Knows Best

After decades of shared history, Eliot and Quentin have built a life together in Fillory raising their son Teddy. But beneath the domestic tranquility lies unresolved tension, unspoken declarations, and a love that has weathered time, doubt, and the ghosts of their past. As their family grows and Teddy faces his own relationship challenges, Eliot finds himself confronting the deepest question of all - does Quentin truly know how much he means after all these years?

Knows Best

After decades of shared history, Eliot and Quentin have built a life together in Fillory raising their son Teddy. But beneath the domestic tranquility lies unresolved tension, unspoken declarations, and a love that has weathered time, doubt, and the ghosts of their past. As their family grows and Teddy faces his own relationship challenges, Eliot finds himself confronting the deepest question of all - does Quentin truly know how much he means after all these years?

The fire crackles in the hearth, casting amber shadows across the cottage walls as the evening chill settles outside. Quentin sits in his favorite chair by the fire, the mosaic pattern book open on his lap, but his gaze has wandered to the window. The fading light catches in his gray-streaked hair, and I notice the slight tremor in his hand as he turns a page.

It's our fortieth winter together in this cottage, and I've spent every one of them learning the lines of his face, the patterns of his breathing, the way he worries his lower lip when something troubles him. Right now, that lip is being thoroughly worried.

"You've barely touched your cider," I say, setting my own nearly empty mug on the table beside me. The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks upward.

Quentin startles slightly, as if emerging from a deep reverie. "Hmm? Oh. Just thinking." His fingers trace the edge of the pattern book without really seeing it.

"About the puzzle?" I ask, though I know better. The mosaic has become his refuge, the endless patterns something solid to hold onto when his body betrays him with stiffness and pain.

"About Teddy's visit," he says quietly. "He seemed... concerned. About us."

The fire casts shadows that make him look older than his years, the lines around his eyes deepening as he stares into the flames. I've spent decades reading him, yet in moments like this, I wonder if I've ever truly understood what lies beneath the surface of his quiet contemplation.

"He's a parent now," I say, keeping my voice light. "Worrying is part of the job description."

But my words don't reach him. He closes the book gently, placing it on the small table beside his chair. When he looks at me, his brown eyes are dark with something I can't quite identify - fear, regret, longing? After forty years, there are still mysteries in those eyes.

"Do you ever wonder..." he begins, then trails off, shaking his head slightly as if dismissing the thought.

I lean forward in my chair, the familiar ache in my knees a reminder of the years that have passed between us. "Wonder what, Q?"

He meets my gaze directly then, and I see it clearly - vulnerability, raw and unguarded. "If we made the right choice. Settling here. Just... being ordinary."

The silence hangs between us, heavy with forty years of shared history, unspoken fears, and the weight of all we've left behind. Outside, a branch taps against the window, a gentle reminder of the world beyond our little cottage. Inside, the fire continues to burn, casting its warm light on the two old men who have found something extraordinary in their ordinary life together.