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Nothing was the same in Minnesota.
The team was different, the people, the locker room, the ice felt different too.
No matter how many times he called his brothers or tried to settle into the place he was staying it all felt so strange, like clothes that he had to grow into.
He was on a coach, travelling to another city to play a game the next day with a team he didn't really know yet.
Quinn had been the last to get on the bus, throwing his luggage into the lower compartment and scurrying up the stairs, out of breath, kneeled over and getting a chirping from all his surrounding teammates.
There were a few empty seats, but no empty pairs, he glanced over the coach briefly and spotted a seat close by next to Faber and made his way to it, throwing himself down breathlessly.
Brock smiled at him, briefly removing his headphones to give a quick greeting before returning to his music.
Quinn could feel the bump of the wheels under him, a soothing rocking, his head back against the back of his chair.
As they drove, Brock moved a lot. Quinn was trying to read, maybe close his eyes a bit, but all he could feel was the gentle jostling of Faber bouncing his leg beside him.
It was getting distracting, and vaguely irritating.
The bus was silent, filled only by gentle rustlings and snores, all shadowed by the low rumble of the road.
Oh, fuck it.
Quinn reached out a hand across Faber and onto his thigh, feeling it still under his palm. It was warm and the fabric of his joggers was soft, Quinn could almost feel the warmth rise from his hand up to his face in real time as Brock turned to face him, his face one of surprise. His brow was furrowed slightly and his mouth open. "Sorry." He said, staring at Quinn earnestly, it was a little intense, Quinn quickly averted his gaze.
"Thanks." Quinn mumbled, swallowing thickly and drawing back his hands a few seconds later than socially acceptable.
He turned his head to look out of the opposite window so he didn't have to see Brock's face.
Fuck.
They played well, really well, 4-1 to the opposing team. A flash of green came at him during the winning goal and Faber was grabbing his arm and grinning wildly.
Quinn had a night in his hotel before they were on the road again. He was stripped down to a t- shirt and shorts in the stifling heat, even with the windows open. Hotel rooms were always too warm in the colder seasons.
He let his legs hang off the edge of the bed, swinging them slightly so they made a thud as they hit the base of the mattress.
He could hear the soft buzz of the occasional passing car outside, letting his eyes blur over, his phone abandoned on the bed beside him.
Because okay maybe he'd been looking through those post game interviews the media team did where they asked trivia and silly questions and rewinding whenever Brock was on screen and maybe he'd had to drop his phone as he had a slight shame spiral of stalking his teammate on the internet.
Maybe that had happened.
Quinn managed to get on the coach in a timely manner, in fact he was a little early, situating himself alone at the back with his travel bag at his feet.
It was around ten minutes later that the rest of the team started to file in little by little.
His head perked up briefly at each new face climbing up the stairs and down the aisle before looking back at his phone. Jack was messaging him, something along the lines of good game last night and some menial question about the summer.
He was so focused on sending back a message he only noticed Faber when he was standing above him.
"Okay if I sit here?" He said, tilting his head and looking down on Quinn.
"Sure."
"Thanks." Brock nodded and sat tentatively down on the seat beside him.
The journey was meant to take four hours and had quickly turned into six, and then seven, and Quinn wasn't sure how much longer they would be stuck in these cramped seats on a highway.
They'd left late and the time was nearing eight thirty, the outside world lit only by car headlights.
As it turned out, coaches at night made Brock very sleepy, in fact, Quinn could see him nodding off out of the corner of his eye, head dipping dangerously before he caught himself and blinked blearily.
It was sort of cute, his thick glasses slipping down his nose slightly as his head tipped.
He saw Brock lean back against the headrest, his mouth open a small amount.
Oh fuck, oh shit.
Quinn felt soft curls brush his cheek as Faber's head dropped and landed on his shoulder.
His breath hitched in his throat.
He could feel Brock's gentle snores tickling his shoulder and face, his hands sat politely in his lap where he was limply holding his phone.
Quinn dared not breathe in fear it would scare him away or wake him up.
That's what Quinn should be doing, waking him up, making a joke about it. But his heart was hammering in his chest, choking him, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. Brock seemed so calm, so peaceful, it would be cruel to wake him up and embarrass him.
They stayed like that, Quinn perfectly still and Fabes fast asleep, until the coach went over a hole in the road and they jostled apart.
Faber blinked his eyes open, shaking his head slightly. Quinn wasn't even sure that he realised what had happened.
He didn't tell him.
They finished their road trip by Sunday and Quinn was happy to sleep, lots of sleep, in his strange, quiet new apartment.
When he's asleep he doesn't have to think about Brock and the funny things he says or the way he adjusts his glasses when he's thinking or those big brown eyes looking down at him as they skate during warm ups. He tries very hard not to think about Faber at all.
Because he doesn't even think Brock is gay and there is no point falling for an, admittedly adorable, straight guy. No matter how kind and funny and great he is.
Quinn rolled over under his warm comforter in his large, empty bed and wished this city didn't feel so lonely.
As it turns out, Faber is pretty impossible to ignore. When Quinn slips and falls in practice he's there to haul him to his feet with an outstretched hand, they sit on the bench together, sandwiched between their teammates, shoulder to shoulder, Brock stops to say goodbye at Quinn's stall before he leaves.
Because, rationally, Brock is just a fan of his game, they're defense partners, Quinn is new, Brock is nice, he's being nice.
There's nothing to be read into.
He really shouldn't have humoured Faber's interest in him in the first place then he wouldn't have been in this situation.
Quinn makes the decision, late at night sitting at his kitchen table in the dark, to keep Faber at an arms length. In fear that this blooming infatuation he has will snowball far out of his control before he can stop it.
That's the plan, at least.
Quinn had never really been one for parties but he supposed it was pretty anti-social to not go to a team party a month after you joined the team, it would certainly send a message that Quinn did not want to send.
So, he was standing quietly in the corner of some teammates house with a drink, feeling slightly tipsy and watching his team have a grand old time from the corner of the room, pretending not to watch Faber.
He had clearly passed the curve of giddy drunk and was quickly falling into tired, sad drunk pretending to be the prior so as not to ruin the mood. His head was hanging slightly, watching the team doing shots with a vague smile. He'd been out with a couple of the guys earlier drinking, he was probably completely out of it, if the vacant look in his eyes was anything to go off.
"Quinny!" Quinn felt a slap on his shoulder that made him jump, turning to see Boldy grinning next to his ear. "You joinin' us?" He slurred, his voice thick.
"No, I'm fine here, thanks." Quinn said politely, gently prying the sweaty hand from his shoulder.
"Your loss." Boldy shrugged, patting Quinn on the head and ruffling his hair before stumbling off toward the rest of the team.
Quinn looked up at the group again and- where's Brock?
He glanced behind him where Boldy had come from the kitchen, and briefly back to the group, and then his eyes landed on a man half laying against the wall beside him, staring at him dopily.
Quinn startled once again, gripping his drink like a lifeline.
"Helloww." Faber said slowly, his voice sounded like it was taking a lot of effort to pronounce anything at all.
"Hello." Quinn said awkwardly, taking in the way Brock's hoodie bunched against the wall and hitched it up, revealing a small sliver of lower back.
"You," Faber waved a hand vaguely in Quinn's direction. "Avoiding me." He said, and he sounded less accusatory, more dejected.
Quinn's breathing froze for a moment, he didn't know he was being that obvious. Their game hadn't changed had it? They were still working together and everything Quinn just didn't hang around him as much. That's normal, right?. "No I'm not." He said simply, taking a nervous sip of his drink.
Brock tilted his head to see Quinn's face more clearly. "Yessss." He reached forward his hand and sloppily poked Quinn in the arm.
"Noooo." Quinn replied, shaking his head unconvincingly.
"Boys want you." Faber said suddenly, nodding his head toward the large group in the centre of the living room.
"What?"
"Sad you don't wanna drink with them." He mumbled, tucking his head against his chest.
"I am drinking with them." Quinn said, holding out his drink half-heartedly, ignoring the fact he was standing metres apart from the crowd.
Brock didn't reply.
"Parties aren't really my thing."
He turned to gage Faber's reaction but found himself faced with a man with closed eyes slumped against the wall and dangerously limp.
Quinn cursed himself for being sociable and agreeing to this party before reaching forward and shaking Brock awake.
"Sorry, sleepy." The man muttered, his eyelids drifting shut as he spoke.
"Okay, uh, you should probably- okay." Quinn put down his cup on a side table and dashed forward to grab Brock before he stacked it, hands gripping biceps.
"Thank yeww." Was the mumbled reply he got.
Quinn pushed him ungraciously down into the hallway, opening doors left and right before coming across what seemed like a guest bedroom, clean and impersonal, and forced Brock down onto the bed.
"Go to sleep, Faber." Quinn sighed, turning in an attempt to leave but fingers had wrapped around his forearm before he got the chance.
"Don't go." Came a sad voice in the darkness of the bedroom. "I'll never see you again."
"We play together, of course you'll see me again."
"Not anymore, never see you." Brock whispered, his voice softer now. The hand slid down Quinn's arm and fell onto the bed with a dull thud.
"Go to sleep, Faber."
Quinn left before he could reply.
The next morning at around 11am when Quinn was out for a jog, he got a message from the team group chat.
A single image file of Brock fast asleep on top of the guest bed, curled up into a ball, with the caption: at least one of us got a good night's sleep 🤣
Quinn smiled despite himself and put his phone back in his pocket.
Quinn was only ten steps out of the locker room before Brock was jogging after him and calling his name.
He pulled up beside him, still adjusting his bag over his shoulder haphazardly and they fell into step.
"Hi, I just wanted to say- about the party, sorry if I was being weird, I was crazy drunk, you know?" Brock rambled, gesturing wildly. "So just like, forget about it, yeah?" He turned on Quinn with wide eyes.
"Yeah, sure." Quinn managed to say, it sounded lame even to his own ears.
"Okay, yeah, cool." Faber nodded and there was a long, stifling silence as they both made their way through the corridor, the still was only broken four minutes later when they came out into the car park, covered in salt to fend off the falling snow.
"Hey, Quinn?" Faber said, his breath coming out as puffs of vapor in the cold air.
"Hmm?"
"Would you wanna, I dunno, come over to mine? Just to hang out or something." He shifted his glasses up his nose with a free hand nervously. "I can drive?" He seemed to be set on doing this, some sort of apology Quinn guessed.
Quinn froze for a moment, eyes boring into Faber like a deer in the headlights.
In his right mind, Quinn should definitely say no, sorry, I'm busy tonight, thank you, and be done with it.
"Alright."
"Do you want something? I have Guinness and some wine but I could also make you something if you want? Umm, toast? If you're hungry while we wait"
"No, I'm fine, thanks." Quinn said from his position perched on the very edge of Faber's sofa, a glass of water in his hands.
"Yeah, I guess I better not drink after the other night, anyways." Faber laughed but his smile quickly fell into an awkward frown.
The silence was filled only by the hum of the oven and its timer.
"Do you wanna play something?" Brock said, gesturing to his PlayStation nestled under the TV with a clumsy stacking of games to the side of it. Quinn reached out a hand and picked up the top one, it was the NHL videogame from last year, him and his brothers sitting proudly on the cover. He held it up to Brock curiously.
"Oh, hah, yeah, my friend bought it for me for Christmas. Sorry, probably seems really weird to you." Faber spluttered, reaching out and taking it from Quinn's fingers as quickly as he could, holding it to his chest like it would try to escape.
"I don't mind playing it." Quinn shrugged, tilting his head in what he hoped was a genuine expression.
"Oh, okay, sure." Faber paused for a second, looking between Quinn and the game, before sitting down in front of the tv and starting it up, crawling backwards and resting his back against the couch with a controller as the PS logo flashed up on the screen, handing Quinn the extra controller.
Brock was up against the couch around two rulers width from Quinn's leg, too close to not be a distraction and too far for Quinn to move away without it solidifying Brock's suspicions he was avoiding him.
Quinn stayed where he was.
After dinner, and after Faber winning 3 out of 4 rounds of the game (he was weirdly good at it), they sat back down on the sofa.
"It's snowing like crazy out there." Brock said, gesturing out the window where snow shot past in the darkness.
"Yeah."
There was a lull in the conversation, slightly more comfortable than the previous one, before Quinn jumped up from his slumped position on the sofa and scrambled to sit straight.
"You okay?" Faber said quickly, reaching out a hand and resting his palm on Quinn's knee.
"Fuck, your car. You were gonna drive me home, it's-" Quinn stood up and went to the window, peering out to a completely snow covered car sitting in the driveway.
Brock came up just behind him, peering over his shoulder.
"Oh, sorry, Quinn, I completely forgot."
Quinn turned around and not only was Brock about three inches from his face but he looked unabatedly miserable, his face down turned in a guilty frown.
Faber took a nervous step back." I can, uh- You can..." He bit the inside of his mouth, looking between the car and Quinn. "You can stay here if you want." He blurted, as if he hadn't been sure he was going to say it before it came out of mouth. He blinked slowly at Quinn who blinked back.
"In your-"
"In the guest bedroom. You don't have to of course, it's just, we don't have practice tomorrow and, maybe, I don't know."
Quinn swallowed slowly, brain ticking over very slowly, as if the crevices had all been filled up with snow too.
"Sure, yeah."
Quinn didn't have any time to regret the decision because the tension was melting from Faber's shoulders and a small smile was taking over his face and it was fucking adorable.
Quinn tried not to think about how domestic it was to be standing in one of Brock's Wilds t-shirts, a bit too big for him, in front of his sink, using his toothpaste after showering in his shower and getting ready to sleep in his spare bed.
In fact, thinking of this domestically was a very bad idea and it would be best if Quinn could push it from his mind.
"Hey you don't mind the hallway light being on, right? It's only a dim one." Brock said, peering through the open door.
"Ths' fine." Quinn said through a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Your hair's gone funny." Brock grinned, walking in and ruffling Quinn's hair, he ducked his head and scowled playfully.
"Rude." He spat his toothpaste into the sink and watched it wash away under the tap while Brock laughed.
"Well, I'm gonna go to bed now. Unless I can get you anything else?" Brock asked, hand on the door.
"No, I'll be alright."
Fabes nodded. "Just call if you need anything and, uh, sorry about all this."
"It's alright, Brock, really."
Brock seemed happy with that, nodding, glancing briefly at Quinn from his lowered head, and scurrying off down the hall to his room.
It took Quinn 30 minutes of going on his phone, ten of staring at the ceiling and another 20 of tossing and turning but eventually, he drifted off, mind filled with a dorky Minnesota wild with soft hair and a cute smile.
When Quinn woke up, it was still dark outside, and his body was fucking freezing. He grasped blindly for his phone and the time flashed up on it, far too bright for his sleepy eyes: 3:27.
He tried to pull the covers tight around himself but he still felt like he was slowly turning into an icicle so after five more minutes he sat up.
He couldn't really see the room but the moonlight peeking through the blinds revealed to him the edges of the bed and his own pale, gooseflesh legs and the dresser across from him. It felt weird to be sleeping in a new place, especially his teammate's house, but, to be honest, his new flat didn't feel like home yet either, so maybe this wasn't so strange after all.
He immediately shivered as he sat on the edge of the mattress. The baggy t-shirt and shorts Faber had lended him had served him perfectly well when he'd gone to bed, less so now.
He stood up and felt any dredges of dewy heat he had from the covers was gone in seconds, slowly padding across the carpeted floor and checking the window, closed, and then carefully opening the door to stand in the dimly lit hallway, his legs shaking.
He looked up and nearly leapt out of his skin at the sight of Faber standing motionless in his own doorway, obscured by shadow.
"Sorry." Faber whispered, blinking tiredly.
Quinn held a hand to chest, feeling his heart thudding against his ribs.
"S'alright. Is it always this cold in your house?"
Brock ducked his head shyly. "Um, no, it- stupid boiler must be acting up, I was gonna go check on it now. Not that I know how it works." He rubbed his neck, face down turned.
"I can help, if you want." Quinn said, pushing himself slightly further out of his doorway to stand, shaking, in the hallway.
"You think you can fix it?" Faber said hopefully.
"Well, no, but, company?"
Faber laughed quietly.
"Yeah, okay." He looked up suddenly, taking in Quinn's trembling form and started pulling his jumper over his head. "You should take this, I'll be fine." He stumbled forward and thrust the warm jumper into Quinn's hands.
"No, I-"
"It's nothing, c'mon." And before Quinn could argue, he was hurrying after a speeding Faber, hastily putting on the jumper as he walked.
Neither of them could see anything wrong with the boiler, except that it didn't seem to be working. It was about twenty minutes after the heat went off that either of them thought to check their phones and, sure enough: Houses in the Minnesota area experiencing heat issues and electricity malfunctions due to heavy snow, was the top headline.
Faber groaned, giving his boiler a pitiful look. "Apparently we just have to wait until morning." He said, pouting and crossing his arms, the lack of jumper was clearly getting to him and his arms and legs were turning jittery.
Quinn made a sympathetic noise in response.
"Well," Brock sighed. "Sorry about all this." Brock and Quinn giggled breathlessly, which quickly turned into full blown laughter, weirdly loud in the night’s still.
"This is what I get for staying over? Frostbite?" Quinn grinned, teeth chattering.
Brock barked a laugh, loud in the silence of the dark house. "Yeah, pretty much."
Brock reached up and switched off the light of the boiler room. "Your bed's probably freezing." He mumbled apologetically.
Quinn's "Yeah." Was quickly overlapped by Brock's "You can sleep in mine." which he said so quickly it was almost like Quinn had imagined it.
"What?" Quinn's voice came out very small, almost a squeak breaking through the cold air.
"Sorry, I'm being weird, ignore me. I can probably find blankets or something or-" He trailed off, hands fidgeting in front of him.
"I guess it would be warmer." Quinn said meekly.
"The blankets?"
"Your bed."
Brock had no reply to that, just stared at Quinn like he was going crazy.
"I'd rather share a bed with you than freeze to death in your guest bedroom." Quinn shrugged, feigning reluctance, as if the idea of sharing a bed with Faber wasn't literally electrifying his brain into a short circuit.
"Yeah, yeah, okay." Faber nodded. "Cool."
Faber led Quinn up to his room, handing him over some joggers and socks before they got into bed, sitting awkwardly on the edge as Quinn got changed, averting his eyes as if something scandalous was happening in front of him.
Quinn hovered by the bed for a moment, still feeling bone deep cold despite being bundled up in Faber clothes head to toe.
Brock quickly pulled up the covers to let Quinn in and they lay side by side, a modest distance from each other, in the large bed.
"Good night." Faber whispered and Quinn nearly giggled at the way he said it, like they were on a sleepover.
"Good night." He replied, turning over onto his side, his back to Faber.
"Night." Faber said again, a murmur under his breath.
It was still freezing, Quinn could feel his legs quivering like they were in the snow themselves, his arms hugging himself in an attempt to conserve the heat. He could feel Brock beside him doing similarly, attempting to sleep with his hands under his arms.
It took about five minutes of silence for one of them to speak up.
"I've heard that sharing body heat is one of the fastest ways to warm up." Brock mumbled, like he wasn't really trying to be heard.
Quinn went stiff.
"Yeah?"
He felt Brock shuffle.
"They did a study about it."
Before he could decide against it, Quinn rolled over to where Faber was lying on his back and curled himself up against the man's side like a very cold koala, his arm slung over his chest and his knee over his thigh. Brock made a sharp exhale but quickly melted against Quinn, turning to wrap his arms around him and tangling their legs together comfortably.
"Better?"
"Yeah." Brock said, and he sounded like he'd run a mile.
It only took a few minutes before the both of them felt the heat seeping back into their bones, bundled up together under the thick covers.
Quinn was too tired and too warm and too cosy to think about the implications of all this, because, for the first time in a while, Quinn didn't feel so alone.
It took Quinn a few seconds after he'd woken up to fully register where he was and what was happening.
He could feel arms wrapped around his back and shoulders, his body thrown almost atop another, his head pillowed by a warm chest.
Daylight peaked in through a crack in the curtains, bathing the room in a white glow.
After a minute or so he managed to comprehend the room and stop his eyes from closing on themselves. It must be late morning, his phone alarm probably went off hours ago in the guest bedroom.
His chest was pushed up against the side of Faber's, held in place by strong arms, his leg strewn to nestle between the other's thighs. It was warm and quiet and Quinn could probably fall back to sleep if he wanted.
And then Brock moved, a slight shuffle and a small noise and Quinn could feel something press up against his knee.
Quinn thinks, quite suddenly, he could die from embarrassment, his whole body going still as he felt a definite erection brush his leg.
His sudden stillness must have alerted Faber because in the span of a few seconds he made a noise of discontent, drifted open his eyes, thought for a moment, and rolled over very suddenly, face flushing bright red.
"Fuck, fuck, shit, oh god-" Quinn heard him mumble, curled in on himself from the other side of the bed.
He threw back the covers to where they swallowed up Quinn and stumbled out of the bed. "I'm so sorry, like- sorry, Jesus." He couldn't meet Quinn's eyes, turning to face the wall like he'd put himself in timeout, hands over his eyes.
Quinn struggled to sit up in the bed, face drawn with quickly fading sleepiness.
"Hey, it's- it's natural." Quinn cringed at how awkward it sounded even to himself, like a parent talking with a teenage boy.
Faber shrunk even more at that. "I'm gonna go to the toilet, sorry." He fumbled for the door handle. "Not to- not do that, I'm just going to the loo." He rambled, the door closing with a thud before he could stop him.
He heard a muffled groan come from the bathroom.
Quinn slumped back against the headboard like his bones were made of lead.
It was about 20 minutes later, when Quinn was sitting awkwardly against the kitchen counter, dressed in his own clothes from yesterday with the borrowed ones folded neatly beside him, that he heard Faber padding softly down the stairs.
Neither said a word as Faber came to stand still in the doorframe, head hung low.
He coughed and cleared his throat, cutting through the silence. "I can call you a taxi if you'd like." He rubbed his hands against his legs awkwardly. "And, uh, I understand if you want me to like, keep away from you or something- or anything, I mean, that's fine and-"
Quinn stood up straight from where he was against the counter. "Woah, Fabes, don't worry about it, It's fine, we're fine." He held his hands out in what he hoped was a placating gesture.
Faber stared at him cautiously. "Just, cause it must have been really awkward for you and it makes me seem like a massive creep..." Brock trailed off, glancing away from Quinn's eyes.
"It's fine." Quinn said again, he was starting to sound like a broken record but he had no idea how else to calm him down.
"I don't mind moving lockers or anything, really." He sounded like he minded a lot, actually, and was trying very hard not to.
"No, really, don't worry about it, it happens. It's not like it changes anything." Quinn said, attempting his most earnest voice, he didn't want to sound fake and he most certainly didn't want Faber to think he secretly hated him. "And thanks for letting me stay over, even if your heater gave out." Quinn smiled coyly.
Faber ducked his head again, he seemed slightly less mortifyingly embarrassed now thankfully, lips upturned minutely. "Okay... Well, cool. Sorry about the heater, again." He said, walking forward and picking up the borrowed clothes off the kitchen counter and holding them against his chest. His face fell solemnly as he stood up straight, sobered. He let the quiet sit for a moment before he spoke again, as if steeling himself. "Hey, uh, Quinn, could you not tell anyone, maybe, y'know, I- I don't need the whole team knowing I'm..." He trailed off, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"You're..." Quinn said, looking up at him cautiously.
"Well I- I was sort of being... I was being weird cause I thought you- but you started avoiding me so maybe you weren't into it and then you came over for dinner and..." He tucked his chin into his hoodie nervously, his face tinged red.
Quinn just stared, like his brain had imploded inside his skull and he had forgotten how to move a single limb.
"I just- well, I really like you, Quinn and I got things mixed up and I think we should just forget about it because I still want to be your friend and I don't wanna make everything weird and if the team were to find out I... Please." His voice came out very small and very scared by the end, bracing himself for Quinn's answer like an impending crash.
Quinn's brain was very slowly piecing itself back together seconds by second.
"Say something." Brock mumbled, breathlessly.
Quinn swallowed thickly, looking up at Brock's face, tensed with overwhelming worry. Quinn would do anything to take that expression off his face forever.
"You like me?" Quinn said, his voice no louder than a whisper. Like they were still standing across a corridor in the cold dark, the world asleep around them.
"Yeah, but-"
"You like me, like..." Quinn cut in, his mind was racing to catch up with what Faber had said. Fabes likes him, Fabes actually likes him, he's- "Wait, you're gay?"
"Well, sort of... But no one can know about it I-"
"I'm not going to- fuck, Fabes."
There was a brief moment where Quinn looked up and met Faber's eyes and the whole world went perfectly still.
Quinn stepped forward across the kitchen floor, grabbed the fabric of Brock's jumper, leaned up and kissed him like it was the last thing he'd ever do.
He heard Faber make a noise of surprise, and for a few horrifying seconds he didn't move, before, slowly, all tension melted from his shoulders and he kissed back.
Quinn's brain had dashed past the point of being alive again and was now running a million miles per hour because he was kissing Brock Faber, Faber likes him and he's kissing him and, oh god.
Fabes had dropped the folded clothes at their feet, hands going up to Quinn's face and anchoring them together.
They drew back so they were inches away from each other, Quinn looking up into Fabers' eyes, pupils blown.
"Wow." Faber said under his breath, searching Quinn's face in dazed wonder.
Quinn only pulled him in tighter so their bodies were flush and kissed him again and again and again, over and over. Thinking about how the little noises Faber was making under him were the best things he'd heard in his life.
Life with Faber was sort of amazing. Quinn hadn't realised it but with all the avoiding he'd been doing but he'd forgotten just how fun Faber was to be around. The stick taps at practice, talking in the lockers before the game after Quinn has woken up from his nap, making out on Brock's couch and laughing when their noses bump, they'd even played golf together once or twice, Brock kicking him playfully under the table when they ate afterwards.
It was like Quinn had a constant warm, soothing presence beside him at all times, a gentle shake out of his dissociation on the bench or someone to talk to after a game rather than just sitting alone in his apartment doing nothing with noone.
He felt like more a part of the team now, he still didn't like parties and events but he was slightly more willing to hang out with the team nowadays. (as long as Fabes was there) He was even starting to get to know a few of the guys. It was nice, different, but nice.
The first time they had sex was another cold night, heater working this time round. Quinn fell back against the mattress and felt the solid warmth of Brock above him. It wasn't crazy, and it wasn't mind-blowing and they descended into giggles half way through after bumping heads but it was safe and it was warm and Quinn had never felt so wanted.
The next morning, Quinn sat on the kitchen counter, arms wrapped around Brock's chest, face against his shoulder and feeling soft curls tickle his face.
"You're like a koala, or a backpack or something." Brock said fondly.
"Mmph." Was all Quinn murmured in response.
Brock took a bite of his toast, spare hand coming up to rest over Quinn's.
"Quinn?"
"Hmm."
He felt the rise and fall of Brock's chest under his palms.
"Do you wanna be my boyfriend?"
Quinn pulled back and Brock turned around, eye level.
"We've been boyfriends, Fabes." He said exasperatedly, leaning forward and tasting toast on Brock's lips. It was sweet and simple, the same kiss they'd done a hundred times in the last month.
"Yay." Faber whispered, ducking his head shyly as his whole face blushed. Quinn kissed the top of his head and pulled him into a hug, Brock holding his toast cautiously behind him so he didn't cover Quinn's jumper in jam.
Boyfriends made Quinn's heart leap into his throat.
It was midday on a lazy Sunday in Quinn's apartment, stretched out like a cat in the sun on top of Brock watching match replays on the TV vacantly.
"Y'know I think the Sharks might have a comeback." Fabes said distantly, playing with Quinn's hair and messing it up more than it usually was, fingers carding gently.
"Hmm." Was all Quinn could reply with, his eyes closing on themselves, they only had a few days until they were off to the Olympics and he was enjoying doing nothing at all with Brock while they still had the chance.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking down at Faber's round face and big dorky glasses. "I never thought I'd get this." Quinn said, no louder than a wash of wind, like he was telling a secret.
The sun was casting a golden light across Brock's face, his eyelashes, his hair, he looked like something untouchable, unattainable, Quinn cupped his face with a palm to remind himself he wasn't. Brock leaned into his hand, looking up at him with big doe eyes.
"I love you." Quinn whispered. He couldn't take it back now.
Brock blinked and Quinn felt hands rise and meet his waist, gripping softly like an anchor.
"I love you, too." It was said as if in reverence, Faber's face breaking out into a beaming smile.
Quinn melted in relief, burying his face in Faber's neck.
They stayed like that for what felt like forever, whispers of adoration hidden in the air between them, rays of sun casting golden light across their bodies.
When Quinn slept that night, it was with Faber holding him, snoring and tickling the nape of his neck and, for the first time since he'd arrived in this city, Quinn's bed didn't feel so lonely.