Chapter 15 #3
“Right.” August rubbed the back of his head, like he was embarrassed about his beautiful, perfect home. “I know it’s gaudy, but I like the way it looks. Makes it feel like a home, even though I’m not here as much as I want to be.”
A thought struck him, and Quinn’s mouth snapped shut as he studied August’s back, glaring at him while the man took his coat and boots off.
He felt guilty for thinking it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about August’s choice of décor.
The way it matched Quinn’s preferences unnerved him, and he knew he had told August about his dream home when they were younger.
It felt like some expensive fae trap.
Quinn sighed. He was thinking too deeply about this, and in the time that he had taken to have his mini freak out, August turned to look at him, frowning as he waited for a response.
“It’s…gorgeous,” said Quinn. “You had every right to be excited about showing me.”
August’s mouth began to quirk up, but then the strange numb expression returned before Quinn had a chance to see him smile.
“You…” August winced and reached for his head, and his already pale skin went bone-white. “You like places…like this. I forgot.”
Quinn’s stomach began to swoop, like he was on a roller coaster dropping from a great height. What in the hell was wrong with August? He was so all over the place that Quinn could barely keep up.
“You need to shower and wash the blood off,” said Quinn, taking a timid step toward August. “Has the bleeding stopped?”
Because he was a gross man and a typical hockey player, August wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing globs of congealed blood on what Quinn knew had to be an expensive dress shirt.
“It stopped,” he said, looking down and grimacing at the state of his clothes. “You can leave now. I’ll tell Cap that you stayed if it makes you feel better, but I don’t actually need a babysitter.”
“I like how you say that when you know I’m not going to listen to a damn word you tell me,” Quinn said, unzipping his coat and stepping out of his boots.
He maintained eye contact with August as he set his coat on a hook and moved his boots to the side so that Niko wouldn’t trip on them when he came in.
August said nothing as he stared at Quinn, his stubborn demeanour slowly tapering away until he began to resemble a kicked puppy. Quinn wasn’t used to seeing August acting timid, and that was throwing him off, too.
In high school, August had been a gangly, hot fuck boy who walked through the halls like he owned the place. And while Quinn could see some of that in the man he was facing now, it wasn’t as pronounced.
But people change. Ten years was a long time, and Quinn wasn’t the same person he was in high school, either.
Crossing his arms, Quinn gave August one final look from his feet to his head and then lifted his chin. “Shower.”
August grimaced like a spoiled child who was being told no, but then he sighed and started up the stairs, still wobbling a concerning amount.
“Feel free to find something in the fridge to eat and turn the TV on,” August grumbled, disappearing up the gorgeous grand staircase and out of sight.
Quinn had no interest in eating or watching television.
His social battery was running on fumes after mingling with a crowd of Bigfoot enthusiasts, and the surprise detour to August’s place had drained whatever was left.
But, since he was a nosy bastard, sitting still wasn’t an option, so he decided to explore the house while he waited for Niko to show up.
The place was old, but it had been lovingly restored.
Ornate crown mouldings framed the ceilings, and the banister leading upstairs had the heavy, carved look of real wood, which meant it was probably the original.
Every wall seemed to be adorned with vintage paintings that were probably worth more than Quinn’s car, and other items like antique clocks and interesting trinkets.
Still, here and there, modern touches broke up the nostalgia.
Recessed lighting glowed softly from the ceiling, and discreet wall vents hinted at a central heating system.
The kitchen was all stainless steel and marble countertops, a stark contrast to the rest of the home, but somehow August had made it work.
The bathrooms he peeked into had been upgraded too, with sleek fixtures and rainfall showerheads, but the clawfoot tub and vintage mirrors had been left in place.
It was a careful blend of eras, and Quinn reluctantly admired it.
He passed a study filled with August’s trophies, certificates, and framed articles—each piece arranged with almost military precision.
Another door opened into what looked like a recreational room that had a pool table with green felt, a small bar stocked with expensive liquor, and a record player set up beside a tall shelf filled with vinyl.
A half-finished jigsaw puzzle sat on a side table, suggesting someone actually used the space rather than just staged it.
Niko’s room, clearly the most lived-in spot on the main floor, was easy enough to identify. A stray hoodie hung off a chair, and a pair of sneakers sat by the door. Out of respect, Quinn left it alone to search other areas.
Eventually, his wandering led him back to the living room. The furniture was modern, but softened by plush throws and warm lighting from the corner lamp. Quinn sank into the couch with a quiet groan, allowing the cushions to swallow him whole.
The house was too quiet when his ears were still ringing faintly from the buzz of the crowd earlier. He leaned his head back against the armrest, eyes drifting to the fireplace that was begging to be lit, and decided he was a fucking moron for coming here.
A loud chime on his phone startled him into a momentary panic. Quinn dug it out of his pocket and checked the screen, frowning when he saw Eren’s name.
Eren: Don’t worry about taking the girls tomorrow, I got it covered. I know you’re not getting home until later since Cote told me that you’re refusing to let him go home
Quinn fought the urge to roll his eyes. Who would have thought that a bunch of grown men who beat the shit out of each other for a living would be such drama queens?
Quinn: Fine. Stop texting me and enjoy your night.
He waited for Eren to say something cringy and overprotective regarding August, but he was surprised when the subject was dropped, and he was left alone.
Well, only until his host came trampling down the stairs and joined him in the living room, shirtless and wearing grey sweatpants. August had a fluffy blue towel draped over his white hair, which was still dripping wet.
Quinn’s glare tracked the droplets as they slid down August’s chest, glinting against pale, tattooed skin. They followed the curve of hard muscle, teasing down over his sculpted abs before vanishing into the shadow of his waistband.
August looked down at himself. “What? Did I miss any blood?”
Quinn shimmied upright, keeping his back against the armrest and providing ample space so August wouldn’t have to sit close to him. “No, it’s just—your tattoos. I thought you would never get any because of your parents.”
The tattoos were impossible to ignore. They weren’t random or an impulse walk-in; they were too large and would have taken multiple appointments to complete.
Bold black lines carved across August’s pale skin in geometric symmetry, sweeping over both shoulders and angling toward his chest where they met in a ‘V’ between his pecs.
The designs also branched down his arms like stylized circuitry or sigils from an old ritual text.
The light caught the wet ink and made it glisten, emphasizing every curve of muscle beneath.
When August shifted, the lines seemed to move with him, making them appear alive, like a certain symbiotic alien from the Marvel Universe.
Quinn’s gaze tracked the patterns as they wrapped around to August’s back, all converging into a single spiral following his spine until they disappeared into his pants.
There were scars there too, three long lines that made a diagonal cut across his back, and Quinn knew from experience that tattooing through the damaged tissue on his spine had to have hurt like a bitch.
“Cyber-sigilism?” he asked.
August hadn’t moved the entire time Quinn had been staring. He was looking blankly out the window, so motionless that he could have passed for a statue.
“If you’re trying to think of an apology for what happened ten years ago, don’t worry about it,” said Quinn. “It’s not worth melting your brain over.”
That snapped August back into focus, and the intensity of it instantly redirected onto Quinn. “Apology…”
Quinn didn’t remember seeing August take a puck to the head during the game, but he was starting to wonder if he had missed something. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
August pulled the towel off his head, further messing up the short and snowy-white locks. “I’m great,” he said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t great at all. “About the apology—”
Quinn flinched, his body nearly going into flight mode when August plopped onto the couch. He hadn’t expected to hear a detailed apology because he figured August would never give it, and now he was regretting the earlier snobby remark.
“I can’t apologize because it’s impossible to be forgiven for what I did.” August had his eyes closed and was rubbing his temple, attempting to soothe the ache of the migraine he had mentioned before. “But I am sorry, for…whatever it’s worth.”
Quinn didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help but ask, “Was any of it real?”
August was a big guy, but the way he curled in on himself made him seem fragile. “You’re asking if I…”