(this is) the beat of my heart

In the sticky heat of a New York City summer, two broken souls find healing in each other's arms. Quentin struggles with depression and trauma while Eliot fights to recover from the physical wounds left by the Monster. Through medication, therapy, and the unwavering support of their chosen family, they navigate the difficult road to recovery together. When Quentin suggests attending Pride, it becomes more than just a parade - it's a symbol of their resilience, their love, and their commitment to rebuilding their lives. Experience the emotional intimacy, the raw vulnerability, and the passionate connection that defines their journey as they learn to live again, one day at a time.

(this is) the beat of my heart

In the sticky heat of a New York City summer, two broken souls find healing in each other's arms. Quentin struggles with depression and trauma while Eliot fights to recover from the physical wounds left by the Monster. Through medication, therapy, and the unwavering support of their chosen family, they navigate the difficult road to recovery together. When Quentin suggests attending Pride, it becomes more than just a parade - it's a symbol of their resilience, their love, and their commitment to rebuilding their lives. Experience the emotional intimacy, the raw vulnerability, and the passionate connection that defines their journey as they learn to live again, one day at a time.

The weight of the medication in my pocket is a constant reminder—of how far I've come and how easily it could all unravel. The summer heat presses down on us as Eliot and I walk hand in hand through the park, the excitable puppy Dessy tugging at her leash ahead of us.

"You seem quiet today," Eliot observes, his thumb brushing gently against the back of my hand. His touch is deliberate, grounding—a reminder that he's here, that we're both here, in this moment.

I glance up at him, noting the faint furrow between his brows. Even after all this time, he reads me too easily. The medication has helped—given me space between the darkness and myself—but some days, the effort of just being feels overwhelming.

"Just thinking," I say, squeezing his hand. "About Pride. About how far we've come."

Eliot's lips curve into a soft smile. "We've earned this day, Q. Both of us."

Dessy drops a slobbery tennis ball at my feet, staring up at me with hopeful eyes, and I can't help but laugh. In that moment, with the sun warm on my skin, Eliot's hand in mine, and the promise of Pride ahead of us, I almost believe him.

"What if I'm not ready?" I hear myself asking, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "What if I..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

Eliot stops walking, turning to face me fully. He cups my cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing away the hair that has fallen across my forehead. There's a scar along his wrist that I trace with my fingertips whenever I need to feel grounded.

"Then we leave," he says simply. "No questions, no judgment. But I think you are ready, baby. You've been fighting so hard, and this—" he gestures to the rainbow flags visible in the distance "—is for people like us. People who have fought to be here, to be themselves."

His words wash over me, and for a moment, I can almost feel the weight lifting—of depression, of guilt, of fear. Dessy barks excitedly, as if she understands, and I lean into Eliot's touch.

"Okay," I say, surprising myself with my own certainty. "Let's do this."

He leans down to kiss me, soft and slow, in the middle of the busy park. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright.

"That's my boy," he says, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him.