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The first one Eliot sees is on the throne room floor. He furrows his brow, bends over and picks up the bright yellow post-it note ambiguously thrown to the floor. Part of him wonders how it got here because post-it notes don’t exist in Fillory, or at least, not that he’s aware. But another part figures Quentin dropped it sometime before Magic disappeared, and it’d somehow been swept through the castle to find itself to him. The theory seems even more valid when he unfolds the crumpled ball, and reads, in Quentin’s handwriting,
There has to be a solution.
He checks to make sure there’s nobody else in the throne room before silently slipping the post-it in his back pocket and heading down the hall.
*
The next one is a little harder to explain away. It appears bright pink and on the cloudy, sad excuse for a mirror in his chambers. He wakes up to it, sticking there, like it belongs there, or is waiting for him to find it. He runs a hand through his hair as he sits up, tilting his head at it. Even across the room he can tell it’s Quentin’s handwriting on the face of the paper. He pushes himself up from the bed, makes his way across the room, and plucks it off the mirror with a frown. It’s an equation for a spell he’s never seen before. Not quite powerful enough to be a battle spell, but it has some of the same aspects a battle spell would possess.
He sighs, pulls open the drawer of his dresser, and shoves aside some of his clothes, so he can place it at the back of the drawer with the yellow one. Hidden from view, but easy to reach should he feel lonely enough to want a reminder of Quentin.
*
It happens more than a dozen more times in the coming weeks. Sometimes it’s doodles on neon green, or spells on vibrant orange. Every once in a while there’s a little sad ‘I miss him,’ written on a blue post-it that appears and reappears over and over again. A sad attempt at a doodle that looks vaguely like him appears on a yellow post-it once. This one stays on the top of his dresser. When Margo see’s it, he doesn’t even bother trying to explain it, he just shrugs, and continues on with their conversation.
There’s a scratched out messy list on a purple post-it once. He thinks it’s a list of every possible way into Fillory.
Button
clock
pennyDragon?
spell?
Dragon throws him off, but he just sighs and puts the post-it in the back of the drawer with the rest of his growing collection of the rainbow post-it’s filled with Quentin’s handwriting. He notes the blue one is gone again with a sad roll of his eyes, as he looks into the mirror.
He misses Quentin.
And the others, obviously.
But mostly Quentin.
*
It’s two months later, when an orange post-it appears on his lap in the throne room that he really starts to suspect magic isn’t as gone as he and Margo have come to believe. He nearly jumps out of his throne when he glances down. It almost looks like fire, until he zeroes in on it. He picks it up, and can barely hold in the gasp when he reads it.
In big, black letters, scratched so hard into the orange paper that it’s nearly torn through, is:
ELIOT?
His heart races as he jumps up from the throne, rushes through an excuse to Margo and Tick, and storms out of the throne room and through the halls to his chambers. He slams the door shut behind him, falling up against it as he lifts the post-it up in front of him and stares into it so hard, he half expects it to disappear, and for this all to just be a vision of him losing his mind.
But it doesn’t disappear. Doesn’t turn to dust. And the word stays the same.
It’s probably nothing, he tries to justify, but if the pile of post-it’s in his drawer are anything to go by - this isn’t just some case of Quentin’s belongings flying around the castle. It can’t be. Especially when he looks at it, and the ink still shines as if it’s just been written.
Shaking, he makes his way over to the dresser and pulls open the drawer.
*
There aren’t any post-its for a week.
And then, on a fresh blue post-it, rather than the crumpled up and overused one that disappears and reappears:
I don’t know if this is going where I think it is.
But if it is -
Eliot, I miss you. We’re figuring something out.
Margo, I miss you, too, if you’re seeing this.
Please be careful.
Part of him wonders if he should take the post-it seriously, and be careful, or if he should curl up in his bed, clutching it to his chest like it’s his only remaining lifeline.
He does the latter.
*
There are more blues over the next two weeks. All with similar messages. They flutter over his bed like butterflies, and he plucks them from the air as he sees them. Pulls them to his chest after he reads them, and whispers his own messages into his empty room. He knows nobody’ll hear them, but it gives him a small peace of mind.
One day, he finally sits up and calls for a servant. Demands a pen.
He doesn’t expect anything to happen when he writes ‘I miss you, too,’ on the post-it that performs it’s own magic trick on the daily. But he does it anyway, because something inside him wants an answer.
Because he does miss Quentin, and even though he can’t actually tell him, it soothes some of the ache in his chest to put the words on paper. To give them existence somewhere other than inside him. To let them be, rather than to watch the words fade into the air as soon as he utters them.
And mostly, because, as much as he hates to admit it, he desperately wants it to be real.
*
The next post-it has tear drops, or rain drops, he’s not quite sure, still wet on the surface when it appears next to his dinner plate. Margo see’s it flash into existence and fall next to his food. She’s quick to dart around the table and pick it up before he can even register that it’s appeared. She gasps, and the green paper falls from her hands, flutters down in the air, until Eliot can grab it and read it for himself;
Eliot - was that you?
Are you really getting these?
We’re figuring something out.
We love you guys.
It shouldn’t be much longer.
It’s a long conversation that he can’t escape, when he pushes his chair out and Margo follows him back to his room. He empties the drawer out onto his bed, and lets her read through each of the notes. They have their first real, friendly conversation in weeks. And when they fall asleep, they do so together, overtop Eliot’s blankets, holding each other, the post-it’s piled up in between them.
*
There’s a new one every day after that night documenting … something. He hasn’t exactly figured out what Quentin’s up to. But he’s emptied the top drawer of his dresser of everything except the post-it’s, so he can order them chronologically - with an empty space at the center of the drawer for the mysterious reappearing blue I miss him.
On green, he gets - Kady has an idea.
On purple - Kady was wrong. But we might have something else.
On yellow - Penny reappeared. We’re doing something right.
He’s not sure what that means, Penny’s reappeared, but he doesn’t question it too much, when he places the post-it in the drawer with the others.
Margo starts sleeping in his room, the two of them barely leaving for anything more than important meetings about ruling Fillory - and only ever one at a time. One of them always stays behind just in case a new post-it appears with answers. They realize they can appear anywhere, but more frequently they pop up in Eliot’s room. So it seems safest to stay there, and not risk any of the servants finding any and throwing them away.
*
One night, when Margo’s curled up on the bed, crown haphazardly falling off her head from where she’s drooling on Eliot’s pillow, another blue post-it appears;
I’m sorry I left you behind.
I broke my promise.
But I’m going to fix it.
He lies down next to Margo, setting the post-it on the pillow between them for her to find when she wakes up. He’s not entirely sure what promise Quentin thinks he’s broken, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter shut, and the image of Quentin and the others barging through the castle doors commands his dreams.
*
Everything goes quiet. There aren’t any new notes for nearly a month. Margo starts leaving the room more and more, angrier and less kind to the servants and visitors from other kingdoms. Her temper leaves no person unsinged. Even Eliot gets a taste of it, but her eyes flicker to the dresser, and she falls silent, sitting next to him on the bed, and she’s forgiven.
There’s a thought that neither of them dare speak aloud. That they can’t bear to bring into existence, but it flutters around at the back of their minds, loud and repetitive, buzzing angrily.
What if Quentin’s dead?
Because that’s where their minds go first when anyone disappears anymore. With their life and track record, what other explanation could there be for the sudden, resounding silence?
*
Idri’s visiting when the pink post-it appears in the middle of the throne room and floats down to the floor, soft and careful. Nobody moves for a few long beats, but before Eliot can react, Margo’s jumping up, running down the steps, and scooping the note up to read it. She stares at it for a moment, before looking up at Eliot with furrowed brows.
“What’s it say?” He asks.
“‘We’re coming home.’”
*
Something inside him buzzes back to life, like somebodies flipped a switch. It’s familiar and hungry, coursing through his veins like it’s been a part of him that’s been dammed off from the rest of him. Hesitantly, with trembling hands, he makes the familiar motions of the fire bringing spell. His breath hitches as a small flame appears on the tips of his fingers and fizzles out.
He pushes up from the bed and races through the castle, searching for Margo. When he gets to the throne room, he slams the doors open. “Margo!” He exclaims, looking down at his hands as he makes his way in. “Magic is back.” He casts the spell again, grinning for the first time in months as the fire explodes in front of him again.
“Yeah,” Margo says, her voice hoarse and choked up. He looks up, and his heart stops. “That’s not the only thing that’s back.”
Standing in front of her are Julia, Penny, Kady and Alice.
He frowns, lowering his hands as the flame extinguishes itself. “Where’s Quentin?”
Penny scoffs, “How did I know -,”
“He went looking for you,” Kady interrupts, shoving Penny with a slight smile. “As soon as we got here, he split, said he had to find you.”
He stares at them for a few seconds before Julia sighs with a roll of her eyes, “Well? Are you just going to stand there or are you going to go look for him? He’s exhausted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets lost in this castle.”
Nodding shakily, he turns on his heel and makes his way through the castle. He has a feeling he knows exactly where Quentin is. His footsteps echo loud and kind against the hallways as he follows them towards his room. His door is open, and there’s a shadow dancing in the candle flames when he finally gets there. He moves through the doorway, stopping at the sight of Quentin standing over his bed, post-it’s in his hands.
“You’re here,” He breathes.
Quentin turns around, wide eyed and breathless. There are bags under his eyes, and he’s so pale, Eliot worries he hasn’t been in the sun in the six months they’ve been apart. His hair’s grown to an almost unacceptable length, and he’s too skinny. He stares at Eliot for a few moments, before the post-its are falling through the air and he’s running across the room. He crashes into Eliot with a smoldering hug before they even hit the ground. Quentin’s arms wrap around Eliot tight, holding him so close to him that Eliot can feel his heartbeat pulsing against his own chest.
“I wasn’t sure,” Quentin says into Eliot’s chest. “I wasn’t sure.”
Eliot’s arms move around, hesitant and gentle as they gather Quentin up, holding him. He closes his eyes, leaning into the hug. They stay like that for a few minutes, until Quentin slumps, and Eliot pulls away to see his eyes have fallen closed, and he’s snoring softly. A soft, disbelieving chuckle falls from his lips before he uses his - rusty - telekinesis to float Quentin over to the bed. He lies down next to him, unable to fall asleep, just amazed to see him, to feel his radiating warmth.
He flicks a hand, and all the candles in the room go out, leaving them in darkness.
*
Four hours later, Quentins eyes flutter open, gazing sleepily into Eliot’s. His right hand comes up, rests on Eliot’s cheek and he smiles wide, his eyes crinkling and his nose wrinkling. “It’s you,” He says, soft and sleep riddled.
“I could say the same to you,” Eliot murmurs. “I’ve been staring at you for hours and I still can’t believe it.”
“You were watching me sleep?”
“Creepy, yes. But I don’t really care.”
Quentin’s eyes fall shut as he laughs, thumb sweeping over Eliot’s cheek. “I missed you. I almost forgot what you sounded like.”
Eliot takes a deep breath. “I sound the same as always. Probably a little disappointing.” Quentin hums, shaking his head, but his breathings slowed, and he’s halfway asleep. His hand falls from Eliot’s jaw, slides down his chest, until it’s resting on the bed between them. Eliot chuckles, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead, before sitting up and heading towards the throne room for some answers.
Quentin needs his sleep anyways.
*
It takes a few days for any of them to start roaming the castle or the grounds. They’re all exhausted, and sleep for the majority of the time. But when Quentin finally sits up, awake and excited, Eliot’s there, eyebrow perked. He starts to ask what’s got him so excited, but then Quentin’s pushing forward and suddenly they’re kissing.
He pulls away after a moment, pressing his forehead against Eliot’s. “By the way,” He whispers, squinting his eyes, “It’s good to see you.”
Eliot laughs, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, less talking more kissing.” And then he’s leaning in, pressing his lips against Quentin’s.
*
A week later they’re all in the throne room, planning the speech Tick’s going to give to announce the return of magic. Margo’s talking when he feels something thin and scratchy appear in his hand on his lap. Frowning, he turns his palm upwards and finds a blue post-it there. It’s the same one that appeared and disappeared, all crumpled and torn.
But beneath where he’d written ‘I miss you, too,’ Quentin’s added something:
I love you.
He smiles, lifting his gaze to roll his eyes jokingly at Quentin. Quentin just shrugs with a grin, and turns his attention back on Margo. They’d already said it, time and time again in Eliot’s bedroom over the past week, but it still sends a pleasant chill up his back.
Especially when he thinks about the fact that he’s not the only one who kept the post-it’s. There’s a reason this one kept appearing and disappearing and reappearing. He shakes his head as he closes his hand around it, and looks back up at Margo to pay attention as well.
Apparently they’re both sentimental saps.