Chapter Text
There was always something comforting about timelessness. Songs that never got old, clothes you’ve worn for a decade or longer. Quincy ran his thumb over the buckle of a belt he'd kept since high school. Moving forward takes more effort than standing still, after all.
Even the rain didn't really change. Sure, today's raindrops soaked his hair and maybe tomorrow's would fall elsewhere, but it wasn't like–
"Quincy! "
"Hmm?" A horn honked and a car sped past, and Quincy snapped out of his reverie. Rainwater sprayed across the sidewalk, narrowly missing their shoes. A hand tugged ineffectually at his elbow.
"You almost walked into traffic! What the hell are you doing?" Eiden huffed and ran his fingers through his hair, satisfied that he’d saved his friend’s life. "It's bad enough we forgot our umbrellas at the office, you really gonna make me scrape your body off the pavement too?"
The roar of rush hour traffic buzzed in Quincy’s ears, and the smell of wet pavement permeated the air. It was a late day in Spring and the sun was still hovering over the horizon.
"... Sorry." Quincy blinked, slowly, and straightened out his coat. His functional leather jacket was doing much more to keep him dry than Eiden's cotton sweatshirt, which looked heavy with rain.
"Ugh, I cannot be in this rain for another minute. Let's stop by a bookstore or something." Eiden scooped his jacket over his head as they crossed the street, walking fast to keep pace with Quincy's hulking stride. "You need a hobby, maybe we can find you a how-to guide."
"I don't need a hobby," Quincy replied, tone as flat as ever. He pushed his hands into his pockets. He couldn't see Eiden's face, but he could practically hear him roll his eyes.
"Quincy, you don't do anything other than come and go from work and feed your ferret."
"We're still not sure he's a ferret."
"That's irrelevant. At least my design job is creative; your department just has you staring at spreadsheets all day!" Eiden ducked under an overhang in front of a deli and wrung out the edges of his jacket with a grimace. Apparently Eiden needed a break from the rain; Quincy got the hint and stopped to wait beside him in the overhang. Groups of other coworkers who were likewise heading home after work shouldered past them, taking special care not to bump up against Quincy’s intimidating frame.
Quincy sighed. "I don't mind spreadsheets. It's an easy job." And that was true; the job wasn't fulfilling in the sense some folks' were, he supposed, but it was comfortable. Nothing changed, nothing to ruffle anyone’s feathers.
"That's fine, but there's more to life than getting by," Eiden murmured under his breath, almost without thinking. It tugged at something uncomfortable in the bottom of Quincy's stomach.
Fortunately he didn't have long to dwell on it, because Eiden's eyes were already on to their next destination. He looked up at Quincy with a mischievous grin.
"Hey, I know where we should wait out the rain. There's this adorable little place a block away. The owner has a bookshop upstairs and he's extremely hot," Eiden suggested with a smirk. Quincy rolled his eyes, and Eiden laughed. "What, you can't blame me for trying. And he's never been interested anyway, but he's super nice. Helps out the neighborhood a lot. A priest, in fact."
Quincy narrowed his tired auburn eyes. “I have to be home in time to feed Topper.”
“It won’t take more than a few minutes, I swear!” Eiden clapped his hand on the taller blonde’s shoulder and stepped back out into the downpour. “It’s just this way.”
Quincy strode without hurry after the shorter brunette, who practically sprinted around the corner and headed south. Two blocks of quiet businesses and empty storefronts passed, and they’d apparently reached their destination.
The red brick facade of the establishment looked old; older than most of its recently-renovated peers. The neighborhood was bustling with activity, but not with a particular amount of wealth. It stood in stark contrast to the glossy, ultra-rich steel beams that adorned the business district where Eiden and Quincy’s company set up headquarters. But it was homey, comforting, full of the sound of gossip and children.
The first floor was framed with tall, opaque, stained-glass windows that were not illuminated, a set of large oak double-doors wedged between. A large sign on the oak doors pointed with a red arrow to a side entrance. A neon sign beside it illuminated the words “Pages and Pies” in neon green.
Quincy tugged experimentally at the oak doors, but found them locked. Eiden pointed to the side entrance.
“It’s this way, Quincy. Bookstore’s upstairs.”
“Mm,” Quincy hummed, tailing Eiden through the far less lavish side entrance.
Inside was a cramped, unpainted hallway with a staircase, a terribly old elevator, and another set of aged oak double doors. Eiden immediately started up the stairs.
“Quincy, you coming?”
The tall blonde tugged again at the second set of oak doors, and found these were unlocked. Cracking one door open sent a cloud of dust into the air, and it caught the evening light like fine grains of weightless glass.
Quincy paused with the door ajar, just a crack.
“Going to look here first.”
Eiden shrugged. “Suit yourself, but there’s nothing down there–the church that used to be on the first floor hasn’t been open for years.”
The brunette waved and headed to the second floor. When Quincy heard the door to the second floor shut above him, he dared to open the oak door the rest of the way. Hearing no complaint from within, he crossed the threshold.
It was obviously a chapel, or at least it used to serve as one. Quincy’s boots clacked with surprising volume against heavily lacquered wooden floorboards as he took a few steps into the room. The walls were painted a deep red around elaborate light fixtures, designed to imitate lanterns across each windowless side wall. A humble, unassuming pulpit rose a foot above the rest of the room opposite the front doors, and an ancient pipe organ decorated the back wall. Everything in the room was covered in a fine layer of dust. It looked like no one had set foot in here for months. Two flimsy, broken pews lay on their sides near the altar in the pulpit, and behind that were rows of cheap metal folding chairs.
In spite of its neglected appearance, Quincy could practically feel the lives that must’ve unfolded somewhere in the history of this room. Beneath the lantern-like fixtures on each wall were rows and rows of cheaply framed photographs: some ancient, some more modern, some depicting marriages or baptisms and others documenting birthday celebrations. Didn’t look like the space was limited to particularly “religious” functions, judging by the prominent photo labeled "Uncle Eugene’s Retirement Party." Also didn’t look like anyone had celebrated anything here for a decade.
A thud and a crash against the floor above resonated across the chapel ceiling, and Quincy’s quiet investigation was quickly forgotten. He looked up as the impact of whatever hit the floor above sent a ripple of dust cascading down from an ancient chandelier, and he sighed as he turned tail to head for the stairs. What had that little devil done?
Quincy heard Eiden apologizing before he'd even reached the upstairs landing.
“Olivine, I’m so sorry–”
Quincy opened the door to the second floor and was hit in the face with the unexpected smell of freshly brewed coffee. It was much warmer up here, both literally and figuratively speaking; he found himself in a large, open floor-plan room divided by shelves and shelves of books. Some books looked brand new, some looked positively prehistoric. More shelves lined each wall of the room, with crude signs printed on copy paper and taped to the walls above each section: “MYSTERY,” “ROMANCE,” “NON-FICTION.” A display nearest to the door just beside Quincy had a newer sign, in a serifed font, which proudly displayed “New Releases.”
“Please, stop apologizing! I’m the one who should accept the blame,” came a magnanimous, unfamiliar voice, echoing behind the rows of shelves. Sounded like somewhere on the other end of the room, maybe a storage closet.
Quincy’s gaze traveled away from the shelves and found a handful of tables and chairs scattered in front of a large transom window, which connected the massive library to a tiny kitchenette. A wide marble counter bridged the gap between the two rooms and acted as a serving station, where a coffee pot balanced carefully beside foam disposable cups. Eiden was standing behind a broken wooden chair, rubbing his ass and biting his lip.
“No, I probably sat down on it too hard,” Eiden whimpered. Quincy raised his eyebrows, and Eiden met his gaze sheepishly. Splintered wood and a severed chair leg told Quincy he’d tried to drop into the ancient seat and it’d finally given up the ghost, taking the brunette down with it.
The unfamiliar voice sounded closer when it replied charitably, “Most of the chairs are twice our age, Mr. Eiden; they’re all living on borrowed time.”
Quincy watched a trim young man emerge from the last row of shelves with a broom and dustpan in hand, and knew immediately that this was the shopkeeper Eiden had described. He was an objectively beautiful person; his hair off-blonde as though it had long ago been dyed green and never quite gone back, his eyes soft and generously highlighted by thick, dark lashes. He wore a modest white button-up, dark jeans and a dark blue apron. The way his eyes lit up with kindness when he saw Quincy for the first time made Quincy’s stomach twist with a pleasant, terrible, alarming little flutter.
“Oh, hello! I’m so sorry for this disruption–” The shopkeeper smiled warmly and apologetically as he stooped to sweep up the pieces of splintered wood produced by the broken chair. “Is this your first time here at Pages?”
Eiden piped up to boast before Quincy could answer, moving to pat him on the shoulder. “This is my coworker Quincy! We’re friends, too, so I brought him here so he could see how hard you work to help the community, Olivine.”
Quincy raised a brow. “... No, you brought me here to get out of the rain.”
Eiden coughed, and the next tap on Quincy’s arm felt more like a slap. The brunette held the best smile he could muster as Olivine regarded the two of them with confusion.
“Okay, maybe the rain was part of it, but… everyone should see what you’re doing here, you know?”
Quincy paused to take in the bulletin boards surrounding the transom window and the kitchenette. Each board advertised a different community event or social service. A small display shelf held brochures for a number of city resource centers, some of which Quincy recognized.
Olivine looked embarrassed, but Eiden pressed on. “The church downstairs is closed, but Father Olivine keeps the kitchen running up here and provides free meals every Friday afternoon! And he lets anyone who wants use the library after hours for meetings and things like that. And he runs a bookstore, and he lets his weirdo volunteer friends use the kitchen to–”
“Mr. Eiden,” Olivine breathed, interrupting the brunette with the grace of royalty and a smile like a saint, “you’re flattering me; I think that’s enough.”
Father Olivine? Quincy had assumed Eiden was joking when he’d called Olivine a priest, but maybe it was the truth. Looking at the strange little man who’d apparently taken up residence in uncanny old stacks of novels and encyclopedias, he’d believe it.
“Fine, fine– anyway,” Eiden pressed on, as he always did. He took out his phone and unlocked it, swiping through his apps. “Tell me how to get you the money for the chair I broke.”
The priest laughed and shook his head, picking up the severed leg of the old chair from the floor beside their feet. “Mr. Eiden, like I said, this old thing has lived more than two lifetimes. It’s worthless.”
“No, now listen–” Eiden tsked affectionately, in that way he could be overbearing without being truly annoying. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but you’ll never reopen your space downstairs if you don’t start taking peoples’ money for things when they can afford to pay you!”
Quincy felt like he was eavesdropping, which made him a little uncomfortable, but his interest was piqued. He cleared his throat.
“Does the first floor also belong to you, Father Olivine?”
The smaller blonde looked startled to hear Quincy speak, but recovered quickly, grateful for the opportunity to ignore Eiden’s demands. “Yes–the whole building is mine. The chapel has been closed for quite some time for renovations, unfortunately, but we hope to have it up and running as a thriving community center again someday soon.” The smile he gave Quincy was genuine, but it was edged with something difficult to read.
“Which is exactly why you should let me pay you back for the chair,” Eiden added. “If you’d just tell me–”
“I’ll fix it,” Quincy said.
Now both the priest and the brunette were quiet for a moment, like Quincy had just appeared in a cloud of smoke in front of them.
Olivine spoke up first, clearing his throat politely. “Mr. Quincy, that’s incredibly generous of you, but–”
“That seems like a colossal waste of time,” Eiden interrupted blankly. “I’m sure I could just buy a new chair and fix the whole thing.”
Quincy picked up the broken chair by the back of the seat like it weighed nothing, looking at it more closely. It was solid wood, not particle board; it looked like it’d been put together by hand a long, long time ago. Made to last.
“... You said I needed a hobby.” Quincy shrugged. “I already like wood. I have tools. Won’t take long.”
Olivine was looking at Quincy hard enough to see through him, as though he were an inscrutable yet very important sign on a wall outside a government office.
But then his green eyes lowered to the chair in Quincy’s hand, and his gaze softened, and he seemed to get lost for a moment in something Quincy couldn’t see. “... Well, it did belong to my grandmother, came with the building and all,” the priest finally replied. When he looked back up at Quincy, it was with another genuine, tight-lipped smile. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, if you really want to try.”
“Good.” Quincy nodded and reached out his hand, wordlessly demanding the broken leg from Olivine who gladly handed it over. “I’ll come back tomorrow night.”
“Oh, you mean–you don’t want to take the whole chair with you?” Olivine raised his brows. Quincy shook his head.
“Easier to do it here. I’ll patch this up at home, if it needs it.” He lowered the broken leg in his hand to his side.
“A-alright,” Olivine nodded in assent. “I’ll make sure to have dinner for you tomorrow, in thanks for your generosity.”
He was fidgeting with his hands, Quincy noted; seemed like he wasn’t comfortable receiving the help. Oh, well.
“No trouble,” he murmured.
Quincy nodded his farewell and turned for the exit, pausing only to note Eiden’s bizarre, gleeful little expression. The brunette waved an enthusiastic goodbye before hurrying out at Quincy’s heels.
“Quincy,” Eiden gushed as soon as they were back outside. The rain had let up significantly, so Quincy wasted no time in resuming their journey home. The brunette half-jogged to keep up with him again. “What a move! He’s totally smitten with you!”
Quincy didn’t stop to look back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Eiden clicked his tongue. “Woodworking? Coming back with your tools? There’s probably nothing sexier than carpentry, you big idiot.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Quincy sighed. Eiden laughed.
“What, you’re telling me you actually just want to fix the damn chair?”
“That’s right.”
“Quincy, you have to make a move–that guy is totally adorable, and he’s going to get you dinner while you repair his family heirloom after-hours.” Eiden caught up when Quincy stopped to wait for the light to change, sidestepping a puddle. “Just think, you’ll have a new hobby and a new boyfriend!”
“Not my type,” Quincy replied flatly.
“What? ” Eiden looked incredulous. “That’s bullshit.”
“Too troublesome.” The light changed, and the pair started across the intersection.
“Quincy, Olivine is hot, generous, and hardworking. Nothing not to like.”
Quincy’s apartment building was just around the corner, and Eiden’s apartment was another block away. “Like I said, too troublesome.”
The brunette stood speechless on the sidewalk as Quincy headed up the steps to his front door. “You’re kidding me.”
“Good night, little devil,” Quincy called over his shoulder as the door shut.
Quincy liked things that didn’t change, and he avoided things with the potential to change him.