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‘Twas the night before Brakebills University emptied for winter break and the students were nestled in the very crowded Physical Kids Cottage, which was hosting its annual holiday party. Glittering strings of lights were suspended in midair and dance remixes of festive songs blasted over conversations about finished midterms and travel plans.
Nearly everyone had a spring in their step and a grin on their face, it seemed. So when Margo Hanson set her sights on the most pathetic pout she’d ever seen, she knew that she needed to do something about it.
“What’s eating you, Coldwater?” she asked as she crossed the room and headed to the couch where one of the saddest-looking Quentins was sitting alone and staring wistfully at the floor.
He looked up quickly in a panic, somehow not expecting to experience social interaction of any kind at this party. “Nothing,” he sighed, remaining tense in case he was being judged by his responses. It was pretty typical behavior for Quentin to mope in their living room by himself, but he usually disguised the activity by reading a book or holding a notebook so he appeared to be busy.
Since Margo had a reputation to uphold, having a very disappointed party guest attracting stares right in the middle of her party was a liability. Quentin was apparently having the opposite of fun. So she sat down in the empty seat next to him and made an attempt to rectify the situation.
“It doesn’t look like nothing, puppy,” she said as she glared at him suspiciously, giving him the opportunity to share his thoughts with her while she was still in the mood to be nice.
Q looked over at the people around them, the couples around them, then looked back down at his hands. “It’s, it’s no big deal. Really. I’m sure you have more interesting people to talk to,” he said. Even though he had been relatively friendly with Margo and Eliot all semester, they still intimidated the hell out of them and he didn’t want to supply them with any fuel for the fire when it came to embarrassing him. Especially with this many people around.
“Don’t make me get the psychics, Quentin. I’ll figure out what’s wrong sooner or later,” she threatened, then Margo took a deep breath before stating her next piece very carefully and quietly. “I take the mood of these parties very seriously and I would appreciate the opportunity to improve yours so you don’t drag it down.”
After taking a moment to consider his options, Quentin decided that it would be best to just tell her. His previous experience with psychics, specifically his ex-roommate Penny, was not especially positive.
Deep breath. “It’s just, erm, I - I - I get... lonely, this time of year?” Quentin gesticulated wildly, hoping his hands would fill in the blanks where his words got lost, then his voice got quieter. “It feels like everyone, you know, has someone to spend the holidays with. Seeing folks so happy together always reminds me how painfully single I am.”
Margo stood up, unable to hide the grin on her face as she realized that this was actually a problem she could resolve. “Well why didn’t you say so?! I can fix that,” she yelled excitedly.
And before Quentin could plead with her not to, she yelled, “ELIOT!” and Quentin’s face turned bright red.
“No, really, it’s... that wasn’t a request, I just - ” Quentin’s heart was suddenly racing. Q actually cared quite a lot about what Eliot thought of him. And the idea of bringing in Eliot now, just when Quentin was allowing himself to be vulnerable, made his stomach flip.
“Yes, Bambi?” Eliot rounded the corner, handing some drinks to folks on his way in from the bar. Then Eliot took one look at how intensely Quentin was blushing and suddenly became incredibly interested in whatever was about to happen.
Margo grabbed onto Eliot’s arm, leaning into his side. “It’s time, El,” she said. Foreboding, much?
Eliot’s eyes widened and he gasped dramatically, clearly knowing exactly what she was referring to. “I’ll make the necessary preparations,” he said with a smirk before rushing off down the hall.
“What... is... happening?” Quentin squeaked. He had plenty of legitimate reasons to be nervous about getting roped into Margo and Eliot’s shenanigans and here he was again, waiting to find out what the hell was about to go down.
“Oh, don’t worry. This will be great,” Margo said, failing to look anything but mischievous.
“Gather ‘round, assholes!” Eliot called as he re-entered the room, magically amplifying his voice so he could be heard over the music.
Quentin was now sinking into the couch as far as he could. “Oh god oh god oh god,” he said quietly to himself, trying to hide behind his hair while he imagined the worst.
“Tonight, we’re going to play a little game,” Eliot said, revealing a small box wrapped in red and gold paper seemingly out of thin air. He opened the top to reveal a few sprigs of what appeared to be fresh mistletoe, tied together with twine. He lifted it up into the air and let go, watching it hover. “Rules are simple. Because traditional mistletoe is creepy and consent is important, some alumni across multiple disciplines enchanted this to only appear above groups of two where a mutual attraction exists. They’ve generously passed it down to us for our holiday party each year. So talk to someone new, keep your eyes out for mistletoe, kiss to your heart’s content, and experience the newfound knowledge that you might just like someone here who likes you back. Have fun, kids.”
Then, the tall upperclassman snapped his fingers and the mistletoe disappeared into thin air. With his voice back at its usual volume, he looked back across the room at Quentin, who was practically quaking in his boots. “Enjoy, Coldwater,” Eliot purred quietly, then he turned on his heel and went back to the bar.
The party resumed, but the vibe had notably changed. Folks were trying to subtly sneak glances up at the ceiling to see whether the mistletoe had reappeared above them. Every minute or so, the enchanted branches appeared over a pair of magicians that happened to have feelings for one another. There was a bit more movement in the room now as well; groups that had stuck together since the beginning began to shuffle around while people attempted to test their luck with someone new.
But not Quentin. He remained seated on that couch, though he did catch himself hoping that somebody would come over to see if they could call up that sneaky decoration together. So as the night went on, Q would occasionally look up only to quickly avert his eyes from the happy couples making out in front of him.
Eventually, he decided to make a break for it and escape to the safety of his room upstairs. He could get a head start on packing his suitcase for the trip home and -
“Look who’s up!” Margo said excitedly as soon as she noticed that Q had left the couch of his own accord. “Have you finally decided to get out there and play the game?”
With a look of panic, Quentin nervously looked around. “Well, um, no? I thought maybe - ”
Margo sighed. “Do I have to do everything myself around here? Come on, Coldwater,” she said, then she grabbed hold of his arm.
For the longest ten minutes of his life, Quentin allowed himself to be pulled around the cottage as Margo stood him next to various magicians to see whether the mistletoe would appear.
“What about her? She’s cute,” Margo cooed as she walked him up to a tall girl he recognized from one of his classes. They looked up for a moment, nothing appeared, and they moved on to the next person.
The entire time, Quentin tried his hardest not to make eye contact with anyone. Luckily, Margo occasionally did the work of checking for mistletoe so he wouldn’t have to give away whether he was actually attracted to anyone or not. After a little while, he even began issuing honest apologies to the people who were subjected to the other side of this endeavor.
Margo dragged him up to every kind of person in attendance, since she really didn’t have much of a handle on his type. Though, she eventually started silently betting with herself to guess who she thought he might do well with. Unfortunately, either he wasn’t into them or they weren’t into him because that mistletoe was avoiding Quentin like the plague.
“Now this is a nice looking man. Do you like him, Q?” Margo said, pulling on a clearly mortified Q’s wrist to try to get him to stand next to... okay yes, this random guy he’d never met was super attractive.
At this point, Quentin squeaked out the tiniest, “Margo...” but he went over anyway because he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. He stood still for a second while they waited for the moment of truth, but when nothing appeared above them, he gently nudged Margo aside. “Can we maybe take a break for now?” he quietly asked her. He was trying, but this game was not really what he imagined earlier that night as he sulked on the couch.
“Suit yourself,” Margo said, then she walked off in a bit of a huff.
So once again, Quentin found himself alone. Right away, he started to theorize how the mistletoe knew whether to appear or not. Could it look into your mind like a psychic or was it reading physical signs of a crush like sweaty palms or hearts racing? Did the fact that he was incredibly embarrassed block out any detectable attraction that the mistletoe could pick up on? And were there any other circumstances that could have interfered with the enchantments or their ability to work on him?
Of course, now that he was no longer actively playing the game, he started to wonder why it hadn’t shown up for him at all. He had to admit that he found a handful of people here attractive; did none of them look at him in the same way?
Now that Quentin was feeling even more alone and unloved, he decided that he wanted a drink before he headed upstairs to his room. He figured that a quick detour to the bar shouldn’t take long and hoped that it wouldn’t be too eventful; then he could retreat to somewhere quiet and crack open a book to calm himself down.
As Q walked over to the bar, he caught a whiff of the most rich, wonderful hot cocoa he’d ever smelled. He could see that Eliot was spiking a freshly brewed pot of chocolate and pouring it into a row of handmade clay mugs. Quentin apparently had excellent timing, because this was somehow the drink he needed in this exact moment. He moved closer to the bar to make sure he could be first in line when they were finished.
But just as Eliot turned his back to assemble a tiny marshmallow and peppermint garnish for each steaming cup, something caught Quentin’s eye. He looked up and there it was; that pesky sprig of mistletoe was slowly weaving its way between two boards in the ceiling and hanging just above where he stood. Where he and Eliot stood.
Quentin’s heartbeat sped up, right on cue, and his cheeks blushed like nobody’s business. As he looked around frantically to see if anyone else had noticed, his mind was racing; he was desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. He obviously admired Eliot and enjoyed being around him, and something about being the object of El’s attention made Q feel so warm. But somehow, he realized, he hadn’t considered until now that he wanted him.
Then, he looked at the back of Eliot’s head and it all became incredibly obvious to him. He had been absolutely taken with Eliot since the moment he first saw him lounging on the Brakebills sign. Beautiful, brilliant Eliot with his incredible hands who knew so much about so many things and who made every day exciting. Eliot, who thoughtfully included Quentin in their plans and made sure he knew he was always welcome by his side.
All at once, Quentin began to panic when he realized that he could still make a run for it. Eliot was distracted and had his back turned; he hadn’t seen the mistletoe yet. Eliot wouldn’t need to turn him down if Q left now; El wouldn’t ever have to know.
And then the thought occurred to Quentin. The mistletoe only appeared when the attraction was mutual. Against all odds, somehow, Eliot must have liked him back.
Before he could second guess the sudden burst of bravery that was building up in his chest, Quentin leaned over the bar and gently tapped on Eliot’s shoulder.
“One second,” Eliot tossed over his shoulder without hesitation. It wasn’t unkind; he was just clearly focused on the task in front of him.
Last chance to bail, Quentin thought. He ran a few more scenarios through his head and gave himself a chance to consider how badly this could go. But the one option that he couldn’t seem to forget was how much he actually wanted to kiss this man.
So he swallowed the lump in his throat, gathered up his last ounce of courage, and quietly said, “El?”
At the sound of Quentin’s voice, Eliot spun around, abandoning his work for a moment. He had a kind of smug grin on his face as he tried to decide which sly retort to use next.
Quentin cleared his throat. “I um, just thought you should see - ” and then he indicated towards the ceiling above them with one shaking hand. And as Eliot looked up, letting the smirk fall from his face as he realized what was happening, Q stood up as tall as he could and pressed a kiss on Eliot’s cheek.
Okay, so it actually landed more on his jaw because Eliot was actually quite a bit taller than Quentin but it was something. Q then leaned back, bringing his center of balance back over his heels, and let the relief wash over him. He did it.
Then, Eliot looked back down and raised his eyebrows, searching Quentin’s face for some kind of answer. “Wait, what?” El asked.
Quentin thought this whole thing was pretty obvious, but apparently not. “The uh, the mistletoe. I kissed you... was that, was it okay? Shit, I probably should’ve asked first - ”
“No, I know that. Quentin, you like me?” Eliot clarified.
Q blushed and looked away for a second. “...Is that so surprising? Look at you,” Quentin said, tucking his long hair behind an ear. Q was still nervous but now, he couldn’t stop smiling.
Well, now that perfect Eliot Waugh grin was back. El had the best smile and the softest lips and God, his teeth were perfect... Quentin wanted Eliot to bite him. It was almost funny how easily these thoughts flooded through his mind now that he’d cleared the way for them by acknowledging this crush.
“Well that’s an interesting development,” Eliot commented, looking Q up and down.
Quentin quickly looked away, feeling hot under Eliot’s gaze as he shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. “The mistletoe only appears - that must mean... do you...” Quentin started gently.
Eliot laughed. “Q, I have been flirting with you from the second we met. Of course I like you,” he confirmed.
“Oh,” Quentin gasped, because hearing the sentiment come from Eliot himself made it actually real. His hands tingled, fingers begging to touch. He couldn’t just stand there any longer. “El, can I -” he reached out, not even thinking it through but knowing he needed contact right now.
“Okay, but we can do much better than whatever that just was,” Eliot said, indicating towards his jaw where he had just been kissed and rounding the end of the bar so he could get closer.
Q reached out for Eliot’s hand carefully, and when El gave it to him, he lifted it and brought it around to the back of his own neck. Eliot, who had been desperate to learn what Quentin liked for months, took the hint and slid his palm exactly where Q showed him. Then Eliot leaned in and kissed Quentin’s mouth so softly. He lightly squeezed the back of Q’s neck and nuzzled his nose into Q’s cheek, giving him just enough time to get comfortable with the kiss before El parted his lips and deepened it.
And Quentin, who had gone weak in the knees, let himself be held and kissed as his eyes fluttered shut. How could someone be so strong and so gentle at the same time? Eliot tasted like hot cocoa and sunshine and he kissed like he seriously knew what he was doing. Q’s mind began to wander, imagining what else Eliot might be good at. What else Eliot might want to do with him.
For a moment, everyone else disappeared. They forgot how crowded it had been, how many drinks were waiting to be handed out, how much pressure there could be to find someone this time of year. Here and now, they could only feel mouths, hands, and pounding hearts.
When they pulled away for air, Quentin bravely looked up into Eliot’s eyes. They stood there for a second, frozen in place while they tried to decide what to say. Then, Q surged forward to wrap Eliot in a big hug and laid his head on El’s chest.
Eliot let out a little laugh and wrapped his arms around Quentin. He pressed a kiss onto the top of his head and held his compact body tightly. “Hey Q?”
“Mmmhmm?” Quentin asked, muffled by Eliot’s shirt and barely moving a muscle. He didn’t want this moment to end.
“...Do you want some hot cocoa?”