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Quentin drops onto the middle of leather couch in the Physical Cottage and sighs dramatically. Beside him, Julia sits on the far left of the couch with Alice on the floor studying between her calves. He leans into her shoulder and makes a small whining noise, demanding her attention.
“What’s going on Q?” Julia asks, running her hand through Alice’s hair. She doesn’t look at him. After almost two decades of friendship, she doesn’t need to.
“You’re going to think I’m making this up,” he says with great reluctance. “I need relationship advice.”
“You’re not in a relationship, Quentin,” Alice says, turning on the floor to face him and her girlfriend. “Are you?” She adds, the look on his face giving her pause to reconsider her initial words.
“So you know how I had that threesome with Eliot and Margo…” he starts.
“I still don’t believe that happened,” Alice cuts him off.
“Shh,” Julia coos, placing a hand on Alice’s shoulder. The touch settles her down from aggravating the already overwhelmed Quentin. “I know it happened,” she turns back to her best friend. “So what’s the problem you need advice on? You’re not still hung up on your oral skills, are you?”
Her question garners a giggle from Alice, while Quentin blushes. “Sort of? I guess,” he says quietly, working out how to explain the predicament he is in. “I don’t know. The other night Eliot pushed me into asking Margo for lessons on oral, which was great, but then when I left her room, I ran into him and we made out and it was incredible, but then he got all weird and basically ran away from me.”
“So which one are you with?” Alice asks, cutting off Julia before she even has a chance to speak.
“That’s pretty much what I was going to say,” Julia adds.
“That’s the thing!” he cries before remembering the two people he is talking about also live in the same building. “At first I was kind of only into Eliot, but fuck, Margo is hot and I really like eating pussy.”
“Ugh, do you have to say it like that?” Alice complains.
“Sorry, how would prefer I say it?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“Just say pleasuring a woman,” she replies. “It’s vague, but everyone knows that means cunnilingus.”
“She’s not lying,” Julia adds.
All of a sudden Quentin feels like he’s right back at the party, with Eliot whispering into his ear. Just as quickly as he remembers the feeling of Eliot’s lips against his ear and Margo’s hand on his thigh it disappears. Replaced by the memory of being pushed into the wall and Eliot walking away, of Margo blanking him at breakfast the next morning.
“Anyway, it doesn’t seem to matter, neither of them have spoken to me since,” he says, letting himself fall further onto Julia.
Using both her hands, Julia moves Quentin off her and lets him fall over the other side of the couch. “I have an idea, but you need to put your big boy pants on and be assertive, can you do that?”
Quentin nods his response. When Julia has an idea, he knows to let her think it through before he does anything else.
“You're still coming with me to see Bleachers tomorrow night, right?” Julia starts forming her plan, absentmindedly brushing Alice’s hair with her fingers again. Resuming her studies, Alice turns her back to lean against the seat of the couch and into her girlfriend’s touch.
“Oh yeah!” Quentin says, getting bringing his feet up on the couch to sit on his knees. “I completely forgot about that, you got the extra ticket back from James didn’t you?”
“Yeah, that one is for Alice,” Julia says. From the glint in her eye he can tell that she’s close to finalising her idea. Where the concert comes in is still a mystery.
“So what’s the idea?” He says, impatience getting the better of him.
“Invite them to come with us,” she says simply.
“Julia, it’s sold out,” Quentin responds, focusing on the neutral issues before even considering how he can ask Eliot and Margo.
“And we’re magicians.” Julia shrugs and it’s obvious why she’s the more social adjusted of the pair.
“She makes a good point,” Alice interrupts. She places a bookmark on her page, closes the book and stands. Staring at Quentin, she forces him to move over so she can sit on the couch next to Julia. When he doesn’t move, she sighs, and Julia shuffles to make room for her on the opposite side. “Duplication spells are simple.”
“And…” Julia drags out the word, trying to avoid the ensuing thought. “Worse case scenario I ask Mackenzie,” she lets out after a long delay.
Squeezing her arm, Quentin offers comfort. He knows the state of her relationship with her sister. It means the world that she’s willing to talk to her just to help him out. “Let’s hope that if they agree to come we can get them in with magic,” he says softly, unsure if Alice knows anything about Julia’s family.
“Yeah,” she says. “You have to ask them out first anyway.”
“Uhh, wish me luck, I guess?” Quentin says, picking himself up from the couch. Julia reaches out her hand for him to squeeze, giving him a slight boost of confidence.
“Don’t screw up,” Alice and Julia say in unison as he bounds up the stairs. Psyching himself up, he can’t afford to think on what he is doing, even for a moment.
—
Propped up by more cushions than any bedroom needs, Eliot and Margo laze on a floral duvet. Wine glasses in hand, and an open box of Belgian truffles between them, they wait for the 2011 vintage of Château Margaux to fill their glasses.
“We need to talk about the elephant in the room,” Margo breaks the silence. “And by elephant, I mean the adorable nerd from the room down the hall.”
Eliot catches her eyes, but remains tight lipped. When his glass is full, he drowns most of it in a single gulp, before motioning for the bottle to begin its job of refilling him.
“I have no clue what you are talking about,” he says averting her narrowing gaze at his blatant lie.
“Don’t fuck with me El,” she says seriously, no patience for his avoidance of the topic they have refused to speak about since Quentin asked her for lessons. “I know you.”
“Then if you know me so well, why did you let him go down on you?” He snaps, uncomfortable at being forced to reveal his feelings.
“You practically forced him into it,” Margo replies trying to remain cool despite his evident issue with her.
“You were supposed to say no,” he says guiltily. They both know that if she denied Quentin’s request there was a good chance he would spiral into one of those moods that neither of them were equipped to handle.
“And what if I’m into him too, huh? Did you think about that while you were dicking him around and denying your feelings…” she says, snatching the bottle from the air in the knowledge that her words will upset Eliot and cause him to lose his control. Bottle safely in hand, she turns and stares him down. “Like you always do when you want more than a quick suck.”
“How can I know what you want when you never tell me,” Eliot fights back, deliberately ignoring her jab. “Besides, the last time we were all in the same room you ignored him. What am I supposed to think?”
“I saw the look you gave me,” she replies, lips pursed and a glint of anger in her eyes. She’s used to putting Eliot first; for him to throw that back in her face is an affront to their entire relationship.
While they glare at each other, both refusing to back down from their accusations, they hear a knock at the door. A man clears his throat and they quickly work out exactly who it is. While Margo softens her face, Eliot finishes a second glass of wine, steals the bottle back, and inches himself away from her.
“Come in Coldwater, no one likes a creep,” Margo calls out and it would be impossible for Eliot to know that she has feelings for the first year had she not just admitted it.
Quentin slowly opens the door and slips inside. Standing with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders dropping and his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, he looks both nervous and guilty. Turning to Eliot, Margo catches an affectionate smile break on his face and does her best not to mirror him.
“Out with it, what did you do?” She asks. No one else seems to want to speak.
“Oh.” Quentin makes a noise, finally looking up at them. “So you can speak to me,” he says with more snark than either of them care for.
“What is,” Eliot starts, immediately cut off by Quentin.
“No. I’m going to say something and you’re both going to listen and then you can either go back to ignoring me, or yell at me or whatever you want to do,” Quentin rambles. With each word his posture steadies, his gaze becomes more direct.
Intrigued by this display, Eliot looks over to Margo bristling at the abruptness of Quentin’s words. He silently urges her to let their guest have his little moment, and she begrudgingly accepts. She picks up a handful of truffles and prepares herself for what is likely to be a rare show.
“Whatever I say, please don’t interrupt me. I can only do this once,” he says, garnering nods from his audience. “Okay, so, I like you both, and sometimes I think you both like me and if I’m not crazy, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t have to be weird, because like, we’re magicians, everything for us is weird.” Taking a deep breath, he rocks back and forth on his feet, working himself up to his next point. “But if you don’t, then I really don’t want to lose either of you as friends, so will you please come to a concert in the East Village with me, Jules and Alice tomorrow night? We can get two extra tickets, just for you.” Quentin pauses to collect himself. Everything he practiced saying on his way upstairs forgotten the moment he opened the door and saw them lying on Eliot’s bed together.
“You don’t even have to say yes right away,” he adds, unable to meet their eyes now that his momentum wavers. “Actually I prefer if you don’t tell me now, just meet us downstairs tomorrow at like 6pm.”
“6pm?” They both say in unison. The look confused, as if the hour doesn’t exist as a time that people are are ready to go out.
“So you’re coming?” Quentin rolls forward on his feet and dares to look excited.
“No promises,” Eliot says, his face nonchalant, while the tone subtly betrays his interest in a way that only Margo picks up on.
“Thats...that’s okay,” Quentin droops in reply, and quickly leaves the room.
After a moment’s pause, it’s Margo who breaks the silence once again. “What the fuck was that?” She asks, still trying to work out what just happened.
“I think Q just asked us out,” Eliot says, hand pouring himself yet another glass of wine. Before he finishes filling the glass, he brings it back to his lips and drains the Bordeaux.
Margo snatches the bottle from his grasp and places it on the nightstand. It’s not safe from Eliot, should he want more, but it’s the best she can do to keep him from drinking an entire $500 bottle in one go. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you so shook.”
“When I heard Leonard Cohen was dead,” Eliot voice is monotone as he enlightens her. He remembers the bottle of Hardy Noces d’Or he opened to celebrate the legend’s death. Naively he shared the 50 year old cognac with Quentin—a waste at the time.
“Are we going? I’m sure the music will suck and we’ll end up drowning in Brooklyn hipsters…”
“If you’re going, I’m going.” Eliot cuts her off and takes the last truffle from the box.
—
At exactly 6pm the following evening, Margo saunters down the staircase to the common room in black cigarette trousers, a plain white camisole and patent black stilettos.“ Just so you know,” she says announcing her entry, “We’re only coming because you there won’t be able to get back here without killing yourselves when you’re off your tits at 3am.”
Standing around the coffee table, Quentin, Julia, and Alice finish packing their bags for the night in the city. They look up at her as she takes her last step towards them, a curious frown appearing on her face as she notices their luggage.
“Didn’t Quentin tell you?” Alice asks, earning herself a glare. “We’re staying at their apartment in Brooklyn tonight,” she continues and the glare moves from Alice to Quentin. He counts himself lucky she’s not Supergirl, because he is certain he would be split in half by her laser vision.
“I’m sorry,” he fumbles with his bag as he tries to meet her furious stare. “We still have plenty of time for you to pack a bag.”
“Pack a bag?” Eliot asks, joining Margo at the bottom of the stairs. It’s Quentin’s turn to frown. For some reason Eliot is wearing white trousers with his floral green shirt and charcoal vest. “First of all,” Eliot continues, oblivious to Quentin’s expression. “It takes Bambi days to pack. Secondly, why? We’re only going to the city?”
“Evidently Coldwater forgot to tell us we’re staying at his apartment in Brooklyn.” Margo thrusts out a hand to prevent him from passing her.
“My apartment, actually,” Julia corrects, zipping her bag, and turning to face the two additions to their group.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” Eliot says, holding out a finger to scold Quentin. “Come on Bambi, we have 6 hours work to do in 10 minutes.”
“You’re going to want to change those pants too,” Quentin calls up to Eliot. He can’t dwell on the failure to inform then when all he can think about is Eliot’s outfit. White pants at a concert is a disaster waiting to happen. Surely Eliot knows that.
“Explain to me again why you want to be with them?” Alice asks, now finished packing her own bag.
“I don’t even know,” he lies. Quentin knows exactly why he is interested in both of them, individually and together. From their feigned indifference to the way they completely ignore his awkwardness and include him in more activities than he’s worthy of participating in. He’s interested in Eliot’s warm hands that ruffle his hair when he’s being painfully naive and Margo’s harsh and confusing compliments that highlight the parts of him that he never considered anyone would want to pay attention to. “They’re really hot?” He says, shrugging his shoulders.
For a few minutes, Quentin plays nervously with the zipper of his bag. Eventually he decides to go upstairs and help the other two pack. It’s the least he can do.
Once upstairs he hesitates on which room to enter first. Thinking about Eliot’s fashion choices, he decides to tackle that issue first. A pop concert is probably the only situation where he can offer constructive clothing advice to the far better dressed man, and the thought of doing so has him surprisingly excited.
He bursts through the door to find Margo sitting on the bed checking her nails while Eliot frantically throws vests and shirts at her.
“Come to help?” She asks casually, not bothering to look up from her fingers.
“I did come to help you both,” he says slowly, confused at how calm she is when Eliot is so panicked. “How are you already packed?” He asks, pointing to a small black carry on suitcase at her feet.
“It’s called a go-bag,” she says like it’s something that should make sense to him. “Eugh, how do neither of you know what this is?” She doesn’t hide the look of disgust at their ignorance from her face, and Quentin finds his heart leap that she is back to treating him like she always did. “I’m not explaining it for you.”
Quentin nods and goes over to help Eliot with his dilemma. Still wearing those same white pants, he’s gotten nowhere.
“We are just crashing for the night, we’ll come straight back here tomorrow morning, you don’t need to stress,” Quentin says. “Just pick something and please put on some jeans or at least dark pants.” He considers adding that the his a high chance that they’ll end up with alcohol spilled over them but he doesn’t want to scare him off.
“You don’t rush a masterpiece,” Eliot says still determined to find the perfect outfit for the morning.
“He may not, but I do,” Margo points at Quentin finally getting up from her spot. She quickly picks a shirt, vest and trousers and shoves them into Eliot’s hands. “Switch your pants, you can dress for a garden party in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Quentin mouths, and he sees a smile form in the corner of Margo’s mouth. Her eyes crease and he dares to hope this night will be good. Seeing her shoes he decides to offer some helpful critique. “You may want to-“
“Don’t even think about questioning what I am wearing Quentin,” she warns him, grabbing her bag and readying to leave as soon as Eliot is done.
—
As soon as Julia opens the door to her apartment, Eliot and Margo barge straight through, demanding to see Quentin’s old room. Seeing two doors, they each pick one and throw them open to reveal plain unadorned rooms. No sign of any personal items to be found.
“Do they not realise how obvious they are?” Alice whispers to Julia, just loud enough for Quentin to overhear. The question garners a giggle from Julia, before she places a finger to her lips to shush her girlfriend.
Walking to join them, Quentin catches them turning back to face the front door, looks of disappointment plastered on their faces. “If you’re looking for anything incriminating, it’s all at my dad’s,” he says, thankful that there is no possible way for them to see the hundreds of potentially embarrassing photos that he and Julia took throughout high school—other than on Facebook. When he gets some time to himself he knows he should delete that.
“Ugh, fine. Please tell me you have some decent liquor in this flea market,” Eliot says, bored now that his original plan has been thwarted. “No offence, it’s...nice.” He adds, more than aware of his faux pas.
“Top shelf, unless the last guests found it,” Julia answers. Thanks to her relationships with Quentin and Alice, she’s accustomed to Eliot’s arrogance and knows it’s not worth the effort to argue with him. Even if she does want to smack some respect into him. Instead, she makes her way to a locked closet and produces a key from her pocket.
At the bottom of the closer she finds exactly what she wants. Two matching black t-shirts that haven’t seen the light of day in years. “Hey Q!” She calls out, unfolding the t-shirts and checking the sizes. She throws the Medium to Quentin and keeps the Small for herself. For once it makes sense to her for him to wear his t-shirt a size too big, allowing her to wear what she bought for him, back when they were freshmen at Columbia University.
“I can’t believe you kept these,” he says, removing his current shirt and replacing it with the new one. Julia raises her hand and gives him the okay sign with a wink. She does the same, replacing her top with an identical t-shirt to Quentin’s, tying it into a knot at the waist.
“What do you guys think?” She asks the others as she stands beside Quentin, arm wrapped around his waist. Their matching black t-shirts feature a small pocket coloured in with the bisexual pride flag. All three turn from where they waited in the kitchen, cocktails in hand thanks to Eliot’s handiwork.
“That you’re both excessively lame? Though I do appreciate the show of solidarity.” The only one to pipe up, Eliot raises his glass to them, while Margo and Alice hide their expressions behind their drinks.
“We are the most appropriately dressed for tonight,” Quentin says, earning him a high five from Julia. “Also, because we had to wait for you, drink up, we have to leave in ten.”
—
After an uneventful subway ride, they come upon an chipped orange Renaissance Revival building, complete with a vintage backlit marquee reading ‘Bleachers’. A substantial line runs along the front of the facade, and the group are forced to join the back of it.
“Are you sure the duplication spell is going to work for the extra tickets?” Quentin whispers to Julia, starting to worry. The closer they get to the front of the line, the closer they are to finding out if their devious plan pays off or if music venues put the same magical safeguards in place as banks.
“Only one way to find out,” Julia answers with an encouraging smile.
Quentin’s heartbeat races. Holding Julia’s hand, he allows her to drag him forward as the fans ahead of them enter the building. With every minute they get closer to the entrance and he starts to panic. All for nothing—they get in without a hitch.
It’s not until they get inside that his breathing returns to normal. “See, nothing to worry about,” says Julia, squeezing his hand as they make their way through the foyer and over to the bar.
Getting the attention of the bartender, Quentin and Julia look to each other and nod. They’ve done this together hundreds of times; they know exactly what they want to order. Shame in front of their dates be damned.
“Two tequila shots,” Julia orders. As soon as the plastic glasses are placed before them, Quentin and Julia knock them back without blinking an eye.
“Two Jäger Bombs,” Quentin orders next. The two best friends bring the shot glasses together and drop them into the Red Bull in unison, quickly downing their drinks in one go.
“The usual?” Julia asks Quentin, who throws back a lazy smile as the mixture makes its way through his body. “Okay, one gin and tonic, one rum and coke,” she places their final order with the bartender. Cash in hand, she’s ready to pay the exorbitant prices as soon as he finishes making their drinks.
“And whatever you guys want, on me,” Quentin adds, turning to their gobsmacked companions.
Margo pushes her way between them and leans up on the bar. “Give me what they got,” she says taking advantage of Quentin’s offer. She throws the bartender a seductive wink, and he over pours half the drinks.
“Uh, can I have a vodka raspberry?” Alice asks quietly, standing on her toes to see past Quentin.
Behind them, Eliot peruses his options and fails to find anything to his fancy. He takes a step back from the group and feels for his flask. “I’m going to stick to what I like,” he says with minor disdain over the available choices.
By the time they pay, Quentin and Julia are sufficiently tipsy for the current moment, with Margo on her way. They try to drag the others to the floor before the stage as the room fills in anticipation for the act.
Filthy carpet gives way to just as filthy floorboards at the edge of the dance floor. Reaching into his jeans pocket, Quentin gives Julia a look and the other three start to feel like the audience to the world's most annoying silent movie.
“You didn’t,” Julia playfully scolds him as he produces tiny ziplock bag with a handful of pills.
“I did,” Quentin grins back, snapping one of the small white pills in half.
Julia opens her mouth and allows him to place the half on her tongue.
“Look at these little deviants,” Eliot says with awe. “And here I was thinking that we were the ones corrupting you,” he adds putting out his hand. Quentin goes to break it in half, but garners a shake of the head in response. “Please, I know you got these from Todd, it’s hardly going to touch me.”
“Same,” Margo adds, taking one for herself before anyone has a chance to question her.
All four look over to Alice, who hasn’t made a sound. “I think I’ll stick to alcohol for now,” she says cautiously, taking a sip of what is definitely not a vodka raspberry. “This isn’t what I ordered.”
“It’s what he heard. Maybe you should have spoken up then,” says Margo earning a glare.
Quentin swallows the second half of the pill and takes Julia by the wrist. She in turns takes hold of Alice and tries to lead her onto the dance floor.
“I don’t dance,” she says, taking another sip of her drink. “I just came for you.”
Leaning up on her toes, Julia gives her a long kiss before whispering into her ear. Blushing, Alice takes another drink and swallows hard. “Maybe, when I’ve had a few more.”
“What about you two, am I going to have to get on my knees and beg?” Quentin says, the alcohol burning in his cheeks.
“As much as I would love to see that, Bambi and I will be staying with Alice,” Eliot answers.
“You are?”
“Your loss,” Quentin grins.
Letting go of Alice, Julia drags Quentin towards the stage, their matching black outfits getting them lost in the crowd. Only Eliot, standing a head taller than most, is still capable of seeing the two friends. Arm in arm their excitement is obvious even without being able to see their faces.
Standing on the periphery of the room, Eliot runs his thumb over the pill in his hand. The lights in the room dim as the smoke machines start to fill the air with so it feels like they’ve tripped and fallen into a Stephen King adaptation. It seems apt to fall into this bizarre dreamscape when he loses sight of the man that so easily convinced him and his best friend to come to this show. The band gets on the stage and pop music starts to blare from the speakers.
Beside him, Margo casts a spell to allow them to see through the crowd to Julia and Quentin. They watch as the two friends hold each other, jumping up and down in that awkward half dance movement made possible by too many bodies in a compact space. He can’t help but think they are both terrible dancers; Quentin especially.
“I don’t understand you two.” Alice says at the conclusion of the first song. She takes a step back from her two companions, only to crush a stranger’s foot with her Mary Janes. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaims, rushing forward back to the others.
“Understanding human interaction isn’t exactly your strength though, is it?” Margo says back with a smile, clearly pleased by the instant karma.
“Bambi, heel,” Eliot says, placing a hand on Margo’s shoulder. His eyes remain on Quentin in the crowd, now singing at the top of his lungs.
“I don’t understand what you see in him either,” Alice adds, this time directly to Eliot.
“Are you trying to make a point, or just be a bitch?” He rolls his eyes in return and takes a long pull on his flask.
“I can do both,” Alice replies.
The next song starts and they can no longer hear each other speak. Her next point drowned by noise Alice leaves them for a few minutes and returns with three new drinks. She hands one to each of them as a peace offering. Taking it gladly, Margo forces the second drink into Eliot’s hand and he reluctantly accepts. He uses the drink to swallow the pill Quentin gave him and drains it in one go.
“Why are you wasting money on drinks in this place?” Margo leans over to Alice and yells in her ear.
“I’m not, I just picked up new cups and used the same duplication spell we used for your tickets,” Alice screams back.
“You didn’t have real tickets for us?” Margo asks, her voice getting hoarse from the yelling.
“No, this was just some poorly thought out idea of theirs to get you on a date with Quentin,” Alice explains over the music. ”But he’s up there with my girlfriend and I’m stuck having to explain the obvious to you!” Halfway through her words, the song ends and the lull in the music makes her voice carry through the crowd. A handful of people turn and stare, sending a bright pink flush to her cheeks.
Having carved out a small space for themselves on the dance floor, Quentin and Julia pull out their worst moves. They sing along to the words that they know by heart, voices off key and out of breath. Fingers linked, they throw their hands up in the air. Only four songs in and they are already sweating. Black was an excellent choice for their matching t-shirts; skin tight jeans and boots, not so much.
Motor functions impaired, they trip over each other, bouncing into the people around them. Somehow Quentin is the first to regain his footing, holding Julia up from the booze slicked floor. He wraps his other hand around her bare waist and brings her back to her feet.
Laughing hysterically, Julia jumps into his arms, and they bring their lips together in the same way they have hundreds of times before. Oblivious to anyone around them, their break their lips apart as Quentin lowers her to the ground and they resume their dancing.
“Sometimes, I hate that you know me so well,” they sing together in unison, giggling over the irony of the words.
For the next few songs all three onlookers stand in silence. Periodically refilling her cup using magic, Alice gradually reaches the point of intoxication where she starts to tap her feet to the music and considers joining the others on the dance floor.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend that I would be okay at sharing a partner, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Unsure why she’s helping them, Alice broaches the topic again while the frontman waxes poetic between songs. “Besides, it’s you two, you’re basically a couple anyway, why not just add an extra person you both want to be with?” With her point made, she leaves them, seeing Quentin and Julia locking lips on the dance floor. Again.
“Oh, come on,” she sighs, inadvertently getting the attention of Eliot and Margo behind her. She pushes through the crowd to reach Quentin and Julia, breaking them apart. Julia immediately captures Alice in a kiss, and grabs her hands to spin her on the now sticky floor.
At the same time, Quentin turns to see his supposed dates on the edge of dance floor, standing apart and watching him intently. He waves them over, smile wide, before he brushes the sweat soaked strands of hair from his face.
Eliot holds up his finger to ask for a minute. He’s still taking in Alice’s words. Watching Quentin shrug and return to his horrendous dancing, he considers their predicament. “How do you feel about him,” he finally asks Margo.
“Just because I don’t show my emotions, doesn’t mean I don’t have them,” she answers vaguely, but they both know that’s as direct as she gets when it comes to her feelings. Turning to face him, Margo rises onto her toes and slides her index finger along his jawline to force his gaze into her own. “I may suck at relationships, but I’m not opposed to them.”
“So, where does that leave us?” Eliot asks, placing a hand in her bare shoulder. The sensation causes her to melt into his touch. He’s the only person capable of causing that effect in her.
“We are…” she starts.
“Semi platonic non monogamous life partners.” Together they repeat a line they have used before; usually when trying to convince a partner to join them in a threesome. Would dating Quentin together really be any different?
“That doesn’t need to change.” Margo says, working her way up to acceptance.
“It just gets a little more structured,” Eliot adds. Ever since the threesome, the minor curiosity of his affection for Quentin has driven him to excessive drinking. He isn’t supposed to want more than a casual hookup. That isn’t his style. Yet seeing the way that Quentin stumbles around the dance floor without a care for how stupid he looks has him feeling things that someone like him isn’t supposed to feel.
Downing her drink, Margo crushes the plastic cup and throws it onto the floor in a dramatic display. She’s been waiting for Eliot to work out where his head is so that she can finally start to enjoy herself. The music is catchy and the beat is almost good enough for her to dance to. Content that their friendship is no longer in jeopardy over the annoying man she’s unnervingly attracted to, she leaves Eliot in his spot. Seeing that Quentin may have been correct to question her shoe choice, she performs a quick spell that transforms her stilettos into slightly more practical boots.
When she reaches the group in the middle of the floor, she leans up to give Quentin a kiss and whispers in his ear. “We’re in,” she says, before adding a minor warning. “For now.”
It’s good enough for Quentin. Alcohol and MDMA mixing inside his body to make him overly affectionate, he holds her against his chest for a few moments of awkward swaying. It should piss Margo off, but she’s buzzed, she wants to have a good time and Quentin is so damn cute to her when he’s off his face enjoying himself. She allows him to spin her around, laughing at his terrible moves.
Wrapping his arms around her body, Quentin whispers excessive platitudes in her ear. She can’t hear what he says, but it doesn’t matter. Despite the disgusting sweat that pours off his body, his enjoyment is infectious and she’s adamant that if Eliot can just get over himself, all three of them might just find a way to make it work.
Watching from the sidelines, Eliot folds up his sleeves and loosens his tie. Noticing the way that Margo’s smile widens every time she sees Quentin unashamedly make a fool of himself, he finds his own smile growing on his face. “Fuck it,” he whispers to himself, taking the first step towards the others.
Another song finishes, with Margo out of breath from finally joining in with the others. Seeing Eliot make his way towards them, she grabs Quentin’s hand and drags him willingly to meet their reluctant companion. Together they pull him the rest of the way to Julia and Alice. No chance to speak before the music starts back up again, she runs her fingers up Eliot’s bare arm and raises her eyebrow at him.
Knowing exactly what she is telling him, Eliot tries to let his hang ups go. He listens to the music and finds it not as bad as he had been pretending for the majority of the concert; or it could just be that the drug is finally working its way through his bloodstream.
“I thought it was my job to be moody,” Quentin yells during a lull in the music. His face is plastered with a grin so big it could rip his head in two.
“I’m not moody, j-“ trying to reply, Eliot is cut off by the return of the music, this time even louder than before.
Jumping at the newest song, Quentin clutches on to Eliot’s arm for balance. It’s a song even Eliot has heard, most likely played through speakers from Quentin’s bedroom. Indie pop for a Brooklyn hipster.
Quentin sings at the top of his lungs beside him, while Julia squeals with excitement aimed directly at Alice who beams back. Even she has given up her pretension to embrace the night.
“You steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it.” A few verses in and even Margo is singing the chorus with them. Her voice just as bad as Quentin’s and Eliot remembers why she is the mostly platonic love of his life. The only person she ever puts before herself is him, and she wouldn’t be having so much fun if she didn’t believe their current situation is the best result. He wraps them both in his arms as they start to jump up and down. Still not going to dance, he at least makes sure they know he’s in.
The familiar anthem ends, with Quentin almost collapsing into Eliot’s arms. Tired, sweaty and hoarse from singing, he knows he’s a mess, but he doesn’t care. The concert experience is a high that he’s been missing since starting at Brakebills. Something that he and Julia did on a regular occasion, especially when he started to spiral out. Self medicating on drugs and adrenaline always makes for a night of pure happiness—even if he knows that in the morning his brain will be once more capable of raining down on everything good. Still, being able to share this moment with Margo and Eliot, and even Alice makes it all worthwhile.
Up on stage, Antonoff explains that the band is about to play the last song of the night, and Quentin crosses his fingers that it’s the song he’s been waiting for. The intro begins and he feels Julia take a hold of his wrist. Looking up to Eliot, he throws him a smile and leaves his grip.
This one is just for him and Jules.
Arm in arm, they push forward, screaming at the top of their lungs. “I wanna get better, better, better, better!” Julia’s head rolls onto his shoulder, and he sees the lazy smile on her face—undoubtedly mirroring his own.
Back when they lived together in Brooklyn—almost an entire school year ago—she would play this song on repeat when he refused to get up in the mornings. Overwhelmed by the enormity of the pressure that was simply moving from his bedroom to the bathroom, she forced it on him, a motivation for the day. It was never going to work, not long term. Eventually though, she wore him down and turned him into the fan he now is.
The lights turn on and it’s over. He turns to see how their dates are doing and sees Margo wrapped up in Eliot’s arms, while Alice catches his eye. When he nods, she pushes forward to join him and Julia and he plants a wet kiss on her cheek. In return he gets a look that can only be interpreted as her saying he’s lucky that Julia loves him.
“We’re going back to the apartment,” Julia tells him with a half wink that tells him more than he needs to know about what she plans to do. “But I can talk to Mackenzie about getting you three into the after party. You know she..”
“Yeah, I know, she went to school with him. Jersey pride and all that.”
“Just think about it,” she adds.
Leaving the two love birds, he finds his way back to Eliot and Margo. Hands in his pockets and a sheepish look on his face he explains the situation.
“We came to your thing, now it’s time for you to learn what you’re in for with us,” Margo says, wicked glint in her eye. “I think you know what I’m talking about, El,” she adds, bringing Eliot into the conversation.
“You might have more experience than either of us anticipated,” Eliot says slowly, his brain deciding which speakeasy style bar they will start at. “But you’ve never done the East Village with us.”