[Quentinâs gift, after much deliberation, is a touch different. Thereâs the nautical paper, the blue ribbon, the tissue and card and everything, and thereâs a lushly knitted blue scarf folded in the box, the same color as the deepest pulses of Quentinâs magic. However, when the card is opened, it just says:]
For the cold days. Go to the back booth in the restaurant, where you made me laugh until I couldnât breathe at the party. - K
[When Quentin follows directions, goes to said booth, thereâs another box â this one with a (mildly tacky) glittering suit fit to his exact measurements, and another note:]
For the next party. Go to the balcony outside the game room, where I stopped being scared of who was watching us, because you made me forget everything but you. - K
[The balcony is snowy, icy, but thereâs another box right by the wall Quentin had pressed Koby up against in the head of summer, this one containing a less-formal outfit - a sweater, patterned with ducks, and of course, a third note:]
So Abe doesnât feel left out. Go to the place I told you I loved you, for the first time. -K
[The lake is frozen over, the rowboat overturned to keep from gathering snow, but beneath it, a fourth box, this one filled with charcoal and smooth paper, gathered into a leather-bound sketchbook.]
For your maps or your art or your list of places to go and things to see and movies to watch and books to read and anything you want. Go to the place where I first KNEW I loved you, where you made me come alive the first time you touched me. - K
[Kobyâs room, of course â rarely used anymore, not since October, not since heâd come to stay with Quentin on that first terrible day and sort ofâŚnever left. Theyâve split time since then, periodically spending the nights in the suite where the notes and papers and supplies live, but more often than not theyâre in Quentinâs room. In fact, when he opens the door to the rarely-used bedroom, itâs completely cleaned up, papers and files gone, all Kobyâs belongings having been packed up and put away, bit by bit over the last few weeks.
All thatâs left, on the cleaned-off desk, is a slightly crooked, homemade bookmark, made from a map in Quentinâs handwriting and a dried pink flower â the first two things heâd ever given Koby, that first little scavenger hunt from all those months ago. And one last note:]
For as long as I can, for the rest of my life, I want my home to be where you are. And I want that to start officially, today.
My first mate, my siren, my sailor, my love. Come home to me.
đ delivery, 12/24
For the cold days. Go to the back booth in the restaurant, where you made me laugh until I couldnât breathe at the party. - K
[When Quentin follows directions, goes to said booth, thereâs another box â this one with a (mildly tacky) glittering suit fit to his exact measurements, and another note:]
For the next party. Go to the balcony outside the game room, where I stopped being scared of who was watching us, because you made me forget everything but you. - K
[The balcony is snowy, icy, but thereâs another box right by the wall Quentin had pressed Koby up against in the head of summer, this one containing a less-formal outfit - a sweater, patterned with ducks, and of course, a third note:]
So Abe doesnât feel left out. Go to the place I told you I loved you, for the first time. -K
[The lake is frozen over, the rowboat overturned to keep from gathering snow, but beneath it, a fourth box, this one filled with charcoal and smooth paper, gathered into a leather-bound sketchbook.]
For your maps or your art or your list of places to go and things to see and movies to watch and books to read and anything you want. Go to the place where I first KNEW I loved you, where you made me come alive the first time you touched me. - K
[Kobyâs room, of course â rarely used anymore, not since October, not since heâd come to stay with Quentin on that first terrible day and sort ofâŚnever left. Theyâve split time since then, periodically spending the nights in the suite where the notes and papers and supplies live, but more often than not theyâre in Quentinâs room. In fact, when he opens the door to the rarely-used bedroom, itâs completely cleaned up, papers and files gone, all Kobyâs belongings having been packed up and put away, bit by bit over the last few weeks.
All thatâs left, on the cleaned-off desk, is a slightly crooked, homemade bookmark, made from a map in Quentinâs handwriting and a dried pink flower â the first two things heâd ever given Koby, that first little scavenger hunt from all those months ago. And one last note:]
For as long as I can, for the rest of my life, I want my home to be where you are. And I want that to start officially, today.
My first mate, my siren, my sailor, my love. Come home to me.
-Koby