Chapter Text
"I don't know you, but I want you, all the more for that,"
- Falling Slowly
Quentin Coldwater wished he could say that he wasn’t a nervous little fuck, but he absolutely was. Nerves rattled through him and twisted his stomach and made his hands sweaty, but starting over tended to do that to a person. But there was also something else brewing inside his chest: hope. Hope that maybe this year would be better and maybe this time he’d make friends and maybe this time he’d be able to find a place where he belonged. Starting over also tended to do that to a person.
Quentin was not a fan of starting over, though. He’d done it too many times and he wasn’t very good at it. He was a little bit awkward and shy and didn’t know how to carry conversations. Once he actually made a friend, and if it was the right friend, then it was fine. But it was the actual making of the friend part that he sucked at. He had just kind of stumbled into Julia and James during high school, the three of them ruling the drama department of their teenage years. Julia had easily swooped Quentin into her life and they’d been best friends ever since, even when James moved across the country and they went to separate colleges. But now, it was a comfort to know that even though he was starting over at a new college, Julia was going to be there.
Julia had actually been here, at Brakebills University for the last two years. Quentin had attempted to go to a different school (Yale, no biggie) for philosophy of all fucking things, and discovered that he hated it and dropped out a year and half in. He’d taken the semester off to take care of his mental health and applied to Brakebills. Julia had spoken to him at length over the last couple of years about the Brakebills Theatre Department, so it seemed like the natural place to go. Quentin had decided to fuck his parent’s expectations and pursue what he was really passionate about: theatre.
Which led him to where he was now: walking up to the Chatwin Theatre on campus. Quentin had moved into his apartment a couple days ago and arranged with a faculty advisor to get a tour of the space with one of the student ambassadors. In all the time that Julia had been there, he’d never actually gone to visit, so the towering brick building and the large and seemingly bottomless fountain in front of it were entirely new to him. He’d be lying to himself he didn’t admit that the sight of the theatre made his breath catch in his throat. Quentin was a nervous little fuck but he was also a sentimental little fuck, and the sight of any theatre anywhere made him emotional. The glowing sign of the theatre’s name and the marquees and banners of the upcoming shows always filled him with a certain light that he couldn’t get anywhere else in the world.
And to be at the Chatwin Theatre of all places? The theatre named after his favorite set of sibling playwrights? He didn’t know why he ever bothered with philosophy at Yale.
Quentin approached the theatre with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, running a couple of minutes behind. He then noticed that the plaza in front of the theatre wasn’t completely empty, for on a brick wall just off to the side of the fountain lounged a very handsomely dressed man. Despite the August heat hanging in the air, the man wore a button up shirt, vest and tie. He was also smoking, and Quentin remembered hearing that Brakebills was a smoke free campus.
But there was a certain air of….theatricality about the stranger. He was, after all, lounging as if he was posing for a painting class, back on one elbow, one long leg draped across the stone, the other propped up, and dramatically smoking. He looked so regal in everything about his manner that it took Quentin a moment to notice that he was actually about his own age, which made Quentin assume he was the student ambassador that Professor Sutherland had told him about. So he approached the man- guy- student- dude- whatever and in a typical Q fashion: awkwardly stumbling over.
The other man flicked his eyes to him and searched him up and down. He took another long drag of his cigarette and exhaled before sitting up and quirking an eyebrow. Since he was now facing Quentin full on now, he was able to get a better look at him. He drank in the perfectly styled hair and the strong jawline and aquiline nose and and dark eyes and slight stubble and-
“Quentin Coldwater?” He said, Quentin’s name rolling off his tongue in such a way that Quentin’s first thought was “definitely an actor” and second thought was “please say my name again” and third thought was “oh, I have to respond.”
“Uh huh,” was all he could get out in the presence of the handsome stranger.
The stranger hopped off the wall and approached Quentin slowly, maintaining heavy eye contact. Quentin’s brain was practically going haywire and he momentarily forgot to breathe under the steady gaze of the taller man and oh boy he was tall. He was vaguely reminded of a lion stalking his prey. Or the first time Q went into a gay bar.
He hoped that this was a bit more like the later.
“I’m Eliot,” The man said, dropping his name like it was a gift to be bestowed upon Quentin.
And it was.
“You’re late,” Eliot said, giving Quentin one last look over before taking off in the direction of the theatre. Eliot didn’t stop to look back at Quentin as his long legs carried him towards the set of front doors.
“Uh, sorry,” Quentin stuttered. “There was traffic and I live really far from campus-”
Quentin stopped talking the moment they walked into the lobby because in the typical theatrical nerd fashion that was Quentin Makepeace Coldwater’s entire existence, his breath was taken away again. True, there was nothing truly extraordinary about this lobby. It had bathrooms and concession stand and screens that were rolling old show photos and a logo and a few more banners and a box office but it was a theatre . And it smelled like one. And it had been so long since he had actually been inside a theatre that for a moment, the feeling in his chest sparked again. The feeling that as long as he was in this building, everything was going to be okay.
Eliot didn’t stop for him to take his emotional moment, however, and was already halfway across the lobby. Quentin had to double time to catch up to him.
“We have three stages,” Eliot drawled. “The Main Stage, which is a proscenium. The Lab, which is a black box. And the Carousel, which is in the round,”
They passed the box office, where a cheery young woman waved.
“Hi, Eliot!” She called out to them.
“Say hello to Fen, our lead House Manager,” Eliot said, blowing a kiss to Fen as they passed. Eliot had the hint of a smile on his face to be greeting the woman, but it soon dissipated back into his composed look. Quentin had only known Eliot for less than five minutes, but he knew when someone had their walls up. Eliot gestured vaguely at a painting of Jane Chatwin on the far wall.
“There’s good ole Lady Jane. She definitely haunts this place” He said, disinterest dripping off his voice, and Quentin made a mental note to come back and take a picture later. “Don’t ask me to tell you the history of this place because I don’t know it. I just go here,” Eliot lead them through the lobby and through a door and down a flight of stairs
“That’s okay,” Quentin said, “I’m actually pretty familiar with the Chatwins,”
Eliot rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re a super fan,”
Quentin furrowed his brow. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d say super-”
“This is the Green Room,” Eliot cut him off, pushing through another set of doors to a room that radiated home . Couches with plush pillows, tables large enough to seat a whole crew of people, a little hospitality station off to the side, a cork board with an assload of papers tacked to it, and old show posters lining the walls. “It’s empty right now,” Eliot continued, “But when classes start up, people hang out in here during the day. Eat lunch, do homework, take a nap, the usual. It’s a nice escape from the muggles,”
Eliot pointed to the other end of Green Room, where a door was propped open and he could see a set of washers and dryers. “Back there is the dressing rooms and the wardrobe room where they do the laundry and store all the makeup stuff,”
Quentin shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll ever be in there,”
Eliot's eyes flicked to Quentin. “What’s your focus?” He asked in a way that radiated both curiosity and “I don’t care what the answer is.”
“Props,” Quentin responded, with pride. He wasn’t good at a lot of things in his life, but the one place he seemed to excel was mending broken props and building new ones.
Eliot nodded. “I see that for you,” in a tone that Quentin couldn't quite read.
And then they were moving through more sets of doors and more hallways until they reached what clearly was the scene shop. It was your average scene shop with power tools everywhere and a thin layer of sawdust and paint covering everything. And in the center of the room was a very large and unfinished set piece, and by it, on a ladder, was a girl with long curly hair.
“Kady, this is Quentin,” Eliot introduced. The girl, Kady waved her power drill at them. “Quentin this is the resident scenic protegee of the department. Carpentry, designing, painting, you name it, she can do it,” Eliot said, and Kady grinned.
“You’re damn right, I can,” She said before returning to her project.
The tour continued through a door and into a dark and cold space, to which Eliot instantly said “Oh, shit, right. They’re focusing today,” and Quentin instantly recognized it as a backstage. Eliot led them through the darkness, pointing out the sound systems and the dimmer room and the staircase up to the catwalks and grid and the staircase down to the trap room and the various projectors attached to the wall and the prop closet and the stage management station and all the things that typically belonged backstage.
And then they got onstage.
To Quentin, there was no sight more beautiful in the whole world than a theatre in darkness. He could see the edge of the stage and the rows and rows of red seats behind it, stretching up and up to the back row where he could see a sound booth and a light from a window that was the actual booth. The house lights were on low, and the only light on stage was a single spotlight focused on a petite blonde girl.
The girl held a clipboard of papers in her hand and wore a short skirt and glasses. She was currently looking at the pool of light at her feet, and shook her head.
“Can it be any sharper, Penny?” She called up into the ceiling. There was a squeaking noise and grunting in the darkness.
“I’m trying, but this is the fresnel that Todd fucked up last year,” the voice, Penny, called back.
“Fucking Todd,” The girl crossed her arms with a huff.
Quentin very much did not want to interrupt, but Eliot grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him on stage. The blonde girl jumped as the two men emerged from the darkness, and she squinted at them. “Is that you, Eliot?” She asked.
“It is I,” he responded. “And I’ve got a new transfer student,” Eliot pushed Quentin forward.
“Uh, hi, I’m Quentin,” He waved.
“Alice,” was all the blonde said, giving him a cool and unimpressed stare. She then gestured up into the catwalks. “And that’s Penny. We’re Team Lighting,”
Eliot cocked his head up to the catwalks. “How’s the view from up there, Penny?”
“Eat shit, Eliot,”
Eliot turned his gaze to Quentin and smiled. “We’re all friends here,”
“No, we’re not, Eliot,” Penny called from the catwalk.
Eliot flipped Penny off and led Quentin away.
“Don’t mind Penny,” Eliot said once they were out of ear shot. “He’s a little prickly, but he's all bark and no bite.”
Quentin shrugged, and tested the waters with a teasing smile. “All you had to say he was lighting tech,” Eliot laughed, almost surprised at the comment and giving Quentin a look of approval.
Quentin was secretly glad.
Eliot led them past some offices and the printer and the costume shop, where they built everything in house. Quentin made a comment about Julia, to which Eliot’s eyebrows shot up.
“You know the Costume Goddess?” He asked.
Quentin grinned. “Yeah, Jules and I went to high school together,”
Eliot, once again, looked impressed. “Well, we love our Julia here at the Chatwin Theatre. So if she approves of you, you must be something special.” And there it was again, the up and down look that made Quentin want to melt. This entire tour was beginning to feel like his audition for whether or not Eliot liked him, and as the more time the taller man spent with Quentin, the more relaxed he became. The more his face shifted from its original air of “I’m too cool for this,” to a quiet intrigue and genuine smile.
And Quentin really hoped he got the part.
Eliot showed him the black box theatre, located above the Green Room and most typically used for student productions, and the paint shop and the trap room and finally, they made their way to the prop shop, which was just outside of the trap room and the Master Electrician’s office.
(Eliot explained to him that, despite being attached to a university, the Chatwin Theatre was actually a functioning professional theatre with real adults who worked alongside the students. Eliot was so proud of their status as a LORT D Equity theatre and how they could get EMC points and this that and the other thing that Quentin didn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t understand any of what he just said. Or that Julia had already tried explaining it to him.)
The Prop Shop was everything he dreamed it would be. It was state of the art, with an impressive array of tools and weird assortments of props piled up everywhere. There was a whole wall was just filled with bolts of fabric and another wall with just old table legs. Quentin was grinning so wide he thought his face was gonna burst. Eliot let him pitter around for a moment and introduce himself to the head Prop Master (who he already knew via email) and check out the cool 18th century chairs that they were currently working on. But soon he was getting dragged away by the arm again, with Eliot insisting that they had more theatre to see.
“Come on, we still have to go to Fillory,” Eliot had said, and at this point, Quentin accept that he probably wouldn’t understand most of what his guide was talking about. But he let himself be led back up through the maze of the theatre, back through several sets of doors and up staircases and through weirdly small hallways, back out into the sunlight of the day. The pair trekked from the main building to a smaller and rounder building just to the side of it.
“The Ember U. Fillorian Carousel Theatre is one of the first In The Round theatres in the country,” Eliot stated, taking them along the side of the building to the front doors. “They used to take the walls off during the summer, which was cool back then, but now it just floods every time it rains,” Eliot pointed at the edge of the walls, where it didn’t quite meet the ground.
“I thought you said you didn’t know the history,” Quentin remarked, to which Eliot shot him a playful smile.
“Don’t get cheeky, Coldwater,” He said, pulling open the front door. “We started calling it Fillory my freshman year when I was on wardrobe crew for a show and it was so fucking far away from the rest of everything that it was like it was a whole other world,”
“Fitting,” Quentin replied as they stepped into the space. He had never worked in a theatre in the round before, but it was cool to see the funky and round space. And in the center of it, was another person on another ladder with another tool.
God, he’d missed theatre.
“Josh, this is Quentin,” Eliot called out, “Quentin, this is Josh Hoberman, our resident Sound Guy. He also makes the best edibles,” Eliot said the last part a bit more under his breath and with a wink in Quentin’s direction. He tried to hide his blush in his hair.
“Hey man, how’s it going?” Josh called out, waving a wrench enthusiastically.
Quentin only offered and awkward grin and a shrug before Eliot was dragging him away to leave Josh back to hanging his speakers. Once they were back outside, Eliot pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter again.
“That’s the main tour,” He said, offering one to Quentin, who declined, “The rehearsal rooms are on the other side of campus. It’ll take you a little while to get used to the layout and remember all the names, but you’ll get there eventually. Especially if you work on a show soon,”
“Oh! I am!” Quentin said, and Eliot raised another eyebrow. He seemed to do that a lot. Maybe Quentin was just that awkward. “I am, uh, working a show. Soon. Um, the first one of the season. I’m Assistant Props Master for Peter and the Starcatcher. Which starts in like, three days,”
Eliot looked impressed, again , and the butterflies in Quentin’s stomach fluttered. “Well, good for you, getting involved so soon,” He said waving the lit cigarette around with his hand. “I guess I’ll see you at the first rehearsal, then. I’m playing Blackbeard,”
“I see that for you,” Quentin said, deadpan, nodding.
Eliot bit his lip, and stared Quentin down.
Quentin held his gaze, heart beating fast.
Eliot smiled.
“You’re gonna do just fine here,” Eliot broke the tension.
Quentin exhaled.
“Well, I’ve got dinner plans, but I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Eliot said, waving politely before strutting away. “See you around, Coldwater,” He called over his shoulder.
Quentin watched him go.
He had a good feeling about this school.