Reserved for CK
He had gone home from An Tsi with an optimistic joy written deeply into his mood and his brain replaying his favorite parts of the night spent with Malakai. He texted the vampire to let him know he was home safe - as was their habit - and their conversation continued lightly throughout the evening, little pockets of flirtation appearing casually and easily. When he tucked himself into his bed early that morning, watching the deepening night sky out his bedroom window, he pulled the covers up over his shoulders, smiled and pressed a blush into his pillow and fell into a normal sleep.
The rest of the week had dragged by without much ado - although there was that outrageous sex toy bingo upstairs at the Rabbit one night (he had managed to catch the tail end of it before his shift, watching a bright red college aged girl walk out with an 18-inch dildo fatter than her wrist). On Thursday he and Tommy stopped by for a drink or two at the downstairs bar to watch To Ashes play, his chest aflutter with watching Malakai sing. He left without saying anything to the lead singer, thankful that no one in the band had noticed either of them at the bar, though LJ did a bit of playful teasing before buying him and Tommy a shot.
On Saturday, he and Freddy had almost gotten into an argument again when Freddy told him that he'd be barbacking instead of running shots, essentially stripping Quinn of the ability to double his tips. Quinn had walked away with the intention of talking to LJ, but decided that it was just one of Freddy's petty ways of getting under his skin after the whole Jerry situation. Coincidentally, he saw the two of them leave the bar together that night with a hot flare of anger. Two years down the fucking drain. Usually he dwelled on such things and took them to heart, but this time he was able to take it with a bit more stride, thinking instead of his upcoming date with Malakai.
When the day arrived for his first actual date with Mal, Quinn once again found himself lacking a proper amount of things to keep him distracted from himself. He went to the gym early in the morning for a little more than an hour before running some errands around town - grocery shopping for Mrs. Henderson, himself, paying a monthly bill of one of his store credit cards, and picking up his library books from Tommy's place. By the time he returned to his apartment, it was barely noon, still several hours before he needed to be ready for Malakai to pick him up. He sat down on the sagging couch for a couple hours of reading one of the library books, this one a story about a love affair with a woman where the narrator's gender was never given. He finished the story and made himself something to eat.
Self-doubt tried to creep in around mid-afternoon. It almost succeeded until Quinn had the wisdom to pack his favorite bowl with some Malibu Pie and chill the fuck out. As smoke filled his lungs and his demons leveled out, he got up and showered, once again refusing the opportunity to give himself a quick tug - stupid vampires and their impossible sense of smell, he thought to himself, knowing well enough that he must have been in Mal's presence smelling fresh of sex before considering who Jerry was - and a shave anywhere else but his face. After all, he was determined to be good and go home alone tonight.
In a very smart, but uncharacteristic move, Quinn had selected his clothes the night before, knowing that he was going to face a ridiculous amount of indecision as soon as he stepped out of the shower. After throwing on a pair of black stretch boxer-briefs from Calvin Klein - with a yellow band, of course - he stepped into a slim fitted pair of navy blue jeans. Past-Quinn had chosen a soft, thin, forest green V-neck that he no longer had confidence in, so Quinn tugged down a light gray scoop neck tee from the closet instead and topped it with a light-weight charcoal denim shirt that he kept open. He added a long necklace and forest green suede derby sneakers to finish off the look. In the mirror, he moved his hair around on the top of his head, trying to calm the drying strands that disobeyed any sense of gravity with some pomade. If Mal hadn't been some kind of damn fashion designer, Quinn would have probably felt more secure about his clothing decision. After looking in the mirror and criticizing himself for several minutes, he left the bathroom to polish off the rest of the blunt.
He was outside waiting for Malakai with a racing heart and irritating butterflies in his stomach easily ten minutes before their selected time. Quinn smoked two cigarettes as he waited, blowing the last bit of smoke from his second cig just as Malakai pulled up to the curb.