] I'll miss you, too.
But don't worry, you'll see them soon and everything will be fine.
no subject
[ It's soft and quiet, half because he means it and is sincere, but also because he's trying to focus his mind. His eyes slipped closed and he takes a breath, shaking out his hands, and clearing his mind as best as he can.
It's a few things--Proper 43, reversed Popper, Oeming's Cradle--and Quentin's breath exhales shakily, almost pained before he starts whispering a foreign language. His eyes droop closed before he forces them open again, movements sharper, whispering a little more hurried as he repeats it over and over.
It seems to have a little effect--there's a woosh in the room, wind picking up from nowhere, but Quentin presses onwards, repeating more and more desperately, hands moving at a furious pace. The wind picks up--not tornado levels, but something's resonating--and Quentin gasps sharply, grimancing. He drops the speech but keeps the hand movements going, trying to fight the dizzying feeling, shouting through gritted teeth as the wind picks up and the lights start to flicker-- ]
You need to leave the room, Klaus, Now--
no subject
vivid, dark-ringed eyes stay locked on quentin's hands, watching every single bend of his fingers, the twist of his wrists – putting them to memory for later, despite the fact he doesn't know why he's trying to remember – then his roommate is speaking a different language, which derails his whole train of thought. something doesn't feel right about this.] Quentin?
[but his voice sounds much quieter than he thought it would, even more-so when the abrupt wind begins whipping around the room. klaus adjusts on the bed, shifts up onto his knees and cups both hands over his face, fingers pressing tighter over his ears as the sudden ringing begins to grow, louder and louder until he can hardly stand it--]
Don't be stupid, I'm not leaving you here!
[even when the lights start flickering, he holds firm in his position on the bed, working through the pain enough to grasp the lip of the upper-bunk and reach his other hand out as far as he can manage, stretching toward quentin's shoulder.] Quentin—!
no subject
[ he's almost got it, almost--almost--but there's something gripping at him. Quentin doesn't want to stop but the force is going to be destructive, powerful, and his next groan is slightly pained in between the whispering. He needs to get home--
--the lights flicker more and more rapidly before the droning sound turns more into a piercing screech and they shatter, showering sparks, but Quentin isn't reacting. His facial expression is calm, serene despite the whispering and chanting, despite the continued hand motions, like he's in some sort of strange trance with his eyes closed.
His hand reaches one final string of movements before it happens. The moment Quentin's eyes snap open fear is written all over his face, ashey and pale before there's a loud banging noise. Windows shatter, showering the two of them and Quentin goes flying straight into the middle of the wall, motionless. Unconscious. ]
no subject
except he hesitates at the downright tranquility of the other's expression, eyebrows knitting together with confusion, mouth hanging open. jesus christ, something is off, although he hasn't got a single clue as to what could've gone wrong here-- and that's about when quentin's eyes open, all the color drains from his face and there's a bang.]
Quentin! [he shouts again, regardless of the fact he selfishly curls into himself in an attempt to protect anything important from the spray of glass, but certainly won't come out unscathed. the moment everything stops, klaus leaps off the bed, scrambles across the floor on hands and knees (like a dumbass), forgoing the pinpricks of pain where he's being cut to clasp quentin's arms.] Jesus Christ, Q? [pause, then again with extra emphasis,] Quentin?
[not having an automatic response makes him panic further, tighten his grip and give an insistent shake.] Fuck, fuck, come on, man.
no subject
That's the same time the orderlies burst in, and immediately set to work. They separate Klaus and Quentin, drag them both to separate parts of the infirmary. They seem to go with whatever it is Klaus says happened, if only because no one's actually sure what could cause it. They even thank Klaus for helping Quentin.
When Quentin wakes up it's the same bed as when he first arrived here, and his vision is spotty but he swears he sees a moth. He's extremely drugged up, though, barely coherent, and actually needs help walking. The nurse explains that whatever had happened they don't know, but are waiting for tests to get back, but even through the haze Quentin knows it's bullshit. He knows exactly what happened.
His normally naturally tanned skin is still pale as he leans against the doorway. ]
Klaus.
[ He frowns, and starts slowly and carefully making his way to the bunk, words thick with painkillers he probably doesn't need. ]
You didn't run.
no subject
[everything else tumbling from his mouth is either incoherent babble or some unintelligible bullshit about magic while he's kicking things under the bed after hearing the footsteps, hoping to scatter enough of it so nothing looks too skeptical-- and although he struggles the entire time the orderlies separate them (panic attack and all), he doesn't fight their aid. they're thanking him, telling he's done fine with what he could, taking him off to get his own wounds checked.
waiting in his infirmary bed is the hardest part. they won't let him see quentin because he "needs to be monitored because of hitting his head" and "klaus, you should be resting, too," but he can't sleep, not after... not after the catastrophe that'd just happened in their room. thank whatever higher powers out there, they give him pain pills when he puts up too much of a fuss during the removal of any leftover glass shards.
he sits curled on the bed, running through the list of things he'd been asked to get over and over again because obviously, it was something he'd done wrong. one of his contacts had gotten sabotaged-- or sabotaged him? either way, shit's gone sideways in the worst way.
hearing quentin's voice draws klaus's attention, makes him lift his head from his hands then instantly spring to his feet, bridging the slight distance between them from the bed to where quentin's only a couple steps away.] Q, you shouldn't— [he stops there, shakes his head and reaches to clasp quentin's shoulders, wincing slightly at the ache in his hands, although it doesn't stop him from carefully leading them to sit. damn, they're both high as kites, aren't they?]
Of course, I didn't run! There's no way I was going to leave you there by yourself.
no subject
He's a true friend. At least, after all of this, he'll be able to spend more time with Klaus.
The wave of sadness hasn't quite crushed him yet--thank you, meds--so he does wind up offering the tiniest of smiles. ]
Thank you.
[ And, to mimic what the other did before the whole mess, he reaches out to touch his knee. ]
no subject
how could he not have helped him? it'd benefitted them both in the end, although now it feels like he's failed his end of the bargain.
and yet, quentin's thanking him anyway.
maybe it's the drugs? maybe his emotions have gotten the better of him like they do sometimes? regardless of the reasoning, klaus clasps the hand on his knee, abruptly leans in, too fast and all at once, then he remembers: quentin's got a girlfriend. fuck, he thinks, but his movements are effortless-- a smooth adjustment he somehow manages through his intoxication, and their foreheads meet in an affectionate bump.]
S-Sorry, [he stammers, lifting his other hand to rub the back of his neck.] I just thought I— I might not get to see you again? [a pause. god, he feels extra stupid now.] ...you're welcome.
no subject
--and they touch foreheads, and Quentin is left feeling strange and biting through shame and disappointment at the same damn time.
He's got Alice. Klaus, while probably at least gay, is also smart enough to realize that Qeentin's too much of a hot mess, anyway. He offers a smile instead, hazy, out of it until he spots the other's arm. He grabs it, gently, and pulls him closer. ]
You're hurt.
no subject
why would he want it while being with someone already? someone who's surely less of a dumpster fire than klaus, too.
both of these fools are hot messes in their own ways; it could have something to do with the attraction he has? not because he has some savior complex and wants to fix quentin or anything silly like that, but because they've been helping each other be better.
klaus blinks down at his bandaged arm, lets out a soft gasp (not a pained one) as he's tugged closer, eyebrows arching in slight astonishment.] Yeah, the windows, they... kind of exploded? My dumb ass crawled through the glass to get to you. [he giggles, soft, still blatantly high off his ass, thumbs rubbing over the bandages on his fingers as he directs his attention to his knees.] Battle scars, baby.
no subject
He wonders if that's just because he's sick right now. Recovering from whatever had happened. A spell gone wrong. ]
I'm sorry, it was supposed to work.
[ he's not even sure why he's apologizing. Or not letting go of the other's arm. ]
no subject
fuck, and then quentin's apologizing again, making him shake his head-- a little too vigorously, considering it causes a brief moment of dizziness.]
No, you don't have to apologize, just— [don't blame yourself? don't let go? what?] It must've been something with the ingredients. One of my people fucked us...
[for reasons unknown right now, but hand to god, he'll find out why or die trying. his attention lowers to where quentin's still holding his arm, eyebrows knitting, lips pressing into a thin line, then he lifts his gaze back up.] I'll fix it, okay? I don't know how yet, but I will.
no subject
[ Except for the part where it didn't, and Quentin is already trying to fight through the haze of painkillers and general sedatives. They haven't ruled out some form of weird suicide, which...
...Well. It makes sense. ]
Except for the part where it didn't. Uh--something stopped me. I think it's the same thing that sent me here.
no subject
[doesn't make much sense to klaus, unfortunately, who's head is still swimming, eyelashes fluttering and expression creasing as he attempts to work through the confusion. in spite of the fact he's no magic user, he is pretty sure that's not how it was supposed to work.]
The Beast, yeah. [he lowers his hand, moves it to circle quentin's wrist, squeezes tight.] That guy fucked it up, huh? Messed with your magic like a raging dickhead.
[another shake of the head.] Wow, he really doesn't want you to go back. [a beat, his lips upturning somewhat.] Sucks to be him, I guess, because we're going to get you home.
no subject
I'll figure out some way.
[ Because there has to be a way, there absolutely has to be, and Klaus--God bless Klaus the junkie, Klaus the no one, Klaus the weirdo. He's none of those things, really. Even if he thinks he is, Quentin knows he's not.
but, fuck, even with the drunks there's a sinking feeling in his chest. ]
no subject
Hey, it— it's okay. You don't have to do it alone, you know?
[considering he'd helped before, why wouldn't he this time as well? as a matter of fact:] Q, listen. [he shuffles up next to the shorter male, loops an arm around his shoulders and gingerly squeezes.]
We just gotta ride out the rest of the week, [he continues, gripping a bit firmer, his head tilting with consideration.] Then we can check out and you'll come home with me. We'll be able to work better from there.
no subject
How long has he been here? It's sort of blurred together. Or maybe it's blurring together now? He can't quite tell, and he slumps down in his position, no longer hugging his knees but sort of slumped, half on the ground half not.
It takes him a while to actually hear Klaus. He's physically heard him just fine, but: ]
Check me out? To your place?
[ Oh, God, Quentin had assumed Klaus was homeless and--hold on-- ] Do we get released the same day?
no subject
no, he can't leave his friend in the hands of these people who don't (and refuse to) understand. quentin slumps onto the floor and klaus shifts, watches him go down, eyebrows raising with consideration.] You comfy down there? [inquires the older male, bending so he's leaning over quentin, arms around his shoulders, looking at him from upside-down.]
Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. [pause] I mean if you'd want to come with me anyway? We have plenty of room.
[okay, well, to be fair: he's not totally wrong, but.] Close to it, I think. Maybe you're a few days behind me, but I'll wait if I have to.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)