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Darren must’ve missed the notification in the chaos of the party. They lean against one of the neighbour’s front fences, frowning at their phone screen.
Quinni
🔇🆘
No words, followed by a familiar location pin.
Darren taps out a response, already walking in the direction of Quinni’s house.
Darren
be there asap
you ok?
Quinni starts typing, but doesn’t respond. Darren cuts through a gap between two houses, pocketing their phone.
It doesn’t take long for them to reach Quinni’s house, letting themself in through the unlocked window in the laundry. The house is dark and quiet, but Darren finds their way to Quinni’s bedroom door easily. They knock softly before sending another text.
Darren
im here, can i come in?
Quinni
👍
Darren opens the bedroom door as quietly as they can, scanning the mess of Quinni’s usually organised room before their eyes land on Quinni herself, knees pulled tightly to her chest as she sits on the floor, phone turned screen-down on the carpet beside her. Darren closes the door before moving to sit near Quinni.
“Hey, Quinni,” they murmur.
Quinni reaches out towards Darren’s hands, and Darren lets her hold them.
The pair sit like this for a long while, Quinni silently fidgeting with Darren’s hands, rocking slightly, Darren simply waiting.
When Quinni’s rocking slows, Darren breaks the silence.
“Quinni, would you like to stay sitting here, or would you like to do something?” As they speak, they indicate their left hand as the first option and their right hand as the second. It’s a routine they’ve been through dozens of times, a technique borrowed from one of Quinni’s childhood OTs, it’s practically second nature for them now.
Quinni squeezes their right hand.
“Okay. Would you like me to help you tidy up, or would you like to get ready for bed?” Darren asks, indicating their left and right hands again.
Quinni squeezes their left hand.
“Okay. Let’s start by standing up,” Darren says, standing up themself before tugging gently on Quinni’s hands. Quinni stands, leaning heavily against Darren.
Slowly, quietly, Darren leads Quinni through the motions of picking up the stray things on the floor, fixing the edge of the rug where it was buckled, straightening the bedcovers, and putting Quinni’s cosplay pieces back on their stand. Darren hasn’t read Evangeline, but after being friends with Quinni for so many years they’ve absorbed most of the story by infodump-osmosis. The pastel-coloured book lies abandoned on the floor near the doorway. Darren picks it up carefully, placing it next to the wig and horns on the desk.
“This isn’t just a ‘too much sensory input’ nonverbal meltdown, is it?” Darren asks. There’s no malice in their voice.
Quinnie shakes her head, her whole body moving with the gesture.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Darren asks.
Quinni lets herself fall onto her bed, pulling the nearest stuffed animal into her arms and squeezing it. Through the mess of movement that Darren knows to be Quinni as her unmasked self, they see a shrug of her shoulders. Darren sits on the edge of the bed, far enough away that they’re not touching Quinni, but close enough that she can reach them if she wants to.
“Did something happen at the book signing?”
Quinni shakes her head no.
“Did someone do something to hurt you?”
Quinnie nods, shuffling closer to Darren and resting her head on their lap. Darren runs their hand delicately through Quinni’s hair, tucking it behind her ear.
“Did something happen between you and Sasha?”
Quinni nods, rubbing roughly at their eyes.
“Hey, okay, hey, it’s okay Quinnie,” Darren says, taking one of Quinni’s hands in their own. “You’re gonna be okay.”