okay I gotta ask about maine & injury 👀 -megs 💙
Hi Megs!! @igarbagecannoteven thank u for playing!
Injury fic is about Quinn playing in a game against his brother Jack when Jack gets badly injured. I thought it would be interesting to explore how a sibling might react in that situation, especially with Quinn being an incredibly family first, older brother type but also the captain of his team
There’s only one thing that quiets a game and drains the blood from players like that, injury. And only one player that would cause this fear-filled hush in Jersey. So Quinn knows before he even looks that it’s Jack.
It’s seconds and it feels like minutes as he turns around.
His brother’s small body lays limp on the ice. Quinn blinks and he waits as the linesman leans over talking. Jack doesn’t stir.
And then Maine is my beloved long fic, which I have been working on for nearly a year now. It is inspired by Maine by Noah Kahan and reimagines Quinn’s life where all of things he did in Michigan (high school, college, summer house) are now in Maine. It is a non-linear QuinnTrevor over the course of the last year. It is kind of my baby.
They’ve reached the intersection, blessedly empty, as Trevor sticks his tongue out and finds his way under one of the traffic lights. Head bent back to stare at it, even ten feet away it’s not easy to see his profile in the dark. Quinn can make out the fluorescence of his shorts and the general shape of his body.
“Too bad there’s no cameras.” He says.
Quinn looks around, still no cars, and moves closer so he can see Trevor for real again in the glow of the flashlight. Trevor doesn’t acknowledge him.
He laughs. It's a sound that fits with home just as much as the crickets or ocean, and suddenly Quinn feels so old. Nearly a decade they’ve known each other. Here they are talking about Trevor’s wedding as a not-distant idea. Brady is getting married in a month. Twenty-four years around the planet, and everyone’s moving forward and moving on.
Trevor’s mind must be elsewhere, because his lips remain perched in a smile. “They’d make me a star.”
It doesn’t make any sense. Trevor wiggles his eyebrows and Quinn loses it. He’ll blame the alcohol hot in his blood lowering his standards, but really it just feels right. Trevor’s ridiculous. And he’s not getting married soon. The world is turning, maybe faster than Quinn would like, but it’s not any faster than before.
He throws an arm over Trevor’s broad shoulders, pulling him out of the intersection. “One day you’ll be an All-Star like me, bud.”
He's joking, mostly. Chirping, maybe. Until Trevor rests his head on him, slightly awkward with their height difference, and looks up with big blue eyes. Their faces are so close together. Quinn can feel his heart beating in his chest. Softly, as if worried someone else will hear, Trevor asks, “you think so?”
Quinn swallows. “I do.” It comes out far too honest for Quinn’s liking.
It’s weird, sometimes, to be earnest with players, outside of his brothers, about their play. He may need to work on that. Trevor’s got everything he needs to be an All-Star: amazing hands, diligent, coachable. He just needs a bit of luck and some guys that can keep up with him during the season.
That’s–Quinn can’t admit that out loud. Not even just to Trevor.
