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senior year | march
Quinn wakes up early by accident.
He’s never felt strongly either way as to whether he’s an ‘early riser’ or a ‘night owl,’ and that doesn’t particularly matter much to him, either. The reason waking up so early this morning is an accident is because he doesn’t expect to. After all, rehearsal went late last night, and since Legally Blonde opens in two weeks, rehearsals won’t be getting any shorter from here on out. Not only that, but Quinn doesn’t even have class until a bit later this morning; Thursdays are generally quieter days for him this semester. All of this is why he’s surprised when he wakes up, and rolls over to find the clock on the bedside table reading only 7:02.
It’s bright outside already, since the days have been getting longer, and it snowed last night, quite a bit more than Quinn thought it was going to. Quinn rubs his eyes as he double-checks the time, thinking that can’t be right. He feels far too awake and energized; the clock must be wrong.
But it is. Sebastián is sound asleep next to him, with one strong arm hooked around him, and Quinn is wide awake at seven in the morning.
Oddity of oddities.
When, a little while later, he decides to get up, it’s because he starts to feel restless. Sebastián’s alarm won’t go off for another hour, and there’s no use just laying here the whole time until it does— a sleeping boyfriend is a nice sight, to be sure, but it isn’t very entertaining when you’re wide awake and he’s not. Instead, Quinn decides, he’ll seize the moment, and use the morning to his advantage. He leaves Sebastián in their room, in his state of peaceful slumber, and gathers a few things to bring downstairs— notes for his senior thesis performance that he has to organize, his laptop, and, for good measure, the script for The Night We Met . Before he goes, he steals Sebastián’s coziest Coyotes sweatshirt from the dresser.
He supposes he could just do some work at the desk in their room, but he wants a cup of tea, so he ventures to the kitchen. The whole house is asleep, except for Zain, who left bright and early this morning for his marketing internship. Quinn can always tell when Zain is leaving, because his footsteps are heavy, like a dead giveaway that only a Deaf person would notice.
Were it still hockey season, this house would be much more active at this hour— there would be morning practice, or perhaps a team workout, or, at least, there would be a general sense of getting up and moving early in the morning, because there is a lot to do. It’s midterms, so Quinn supposes there’s still a lot to do, but with the hockey season over, Beech Street has become a much tamer and less chaotic place.
So Quinn takes a seat, by himself, at the kitchen table, and sets to work on his thesis notes while his tea water heats up. His senior performance will be two weeks after Legally Blonde wraps, so about a month from now. He isn’t nervous, per se, but he does have so very much to do between now and then, even with spring break in the middle of it all.
In a way, being busy right now is nice— because this is senior spring, and if Quinn does his very best, he can let his hectic schedule distract him from the sheer speed at which graduation is approaching. After which, there will be no more quiet mornings at Beech Street. No late rehearsals. No opening nights in the Beckett Center. Hockey is already over— and over the course of the two months between now and graduation, everything else is going to come to an end just the same.
Quinn pours his tea, and does not think about that.
The sun is streaming through the windows, a nice, gentle, morning light. The snow last night was powdery enough that it’s still hanging on every tree branch, so the whole scene outside looks like a winter wonderland. The only problem is that it’s March, and Quinn, if he is being honest, is getting tired of the winter weather. He supposes this might be nice if it were happening in December, but by now, he’s quite ready for spring, thank you very much.
In all, he probably spends twenty minutes or so alone in the kitchen. When he’s about halfway through his cup of tea, and he’s in the midst of typing an email to send to the other students involved in production for his senior performance, he feels someone coming down the stairs. The steps are slow, and not terribly heavy, but they’re there all the same. Quinn lifts his eyes from his computer, just in time to spot Remy, who’s emerging from upstairs with his backpack over one shoulder. He’s dressed for class in a knit sweater, striped in a few shades of blue, and his white-blond hair is pressed down on one side, like he slept on it funny.
Quinn smiles, and waves. His hearing aids are upstairs, but the gentlemen of Beech Street are long since accustomed to occasions of him not wearing them. Remy waves in return, and sets his backpack down next to the kitchen table. Remy has an 8:30 class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so this particular appearance is routine.
Good morning, Quinn types into the text-to-speech feature on his laptop. There’s hot water if you want to make tea .
As he watches Remy listen, he points to the kettle, which is still steaming. Remy pulls a pen from his backpack, and writes in the margin of Quinn’s notebook. You don’t mind?
Quinn shakes his head, and smiles, before he types again. Of course not.
So Remy sets to making himself a cup, and Quinn keeps typing his email. He has a tendency to write extremely long-winded emails, not just to theatre people, but for any purpose. He supposes he just has a lot to say, all of the time.
While his tea steeps, Remy takes to looking out the window. He looks transfixed, probably by the snow. It is quite pretty out there, what with the way the sunlight is hitting it. Unlike Quinn himself, Remy doesn’t appear to mind that there’s fresh snow outside on March 10th. Remy laments the last melting of the orchard pond every single year. Loving winter is in his Canadian blood.
Quinn types into his text-to-speech again. It snowed quite a bit last night.
Remy nods, and Quinn can tell that he speaks— Yeah , his lips read, and then he comes back to write in the margins of the notebook again. He’s laughing, as he does, and when he shows Quinn what he wrote, it’s: Ben will be mad about it.
So Quinn asks, Why’s that ?
Because he has to clean off his car again , Remy writes, and then Quinn, too, laughs. Ben has been complaining about the effects of winter on Bianca, his beloved vehicle, for weeks. Just the other day, he took it to the car wash to get all of the road salt off, only for it to rain for hours later that same afternoon.
You’re right , Quinn says.
Remy adds a spoonful and a half of sugar to his tea, and then a splash of creamer, before he takes a seat next to Quinn and wraps his hands around his mug. He’s having earl grey, the same as Quinn made for himself. Of all the residents of this house, the two of them are the only ones who drink the tea.
Quinn finishes writing his email before he engages Remy in conversation again. With it safely sent off, to continue his reign of terror over the poor underclassmen who signed up to help with his senior performance, he closes the mail app and uses the typing app. Are you excited for spring break?
Remy’s smile, at this question, is evidence enough that he is, but he nods anyway. Every so often, Kiersey hosts trips over spring or winter break centered around some academic course, and next week, for the break, Remy is going to Vienna with his classmates from Modern Austrian History. It’s practically all he’s talked about for weeks. Quinn would be jealous, but he himself has nice plans— he and Sebastián are headed home to see his family for a few days in Phoenix, and then they’re going to Anaheim, for a trip to Disneyland that they’ve been wanting to plan together for two years.
For convenience of conversation’s sake, Quinn tears a page from his notebook and slides it to Remy. Remy nods, as if in gratitude, and then sets to writing: I can’t wait.
I’ll bet you can’t , Quinn replies. What time does your flight leave tomorrow?
5:15 , he writes, but our bus leaves campus at noon.
You’ll have to go through customs.
I know . Remy’s demeanor matches that of a small child who knows that a trip to a candy or toy store is imminent. From someone normally quite stoic, it’s an entertaining thing to witness. We’re flying into Switzerland first.
That’s very cool. Quinn has never been to Europe, but he’d like to get there at some point in his life. Not necessarily Austria, though— perhaps the Netherlands, for all the tulips. You’re going to have to send us a lot of pictures.
Remy laughs as he writes. I’ll spam in the group chat, and everybody will be annoyed.
Well , Quinn points out, isn’t that what you did all last summer?
Remy laughs again, and there’s a fondness on his face, like he’s remembering all of the adventures of his previous summer. He traveled through several different European countries with his dear friend, Kai, and said that it was the best experience of his life. Which, considering Remy is an Olympic medalist, is saying a lot.
When he writes again, it’s: I guess you’re right .
They spend a few subsequent minutes in a peaceful state of non-conversation. Remy is one of those people with whom you can sit, and not necessarily converse, but still enjoy each other’s company. Quinn counts himself grateful for that, and this morning, it’s extra nice— maybe it’s the fact that no one is awake yet, or the winter wonderland outside, or the impending spring break, a temporary pause on classwork and rehearsals, but this morning is a very nice one.
When Quinn does engage him in conversation again, it’s been a few minutes, and it’s only because he notices something peculiar. Remy has been staring down into his mug of tea, not drinking it, with a somewhat pensive expression on his face, like his mind is elsewhere. It seems a stark change of tone from his giddy excitement about going to Austria, and Quinn wonders if he’s alright— and so, because he’s sitting right here noticing it, he decides to ask. Are you okay?
Remy nods, and then seems to make an attempt to shake himself out. He finally lifts his tea mug and takes a tip, before he writes a response. Do I look like I’m not okay?
You looked a bit deep in thought just now , Quinn explains. I was wondering what was on your mind.
Remy’s smile returns, but this time, it carries a bittersweetness. I’m okay , he writes. I’m just going to miss this.
At this, Quinn feels a bit of a pang— because for all of the effort he’s put toward ignoring sentiments such as this one, Remy’s words on the page are one of many things, which are more frequent lately, that make all of this much more real. Senior year is coming to an end. He isn’t sure what to say, so all he can do is nod.
Remy is still writing. I feel like the rest of the semester after spring break is going to go too fast.
I completely agree , Quinn replies. Once my show closes, I think it’ll be over before I can blink.
Everything is ending , Remy writes. I’ve already played hockey for the last time.
At this, Quinn has to laugh, even if it’s a small laugh. He shakes his head at him, and types again. Remy, the season ending doesn’t mean it’s the last time you’ll ever play hockey.
I know. Remy looks sheepish, and he shrugs, as he tugs at the collar of his sweater, before going back to write again. But I’ll miss this team.
So will I. Quinn is not ready for the prospect of no longer being the manager of Kiersey Men’s Hockey. For all the ways in which this job has driven him near insanity these past four years, he’ll miss it so dearly. Even more than that, he’ll miss the friends he’s made because of it.
But to talk these things over with Remy, right now, feels, well— a bit too emotional for a random Thursday morning in March, over two cups of earl grey tea, with snow hanging on the trees outside. He adds to his previous statement: Don’t think about it too much yet. Besides, we have a lot to look forward to in the spring.
You’re right . Remy pauses, for a long time, and then slides his piece of paper away from himself, as if he’s decided that he’s done talking, at least for now. He starts drinking his tea again, which is definitely better than him just staring down into the mug like it’s a void.
Gently, Quinn reaches to pat him on the shoulder. They share a smile, and though they use no words, Quinn thinks they share an understanding, too. Neither of them are ready for graduation day to come. But it’s going to come, and today, on the eve of spring break, it’s closer than ever.
Quinn will do his very best not to think about that too much. Later today, he’ll head to class; this afternoon, he’ll corral his collaborators on his senior performance for one last meeting before break. Tonight, he’ll brave a double run-through at Legally Blonde rehearsal. Tomorrow, he’ll board a plane to Phoenix, and after that, he’ll see Sebastián’s family again; a few days later, he might even see Mickey Mouse or something.
But for now, he’ll sit in the peaceful kitchen, and not think about graduation, while he shares a pot of tea with a friend.