Page 175 of Saving Sparrow
“And they’re coming to hang out with us?”
“They’re coming by to help you get ready for drag night.” Quentin ran his hands up and down Elliott’s arms.
“Dragnight? Hold on… They still want us to come to drag night?”
“Fuck yeah. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because you’ve been an idiot—no offense.”
“Oh,allthe fucking offense,” Quentin scoffed. “I’ve been an asshole.”
“And you think Kayden’s Twink-Bundy.”
“I’m working on that.”
Elliott threw his arms around him, kissing him in between saying, “I love you.”
We helped Elliott organize his clothes by color. He said it would make it easier for Kayden to sift through. Quentin and I thought he was nervous and wanted to keep himself busy. A knock sounded on the apartment door a while later.
“I’ll get it.” I didn’t trust Quentin to meet them at the door.
“Out of the way, professionals coming through.” Kayden breezed in, garment bags in hand. “Where’s my muse?”
“First door on your left,” I called as he marched down the hall.
“Hi again.” Rachel smiled, carrying what I assumed to be a makeup case.
“Let me get that.” I took it from her, leading the way to the spare bedroom.
“Okay, let’s see what we’re working with.” Kayden went through racks of clothes while Elliott wrung his hands. Quentin stared comically at the tornado—also known as Twink-Bundy/Kayden.
“Don’t be nervous,” I said to Elliott, setting Rachel’s case down on the vanity table.
“Yeah, don’t be,” she said. “This is the fun part.” She gestured for him to sit on the stool.
“Well, we’ll get out of your way.” I pulled Quentin up from the loveseat, dragging him into the hall and closing the door.
“It’s fine.” I paced in circles. “He’ll be fine,we’llbe fine, everyone will be fine. It’s perfectly normal for people in relationships to do their own thing sometimes. It’s fine.”
“Then why do you sound like that?” Quentin quirked a brow.
“Like what?”
“Like Mariah Carey when she hits the high notes.”
“I do not.” I frowned. “Okay, maybe I do.” I sagged, letting Quentin pull me into a hug.
We were still standing in front of the door when it swung open over an hour later. Rachel gave us a pointed stare.
“Baby steps,” I said to her. She stepped aside, Elliott coming into view.
“Fuck. Is it too late to change our minds?” Quentin muttered.
“Growth,” I reminded him.
Elliott’s now pin-straight hair fell around his shoulders. Silver pencil lined his eyes, the matching mascara covering his lashes. It made his blue irises look frosty.
His lips were a pretty pink, a shade darker than their natural color, and his cheeks were dusted a soft red. His eyelids sparkled too.
