Eliot slid the final two tiles from the pile onto the mosaic and stood back, waiting. Please, please, fucking please, he thought to himself as he watched the tiles. Nothing happened.

He groaned loudly, gripping his hair in frustration. They'd been here forever already, tried more combinations than he could count and the repetition and tedium was starting to drive him insane.

"Are you okay?" he heard and tore his hands from his face to meet Arielle's gaze. Eliot wasn't sure he'd ever stop hating how she insisted on wearing her blonde hair in the same miserable looking braid. And did she have to carry that fucking basket of peaches everywhere she went?

"Great," Eliot replied, spotting the bread boy a little way away and brushing past Arielle without another word. She stood still for a second then looked after him, a tight expression on her face. Quentin came from the house, kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her.

"Good morning," he plucked a peach from her basket and took a bite before he saw her face. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth then closed it again. She didn't want to come off sounding crazy and she didn't want to be wrong. She saw how Eliot and Quentin were around each other and wasn't prepared or eager to ever put Quentin in a position to choose.

"I just…I don't think Eliot likes me very much," she finally admitted, voice mild.

"Eliot? No. He's just…slow to warm up to people."

"Quentin," she said pointedly with a gesture over her shoulder. Quentin looked behind her to see Eliot standing with the local bread boy, Bryce, who'd came by a few times and was currently hip-to-hip, mouth-to-mouth with Eliot.

"Oh," Quentin managed.

"I don't think it's people he's slow to warm up to. I think it's me." Quentin opened his mouth to deny it but didn't have a single solid argument. In truth, he hadn't paid much attention to how they interacted. Quentin and Eliot's friendship was fine as was Quentin's relationship with Arielle and he'd used these facts to assume everything was fine.

"Can you talk to him?" Arielle asked, her wide eyes looking up at Quentin pleadingly.

"Arielle, I'm sure it's nothing-"

"Quentin," she said firmly and he stopped speaking. "Is he family to you?" Quentin didn't hesitate to answer.

"Yes."

"Then I want him to be family to me. Quentin, please."

"Annnnnd, nothing," Eliot huffed as yet another pattern failed. "It's your turn to write it down," he said as he stood and took another sip from his cup.

"Yea," Quentin started, fiddling with the paper. "Yea…hey, El?"

Eliot turned and raised his brows questioningly, the glow from the surrounding fires making his brown eyes light. It was late in the night, had to be nearing midnight, and Q and El were still at work on the mosaic. The torches lit around the square and their tiny cottage cast an orange glow over everything, completing the peaceful ambiance as crickets and other creatures that called Fillory home provided a soft soundtrack.

"Um," Quentin held his fingers to his lips as he thought of how to initiate the conversation.

"I realize my response was silent but still, I think this is the part where you say words," Eliot said with a smile.

"Right. Well, I guess there's no skipping around it, do you, um…do you hate Arielle?"

Eliot's brows rose again in disbelief. "Are you kidding? No, I don't hate Arielle."

Quentin breathed a sigh of relief, a huge weight lifting off his chest. "Thank god, cause she-"

"I mean, I don't particularly like Arielle but hate," he said, taking another sip as he leaned against a table. "Such a strong word."

Quentin blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," he said, his voice dry, his face growing cold suddenly.

"What has Arielle ever done to you?" Quentin asked, standing from the mosaic and approaching Eliot. "She cooks for us, she helps with laundry…"

"I said I didn't hate her."

"Eliot!" Quentin said firmly, his voice rising a bit. "Be serious."

Eliot rounded on him, setting the cup down.

"How am I supposed to feel, Q?" Eliot asked, advancing on him. "She shows up and then this idyllic little fairytale unfolds for you and fuck me in the background, right?" he scoffed as Quentin's face showed nothing but confusion at his words. Where was all this malice coming from? They spent every night and half the day together on the mosaic. "You kissed me," he went on. "You kissed me. How is it fair that you get to move on?" Eliot asked loudly, his finger landing sharply in the center of Quentin's chest.

Quentin fliched at the movement, growing angry as he processed Eliot's words. "Fair? This is my life," Quentin hissed. "And move on from what? This isn't about Arielle, this was never about Arielle-"

"It could never be about your precious Arielle, right?" Eliot spat condescendingly. "Waltzes in with her stupid fucking peaches, never lifts a hand to help with the mosaic, just hangs around-"

"Why are you saying this? Why would you say this-"

"I tried not to. You think I want to be standing here looking like a complete dick? I had to-"

"I have a wife! You're saying this now and I. have. a. wife!" Quentin suddenly exploded, his feelings, his confusion finally brimming over. His eyes shot to the house where Arielle slept and he lowered his voice. "She's pregnant," he finished lowly and it was a chore to meet Eliot's eyes after the words were out. Eliot was taken aback and his face showed as much, mouth half open, eyes wide.

"I…" he started but he couldn't find the sentence's end. He stopped to take in the moment; his rapid heartbeat, the black smog of anger sitting in his chest…and the overwhelmed look on Quentin's face. He took a thick breath and calmed himself down. Quentin needed him.

"Yea," Quentin said lamely. He didn't understand. It'd been Eliot who put a stop to discussing the kiss they shared. "W-what happened to 'saving our overthinking for the puzzle'?"

Eliot laughed. A soft, low laugh. "I meant let's not overthink it and instead just go with it." It was Quentin's turn to look shocked as he turned over the words. When Eliot dismissed the talk, he assumed the kiss, that night, the feelings he'd had were one sided. Assumed it was so underwhelming that Eliot didn't even want to discuss it for fear of ruining their friendship. "I pussied out, didn't want to talk about it. Then we got busy with the mosaic and I just thought we were waiting for the right time again," he continued, shaking his head pitifully. "I didn't know you were gonna fall in love, Q. I didn't know."

"It's not your fault," Quentin started quietly after a moment and Eliot met his eyes and held on as he spoke. "You weren't alone," he began, "It's not like you're crazy. I felt it, too. That night was amazing," he admitted and Eliot nodded emphatically and the two shared a laugh. "But I didn't know you were waiting," they grew quiet again, their smiles dropping. "And now…Arielle…"

Quentin paused to find the right words. "I love her," he said into Eliot's eyes so he knew he meant it.

"I know," Eliot responded, his voice a whisper. And he did. And he also knew his bitterness was a remnant of feelings that had now dulled and faded into a fierce, platonic love for his best friend.

"I love you, too," Quentin went on, eyes drilling in this declaration as well.

"I know."

"But…"

"It's different," Eliot finished for him, a weak, knowing smile on his face. Some part of his heart broke. A small part still holding on that hadn't fully embraced the concept of platonic.

"It's different," Quentin echoed. Eliot saw the worry start to grow on Q's face and rolled his eyes, making one thing clear before Quentin could dare start doubting it.

"Quentin Coldwater, you high-strung super nerd," he started, a small smile playing on his lips. "I will always love you."

Quentin smiled; that closed lip, wide, fond smile that was always just for Eliot. The two shared a hug, neither completely sure who initiated it and held each other tight, staying there long enough for their arms to grow sore from the strength of the embrace.

"So, what now?" Quentin asked as they moved apart.

"Now we raise a fucking baby," Eliot proclaimed. "I've always wanted to be a father," he said dreamily, fishing for a laugh.

"Eliot, you are a father," Quentin reminded.

"Oh, yeah. Right," Eliot deadpanned and they both broke into a fit of laughter. "I'm sorry I got bitchy and turned into a jealous ex," Eliot apologized, throwing an arm around Quentin's shoulder. "Promise I'll grow up and take my job as Daddy Number 2 very seriously."

Quentin laughed, walking them back to the mosaic. He stopped suddenly at the edge. "I'm fucking terrified, El," he said seriously, his face paling.

"Hey," Eliot said, gripping his shoulders til Q met his eyes. "The kid's got three chances to not end up fucked up," Eliot reasoned. "And if we all fail?" he shrugged. "I'll be with you every step of the way. We can fuck them up together."

A/N: I watched the mosaic scene literally a million times in the past two days and Eliot turns over and sees Q and Arielle kiss but we never. get. to. see. his. expression. So, naturally, I assumed El would be petty. That's why this exists.

I actually can't stop writing about Queliot. It's beginning to be a problem.