Work Text:
february 2019
It’s just past midnight when Nando and Ben get back to the dorm.
It’s a cold night, too cold to be outside without starting to shiver after a few minutes— which, like, maybe that’s just Nando’s Arizonan talking, but then again, the moment they walk out of the front door at the upperclassmen’s house Beech Street, Ben shouts at the sky and goes, “Jesus fuck , it’s cold tonight, boys!” so Nando figures he can’t be too far off. They run from Beech Street across campus and back to Wilson, laughing and racing each other the whole way.
When they get through Wilson’s front door, the warmth inside is a rush of sweet relief. “Oh, God ,” Nando whispers, running a hand over his chilly face. “It’s way too cold out there.”
“Yeah, that was not a very good time,” Ben replies, as he unzips his winter jacket. Nando guesses they must be being a little loud for a Thursday night, because the RA sitting at the front desk gives them a look. At least he doesn’t say anything.
Nando isn’t… well, he’s definitely not drunk . He knows himself, knows his tolerance, knows what it would feel like to be actually drunk, and knows this isn’t it. Yeah, he was drinking at Beech Street; so was Ben, and so were Teegs and Jordy and Sam, who they were hanging out with. But Nando definitely isn’t drunk. He’s just not really sober, either. He thinks he’s maybe halfway to tipsy.
Put another way: he’s sober enough to understand all of this, but he’s under the influence enough not to really want to go to bed right now, either.
So on the way down the hall, as they’re walking toward their room, he nudges Ben. “Dude,” he says. “Are you hungry?”
Ben makes a suggestive noise like Nando has awakened some great internal longing. “ Starving .”
“ Same ,” he replies, taking care to whisper so they don’t get in trouble with another RA. Getting a dirty look is one thing, but getting written up for disturbing the peace during quiet hours is really not something Nando would like to explain to Mama. Another thing he’s sober enough to recognize.
“Wait, dude ,” Ben says, with this big grin as he stops at the door to 133 and swipes his card at the lock. “We totally still have popcorn from that Hanny’s run, don’t we?”
“Wait, you’re right !” As Ben pushes open the door to their room, Nando goes straight for their box of snacks; it sits on the shelf above their books. They do a snack run at the grocery store, a quick walk off campus, every couple of weeks, and though their last was two weeks ago, Ben is right — a quick look through the box and Nando finds a bag of butter-lovers microwaved popcorn. “Got it,” he declares, with a big grin as he flashes it for Ben to see.
“ Sweeeet .” Ben is all smiles, too. He hangs his jacket up on the back of the door, then asks, “You wanna go and make it?”
“Uh, yeah , obviously.”
So they walk one flight of stairs down to the basement, where the nearest microwave is, and Nando takes the cellophane off of the popcorn and then hands it over to Ben to put in the microwave. “How long do you think I should do this for?” Ben asks, as he’s bent over and looking at the keypad.
“Uh…” Nando shrugs. “Doesn’t it say on the bag?”
“Oh, you right, you right.” Ben nods, then closes the microwave door, punches in a time, and claps his hands together. “Success.”
While the bag is spinning in there and getting ready to pop, Nando leans against the counter next to it, and Ben walks up next to him, pulling out his phone. “We should text Remy.”
Nando snorts a little. “I feel like you’ll get stabbed if you try to wake him up right now.”
“We’ll send him a Snap to wake up to.” Ben holds out his phone with the front camera on, and Nando flashes a huge grin for the selfie that follows, while Ben sticks his tongue out.
Nando laughs at the picture. The lighting down here isn’t great, and the quality is grainy. “We look like a meme.”
“We look great.” He watches over his shoulder as Ben sends the picture off. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate our beauty.”
He laughs again, and leans against the counter. Remy was invited to the little gathering at Beech Street tonight, but he has some kind of writing assignment for one of his history classes due tomorrow, so he stayed in to work on it and they went without him. Ben made fun of him for being a nerd. Remy owned that status proudly.
Pop. In the microwave, the magic is starting to happen. Nando’s stomach growls. He did have dinner tonight; they ordered pizza to Beech Street, but it was long enough ago that he’s seriously looking forward to the thought of a snack right now.
Ben laughs, suddenly, at something on his phone, and turns the screen to face him. “Look.”
Nando reads— and lets out an ugly snort. It’s just a Tweet from Ben’s timeline, but it’s exactly the kind of stupid humor that’s funny to you when you’re tipsy on a Thursday night.
They spend the next few minutes looking through Ben’s Twitter feed, laughing like middle schoolers who have been told to be quiet one too many times. The popping in the background persists. Nando is starting to wonder why he doesn’t smell popcorn yet when he starts to smell it. Or, well. He starts to smell something .
It just doesn’t really smell like microwave popcorn is supposed to smell under normal circumstances.
“Uh… Ben?” he asks, lifting his head to sniff the air. “Does that smell like it’s burning to you?”
*
Quinn wakes with a jolt, to a heavy vibration beneath him.
It’s so heavy, in fact, that his instinctive first thought is that there’s an earthquake. He guesses that might be a bit dramatic, because he’s never felt an earthquake before, and this vibration is no more intense than the kind of thing produced by music at a party at the frat house on Beech Street— but straight out of sleep, that’s one of his first thoughts nonetheless.
Something is making noise, and it’s loud . Quinn rolls over in bed, and when he opens his eyes, it becomes much more apparent what’s going on. The strobe on his wall next to the door is flashing— this vibration is the fire alarm.
Shoot. Quinn sits up in a hurry. What time is it? His room— between strobe flashes— is pitch-dark, meaning it can’t be anytime close to morning, and he’s cold when he throws the blanket off of him, even in his pajama pants and Sebastián’s sweater. He fumbles for his phone and turns it face-up to check the time— 12:21 AM.
Quinn winces, as the floor vibrates, in a strange but consistent rhythm against the flashing of the strobe. He’s disoriented, and frantic, as he gets out of bed and searches his floor. Okay. Okay. He has to move. He has to evacuate.
Shoes. He needs shoes. The closest pair are the Converse sneakers he wore to rehearsal, in the evening hours ago, so he slides into them without putting them on and then lunges to grab his hearing aids where they rest in their case on his bedside table. The strobe in the dark is a bit jarring to wake up to, but he’s at least grateful that he wasn’t wearing his hearing aids when the fire alarm started going off. Ordinary sound is hard enough to process; alarms and loud noises like those are the stuff of Quinn’s auditory processing nightmares.
Okay. Time to go. He slides the hearing aids and his phone into his pants’ pockets, swipes a scarf off the hook by his door, and then slips out into the hall, praying it isn’t so bone-chilling outside that he’ll develop frostbite while he and the other residents wait for the fire department to arrive.
The strobes in the hallways are flashing, too, and the vibration persists in the floor. He takes the emergency exit closest to his dorm, even though it seems most of his hallmates are forgetting that the emergency exits exist. He can’t smell any smoke or feel that anything is particularly hot, which is a good sign because it means the alarm was more likely triggered by somebody’s mistake than an actual fire, but he still moves out and away from the building as quickly as he can.
When he gets outside, the effect of waking up so quickly in the middle of the night hits him hard, especially given the temperature out in the dark. It’s chilly, and immediately he wants nothing but to find Sebastián in the steadily growing crowd of Wilson’s residents on the lawn outside. His head hurts from the strobe, and he waits until he’s a safe distance from the building where the alarm will be distant before he puts his ears in.
One at a time, they slip in easily, and he flicks them on just as he catches sight of his RA counting people on the lawn. “Oh, good,” he catches Christian saying faintly, as he seems to catch sight of Quinn himself. “Quinn. I was looking for you. Did your flasher wake you up?”
Quinn nods, and huddles his arms close to his chest. It is very chilly out here. “It did,” he replies. Christian must have been asleep, too; he’s in his durag and sweats, and he’s wearing glasses Quinn didn’t know he owned. “Do you, um… do you know what set the alarm off?”
It’s a weird way to ask if there’s danger, but when you wake up to a scream of a vibration at 12:21 in the morning, you’re going to want to know why. Christian sighs, and nods, looking less than amused. “RA on duty said some dumbasses in the basement burnt popcorn.”
“Oh, my goodness ,” Quinn whispers, and immediately all his tentative worry turns to irritation. Not at Christian; he’s merely the messenger. He just wants to know who was idiot enough to let something as simple as popcorn burn at a time when they well knew the whole dorm was asleep. “How much do you have to be disregarding attention…”
“I know.” Christian shakes his head. The look in his eyes could not more strongly say I regret being a freshman RA . Quinn feels bad for him, but then again, he is getting free room and board for his trouble.
When Christian disappears to keep counting, Quinn weaves his way in and out of the crowd, searching in the dark for a tall, curly head or at least maybe for Ben’s bun. In the end, he finds Remy first, wrapped up in a jacket with a stocking cap on his blond head. He’s with his roommate, Francis, and neither of them looks enthused to be awake. Quinn can’t say he blames them. “Hello, you two.”
“Hey, Q.” Remy yawns into his hand. “Were you asleep?”
“Sound asleep,” Quinn mumbles, rubbing the side of his arm like it’ll help him warm up, and then looks around and asks, “Have you seen Sebastián?”
“Not yet,” Remy replies, “but he’s around, I’m sure.”
It takes a moment more, but he hears Sebastián before he sees him, just as he’s about to take out his phone and text him instead. It’s his laugh, ringing out through the gentle buzz of over a hundred freshman boys who just got awakened in the middle of the night. Only Sebastián doesn’t sound like he just woke up. He sounds like he was never asleep at all. Quinn guesses that it wouldn’t be the latest he’s heard of his boyfriend being up. Ben is his roommate, after all.
“Baby!” Sebastián lights up when Quinn makes his way to him. Quinn waves gently, to him and then to Ben in turn.
“What is up , Mini?” Ben is still laughing at whatever the two of them were just joking about, hand pressed against his flushing face.
“Good evening, Ben,” Quinn replies. “Or should I say good morning.” He looks to Sebastián, as Ben laughs again for some reason. With the laughing combined with the flush in each of their faces, Quinn suspects they were drinking at that hockey gathering they said they were going to tonight. Sebastián was still at the house on Beech Street when Quinn texted that he was going to bed two hours ago.
“Hey, cariño .” Smiling and gentle, Sebastián opens his arms. “Were you asleep?”
“Well, of course I was asleep,” Quinn remarks, falling into his offered embrace. “What else would I be doing at midnight?”
“Well, I dunno. Homework?” Sebastián gives him a tight squeeze, and even during an entirely unnecessary midnight fire drill, Quinn wagers there is really no better place to be but his boyfriend’s arms.
Quinn shuts his eyes. “No homework at this hour.” Sebastián is warm and big and strong, and as Quinn tucks his head into his chest and inhales, he feels a few kisses being peppered to the top of his head. It’s only then that he makes the observation that leads to his revelation.
Sebastián, to be sure, has a standard smell. It’s his cologne, and Quinn has grown quite fond of it, from when it comes from the boy himself to when stolen articles of clothing serve as reminders when he isn’t nearby. It was especially useful over winter break.
But sometimes, he smells like other things. Jock sweat, for example. Which is a bit gross, although sometimes Quinn is willing to overlook it. Though he’s not sweaty tonight, he does smell a bit like beer, which supports Quinn’s theory that he and Ben have been drinking a little.
“You smell like cheap beer,” Quinn muses. But that’s not all. “And…” He inhales again— there’s something… acrid , almost, something smoky or even maybe a bit salty — “... burnt popcorn— oh, my gosh !”
He jumps back, launching himself clean out of Sebastián’s embrace, as realization dawns on him. “Sebastián,” he cries, “this is your fault!”
“Oh— oh, no!” Sebastián says, like he’s trying to play innocent. “What are you talking about?” But as incriminating evidence, behind him, Quinn watches Ben snort into his hand again, and— oooh , he is so angry at these two idiot jock boys—
“You burnt the popcorn!” He puts his hand on his hip. “ You caused this! Didn’t you?”
“Baby,” Sebastián whispers, with the kind of frown you put on when you’re trying not to smile, “you don’t understand, I— we just wanted a snack—”
“Oh, my goodness !” He is awake at midnight on a school night in the freezing cold, and it is his boyfriend’s fault . “How difficult is it to watch a microwave? How does one burn microwave popcorn? Enlighten me, please, Sebastián. Let me know.”
Sebastián runs his hands through his curls. “Rho was the one who set the timer.”
“Hey!” Ben feigns betrayal, elbowing Sebastián. “It was your idea to have a snack!”
“ You set the timer for four minutes —”
“ Benjamin Shaley ,” Quinn hisses, “in what world does popcorn take four minutes to cook—”
“ Shhhh , baby, please—” Sebastián reaches for him like he wants to hug him again, and Quinn holds up the hand that’s not on his hip like a stop sign. “C’mon, baby, I don’t want the RA to hear—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Quinn replies. “Your idiocy is safe with me, but my goodness you two, did you ever think that some people in this building are trying to sleep when normal people should be sleeping ?”
“Whoa,” a very accented voice says over his shoulder, and Remy appears at his side, furrowing his brow at his friends. “What’s going on over here?”
“Oh, I would be happy to enlighten you, Remy,” Quinn replies, turning on the heel of his still-untied rehearsal Converse to face him. “You see, what happened,” he begins, “is that your two lovely friends here decided that they wanted to make some popcorn —”
Remy’s eyes widen and then narrow in an instant. “ No .”
“Oh, yes ,” Quinn replies, then pauses to shoot daggers at Sebastián and Ben. “And as it turns out, they weren’t doing the one thing that is expected of people using the microwave at twelve-thirty in the morning, which is watching it —”
“ Esti d'épais à marde !” It’s not the very first time Quinn has heard Remy curse in French, but in the face of such a situation, it brings immense satisfaction to his heart. He switches to English to get his point across. “You fuckers . I was asleep!”
“We didn’t mean it!” Ben cries.
“Of course you didn’t mean it,” Quinn tuts. “But now look at us. The whole dorm may as well freeze to death because you couldn’t smell something burning—”
“Baby,” Sebastián whines. The continued blaring of the fire alarm, muffled now from inside the building, only illustrates Quinn’s point over the sound of his groveling. “I’m sorry. We weren’t being responsible.”
Quinn folds his arms, lets off a sigh, and says nothing. He waits, tapping his untied sneaker on the grass, for a few moments, in some kind of staring contest with his boyfriend to see who will crack first. It will not be Quinn. Quinn is never the one to crack first.
Right on schedule, after a moment of this, as Remy and Ben have started quietly arguing about the mechanics of popcorn cooking, Sebastián steps forward, lowering his voice further. “C’mere, mi rey ,” he hums. “Aren’t you cold?”
Quinn huffs. “I don’t wish to speak with you right now,” he informs him, “but yes.” In one swift motion, he shuts off his hearing aids, casting out the awful sound of that muted fire alarm, and then steps back into Sebastián’s waiting arms.
He gets another tight squeeze, which is the sole consolation he can find from this giant, idiot jock boy right now. It is a very good thing he serves as a personal heater, because Quinn would very much like to be angry with him right now otherwise.
Well, no. He is angry with him. He just also wants to be warm.
Burnt popcorn. Of course it was him and Ben. Quinn can smell it on him once he’s in his arms again; the boy reeks of it, he’s a culprit caught red-handed. He shakes his head against his chest, and then feels a vibration; Sebastián is speaking. He taps his shoulder, gentle, like he wants his attention. Quinn huffs again, then looks up.
Sebastián holds his face in both big, warm hands. I’m sorry , Quinn sees him say, and Quinn frowns, then closes his eyes. He can’t apologize if Quinn can’t see what he’s saying, and so fresh with the realization of what interrupted his slumber, Quinn is not in the mood for an apology.
Sebastián kisses the top of his head again, and holds him close, and Quinn roots his irritated self in those big, bulky arms, and does not look up until he’s told it’s time to go back inside.
*
Nando can tell that Quinn is mad.
It’s easy to tell. Quinn will fully bitch you out without hiding that he’s angry, and Nando knows he’s in the dog house. Ben is, too, but it’s one thing to be in the dog house with Quinn if you’re just his friend; it’s another when you’re his boyfriend. Nando trails him as they file with their fellow residents back through the front door of Wilson Hall, threading his fingers into Quinn’s and holding tight to his hand.
“Baby,” he hums. Quinn still isn’t listening, but Nando can see him glancing his way out of the corner of his eye. He squeezes his hand, tries to get his full attention as they walk along.
Quinn pauses, just briefly, as they reach the place where they would part ways were they headed to their own separate rooms. Nando lives on the first floor, but Quinn is on the third. Quinn looks at him expectantly, folds his arms as he leans on the railing at the foot of the stairwell. There’s a gentle flush in his pale, freckled cheeks, maybe because of the cold or maybe because he’s mad, and his hair is so much messier from sleep than it ever would be if he were normally stepping out in public.
Nando can’t help it. He smiles at him. Quinn is cute when he’s mad. He’s cute all the time, but still.
“Can I come up?” he asks, trying as best he can to enunciate clearly enough for lip-reading. For emphasis, he points to the stairs, where a steady stream of guys who live on the upper floors are making their sleepy ways back to their rooms.
Quinn is still frowning. He unfolds his arms, makes deliberate eye contact with him, and then starts up the stairs.
Nando is getting more well versed in wordless communication thanks to their relationship, but he doesn’t really know what that means. He decides to try his luck, and follows Quinn, walking just behind him on the stairs until they reach the third floor.
Quinn looks back, sees him, and does not gesture or otherwise imply that he should go away. That’s a good sign. Nando continues. As they walk down Quinn’s hallway, Quinn’s nose, all pointy and freckly and pink, is turned up like he’s smelling something bad.
Well. Nando suppresses a laugh. He kind of did smell something bad. He smelt the burnt popcorn. That’s why they’re in this situation.
He bites back his smile, as Quinn stops to scan his ID on the door to room 303. When it gives, he pushes it open, and Nando notes that Quinn holds it open to let him inside but then pretty much ignores him as soon as the door has closed behind the both of them. He turns on his light, hangs the scarf he took outside on one of his hooks, and slides out of his Converse, letting out another dramatic sigh.
Nando can’t help it. He’s grinning like a fool. Quinn is the cutest thing he has ever seen, and he is so fucking dramatic .
And yeah, okay. What he and Ben did was annoying for the entire building. Nobody wanted to get up in the middle of the night, and it must have been scary to get woken up by the alarm. But accidents happen, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it now.
Nando takes off his shoes, and watches as Quinn pulls his hearing aids out and shuts them into their case. His covers are already pulled back, and he hops up into his bed, turning around and then pointing to something next to Nando across the room.
Quinn pulls his right hand up, holds his pointer finger under his chin, and waves it around a little. “Light,” he says, so faintly and quietly, and Nando understands. He hits the light switch next to him, then, once his eyes adjust to the dark, walks over to Quinn, who’s still sitting up in bed.
He pulls off his sweatshirt and casts it aside, then rests his hands on his waist. Quinn does not retract; he stays still. Nando tips his forehead against his and finds Quinn’s hand with one of his own, then pulls it up to his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says, slowly and deliberately.
Quinn sighs, a little more gently, and then leans back, lays down, and holds his covers open. That can only mean one thing, and Nando takes the cue. He hops up onto the bed, pulls the covers over both of them, and rolls over to wrap him up into his arms. Quinn, for all his irritation, is incredibly snuggly.
Nando smiles and kisses his forehead, then kisses around his face a little, landing finally on his lips for one last, long one. What he wants to say, but can’t, is love you, baby , because they haven’t said that yet, and he’s pretty sure saying I love you for the first time as a sheepish apology is not the way he wants to remember having first told Quinn that very important truth.
So instead, he holds him close, hums a little so Quinn can feel it, because he knows Quinn likes that, and drifts off to sleep with his snuggly, grouchy boyfriend in his arms.
*
In the morning, when his phone alarm goes off to wake him for morning practice, he knows it won’t wake Quinn. He has to go back to his own room to get dressed, since he came here on short notice last night, so with a quick kiss to his sleepy boyfriend’s forehead, he writes a note and leaves his room.
sorry about last night xoxoxoxo
see you later baby <3
When they meet up again, for lunch, Quinn rises on his tiptoes, kisses his cheek, and murmurs, “Despite my sleep lost last night, I forgive your popcorn idiocy.”
Nando beams. “Thanks, baby. You’re the best.”
“I know I am.” Quinn smiles, and holds his head high, taking his hand to walk with him into the dining hall servery. “Now, c’mon. I’m very hungry.”
Nando lets him pull him by the hand, and swears he is going to be completely gone on this grouchy, freckled, lovely boy, for all time.