Work Text:
Motte slowly tapped out the code to the old gate that kept her apartment separated from the rest of Glasgow. The elevator stood waiting as it always did, and as Motte always did, she ignored her protesting legs and took the stairs. She had never liked elevators; it felt weird giving up her autonomy to anything, though she supposed her shity apartment elevator wasn't the worst thing she could choose in that regard.
It was only two stories up anyway, and she wasn't one to complain. A slow trip up the well-worn stairs, the silence only broken by the sound of her footsteps on the cold concrete and her hand sliding along the rail, and she was home.
The keypad on her door had never worked well, and her key was deep in her work bag, too far for her to bother getting it, so instead she knocked softly, knowing Q was probably expecting her. Q was never one to keep someone waiting, and as usual, the door clicked and swung inwards after only a few seconds, the dim city light of dusk pierced by the warm bulb he had put up in the hallway a few months ago. She didn't like relying on anyone, but Q was Q.
Q gave her a quick, “Hiya,” as he moved to the side, letting her pass as she gave a nod in return. It was easy for him to read the exhaustion in her movements, and he knew she probably just didn't have the energy to talk right now, but it still felt a little bad not to get a reply.
Motte heard the door being locked behind her as she reached the end of the hallway and the door to the bathroom, where she would normally shower in the morning, but work had been rough today, and she didn't want to have to wash her sheets tomorrow.
She tried to avoid the mirror above the sink as she turned on the water and peeled off her clothes, she knew she looked like shit even more so then she always did, and she didn't need another reminder. The small speaker they kept in the shower came to life as she stepped inside. Q must have showered before she got home, since his music came on instead of hers, she didn't mind though. It was a nice change from the few songs she normally listened to on repeat.
-
Qs room was cosy, all rounded edges and soft textures, he had always wanted people to feel safe. He plopped down into one of the bean bags, in what he called his nest, after closing the door, though not all the way. He felt… off, and he didn't really get why. Well, he knew why. Motte brushing him off always made him feel like she hated him, but he was usually able to brush it off. Why couldn't he this time? They had known each other for like seven years, lived together for most of that time too. She was just like this, he couldn't change that, so why couldn't he accept that either?
He could hear the shower going from outside his room, which meant he had maybe fifteen minutes to think. He loved her, obviously, platonically; he wouldn't have stuck around for so long if he didn't. But that doesn't mean that he isn't hurt by her! even if maybe he shouldn't be.
Q had never really understood his own emotions, though the feelings of others came to him easily. He could see why Motte would brush him off, and what she meant by it, which was nothing. Why, why. Why what? What was he even asking himself, why did she do that? He knew that. Why did he feel like this? Why couldn't he stop himself? Why couldn't he just, not be like this, not be him? Who was he, if he wasn't this?
He couldn't think, this room was to bright, everything was so fucking loud, he couldn't breathe
Qs hands wrapped around the nearest thing they could, one of the many plushies he had collected over the years, without him even realizing, the fuzzy shark staring up at him with sewn-on yet comforting eyes. The room, his room, came somewhat back into focus as he tried to focus on the soft fur under his hands and against his chest. When did his heart start beating so fast? Or his hands, the red, fingernail-shaped marks on his palms slowly fading back to his natural skin colour, when had he done that?
Oh shit, he could hear the familiar footsteps of his friend as she moved about the house. He thought he would have more time, wait, how long had he been like this? The door, already slightly ajar, swung inward softly as he felt his hands dig into his palms with renewed anxiety.
-
The air of the steamy bathroom made her shiver slightly as she reached back past the curtain to turn off the water. A shower had definitely been needed, for both her body and mind. Quickly drying her short hair and wrapping the towel around her chest, she stepped back into the hallway. Qs door was open, as it always was, she started to walk past it, into her room to change, but something stopped her.
Qs room was never quiet, he always had some kinda music or noise going, but not tonight. Motte took a peek through the opening in the door and saw something she hadn't in a long time.
Her roommate didn't have panic attacks much anymore, though it used to be near daily. She figured she could change later, for right now, she crossed the hallway to the small open-plan kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water as well as two beers from the fridge.
In only a few seconds, she was back at Qs door. She pushed it open, immediately regretting how fast she had done it as she saw Q flinch back from her.
“Shit sorry, here Q, drink something” She went to throw the bottle to him, before thinking better of it and handing it to his outstretched hand. “And don't touch these, they're for me. And hold on a sec.” She sat the beer next to one of the empty beanbags before opening the room's closet. Q and her were used to sharing clothes; they were a similar size and neither cared much about gender norms anyway.
She quickly threw on one of his pastel hoodies and a pair of leggings that had definitely originally belonged to her. She watched him take a few sips as she changed, that and his shaky breaths the only sound in the room as made her way over to his nest and sat down next to him, cracking one of the drinks she had left for herself.
“What happened.” she sat back after asking her non-question, waiting for him and not expecting a quick response.
“I don't… I was fine, everythings been fine, then it wasn't. It was stupid, don't worry about it, but thanks, M.”
“Nope. I've told you this I don't even know how many times before, but it doesn't matter if it was stupid, it still happened, and this is the worst I've seen you in a while, so talk to me.”
“I guess, I guess you not saying anything back to me when you got home made me feel kinda bad… but that's not your fault, you were just tired, and you do that all the time anyway, I get it.”
Qs words were followed by a brief pause as Motte took a swig of her drink and thought about what he had said. “Hmm, that's not stupid, I did kinda brush you off when I got home.” Motte shrugged before she continued, “So I won't do it again, or at least I'll try not to.”
“But-” Q could barely get to word out before Motte shushed him.
“Shush, you don't like it, I'll try not to do it. Doesn't matter how stupid you think it is.”
Q, unlike Motte, was easy to read, he didn't need to tell you how he was feeling; you could always tell, and she could see the uncertainty, the guilt, in the way curled into himself even more than he already had, the way he closed his eyes, the way his body softly shook.
“What else, Q? Ye know it's not good to keep this kinda stuff to yourself.”
“Well, I just- what am I without this M? I dunno, but I'm scared I’ll stop being me if I dont have my anxiety, I guess.”
Motte shifted on her seat, sitting criss-cross and setting down her drink, she knows Q likes contact at times like this, and that he's bad at asking for it. “Come.” It was half question half demand, exactly what she knew Q needed, if she only asked he would say no, too worried about what she wanted over what he needed, and if she was too forceful he would feel like he had no choice.
After a small pause Q nodded and slid over onto her lap, leaning back against her chest with his head resting next to hers. “Good. And Q, you’re you cuz… you're you. Course you'll change, you already have lots, but, well i don't know, you still feel like Q to me, and ya always will.”
“Yeah…”