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Laser-focused seems like the right word for whatever is happening. Maybe he’s just so observant to notice things his friends do, at least not the same way he does to the veterans. Because, damn.
Quinn looks hella good right now.
Doesn’t mean that the chirps about his Gucci jacket goes unnoticed to their group of friends and family. Every All-Star weekend always gives; the red carpet walk with less monochromatic and more put-together outfits, signing more jerseys and posters and random fans' possessions stuffed up to him along the carpet to the back of the arena, catching up with former teammates, and of course, the Skills.
At least he’s enjoying now that the All-Star hosted by his hometown, the one that is generous enough to recognize his international career playing in Germany before drafting him up to the NHL. As a defenseman, maybe it’s more often than not to be everywhere coming up and back to the States and overseas to gather up stats and awesome dev camps, but for him, it’s still bigger than what his fifteen self dreamed.
And now just two years after him, the youngest defenseman manages to captaining one NHL team with such quiet struggle and locking in horror that he can’t help but be proud. Well, certainly not his fault to stare at the said defenseman with everything else outside of that accomplishment.
Because, Quinn looks so different here, under the harsh lights of Scotiabank Arena. He’s not wearing a helmet, like every player here, and not under his jersey, like pretty much every damn player. But.
His overall looks is much more damaging than the usual wet cat persona after being called up a penalty.
His brown hair being neat and fluffy; a butterfly bangs, he heard some fan say, and his eyes are less blank. He doesn’t call them glinting or flickering or anything borderline romantic and prone to be misinterpreted but, they look more… alive. Like Quinn just reading some self-help books that makes him believe the captaincy doesn’t remove him from being human and closer to the Victorian child syndrome every damn hockey Twitter girl is fawning (or mocking, he can never tell) him about. Because apparently, it’s not the bigger picture. He’s seen many players with a C in their left breasts wearing what could be a rare smile and hopeful eyes even after the defeating series or their star player got down with serious injury. The conviction and tough shouldering of them all, while assessing many things to be pushed and proven about is what makes the captain be believed, and. Warm flocking to the players; old, new, just scratched, under reserves. That could easily be tagged along.
And Quinn is one of those.
Man, his All-Star jersey is still so distracting. Whose idea was that?
The red jersey just made his entire self popped up more. Like a beacon or something, he can’t see any player relevant enough to spare his glances except for Quinn. God forbid he spares glancing at the coaches one of these days.
So, yeah. Staring at the way Quinn ducks his head to play with the ends of his sleeves, craning his head to see the hosts questioning him on the centre stage, looking bashful at one of the many banter the hosts are throwing at him like, suddenly aware he could be more red than he is…
Cayden knows that blue is definitely not Quinn’s colour.
At the commercial break, Cayden stands up from the draftee bench after Quinn steps away to the tunnel. He’s not in a rush for anything really, just wants to prove his observation in the up close space. Well, definitely without so many digital eyes and real eyes between them. Cayden suspects he walks to the lounge room to grab some Gatorade, because holy. While it looks like the most inevitable get-go Quinn is sporting with the eyebags and slow blinks, he’s no doubt also real tired and restless after the long draft picking session which absolutely drains more than twenty minutes of a game period.
But no, the room is mostly deserted with players but their WAGs. Cayden can’t risk asking around, especially to them.
He suspects another room, and opens it.
Bingo.
Quinn is ducking down, splashing his face with fluttered eyes and a slightly open mouth. He does it over and over, almost like a routine and not an attempt to get freshen on a whim. Cayden wonders if that meant he was fidgety every time, and made it a habit. “Hey.”
Quinn glances over, blinking slowly. “Cay.”
Cayden steps in, “Looking good, man.” and throwing the most dubious small talk opener in the locker room ever. Probably nothing to Quinn, because he just snorts, half amused. “Good as any playoff puck.” Quinn is back to the mirror, fixing his bangs.
“Tiredly good, then.”
Quinn looks at him through the mirror, and Cayden shrugs. “Always interesting, All-Stars.”
“No vacation?” Quinn snorts, “Sure.”
“I mean for the accomplishment part,” Cayden props his palms to the counter next to Quinn, still looking through the mirror. “The fans are happy. You have many here.”
“The fans are never the issue.” Quinn dries off his hands with a napkin. “It’s just, so hard to sleep these days.”
“Aww, me too when I first got here.”
Quinn laughs, the sound makes Cayden shivers weirdly, like when his sisters had sung next to the church altar after preaching ages ago. It makes him pay attention to his mouth.
Quinn finally looks directly at him, eyebrows playing, “Yeah? Spill the beans, man.”
“Oh hell no. Not my proudest moment.”
“Same here.” Quinn is back at ducking down his head, but the hands are fisting to the edge of the sink. He’s so quiet, like having a mental breathing, because he’s not drawing any heavy breaths. But Cayden sees all the same. “Hey man?”
Quinn picks up his head, turning it to face him. His eyes are more than just brown; he can see little flecks and rings and the determination they show him. Cayden almost tripped his heartbeat, but relents, “Just… enjoy it. Try not to get them in your head and just, be you. It’s supposed to be fun and catch up with your enemies and friends.”
Quinn snorts, still facing him. There’s some sort of play in his eyes that makes his lips turn up. “Yeah? So which one are you?”
Cayden catches his breath. He tries to smooth it with a shrug, an elbow on the counter. “You decide.” Cayden makes a mock surrender.
Quinn stills, but the smile never leaves. He stares at Cayden a bit more, before saying, “I mean. I don’t know man, you’re kinda in a grey area here. But I’ll take it: you’re not that fun to be against my side.” He mimics the mock surrender Cayden did with his hands, making his body full-facing him in return. And, it also makes him shift closer to Cayden, overhead lights leaving their fronts to just shadow. They’re kind of becoming one object to block its cast. Cayden swallows. “Wow, I’m flattered. Kill two birds with one stone, well, maybe if the stone is stoked like this.” He finds himself tracing Quinn’s red sleeve with the back of his index finger before saying, finally beating the intrusive thought. His eyes follow the movement, deciding to avoid Quinn’s eyes or anything up his face at this moment. “But you already know that, do you.”
It’s a confirmation, and Cayden makes it clear like one. He knows he’s just testing water here, but he can’t help it, can’t help finding out more and brace for any reaction from the boy in front of him. He risks a look. And the first thing he sees is how big Quinn’s eyes are.
It’s not… Well, it’s not awkward at least. But Cayden is sure that Quinn is more than just staring at him. He realises it’s a more heightened version of when he asked if Cayden was his enemy. His brow is making a show too, shooting up. “Don’t know about you but, I like the idea.” His smile’s getting wider and Cayden can see his teeth. It’s so charming it hurts.
Cayden relaxes, his body’s making a diagonal line to the counter. His elbow supports most of it. “Oh, believe me I know,” he says with tilting his head to the side, maintaining eye contact, “I know when I see one.”
Quinn’s mouth opens a bit to that, slightly pink tongue peeking out, never relents the eye contact. “You’re so…” Cayden waits, can’t help smiling. “... so obvious.” It’s not a complaint to Cayden’s eyes, if Quinn’s blushes and him ducking down to hide it is any indication.
Oh. He can smell the hair product from this distance. Quinn fighting his blushes seems to not help the situation they’re in, right now.
The hair looks fluffy enough to make him want to trace there. He looks smaller like this.
Does he like it? Did he… like that?
“Quinn.” Cayden musters the remaining neutral voice out of the boiling point all over his body. Quinn doesn’t respond, his hair is grown out enough to obscure even his lips. But he sways towards Cayden, which is also telling. “Look at me.”
“No, no.” There’s a laugh, a weak one. His head is lifting up a bit, and Quinn’s lips tremble. “You don’t understand.”
“About what?” He waits. After what seems like a long minute, he sneaks up past Quinn’s luscious, luscious bangs. Their foreheads almost touch.
Cayden looks. Quinn’s eyes are closed, and he chants something to make his mouth busy.
Cayden is tucking in most of the hair past Quinn’s left ear, and Quinn still doesn’t look up. “Hey,” he starts, “it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me.”
A beat.
“Yeah, I don’t.” Suddenly Cayden is facing a full Quinn experience there, like a storm and blooming flower at the same time. His face is much, much closer, the bangs don’t hide anything under his eyes, and his eyes are staring way too intense. Sweeping all over his face like a hungry… he doesn’t know, but it makes Cayden swallows. “I’m glad you’re here.” Quinn quietly says. Cayden finds his voice quickly. “Can’t leave a friend out in the enemy’s territory, am I right.” He plays for casual too, if not by the smile he usually throws for friends and family.
But Quinn is too fast. He catches his shoulder and freaking squeezes, a thumb like a hot brand lingering to his carotid. “I don’t think friends do that.”
Cayden stops any attempts for casual and just, let go. He follows Quinn’s tongue, licking his lips. “Do what,” he adds without meaning to. Quinn huffs and letting his eyes stop roaming, stay on Cayden’s eyes. “Whatever your eyes do right now.”
Cayden freezes. It feels like someone is just trolling his ice bath time after a long shift and making him go under for more than necessary minutes. “And whatever your hands do.”
Cayden looks down and finds his fingers already settled in Quinn’s hips, unsurprisingly. He says slowly, enjoying the way Quinn shivers under his touch. “You like the way my hands–”
“Shut up.” And unsurprisingly also, Quinn’s the one who moves and turns the tension into lava.
Cayden’s the one who goes along the ride. He’s sappily (correction: happily) giving the reins (correction: leash) to this cute little defenseman any day.