closed starter for quentin // @rabbitsrun
The campfire licks devilishly at tired features. The comforting drops of gold, the dancing amber shines brighter than ever before tonight. Or today. Or whenever this was. Time held very little value to the jock anymore, perpetual darkness marring any sort of body clock long ago. He slept when he could, when he was tired, when his bones refused to carry him further. He slept for as long as the Entity would allow, until he was once again swallowed whole and forced to play its ruthless game.
That much couldn’t be said for the dream walker, however. For as long as Steve had been here, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the young man sleep. Quentin seemed as determined to remain awake as much as the sky determined to remain dark. His youth was marred by his exhaustion, pale features scarred with a sleepless existence. It couldn’t be easy. If he was just as tired as Steve was, his body must be aching with drowsiness.
They’d talked a few times before, about where they were from, what they thought about all this. And, of course, of the monster that plagued him. He’d still yet to see him for himself, but if he was anything like the other monstrosity’s that chased them through the trials, he was surely a terrifying beast. Anything that could implore someone to stay awake this hard in lieu of nightmare must be a terror never before imagined.
From across the fire, he keeps catching his eye. He didn’t mean to stare, but it was something in Quentin’s eyes that kept him transfixed. The way the dark-haired man stared into the flames, that long-distance look of determination that had carried him through the trials so far; more than anyone, he seemed certain he would escape. For his own sake, and for the other’s, Steve hoped too.
His concentration was only broken when blue eyes found their way to Steve’s and stayed there. He had been staring maybe a bit too much. There were ways to be smooth, Harrington. He brushes his hair out of his eyes as he turns his head to the side in a move that hopefully clears him of his previous action. Though, perhaps not- as the next thing Steve heard was the sound of shoes scuffing against the underbrush. Brown hues track the sound to find Quentin moving to stand, heading out to the treeline. Now was maybe a better time than ever to try and talk to him.
He stands shortly after, following the swimmer’s trail and finds him sat against a larger tree’s root. Maybe he should make himself known, as to not scare him too much.
“So, is this your little getaway spot?” Steve asks as he leans against one of the trees opposed, those big blue bloodshot eyes looking over to him
