make you miss me • q. hughes

49

Quinn pauses at the top of the little staircase leading to the attic, better known as my bedroom. His hand isn't twisting the doorknob. He looks over his shoulder at me. "Before I walk in, should I be expecting any posters of any hockey player? Specifically one with the initials S.C.?"

"If you don't walk in right now, I'm sleeping on the couch," I say.

He walks in instantly. Barely even a full footstep before he freezes, sending me nearly walking right into his back. I push him gently. He doesn't even budge. I push harder. Nothing! The guy is a wall. Somebody get him some goalie gear. Putting my freezing-cold hands up his shirt doesn't even work. Usually that gets him moving real quick.

"Okay, Quinn," I carefully say. "Do you need a doctor?"

"Dude," he says.

Again, my attempts at moving him don't work. "Did you just 'dude' me?"

"I know you love me but this... This is excessive."

"What are you—" He moves out of the way. Right there, above the bed of my childhood bedroom I haven't even come close to changing the decorations since I went to college, are three different posters of Quinn. I didn't even know those exist. "Oh, I'm killing that kid before his draft day."

"Speaking of which—"

"You're sitting with us. You and Luke both," I state.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Your brother already said yes." I shrug as he gives me the most exasperated glare. I didn't even know you could look exasperated while glaring at someone.

"I don't want to take away from his moment," Quinn says. His back is to me, looking at all the pictures on my dresser.

I already know what pictures are there. Me and my brothers all on the ice together, Finch on his ass from barely being able to skate yet. Or it's the fact I tripped him if you ask Mom. Either way, we all paid him no mind since the three of us were so intent on getting the puck. Tiny and I in our dorm freshman year. Her smiling and me mid complaint about how many pictures were being taken. Me, Lya, and Jem at their wedding. My face is pulled together in confusion at Jem clearly drunkenly cheering.

Then there's the one of just me. My focused running face right as I crossed the finish. It was the year I got first in the league for cross country. My last year of high school running. Dad jokes only I could make running look murderous. That picture was the first time I saw it. You can sort of see Dad laughing way down the lines of parents waiting for their kids to lose to me.

"Please, that kid is not going to let anyone think about anyone but him the moment his name is called," I say. "He's like a cute little puppy. And nothing's better than an excited puppy."

As if on cue, one of the dogs barks to be let outside. I close my door before joining Quinn at the dresser. Was he having a similar moment to mine in his room at the lake? That intimate feeling of everything being so overwhelmingly another person? Proof they were human in that very space. This is the only room I've ever had that might feel that way. It's so worn at the edges.

"Wish you had one where you're smiling," he says so softly.

I shrug. "Guess I like seeing other people happy more than seeing it on me. I mean, I'm happy in all of them. I know that much."

Quinn picks up the frame with me and my brothers. "Did you trip him?"

"Allegedly."

His laugh bounces around the room. It peels at the edges even more. It gives it even more memories to hold. Quinn now exists in this room. This part of my life officially has made its way here. And it won't forget about it anytime soon.

"I'll ask Mom if she has any spare picture frames and we can print out a picture of us to add," I say.

He sets the picture frame back. My fingers itch to put it right back where it was. He's already fixing it before I can. Quinn glances at me. "Only if you're smiling in it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

There's a beat of silence. At that beat, Quinn makes his way to my bookshelf. It's not as full as it once was. I took a lot of books with me over the years. There's a small gasp. I spin around to see him taking a small, blue notebook off the shelf.

"Quinn, no," I say, already next to him as soon as physically possible. Maybe even less. I grab for it.

He holds it up over his head. In horror, I watch him open up the book full of my handwriting. I still can't reach the stupid book. "Scout, is this a diary?"

"Yeah and I'll use it to write about us breaking up if you read a single word," I ramble out. "That is if you even know how to read."

"We talked about this. I can read."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh, yeah?" His voice is taunting. For a split second, his eyes meet mine. Then they're back on that stupid journal. "I can prove it right here."

"Please, don't," I beg.

The book snaps shut. He slides it back into its place. I know he read at least that first page. I'm not stupid. He's not stupid. Mostly, I just really don't want to talk about it. It's from my senior year. Y'know, bleach blonde and super insecure Scout? Yeah. Not my favorite person to hear the inner thoughts of.

"I love you," Quinn says. His palm presses above my heart. Three taps on my collarbone. "I love you."

My hand finds his chest. "I love you, too."

"Probably should get some rest for that party tomorrow, huh?" He nods toward the bed.

"Can we take the posters down first?"

"We can take the posters down first."