[Okay, well, it's pretty obvious Julian does not understand what Quentin means when he says blocking, which... guess that makes sense. Eh. He's about to explain more, but that topic is made utterly unimportant by whatever the hell just happened with Julian looking at Quentin's hands?? And then he has the audacity to pretend nothing happened???
The second Julian stands, Quentin sits up straighter, gesturing indignantly between them.]
( okay, that's - that's actually a lie. he was going to say something, but that was a whole two seconds ago and yeah, he remembers what had crossed his mind when he was going to open his mouth but he doesn't - )
You don't remember what you weren't going to say... ten seconds ago?
[... Julian's totally just going to go with that if Quentin lets him, isn't he? Asshole. Okay, changing strategy. Quentin makes an overly dramatic, frustrated sigh and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.]
Christ alive, man, what could possibly be more embarrassing than the entire rest of this stupid conversation? Nothing. So just spit it out already! We can pretend I pulled it out of your head, and you can beat me up for it or... whatever. I don't give a shit.
I don't remember. Okay? I can't tell you what I don't remember.
( there's so much bullcrap that could be more embarrassing than this whole conversation, thanks! he knows it! like, talking about girls? totally fine and normal. talking about girls breaking their hearts? happens. talking about how hot julian is? valid. and he's not lying lying. he doesn't remember the exact wording of what he was going to say, just that it sounded like complete and absolute bullshit and he's definitely not going to say it out loud because it sounded stupid before he'd even gotten the chance to utter the words. )
You can't pull crap out of my head if I don't remember what the hell it was.
It's not my job to know how your crap works, asshole.
( he's about ready to walk himself right back over there and shove quentin out of his chair and onto the ground for being a dick but then he realizes that's also playing right into whatever the hell this is.
and he could actually, you know, open his mouth and try to piece together a sentence that sounds less embarrassing and stupid than what he's currently trying to shove together except he's already said he doesn't remember and he can't go back on that.
except if quentin can pull it out of him, then there's the whole obviously i'm not lying, asshole, why would i? argument that julian can't disprove because he could just tell quentin to go ahead, make himself at home.
this is why he hates telepaths. nothing is sacred. )
But fine, if you can? Go for it.
( because, see, julian didn't open his mouth and say anything because he hadn't fully formed the thought. it was the barest idea of a thought, a what if, and it was fucking stupid and embarrassing and the worst thing julian's ever thought in his life so he hadn't wanted to actually make it make sense because it wouldn't have regardless.
quentin had offered to use his hands to make it feel like julian had hands. connect their nervous systems or - something. he'd gotten technical, julian hadn't cared to follow along with the technicalities. and he's pretty sure quentin both called julian dateable and hot all in the same breath earlier. and that's just it, isn't it.
they were talking about julian's lack of hands. quire was offering to share. julian is hot and maybe date-able. julian is also straight. sophie's off fucking around with nate somewhere and it's bothering quentin.
there's the thought at the front of his mind, that it'd be fucking nice if he could just borrow quentin's hands for a little bit. also, he's drunk? tipsy. no, definitely drunk. absolutely drunk, because if he wasn't drunk he wouldn't be even vaguely considering asking even if he's not quite sure what the question is. because god, it'd be nice to just - get off, you know? but do you know how hard that is when one doesn't have hands and rarely ever has a consistent place to live/doesn't have money/lives in shared living spaces surrounded by a shitton of other people around his age and younger? impossible.
it's not a complete thought. not a complete question, because he doesn't know exactly what it is he was going to ask, he just - god, is he jealous of nate? maybe he's a little jealous of nate. )
It kinda is your job, oh "fearless leader". But sure, fine, I'll do your damn job for you.
["Go for it," Julian says. So Quentin rolls his eyes, wondering why this asshole is being so damn cryptic, and, well. Goes for it.
... He understands why Julian didn't want to say anything.
Look. It's not like Quentin hasn't had... similar ideas. How could he not? He's the one who brought up the whole hand-nervous-system-patching thing. He razzed Julian about wanting to make out with him, called him hot, poked him with a stick to watch him squirm. He literally said Julian should kiss a telepath, for fuck's sake. Quentin sowed, and now he's reaping. And his brain is just fuzzy enough from vodka that he isn't quite sure if he regrets it. Which is. Absurd? And not because of any stupid "no homo" bullshit. Quentin's known he was into dudes in general since he was 16. It's absurd because, uh, quite frankly Quentin would've thought he had better taste than Julian Keller.
Of course, that's making the grand assumption that both of them aren't just the right combination of drunk, miserable, and lonely right now to consider shit they normally wouldn't. Shit like helping this poor handless bastard get a little relief, because when Quentin had the realization that Julian hasn't touched anything in 6 years, he knew that meant anything, which... Oof.
Okay, you know what? No. There's no point in even thinking about any of this crap right now, because there sure as shit isn't going to be anything like that happening tonight.]
It's, uh, muddled. A little messy. But, uh.
[He clears his throat. It doesn't matter what he says here, because there's a 50% chance Julian won't even remember this conversation, and a 99.9% chance he will never ever want to talk about it ever again. Which means Quentin won't even have to consider any of this.]
If you, er, figure out that thought of yours, tell me. I'll, uh. I'll help out if I can. Lend a helping hand, you know?
( no, listen, his job is to know where he should be playing his cards and when to put them out on the table. and quentin? more of a jack of all trades, minus any heavy lifting. julian knows that, which he considers to be plenty. and besides - usually it's maybe one telepath per squad, if that. the few squads julian's been on haven't had one at all: he's been the mind-powered ability person on the team, and he understands his own ability just fine.
but this? is muddled because it feels messy as hell without voicing the thought as is and it's fucking embarrassing, to be this known. it's partially why he bitches so loudly when people do try to fuck around in his head: there's a lot of crap going on in there he doesn't want others to get a glimpse of. it's one thing to be messy as hell, it's another to have others know it.
because it has been about six years, hasn't it. the prosthetics help prevent phantom limb pains, they handle most daily tasks just fine and what they can't - he's a telekinetic, he doesn't need hands for a lot of crap.
julian keller exudes confidence when it comes to a lot of things. he knows he's smart, capable, good in the field, worthy of being an x-man even if he's lacked the squad to show for it for - well. a while. he's strong, doesn't let anything break him. but he's also standing in the kitchen at fuck o clock after drinking vodka and redbull with quentin quire sadly discussing their lack of successful relationships and the countless times they've both been fucked up by everyone around them.
the tips of his ears are bright red, because it is fucking stupid. quentin brought it up first. kiss a telepath, he'd said. problem solved. as if the only kissable telepaths weren't either fucking elsewhere or, you know, directly in front of him. and that's taking off the i don't kiss guys requirement.
which okay. he did technically kiss foley. but that was different. it was the effects of the casino in aphaia, it wasn't like he would have done it without that.
it's fine. it's whatever. he's already standing and heading out, so julian just keeps on walking. )
I drank too much. ( an obvious excuse. maybe not untrue, he is feeling a little unsteady. but. ) And it's - ( he doesn't need a helping hand. he's fine. maybe a little too used to being alone at this point, a little too desperate for - something. he's been pining after the same goddamn girl for longer than he can remember and she's literally never going to look his way again, but, ) It's fine. I'm going to bed. Night.
[Ah, yes, the mortifying ordeal of being known. Quentin can relate, because of course he can. Seems like all the shit they have in common is the most fucked up. Sometimes in the same way, sometimes in the opposite yet equally awful way. Maybe that's why Quentin's entertaining the notion of... any of this. Fraternizing, so to speak. He sees in Julian the same crap that's broken in himself?ย
God, that's narcissistic, isn't it? "Hey, you remind me of myself in all the worst ways, and that kinda makes you attractive to me." Jesus. At least that doesn't feel fully accurate, thank fuck. No, it's less seeing his worst traits in Julian and more... the same wounds. Wanting so bad to just fucking be seen, but actually having that happen hurts too much. It's like an exposed nerve, raw and sensitive. And the only options are to keep it protected and hidden or take a chance that someone will come along who won't grind the most vulnerable bits of yourself into the dirt. Julian can't connect, can't touch anyone in a very literal way, and Quentin? Well, the downside of telepathy is you get access to everyone else's softest underbellies, but the only other people who have a chance of seeing yours are other telepaths. And telepaths are fucking assholes.
Quentin's let people close before, to varying degrees and with widely varying levels of success. Logan's got his own hot mess of emotional walls and shit, but he clawed his way in and hasn't hurt Quentin too badly, all things considered. With Idie, well. He could never quite get the right balance of when to raise and lower his shields with her. Always seems like he makes the wrong choice with her, but they're more or less fine now. The rest of his team back home have also wormed their way close to Quentin's crusty little heart and haven't fucked him over yet. Phoebe was the one he let in the closest of anyone, and... The less said about Phoebe the better, honestly. That's a cut that isn't going to heal any time soon. See: asshole telepaths.
Maybe that's why he's found himself trying with Julian. Reaching out. Attempting to connect in about a dozen different ways until they eventually meandered... here. With Julian blushing up a storm for reasons that are not entirely alcohol-based, having just spawned a half-baked idea about homoerotic telepathy that Quentin for some stupid reason agreed to kind of, and thinking about—is that Elixir? That explains a lot—a whole mess of contradictory things that all boil down to a single concept: Julian Keller doesn't get truly known a lot. Much less than he deserves, quite frankly. He'd probably be a whole lot less of a piece of shit if he wasn't so emotionally constipated. And Quentin? If he's someone Julian lets in for god knows what reason, he'll help however he can. One of the cases where the ways in which they're fucked up actually compliment each other. Two sides of the same shit coin.
He watches Julian hurriedly leaving and just gives him a quick:] Hey, uh. Thanks, man.
[And just to make it clear he's not trying to keep Keller here any longer, he does a little half-salute-half-wave gesture as a farewell.]
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The second Julian stands, Quentin sits up straighter, gesturing indignantly between them.]
Hey, wait, no. What were you gonna say?
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( okay, that's - that's actually a lie. he was going to say something, but that was a whole two seconds ago and yeah, he remembers what had crossed his mind when he was going to open his mouth but he doesn't - )
Whatever it was, I don't remember.
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You don't remember what you weren't going to say... ten seconds ago?
[... Julian's totally just going to go with that if Quentin lets him, isn't he? Asshole. Okay, changing strategy. Quentin makes an overly dramatic, frustrated sigh and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.]
Christ alive, man, what could possibly be more embarrassing than the entire rest of this stupid conversation? Nothing. So just spit it out already! We can pretend I pulled it out of your head, and you can beat me up for it or... whatever. I don't give a shit.
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( there's so much bullcrap that could be more embarrassing than this whole conversation, thanks! he knows it! like, talking about girls? totally fine and normal. talking about girls breaking their hearts? happens. talking about how hot julian is? valid. and he's not lying lying. he doesn't remember the exact wording of what he was going to say, just that it sounded like complete and absolute bullshit and he's definitely not going to say it out loud because it sounded stupid before he'd even gotten the chance to utter the words. )
You can't pull crap out of my head if I don't remember what the hell it was.
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[Ugh, okay, no. Chill. Count backwards. 10... 9... They were doing fine until now, just calm your tits, Quire, and talk rationally.]
Fine, whatever, blueball me. Not like I poured my heart out to you or anything. Yeah, no biggie, I just thought we were friends and stuff.
[Emotional blackmail? Much more rational. Obviously.]
kind of nsfw
( he's about ready to walk himself right back over there and shove quentin out of his chair and onto the ground for being a dick but then he realizes that's also playing right into whatever the hell this is.
and he could actually, you know, open his mouth and try to piece together a sentence that sounds less embarrassing and stupid than what he's currently trying to shove together except he's already said he doesn't remember and he can't go back on that.
except if quentin can pull it out of him, then there's the whole obviously i'm not lying, asshole, why would i? argument that julian can't disprove because he could just tell quentin to go ahead, make himself at home.
this is why he hates telepaths. nothing is sacred. )
But fine, if you can? Go for it.
( because, see, julian didn't open his mouth and say anything because he hadn't fully formed the thought. it was the barest idea of a thought, a what if, and it was fucking stupid and embarrassing and the worst thing julian's ever thought in his life so he hadn't wanted to actually make it make sense because it wouldn't have regardless.
quentin had offered to use his hands to make it feel like julian had hands. connect their nervous systems or - something. he'd gotten technical, julian hadn't cared to follow along with the technicalities. and he's pretty sure quentin both called julian dateable and hot all in the same breath earlier. and that's just it, isn't it.
they were talking about julian's lack of hands. quire was offering to share. julian is hot and maybe date-able. julian is also straight. sophie's off fucking around with nate somewhere and it's bothering quentin.
there's the thought at the front of his mind, that it'd be fucking nice if he could just borrow quentin's hands for a little bit. also, he's drunk? tipsy. no, definitely drunk. absolutely drunk, because if he wasn't drunk he wouldn't be even vaguely considering asking even if he's not quite sure what the question is. because god, it'd be nice to just - get off, you know? but do you know how hard that is when one doesn't have hands and rarely ever has a consistent place to live/doesn't have money/lives in shared living spaces surrounded by a shitton of other people around his age and younger? impossible.
it's not a complete thought. not a complete question, because he doesn't know exactly what it is he was going to ask, he just - god, is he jealous of nate? maybe he's a little jealous of nate. )
also a little nsfw rip to both of these idiots
["Go for it," Julian says. So Quentin rolls his eyes, wondering why this asshole is being so damn cryptic, and, well. Goes for it.
... He understands why Julian didn't want to say anything.
Look. It's not like Quentin hasn't had... similar ideas. How could he not? He's the one who brought up the whole hand-nervous-system-patching thing. He razzed Julian about wanting to make out with him, called him hot, poked him with a stick to watch him squirm. He literally said Julian should kiss a telepath, for fuck's sake. Quentin sowed, and now he's reaping. And his brain is just fuzzy enough from vodka that he isn't quite sure if he regrets it. Which is. Absurd? And not because of any stupid "no homo" bullshit. Quentin's known he was into dudes in general since he was 16. It's absurd because, uh, quite frankly Quentin would've thought he had better taste than Julian Keller.
Of course, that's making the grand assumption that both of them aren't just the right combination of drunk, miserable, and lonely right now to consider shit they normally wouldn't. Shit like helping this poor handless bastard get a little relief, because when Quentin had the realization that Julian hasn't touched anything in 6 years, he knew that meant anything, which... Oof.
Okay, you know what? No. There's no point in even thinking about any of this crap right now, because there sure as shit isn't going to be anything like that happening tonight.]
It's, uh, muddled. A little messy. But, uh.
[He clears his throat. It doesn't matter what he says here, because there's a 50% chance Julian won't even remember this conversation, and a 99.9% chance he will never ever want to talk about it ever again. Which means Quentin won't even have to consider any of this.]
If you, er, figure out that thought of yours, tell me. I'll, uh. I'll help out if I can. Lend a helping hand, you know?
i love mess
but this? is muddled because it feels messy as hell without voicing the thought as is and it's fucking embarrassing, to be this known. it's partially why he bitches so loudly when people do try to fuck around in his head: there's a lot of crap going on in there he doesn't want others to get a glimpse of. it's one thing to be messy as hell, it's another to have others know it.
because it has been about six years, hasn't it. the prosthetics help prevent phantom limb pains, they handle most daily tasks just fine and what they can't - he's a telekinetic, he doesn't need hands for a lot of crap.
julian keller exudes confidence when it comes to a lot of things. he knows he's smart, capable, good in the field, worthy of being an x-man even if he's lacked the squad to show for it for - well. a while. he's strong, doesn't let anything break him. but he's also standing in the kitchen at fuck o clock after drinking vodka and redbull with quentin quire sadly discussing their lack of successful relationships and the countless times they've both been fucked up by everyone around them.
the tips of his ears are bright red, because it is fucking stupid. quentin brought it up first. kiss a telepath, he'd said. problem solved. as if the only kissable telepaths weren't either fucking elsewhere or, you know, directly in front of him. and that's taking off the i don't kiss guys requirement.
which okay. he did technically kiss foley. but that was different. it was the effects of the casino in aphaia, it wasn't like he would have done it without that.
it's fine. it's whatever. he's already standing and heading out, so julian just keeps on walking. )
I drank too much. ( an obvious excuse. maybe not untrue, he is feeling a little unsteady. but. ) And it's - ( he doesn't need a helping hand. he's fine. maybe a little too used to being alone at this point, a little too desperate for - something. he's been pining after the same goddamn girl for longer than he can remember and she's literally never going to look his way again, but, ) It's fine. I'm going to bed. Night.
( later, loser. )
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God, that's narcissistic, isn't it? "Hey, you remind me of myself in all the worst ways, and that kinda makes you attractive to me." Jesus. At least that doesn't feel fully accurate, thank fuck. No, it's less seeing his worst traits in Julian and more... the same wounds. Wanting so bad to just fucking be seen, but actually having that happen hurts too much. It's like an exposed nerve, raw and sensitive. And the only options are to keep it protected and hidden or take a chance that someone will come along who won't grind the most vulnerable bits of yourself into the dirt. Julian can't connect, can't touch anyone in a very literal way, and Quentin? Well, the downside of telepathy is you get access to everyone else's softest underbellies, but the only other people who have a chance of seeing yours are other telepaths. And telepaths are fucking assholes.
Quentin's let people close before, to varying degrees and with widely varying levels of success. Logan's got his own hot mess of emotional walls and shit, but he clawed his way in and hasn't hurt Quentin too badly, all things considered. With Idie, well. He could never quite get the right balance of when to raise and lower his shields with her. Always seems like he makes the wrong choice with her, but they're more or less fine now. The rest of his team back home have also wormed their way close to Quentin's crusty little heart and haven't fucked him over yet. Phoebe was the one he let in the closest of anyone, and... The less said about Phoebe the better, honestly. That's a cut that isn't going to heal any time soon. See: asshole telepaths.
Maybe that's why he's found himself trying with Julian. Reaching out. Attempting to connect in about a dozen different ways until they eventually meandered... here. With Julian blushing up a storm for reasons that are not entirely alcohol-based, having just spawned a half-baked idea about homoerotic telepathy that Quentin for some stupid reason agreed to kind of, and thinking about—is that Elixir? That explains a lot—a whole mess of contradictory things that all boil down to a single concept: Julian Keller doesn't get truly known a lot. Much less than he deserves, quite frankly. He'd probably be a whole lot less of a piece of shit if he wasn't so emotionally constipated. And Quentin? If he's someone Julian lets in for god knows what reason, he'll help however he can. One of the cases where the ways in which they're fucked up actually compliment each other. Two sides of the same shit coin.
He watches Julian hurriedly leaving and just gives him a quick:] Hey, uh. Thanks, man.
[And just to make it clear he's not trying to keep Keller here any longer, he does a little half-salute-half-wave gesture as a farewell.]
Later.