Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I guess it's time to get back to work,” Quinn clutches their crystal ball, a little embarrassed and restless from the night's events, but presses on despite it, “…But it's nice out here or whatever. I guess we could hang out a little longer.” They quickly tack on an 'if you want' at the end but in their haste, their voice cracks boyishly. The sound makes them cringe.

On the other side of the conversation, Sylvia finds the whole thing… surreal. Sylvia, big bright smile on her beautiful dopey face, registers the question late but manages to get her head out of the clouds to answer, “I'd love to.”

Quinn could feel little sparks and fizzles jump out of their head. The feeling isn't new by any means; they can imagine cartoon steam puffing out of their whole body any time Sylvia says something cloyingly spicy or adorably dumb. And Sylvia's been doing those things a lot. It makes Quinn grumble and fuss, unsure of what to do when their heart jumps around their throat and their body buzzes into a new plane of existence.

Quinn can only wonder what Sylvia likes about them. They figure it’s a fatal attraction sort of deal—she seems like the type of person to try everything at least once. But what’s attractive about a freak like Quinn? They’re brash, conniving and antisocial—not really heartthrob material. They’re not even the right flavor of mysterious, brooding stranger. It’s just baggage.

What does Sylvia see in Quinn? Is it good? Is it bad?

Is it love?

Quinn stumbles to guide Sylvia to a comfy spot under an old, gnarled, non-sentient maple tree. Their palms are damp and hot (they had to release their crystal ball for fear of it slipping out), and their back isn't doing any better. They plop down at the base, knees pulled up to their chest, and pat the soft grass right next to them. Sylvia, still beaming, still blushing, settles next to Quinn, still sweating, still hesitating. The two of them sit side by side in silence.

The breeze is cool, thankfully, and the moonlight is a wonderful companion for the night. Sylvia is a bit surprised Quinn hasn't pulled a prank on her (yet) but maybe it's the very obvious nerves running through them that's stopping any thought about it. She feels a twinge of something painful and loving as she looks at them but she knows that they will come out of their shell on their own time, with their own bravery.

“The forest's a little too quiet right now,” Sylvia's voice startles the quiet and Quinn, “are you sure you didn't scare off the monsters before we came here?” She hopes the opening eases them, just a little.

The statement makes Quinn chuckle breathlessly and it gives them the courage they need to finally get their bearings back, “They're there, I promise. Ambush predators like it best when you feel safe.” They imitate the face of a snarling beast and make claws with their hands for emphasis. Sylvia laughs, and Quinn becomes increasingly aware of how much they want to keep going like this with her.

“Well, I feel safe right now. When can I expect the attack?” Sylvia leans close, but stops short of bumping her shoulder with theirs, “I wanna prepare for when the Quinn Monster gets me.”

Quinn swallows thickly at the comment, claw hands moving to hug their knees tighter and the ever maddening blush returning too quickly for comfort. Their tongue feels sluggish and foreign in their mouth but their mind already races with the perfect comeback, “I already did,” they say weakly but they hope the irony isn't lost on Sylvia.

“You did… but I got you, too,” Sylvia winks at Quinn, who ends up hiding behind the brim of their hat. She hears them growl softly and sees them shuffle but they don't move away. It's a small victory for Sylvia. She continues, trying to break the thick ice around them once again, “So… how do you feel? About us?”

Quinn lets go off their hat (it flops back into shape) and rests their chin on their knees. Sylvia gets a glimpse of those sharp eyes under hooded lids. Even in the increasing darkness, she can tell that Quinn is mulling over their words.

It's hard to parse their feelings—what can Quinn say? They feel flustered, and surprised, and warm, and every other adjective in the dictionary that means 'This is a terrifying new territory of social experiences and they feel, they feel—'

They feel lacking. They are confronted with the ugly truth of their person: they don’t know how to be a partner, a friend. The burning engine of their blood does not let them forget this. But maybe they can learn to be one now that things are different, now that there’s someone else in their life. Someone they want to stay for.

Quinn finally speaks up after a beat of silence, “Given that we've only been dating for roughly twenty minutes, I'd say it could be better.” They grin when Sylvia pouts.

“Give it another twenty and I bet I can change your mind then.”

The implication of Sylvia's statement makes Quinn nervous and curious. “Oh yeah? How are you gonna do that?”

Sylvia doesn't answer. Instead, she stands up and walks casually towards a grassy clearing. She puts hands behind her back and looks over her shoulder, a smug and knowing look on her face. Quinn squints, not really sure of what she's planning, but when Sylvia twirls around to motion for them to follow, they do just that.

Quinn lags behind Sylvia. The earthy scent of the woods mingles with the salty tang of the coastal winds. It's comforting. Familiar. They pat their crystal ball away to touch the blades of grass with their fingertips. Some bears pretty flowers and sprouts, others tiny springtails and spiders. The forest never wronged them.

Quinn almost bumps into Sylvia when she stops. With a flourish, Sylvia falls back onto the plushest bed of grass with a poff. “Come lay down with me, Quinn!” She's slowly being engulfed into the pasture but she seems unfazed. “It's the nicest bed you can get around these parts. And it’s free!”

“Can't argue with that.” Quinn drops next to Sylvia and, yeah, this beats a heavy broom for a bed anytime. They loosen up the tension they've been building and release a sigh into the night air, eyes closing in satisfaction.

A few minutes from falling into a nap, Quinn starts to feel a prickling sensation at the side of their head. They know it's Sylvia, staring a hole into their skull. They give her a few minutes to stop but when it doesn't, they mutter an annoyed 'What?'

“Looking pretty comfy there, Quinn.”

They don't have to look to know that Sylvia has a pompous smirk on her face right now. They can hear it in her voice. It wouldn't surprise them if she's also propped up on her elbow to complete the look.

And she is. Sylvia looks exactly how Quinn imagined she would. She’s on her side now, facing them, the contours of her body silhouetted by strong shadows and soft light. She looks like a beach boy on the summer calendar, except there's no sun or sand or chiseled abs or oiled chests. It's just Sylvia, with mysterious stains on her work outfit, frizzy hair escaping her ponytail, and eyebags and wrinkles from stress and exhaustion.

She's so beautiful, even like this, especially like this. Sylvia, in her natural state of being. Sylvia, staying up late for Quinn because they asked her to. Sylvia, looking at Quinn like there's nothing better than this.

Sylvia's eyes twinkle with unbridled joy. Quinn can feel their own doing the same. Treacherous things.

“I can say the same to you.” Quinn moves to mimic Sylvia's pose. “Careful, I'm not the only monster in the woods.”

Sylvia hums in agreement. Her free hand twiddles with some grass as she speaks, “You'll protect me, I'm sure of it.” She says it so confidently, sincerely, like it's the ordained truth of the world.

Quinn feels their body heat up once more. They feel fuzzy again, that pleasant static running through their flesh and bone, rattling their skull and teeth. Sylvia puts so much trust in Quinn, it's almost reckless.

“Will you still be saying that when I smother you in your sleep?” Quinn's voice carries their typical abrasiveness but both of them know it's nothing but play.

Sylvia beams as she responds, “So I have until I get back to the shop then? Does that mean you'll be escorting me home too?” She flutters her eyelashes coyly.

“Just to make sure nothing kills you on the way back, of course.” At this point, Quinn's face permanently sports a deep, deep blush. They wonder how Sylvia can keep her composure so well.

“Of course. I'm feeling spoiled with your attention,” Sylvia preens.

It makes Quinn want to push her face away so they do. Gently, of course, without the claws or nails, without the roughness. Sylvia sticks out her tongue and jostles Quinn in response. Soon the two are playing a silly game of shove. There's no obvious goal, other than to just... rock each other under the guise of playfighting. Not that either of them mind. Not even when Sylvia's errant fingers brush against Quinn's neck or when Quinn rests their palms against Sylvia's nape.

Overcome with a sudden shyness over the depth of their situation, Quinn looks away—they can't handle the amount of love emanating from Sylvia just yet but they don't want to completely shut her out. They ask, “What happens now?”

Sylvia takes a peek under Quinn's hat and sees their unease written everywhere on their face. She feels that same twinge as before, filling her heart with something heavy and tender, “Nothing. We don't have to do anything differently. We don’t have to do anything we don't want to.”

Feeling a little dumb, Quinn grimaces. “Then what's the whole point if nothing's gonna change?”

“Oh, our relationship's gonna change. It'll be slow but it’ll happen.” But Sylvia is sure that Quinn will savor the long journey all the same.

“Another time investment, huh?” Quinn has a cheeky look on their face, and it's only gets worse when they continue, “Maybe I should do that cost/benefit analysis. The current perks are barely cutting it.”

Sylvia raises a brow before the devil horns pop out, “If you want more perks… you can have a kiss from your newly minted girlfriend.” She knows it's unfair to tease Quinn like this but she deserves a little fun too.

As expected, Quinn gets flustered at the idea but they don't seem entirely against it. “Getting excited, are we? Weren't you just telling me it's a slow burn?”

“Not always. But if a kiss is too much, we can hold hands instead.” Sylvia takes a hand that was resting on Quinn's shoulder and places it between the two of them, palm open. The other rests on her side, worrying a stray thread from her pants.

It takes a bit for Quinn to move their own from the back of Sylvia's neck but eventually, they take up her offer. They wonder whether her hands are just as soft as her neck, if it's just as warm too. In their head, they thank anyone listening for Sylvia's gloves because their fingers were starting to get clammy from the cold air and hot blood.

Sylvia squeezes and Quinn squeezes in return, enough to let her know they're learning to work through the strange and uncomfortable parts of being known. She laces their fingers together and rubs the back of Quinn's hand with her thumb.

“Hey,” Sylvia whispers, “I meant it, what I said earlier. There's no pressure. We'll find something that works for the both of us.”

The statement goes without saying, of course, even Quinn knows that. But hearing Sylvia say it out loud... It reassures Quinn. To know that they're allowed to make mistakes, to know their worth isn't tied to anything they can't do. They want so badly to say something. They want to tell her how much those words mean to them. Their body, their throat, their heart—it all tightens at their hesitation, their fear.

Vulnerability has always been their worst enemy. Unfortunately, it's beating their ass right now.

Sylvia can literally see and feel Quinn go through their emotions. A lot of people gloss over Quinn's quirks in favor of making the transactions as painless as possible but they miss out on the fact that Quinn is a playful and lively soul, who teases and laughs and fears like everyone else. Quinn, even with all the secrets and hiding and deflection, bares their soul as a person who wants nothing more than to love and be loved.

(Or maybe they're only like that with Sylvia. The thought delights her to no end.)

And does Quinn know how much Sylvia aches for them? How she felt the very first tug on her heart during that first chance meeting?

She extended the ‘hanging out’ offer as an honest attempt at becoming friends (the thought of a relationship was the furthest thing on her mind at the time) so their reaction confused her. Maybe it was the shadows or the exhaustion but she swore she saw the faintest blush behind those sleeves.

Why did their response affect her so bad? Why did her invitation affect them so bad? She kept wondering about it, even when the two were talking about whatever, whenever, wherever. She kept wondering about it, even when she stood up against the next competitor and broke down before Helene. From dawn to dusk, just rewinding that moment over and over, trying to figure them out.

It finally made sense during the ice cream date.

Quinn is… lonely, has been lonely for a really long time. Their tricks and schemes and things were just ways for them to ignore that feeling, to distance themself from the world who left them alone. And who could blame them, when any social interaction was less than minimal and the only affection they got was from an abandoned mimic? Who can blame them for hoping that this will be different? That someone finally bothered to bother them for them?

Sylvia thought that she pitied Quinn when she learned the truth. The feeling was sharp and sudden, and it always gripped her at strange times. It happened when they teased her for the big stain on her vest, or when they laughed at a joke she didn’t say right, or when they dote and fuss over Boxer, or when they drop by the shop with an excuse on their tongue. It happened when she couldn’t sleep and it happened when she looked out the window to find Quinn’s ever-present floating silhouette in the distance, her faithful watcher.

Roxanne was the one who smacked some sense into her. Quinn happened to be the last customer for the night shift so Sylvia didn’t mind that they stayed past store hours. They talked about their respective day, Quinn shadowing Sylvia as she cleaned the cauldrons. At some point, Sylvia got really focused in her work and without warning, Quinn started helping her. Sylvia scrubbed, Quinn washed.

Hose in hand, it was the perfect tool for Quinn’s late night water fight. There was a valiant effort on Sylvia’s part to use cauldron lids as shields and ladles to redirect the jet stream but alas, Quinn was quicker and faster. So for revenge, Sylvia just flat out dumped a bucket of water on Quinn when they were doubled over from laughter. There was a lot of cursing and a lot of panicking as the water started seeping into Sylvia’s workspace.

Combustopher was tasked to dry out the area (and the papers and the clothes). Sylvia lent some of her old pajamas to Quinn while she put on her largest sweater and some sweats. She prepared some instant noodles for the two of them, adding slime cubes for Quinn and soft boiled eggs for herself. They both squeezed into the chair and ate in comfortable silence. When Combustopher crackled, it was time to go.

Sylvia said goodbye to Quinn and stood by to watch them go back to the sky. When she got back to the chair, the shirt Quinn used was haphazardly folded along with the pants. She sighed.

“That bad?” Roxanne’s voice echoed from the atrium. It scared the shit out of Sylvia. “Relax, dear, I’m not a ghost, just your basement demon.”

“Wh—how long have you been there?!” Sylvia busied herself, maybe to ignore the burning heat blooming across her body or the self-serving smirk on Roxanne’s face.

“Enough to wonder if either of you know. I suppose not, seeing as you’re still like this,” Roxanne examined her nails nonchalantly but her eyes followed Sylvia.

Sylvia pointedly looked everywhere but Roxanne. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“You like them, don’t you? Say something. I’m sure they’ll say yes,” Roxanne pursed her lips and knitted her brows together when she continued, “But I’m betting on the other one to do it first.”

Sylvia’s skin started to rival her hair color. “If they were into me, I would know by now. They haven’t really… reciprocated anything.” She deflated at the confession.

Roxanne’s laugh filled the air. “Sylvia, you are a talented woman. Through sheer hard work, you’ve built yourself a name and a home. But it’s amazing how much you miss when you only look forward.” She disappeared under the trapdoor, leaving Sylvia alone with those final words.

Sylvia realized then, as she was settling to sleep, the real name of that elusive feeling: yearning. It was yearning and it was for Quinn.

She’s been yearning ever since.

And now, here they are. The two are in their own bubble, just laying under the night sky, on a field of downy grass, holding hands and enjoying each other. Intimacy isn't a foreign concept to Quinn—they have experienced it before: in small, small glimpses from their parents or stray visions, in the way they stayed up all night watching over Boxer after he ate some bad meat. In Sylvia, when she brings a gift for Boxer's Rescue-versary, and when she gives a gift for Quinn, too. 'I know you don't celebrate your birthday… but you two are a package deal! Can't have Boxer without Quinn. Can't have Quinn without Boxer.' She explained it like it's obvious, common sense, natural.

(The gift is a magma beetle of a brilliant scarlet hue. It lives somewhere among Quinn's non-carnivorous plants. Every now and again, they feed it dragon tears to chew on.)

“Besides,” Sylvia grins, “there’s no shortage of rotting eyeballs to throw.”

Quinn swallows, those complicated feelings finally subsiding enough for them to speak up, “Heh, you're right. And there's always a bag of ingredients for you to go through.”

Sylvia groans, smacking her hands on her face and rolling over to stomp her feet childishly. “And we were doing so good too. Why'd you have to remind me of that right now? I have the taste of rock in my mouth now.”

Quinn cackles, “You just make it so easy to mess with.”

Sylvia makes a face. Quinn takes a mental image for safekeeping.

Quinn blows a raspberry, “Give me a little credit. I haven't tried to leave you alone. Or bait you again.” They sit up and look over Sylvia, whose now reclining on the grass with ankles crossed and feet slightly wiggling.

“That's true. You didn't hide my broom when we landed… You didn't even try to scare me when you had the chance earlier…” Sylvia started listing off more missed chances.

“See? I can be well-behaved. I can be nice.” Quinn spins the floating ball around before it wanders towards Sylvia. She simply watches it glide through the air above her before it slowly reverses its spin and goes back to Quinn. The world's biggest, slowest yo-yo.

“It looks good on you, being sweet.” Sylvia gauges Quinn's reaction to find them flustered but receptive to her words. It's endearing to see them fidget over compliments.

“Don't get used to it. We're still in the trial period.” Quinn's blush is still resolutely dusting their cheeks and shoulders. Sylvia wishes she never gets tired of seeing them like this.

“Until I get back to the shop, right?” Sylvia stands up to dust her pants and holds out a hand to Quinn.

“Yeah. Better count your minutes.” Quinn takes the offering. Her gloves are still scratchy and their hands are still tacky but Quinn braves the hold and keeps their hands locked together anyway.

“Actually, I did. We went over the promised twenty minutes but… I think we'll be just fine.”

Quinn shoots a confused look at Sylvia, “What are you talking about?”

“Us,” and Sylvia leaves it at that.

Quinn starts to open their mouth to press her further before remembering. 'Oh,' they think, 'right.' They didn't expect Sylvia to take the comment seriously. In all honesty, they didn't even know what to expect from their relationship, let alone their friendship. But if Sylvia sees it as a good sign, then maybe this whole thing will work out in the end too. They'll give it a sincere effort, for Sylvia.

“I dunno… I'm still having doubts,” Quinn quips. Sylvia huffs but it's cut short when they say, “But I'm okay doing things like this again. You're good at changing minds.”

Sylvia blushes deeper than Quinn this time.

The walk back to their brooms is… leisurely and quiet. Releasing all of that energy left both of them feeling lazy and satisfied. Sylvia sways their arms gently. At some point, Quinn joins in too. And while they have to break apart when they reach their brooms, the two of them stick close in flight.

They must've been in the forest for a lot longer than they realize because the first rays of sunlight are starting to break through the early morning fog. They stand before Sylvia's shop, not really wanting to end the moment.

“Ah, looks like it's a new day… Where did the time go?” Sylvia fishes out her keys from her bag. “I really hope Oswald didn't freak out.”

“Do you think he's still holding a grudge over the time I made Boxer chase him around the rafters?” Quinn rests their chin on their crystal ball. They don't look bothered by the possibility of Oswald hating them.

“Oh, he'll get over that,” Sylvia stalls her hand on the knob before whispering, “It's funny how pissy he gets over it.”

After laughing for a solid two minutes over Oswald's plight, Sylvia opens the door of the shop and invites Quinn in. They follow, whistling at the new glamours installed since their last visit. The brick complements the blue-green of the paneling. The trim is a nice, robust oak. The cauldron area still has the stone foundation but the sales floor now has a red, patterned carpet to accent the shelves and showcases. Littered all over are bottles, plants, random junk and sentimental knickknacks. It's all very Sylvia. Quinn smiles.

Sylvia checks on her brews before she dramatically falls back onto that ancient seat of hers. “It's no Enchanted Forest grass bed, but it'll do.”

“I give the chair a four out of five bottles. Just needs more stuffing.” Quinn hovers over Sylvia, picking at the white cotton that's poking out of the chair's many holes and tears. “But I think getting a non-forest bed is the better option.”

Sylvia sighs, already dreaming of such a luxury, “A real, decent bed… Maybe when all of this blows over and I start earning more disposable income, I can treat myself to one.”

Quinn can't help but egg her on, “Strange to want a bed first before a bedroom. Do you like sleeping in front of a massive window? That's weird, Sylvia. You're weird.”

“Okay, a bed is way cheaper than an entirely new room addition in a creaky old shop!” Sylvia crosses her arms and shoots a glare at Quinn when she says, “And you sleep on a broom. In the sky. In public airspace. You don't have room at all to talk!”

“I sleep on my property, which means the space I occupy is, technically, mine,” Quinn misses the gloves Sylvia throws at them, “Come on, you can't be that bad, I'm right in front of you!”

“Gimme a break, I'm not used to all-nighters anymore!” As if on cue, Sylvia yawns. “Sleeping in won't make the shop explode, right?”

Quinn shrugs. “Strange things happen in Rafta all the time. Who knows?” They fake explosion noises and screaming.

Sylvia, unamused, boos Quinn before another yawn escapes her, “I might drop dead before you do it first. Sorry for the missed opportunity.”

Quinn hovers around the counter, considering something, but they keep it for another day, “A murder I didn't even have to commit. That's the best kind.” They pause to wet their lips, “But if you miraculously live to see another day… We should hang out again.”

Sylvia is already floating into unconsciousness. She gets a nod and a smile out before passing out. The snores follow soon after. The drool adds the finishing touch. Quinn takes another mental picture.

For whatever reason, there are no blankets around the place. So Quinn does the next best thing instead: they press their face to Sylvia's head and mutters a 'smell you later' in its absence. They take one last look at Sylvia before they close the door.

As they return to their place in the sky, the warm sun lulls them into a light sleep. They don't remember the details of their fleeting dreams, only that they wake with a feeling they have come to associate with Sylvia. It's the same as the one in the forest, on the ride back, in the shop. It's the same as the one even before all of that, too; in that first chance meeting, when Sylvia's heart bled into her words. Quinn felt it then and feels it now.

They're really doing this, this relationship thing, and they're gonna have to work for it. But, the thought doesn't bother them when they remember it's for Sylvia. For themself. For what the two of them have. So, even when they spend hours practicing their greeting for next time, even when they feel too aware of how awkward and clunky the words fit in their mouth, even when they finally let Sylvia be a part of their solitary life in the clouds…

Quinn figures it's worth it.