Meet Marek!

Author: Willow
From:
LiveJournal
Topping: Whipped Cream
Flavours: Black Raspberry #6: fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Honey Nut #26: better to die on your feet than live on your knees.
Title: Meet Marek
Rating: G
Word count:1,495
Summary: Quinn has started his dream course at university. He feels like such an adult! But nobody else seems to be as conservative as he is. What’s with that DJ-Boy anyway?
Notes: The flavours are inspired by Quinn and Marek’s opposing personalities. Quinn is a ‘Black Raspberry’ and Marek is a ‘Honey Nut’, (kyuuu~). I know how this ends in my head, but I just don’t want to write any more of it. It’s been festering away in my e-folders, so I figured I would just let it go and post it up. Enjoy~


With a peaceful sigh, Quinn Cooper settled down to a bench by himself in the university grounds. He felt so mature here. The old stone buildings and other smiling students of about his age or older always reminded him of how far from home he was. He just felt older – more independent.

The green grounds almost seemed to glow in the light; even the clean kept walkways where students milled. He smiled up at the large maple tree that shaded him from the mid-day sun and then pulled his books out of his bag; THIEME: Atlas of Anatomy (for undergraduates) and Tympanoplasty, Mastoidectomy, and Stapes Surgery; the most expensive books Quinn had ever bought.

He started to work.

The wind rustled through his notebooks and blew his growing hair into his eyes, but he didn’t want to go inside and his essay was blooming across the page now. He still liked to write with a fountain-pen, it was just a shame his handwriting wasn’t beautiful.

Something smacked him hard in the side of the head! His eyes watered. As he began to sit up again, eyes wide and staring at his work in a painful trance, someone cried,

“I’m so sorry!”

They jogged closer. “Oh my God, are you alright?” they asked as Quinn removed his glasses. A warm hand settled on his back and he looked up to see one of the most gorgeous men he had ever met. His messy black hair framed his face – covering his ears, his eyes were very brown and his face was still a little boyish.

“Um, yeah…” mumbled Quinn, staring at him. He had DJ-headphones hanging around his neck. “What hit me?”

“What hit you?” the guy repeated, his voice loud. Quinn cursed himself for being soft spoken. “It was a tennis ball,” he said looking guilty. “We didn’t mean to hit you! Gerry over there threw it too hard. I would have caught it otherwise!” He then moved away and snatched up a tennis ball that sat snugly at the base of Quinn’s maple tree. Yes, he had decided to adopt it as a friend.

“Is he alright?” shouted someone else not too far away.

“Yeah he’s alright,” the black-haired-DJ-boy shouted back. Jogging past Quinn and returning to his friends he said ‘Sorry’ one last time, and then continued en-route. Quinn watched them stroll out of sight, redirecting his stare at his work when the black haired boy turned around. Still watching through his white-blond fringe, he saw the DJ boy walk backwards for most of the path, tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand.

It was eight o’clock. Quinn checked his watch every few minutes as he walked through the darkening south-west streets of London. He didn’t want to go to the freshers party – he really, really didn’t. It was all he could think of on the way there. Was he over dressed? Maybe he should undo the top three buttons of his shirt… Maybe just two. Should he un-tuck the shirt from his jeans, too? Yes, yes he should.

Quinn fussed and worried all the way to the night club his friends had begged him to visit. He stood and stared at the neon yellow lights over the doors: VOLTZ. At least it was a chance to use his ID.

Approaching the bouncers outside the doors, Quinn felt his stomach knot and twist together but worked hard to betray nothing on his face. Bouncers really were as big as the ones seen in films. With a polite, fleeting smile, Quinn flashed his new drivers licence; feeling like a rebellious teenager; and even though his licence was valid, he still felt relieved when they accepted it.

As soon as he slipped inside, trying his utmost hardest to maintain decorum, Quinn began searching for his friends; pretending he knew where they were amidst the noise, dancing bodies and multi-coloured lights.

His breathing grew heavier and he pinched his coat pocket to feel the hard lump of his inhaler. Quinn wasn’t panicking, he just felt squashed and very, very lost. And then, out of nowhere, Eve descended upon him like a ginger-blond whirlwind. She hugged his arm, making everything fine with the world.

“Quinn!” she gushed. He gave her a tight, though brief, embrace and kissed her cheek. She was a tall girl with pale skin and complimenting freckled cheeks, and who always smelt like a perfume shop. As the rest of their group greeted him and pulled him to a seat at the bar his confidence returned. But the confidence was short lived. A bottle of Apple Smirnoff’s was thrust into his hand and then he was tugged back into the dancing-mass.

Quinn did not mind dancing, in fact, he thought he was fairly decent at it, but when Eve and another female friend pulled him into the raving bodies, he felt ridiculous; not to mention uncomfortable. He didn’t like to dance the way Eve and Tanya did, bopping from side to side and swaggering their rounded bums. He just felt like an idiot, and encouraging the girl next to him to come closer (as Eve kept clamouring for) did not seem like a wise idea. Her drunken face said she was looking for something he didn’t particularly want to give.

Managing to survive one song, Quinn bolted back to the bar as soon as it was finished. He sighed and felt the tension release a little in his shoulders. How late was it? Ten-thirty? He should go home around eleven; otherwise he would never get up in time for class. Glancing at the Apple Smirnoff in his hand, too, Quinn deduced he should have no more than one other bottle.

Out of no where, Quinn was hit hard in the back; a hurtling weight slamming down on him. His forehead hit the counter and for a moment, he could have believed he was sinking into an oozing pit of nothingness. Someone grabbed his arm and yanked him up.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” they shouted over the music. “I’M SO SORRY!”

Someone else touched a hand to his back and asked the same thing.

“It’s alright,” Quinn managed to mumbled, feeling quite pissed off. There was a throbbing pain beginning to push against his skull. This was another reason why he hated clubs. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own little space that they had no regard for whose face their flailing arm whacked! This time he’d had the pleasure of a body slam.

The person who had body slammed into Quinn pushed him down onto a stool and asked again if he was alright. Quinn cast the man a quick, peeved smile and turned away, glaring at his bottle as the idiot disappeared.

He sighed and slumped onto the counter.

As Quinn sulkily poked his forehead, testing to see how much it hurt, he gazed to his left. He watched the young bar tender take order after order in a brisk, efficient manner…when Quinn noticed a familiar face. He perked up, and leaned forward to get a better look.

It was the DJ-boy! His black hair looked extra bouncy tonight and his thin red t-shirt complimented his skin. Quinn never had seen such brown eyes before. The boy jerked his head to flick hair out of his face, and for a moment, Quinn caught sight of the full of his grin. Wide and confident. Cute and cheeky.

And then the DJ-boy caught sight of him.

Quinn snapped his gaze away, not wanting to be noticed and stared at the rim of his Smirnoff bottle, stroking his long fingers over the condensation on it. He looked across again. The DJ-boy had gone and Quinn was surprised that he felt disappointed about this.

With a flurry of motion, Eve collapsed into a stool next to him and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing sat down?” she panted, grinning. Her face glistened with sweat and her hair fell about her reddened skin. “This is club! You don’t sit down in a club!” Before Quinn could find the words to protest, she began heaving him off his seat. As they pressed past those waiting to buy drinks, Quinn caught sight of the DJ-boy coming in their direction. The boy grinned and waved at him. Then noticed that Quinn was being dragged off.

His face changed into a more suggestive smile and Quinn realised that the DJ-boy believed he had ‘pulled’ Eve. Feeling a little more assertive, Quinn yanked his arm out of Eve’s grip.

“No thank you,” he told her and made to go over and greet the DJ-boy, but he was walking away.

It would be weird if Quinn went after him, and so, he agreed to join Eve when she tugged at his hand again.

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