The reading nook at Brakebills is my sanctuary. Tucked away in the Physical Kids Cottage, it's small enough to feel like a secret, with warm golden lights and piles of cushions that make the world outside fade away. Right now, that world feels particularly overwhelming.

Dad called again last night. Another argument. Another reminder that I'll never be enough. The weight of it sits heavy on my chest as I curl up with a Fillory book, seeking escape between familiar pages.

The sliding door whispers open, and before I can protest, Eliot's climbing over me to settle in the far corner. His cologne mixes with the scent of old books, a combination that's become weirdly comforting.

"Hey there, Q," he says cheerfully, like invading my hiding place is the most natural thing in the world.

I grumble some protest, but we both know I don't mean it. If I really wanted to be alone, I would have made myself impossible to find. Eliot knows this better than anyone.

We settle into opposite ends of the nook, a comfortable silence falling between us. I try to focus on my book, but find myself watching Eliot instead, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studies Ancient Sumerian texts. The vulnerability of this moment—the two of us just existing together in this tiny space—feels significant somehow.

After a while, I realize I've stopped reading altogether, staring at the wood paneling above me as the weight of my father's words presses down again.

"You ever think about how bullshit the whole concept of a happy ending is?" I hear myself saying, the words escaping before I can stop them. "Endings aren't happy. It's never good when things end."

Eliot sets aside his books, giving me his full attention. "Maudlin, but not inaccurate," he says carefully.

I feel the tears coming before I can stop them. "Yeah, well, it's fucking bullshit," I manage, my voice breaking.

Eliot's hand finds mine, our pinkies linking in a tentative connection that somehow means more than a full grasp. "Your dad?" he asks softly.

I nod, turning toward him as the dam breaks, tears flowing freely now. Without saying anything, Eliot shifts closer, our knees touching as we curl toward each other like closed parentheses. The reading nook suddenly feels even smaller with both of us moving, but not claustrophobic—safe.

Before I fully register what I'm doing, I'm pressing my face against his shoulder, letting the tears soak into his shirt. He doesn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around me as I cry, his hands warm and steady against my back.

When I finally pull back, my face is hot and swollen, but Eliot's looking at me with a tenderness that takes my breath away. "Can you just... stay with me? For a little while?" I ask, unable to meet his eyes.

He smiles, a small, private smile that feels like it's just for me. "As long as you need."

We shift positions until we're lying together, Eliot's arm still around me, our legs tangled together beneath the blankets. The weight of the world outside hasn't disappeared, but it feels more manageable somehow—distant, like it can't reach us in here.

Eliot reaches up, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead, his fingers lingering against my skin. I meet his eyes then, and something unspoken passes between us—recognition, need, possibility. The air feels charged with it, the small space suddenly too hot.

I can feel his breath against my face, his body warm and solid beside me. The reading nook has always been my hiding place, but right now, I don't want to hide from what's happening between us. I want to lean into it.

Eliot's eyes flick down to my lips, and then back up to meet my gaze, a question in his expression.