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The knock reverberated slightly down the long, silent hallway. Nobody had been out here for at least a solid hour, as far as Quinn knew, and all the hustle and bustle of people coming in and out, up and down had long died down. Not that he’d expected a jovial atmosphere from the guys after having been eliminated from the playoffs, but still. It was eerie.
All he could hear now was the faint sound of water rushing through the pipes in one of the adjoining rooms, the last straggler to take a proper hotel shower, even though they’d been here for a good while already. Quinn’s mind started going through the roster, trying to figure out who this could be, this late showerer. He hadn’t been here that long, but his 6-month stint in Minnesota already gave him a good idea of the guys’ habits, and knowing him, it’s probably—
“Hey.”
Brock’s voice put a stop to his train of thought. Oh, right. Quinn was standing here, in front of his door. That he just knocked on. Right.
“Hey…” His eyes snapped back up from the carpeted floor to take in Brock’s slightly worried look. It was a familiar sight to Quinn, unfortunately, even though he’s been trying his hardest not to be someone you’d have to worry about. Though knocking at Brock’s door at an ungodly hour probably doesn’t help with that endeavor. Knowing Brock, he probably thinks something bad happened.
“Look, I’m sorry if I woke you, I just— ,” Quinn started explaining himself, momentarily interrupted by Brock’s polite “No, no…,” before he kept going. “I just felt like I needed to get out of my room, I guess… I can’t….”
“Sleep?” Brock offered. “Yeah, me neither.”
Be alone, Quinn thought. But he couldn’t say that, it would sound scary. And pathetic. And like something someone you’d have to worry about would say.
“Yeah, exactly,” he agreed. Not being able to sleep after losing a playoff game sounded much more normal and non-intense. “I just started walking around and ended up here, I guess. But I can just—”
“No, please, come in.” Brock opened the door even wider and stepped to the side. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with myself either. I’m still so… I don’t know, wound up, I guess, from the game.” He looked behind him and pointed at the opposite wall. “I’ve just been sitting out on the balcony.”
Quinn stepped into the room, his eyes fixed on the open screen door that Brock pointed to, currently slightly covered up by a flowing curtain. Even though the room was drafty he could still smell the remnants of Brock’s shower gel coming from the bathroom. Quinn thought he spotted a towel on the bed out of the corner of his eye, too, but he was too scared to look. The realization that he was in Brock’s room hit him when he entered, and he made a conscious decision not to look around. It felt intimate, and Quinn started getting weirdly hot, so he just kept walking forward and didn’t stop until he stepped out on the balcony, with Brock not far behind.
The cool Colorado air hit him all at once, and the tingling feeling all over his body slowly started going away as he breathed in. “That’s a sick view…” He stood quietly for a moment, staring at the mountains off in the distance. “They didn’t give me a balcony.”
Brock’s feet shuffled behind him. “Well, maybe if you started pulling your weight around here. You know, score some goals, win us some games…” Quinn didn’t even have to turn around to see the grin on Brock’s face, but he did.
“Yeah? You think I should try that?”
Brock was leaning against the door frame, his crossed arms and thick hoodie making him look even bigger than he already was. The smile on his face was downright stupid, though, Quinn thought.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s definitely worth a shot if you want a balcony,” he shrugged.
Maintaining eye contact with Brock felt unexpectedly intense, and something inside of Quinn finally gave in and he managed to crack a small smile before turning away and sitting down on the small wicker couch that was out there.
Brock plopped himself down right next to Quinn, taking up way more space but still leaving some free between them. He really didn’t have to, given that they had gotten used to the feeling of being smushed next to each other on the bench between shifts for the last six months. Quinn knew exactly how Brock’s arms feel, his sides, his thighs, his knees, his calves, his ankles... Granted, not without layers and layers of hockey gear on. And he figured that there’s no reason for them to be sitting like that out here.
The wind was blowing slightly, still reminiscent of winter even though it was already May, and all they could hear now was the distant sounds of Denver at night. It reminded Quinn of… he wanted to say Saint Paul, but Vancouver too, he guessed. Every city at night sounded the same, more or less. And he’d spent a significant chunk of his time listening to that soundtrack, especially at the end there in Canada.
“Some game, huh?” Brock finally broke the silence between them, letting out a breath and sliding down the couch until his legs were parallel with the small table in front of them. He tucked his chin inside his hoodie in an attempt to conserve some body heat, clearly feeling the effects of the wind and the sudden temperature drop more than Quinn. Brock could just ask him to go back inside, but he wouldn’t, Quinn knew that. He’s just gonna stay out here for God knows how long, however long Quinn wanted to. A slightly more sadistic person could turn it into an experiment, testing Brock’s endurance until—
“Quinn?”
He realized that he’s been silently staring at Brock for way too long when he suddenly looks up with a questioning look. He’s already very familiar with what that tone of voice means. It’s Brock-speak for You listening?, because he would never be forward enough to actually say You listening? verbatim. He’d much sooner say Quinn? or What do you think?, or even Right, buddy? in extreme situations.
It took him another second to remember what it was that he was supposed to respond to. He finally peels his eyes away from Brock and looks out across the city. “Yeah, that was definitely a game.” He can’t bring himself to think about it fully just yet. It’s probably gonna be a couple days before he can stomach watching clips from it. “We kinda sucked, though.”
“No, we didn’t,” Brock cut him off with a soft but reassuring voice. “Some of us did, maybe I did. You didn’t suck, you were great.”
Quinn looked down at him again, the look of sincerity on his face almost too much to handle. It didn’t help matters that Brock was looking up, too. This wasn’t something that Quinn experienced every day, looking down at Brock, Brock looking up at him. The only times this could happen was at practice, if he was still sitting down and Quinn already standing. Though, if he was standing then he was skating. He’s foolishly never used that opportunity to tower over Brock before. Maybe he should start, though, seeing how his angle made him look even more—
“Quinn.”
Oh, right.
“Sorry.” He started rubbing his eyes, physical and mental exhaustion slowly creeping in. What did he say? You were great. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
Brock let out a small chuckle.
“What?”
“Nothing, you just always end your interviews like that.” Brock was still smiling as he absentmindedly knocked his knees together a few times. “Thanks, appreciate it. Made it feel weirdly formal just now.”
Quinn looked over, the eye contact between them probably a little too intense than what he was going for. “I mean, I really do appreciate it. That’s why I said it.”
“Okay.” Brock held his gaze and softly nodded, making sure Quinn didn’t feel like he was making fun of him.
Quinn knew that he had a habit of being a little too serious, and maybe a little too honest. He was also aware of what people thought of him because of that. It definitely made him feel alienated in some situations, but he just didn’t know how to be any other way. This is what felt natural even though, judging by other people’s reactions, it clearly wasn’t.
Brock shuffled in his seat, pulling his hoodie down to cover his legs a little. “So, do you have any plans lined up? Now that you’re free?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Our playoff run just ended so I guess I’m moving.”
Brock’s eyes snapped up, a slight look of surprise showing up on his face.
Shit, Quinn thought. “I meant for the summer. To the lake house.”
“Oh.” God, poor Brock. Quinn was making him worry even when he’s explicitly trying not to. “When?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn shrugged. “In a couple days. A week, maybe. I have to give Jack some time, I think he’s up there with Tate.”
Brock’s smile spread across his face again. “Yeah, then for sure give them some time.” A beat, then. “You gonna bring anyone?”
“Uh…” Quinn wasn’t expecting that. “I don’t know, probably not, honestly. My last… relationship, I guess, was back in Vancouver, and…” He doesn’t normally talk about things like that, personal matters. He’s always preferred to keep stuff close to his chest, just for him to know, maybe his family, too. He was surprised he even went there with Brock, but something about this situation was making him more willing to share. Maybe the late hour. Maybe the exhaustion.
“...and?”
“And I moved to a different country, if you noticed.”
Quinn winced at himself a little. He didn’t mean it to come out so harsh.
“Right…” Brock took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess it would be hard to—”
“Yeah.”
Quinn definitely wasn’t used to sharing, and he swore to himself that he’s never gonna do that again. He just feels like the second he opens up, he’s left vulnerable for… He doesn’t even know what, but it’s probably best not to find out. You give an inch, they take a mile, and all that. Although he knew that it probably wasn’t like that with Brock. Quinn couldn’t imagine him doing anything to purposefully hurt anyone. Even sitting here, tired and cold, he looked innocent. Non-threatening.
Brock looked up and found him staring again.
“So, you gonna stay?”
Quinn’s mouth didn’t even give him a moment to think. “If you want me to.”
Brock blinked.
The couple seconds of silence between them felt like forever.
Then, a slightly disbelieving grin started spreading across his face. “I don’t think it’s up to me, man.”
Quinn’s furrowed brows prompted him to elaborate.
“I mean, it’s your career.”
Oh.
“Oh.” Quinn’s eyes immediately snapped back down to his lap, trying to occupy themselves with something else. “Yeah, stay in Minnesota, I mean, I don't know— Probably…” Okay, this was bad. He cleared his throat, awkwardly trying to pick out random pieces of fluff stuck to his shorts. “We’ll see what Billy… you know… wants to do.”
Quinn could suddenly hear every single sound coming from the city. Every step on the pavement, every honk way off in the distance. He couldn’t bear to look up. His ears felt hot and he could sense Brock’s confused stare drilling into him, his mind desperately trying to figure out what just happened. That was really stupid of Quinn, to be fair, he didn’t know what he was thinking. Brock had a girlfriend, as far as he knew. Why would he ask Quinn to stay the night? God, he would take good ol' rejection over a misunderstanding like this any day of the week. Rejection he knew. He would welcome the familiar feeling of rejection right about now. This was torturous. He needed to get out of here.
“Wh—,” Brock couldn’t even get out half a word before Quinn was back on his feet.
“I have to go.”
One step, two, three, four, five, and he’s gone. Slam.