sea may rise, sky may fall

Celebrate one year with Eliot and Quentin as they navigate quarantine, mental health struggles, and rediscover intimacy in isolation. Trapped together in their Manhattan penthouse during a global pandemic, old traumas resurface while their bond deepens. From emotional vulnerability to passionate connection, explore how love endures even when the world feels like it's falling apart.

sea may rise, sky may fall

Celebrate one year with Eliot and Quentin as they navigate quarantine, mental health struggles, and rediscover intimacy in isolation. Trapped together in their Manhattan penthouse during a global pandemic, old traumas resurface while their bond deepens. From emotional vulnerability to passionate connection, explore how love endures even when the world feels like it's falling apart.

I wake to sunlight filtering through the curtains and the warm weight of Quentin pressed against my side. His breath fans gently against my chest, and for a moment, I simply lay there, cataloging the feel of his body against mine—the curve of his hip, the press of his thigh, the softness of his morning-mussed hair against my shoulder. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 8:17 AM, but in quarantine time, that doesn't mean much.

"Happy one year," he murmurs against my skin, voice rough with sleep. His hand slides across my stomach, fingers brushing the hair there before dipping lower.

I catch his wrist, bringing it to my lips to kiss his knuckles. "One year what?" I ask, even though I know exactly what he means.

"One year Monsterless," he says, pressing a kiss to my chest. "And boyfriended."

The familiar warmth blooms in my chest at the word. Boyfriend. It still feels new, even after a year. I roll onto my side, pulling him with me so we're face to face. His eyes are soft, the morning light catching the brown flecks and making them look like amber.

"I love you," I say, because it's true and because it's easier to say than it was a year ago. "Though I'm slightly offended you didn't get me an anniversary present."

Quentin laughs, the sound warm and familiar. "We're in the middle of a pandemic, Eliot. What was I supposed to do? Teleport to a jewelry store?"

"I would have accepted takeout sushi and a blowjob," I say, leaning in to brush my lips against his.

He pulls back with a mock-serious expression. "Hmm, I might have something like that planned. Though you'll have to earn the blowjob part."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, my hand sliding down to cup his ass through the thin fabric of his boxers. "And how would I earn that?"

His eyes darken slightly, and he presses closer, his morning-hard cock prodding against my thigh. "Maybe we could start by celebrating properly..."

His lips meet mine again, and for a moment, the outside world fades away—the pandemic, the quarantine, the memories that have been haunting me lately. There's only Quentin, warm and alive in my arms, and the promise of the day ahead.