the progress project [3]

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aidan

starbuck's is jam-packed, but he can still find quentin in the crowd, sitting at a high-top table with two cups of caffeine and a nervous expression on his face. he's wearing a pair of jeans and flannel, playing with a pendant around his neck.

"hey," he grins, plopping down on the chair across from him. he takes a sip of the drink, a vanilla bean frappucino, and slips his phone into his pocket. "how long have you been waiting?"

quentin sips his own beverage. "not too long. it was well worth the wait, though."

"it's been really nice to talk to you on the phone these past few nights," aidan rubs the back of his neck, hoping he isn't being too bold. "you're an amazing person."

quentin doesn't answer. he fiddles with his hands, avoids eye contact as much as possible before the silence becomes too deafening. did he say the wrong thing? "before this goes anywhere, or before we officially start... whatever this is... i need to tell you something."

"go on," aidan says.

"i'm trans," quentin breathes, cheeks reddening. his eyes snap back up to aidan's before switching to the passing people outside.

the brunette stops playing with his straw. "okay."

quentin relaxes, but aidan still notices the tenseness of his shoulders, the white knuckles from clutching the end of the table. "that's it?"

"i'm not going to force you to talk about anything you don't want to."

"you're still considering being with me?"

aidan reaches across the table, pulls quentin's hand in his. "it doesn't change anything for me. i still like you, a lot, and yeah, i have a few questions, but it's whenever you're ready. i'm not going to pressure you."

quentin's expression softens, and he smiles through glassy eyes. "you... you can ask."

"how'd you choose your name?"

quentin rolls his thumb across his knuckles. "my name before... was peyton. but after... i became quentin. when i was younger, my family took my sister and i the to saint-quentin commune in hauts-de-france, named after saint quentin, who was martyred there in the third century. it was the most beautiful part of our trip, and since then, i haven't been able to stop thinking about it. so..."

"that's amazing."

"is that it?"

aidan chews on his lip, not knowing how to phrase the question. "what... pronouns do you use?"

"he or him."

"alright."

"thank you for asking," quentin smiles. "not many people would have stuck around this long, especially to ask me what i prefer to go by, et cetera."

"well, i like you," aidan says simply, and plays footsie with him under the table.

quentin slips out of his seat and stands in between aidan's legs, not seeming to care at all at the murmurs of disgust from other customers. his gaze fixated on the lips in front of him. "may i..."

aidan cranes his neck downward and presses their mouths together, hands cupping his face to pull him closer. his tongue dancing along the edge of quentin's. his back is starting to ache, and his neck has pins and needles already, but he doesn't care. not with this beautiful man in front of him.