Quillian sat in the corner, his back to the wall, his quiver at his side, surveying the room. He should resist, he really should, but the temptation of the one he waited for was too great. None had intrigued him since his lover, Qwin, had passed some five years before. It was he who gave him his quiver. To Qwin it was a simple and practical gift but to Quillian it meant the world.
The leather of the quiver felt soft under his touch. It’s worn surface told of its age and use. The fletching of feathers tickled his palm.
Laughter pulled his attention to a man who entered the pub. He felt a tug at the corners of his
mouth. This man was jovial despite leaving the days of innocent youth long behind. How he could be so happy in times of war likes these he couldn’t fathom. This man made others around him feel a since of merriment many probably hadn’t felt in a long time.
This man was the man he waited for.
“How have you been?” The man asked as he walked up. Quillian stood and grasped his hand in a shake.
Qullian sat back down with a grunt. “Better than normal.”
Quinn, the name similarity still pulled at Quillian’s heart, smiled. “There a reason for that?”
He nodded. “You.”
The smile on Quinn’s face nearly melted him where he sat. If Quillian wasn’t careful this man could do more than melt him, this man could destroy him. Quillian didn’t think he would survive such a devastation again but Quinn may be worth that risk.