[ There's something inherently comforting about the mundanity that they've both craved for so long despite Quentin initially resisting. It's an idyllic type he'd detested at first, always wanting something more, always permanently dissatisfied with the world and it's harshly boring and unfair qualities.
Fillory had fixed that. Brakebills had taught him that there were people like Eliot, people who craved that mundanity with no holds barred and no gimmicks, open despite his post-arch, ironically blase attitude, but Fillory had taught Quentin that there's a happiness that's possible even for someone like him, meds and broken status be damned. Eliot's a part of that, and fuck if Quentin isn't grateful that they've found each other again and again despite it all.
Now they're here, wrapped up in that mundanity Quentin had been actively running away from, hiding in his imagination and crawling into Fillory via the clock tree with wild abandon before realizing the best thing that's ever happened to him was right there all along. They're here, they're happy despite something batshit happening every other month. They're engaged, even, which he doesn't think he'll ever get used to.
(He looks at the ring Eliot's picked out when he feels that strange tug of melancholy he can't shake and that helps him more than he can truly find words for.)
Quentin's grading papers when he hears the door open, the tell-tale sound of Eliot's footsteps signalling he's arrived. ]
Kitchen.
[ He says it before Eliot even says a hello: yes, hello, I am here, tell me how your day went. Beautiful, blissful domestic mundanity. ]
endlessflask; deerington
Fillory had fixed that. Brakebills had taught him that there were people like Eliot, people who craved that mundanity with no holds barred and no gimmicks, open despite his post-arch, ironically blase attitude, but Fillory had taught Quentin that there's a happiness that's possible even for someone like him, meds and broken status be damned. Eliot's a part of that, and fuck if Quentin isn't grateful that they've found each other again and again despite it all.
Now they're here, wrapped up in that mundanity Quentin had been actively running away from, hiding in his imagination and crawling into Fillory via the clock tree with wild abandon before realizing the best thing that's ever happened to him was right there all along. They're here, they're happy despite something batshit happening every other month. They're engaged, even, which he doesn't think he'll ever get used to.
(He looks at the ring Eliot's picked out when he feels that strange tug of melancholy he can't shake and that helps him more than he can truly find words for.)
Quentin's grading papers when he hears the door open, the tell-tale sound of Eliot's footsteps signalling he's arrived. ]
Kitchen.
[ He says it before Eliot even says a hello: yes, hello, I am here, tell me how your day went. Beautiful, blissful domestic mundanity. ]