He was so gorgeous when he smiled.
So fake, too.
“Fuck it, I’ll get out, and you can drive home—”
“Stop,” Quinn said before Eren could work himself into a panic. “I’m not scared of that idiot. I’m more scared of the cameras blinding me when I’m striving to become an artist.”
Eren smacked his head against the headrest and sighed. “I was hoping he would avoid tonight since he’s never been interested in showing up to these events, but Niko’s working harder than I thought.”
Quinn looked away from August to his friend. “Niko? What does he have to do with anything?”
Eren’s shoulders quickly rose and fell, his eyes already drifting somewhere else. “Cote and Snow hung out during Christmas, and now they’re best buddies who live together. It’s been great for morale because Snow is finally getting back into the mindset he had last season, but now you might have to deal with him during team barbecues this summer.”
Oh, so August was fucking Niko. No wonder he had improved.
“Good for him getting a boyfriend,” said Quinn.
The vehicle jerked to a stop when Eren hit the brakes too fast. “No, they’re not boyfriends! Snow is straight and always complaining about not having a girlfriend. I think it’s more like a brotherly love situation.”
August was straight, and the ocean was made of blue Jello, and snow was powdered sugar.
“Good to know he’s still in the closet,” Quinn murmured, his gaze shifting to the sea of people who were waiting for them to step out.
“Huh?” Eren smacked him on the arm. “What are you saying over there?”
“Nothing,” said Quinn, using his fake, cheerful voice.
Eren didn’t look convinced, and he had good reason to. Esme had used the fake voice routine many times around him when she was grumpy. He frowned at Quinn and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Quinn cut him off by opening the door and stepping outside.
It was cold, but he didn’t have time to think about the icy air biting his skin when he was met with a barrage of flashes from cameras. Quinn wasn’t the main subject, but the media still wanted pictures of everyone who showed up, including him.
When Eren handed off his keys and joined him, the flashes tripled to the point where it was impossible to see. At least the hungry crowd was respectful enough not to throw questions at them, but it didn’t stop the whispered conversations that made Quinn feel like he was walking into a pit of vipers.
Eren didn’t offer his hand because who knew what rumours would be started if he did, but he led the way for Quinn, checking in with him every few steps to make sure he was okay.
Once they were past the cameras, things felt easier. The flashing lights and forced smiles faded behind them, replaced by the low hum of conversation and the glitter of chandeliers. The charity ball wasn’t so different from the other high-profile parties Quinn had attended with his sister—just with a few more diamonds, designer gowns, and familiar faces he couldn’t name.
He recognized some of the bigger stars, the kind who lived in the background of commercials and movie posters, surrounded by tight circles of admirers. He had no intention of introducing himself, because duh, but it was neat to see them there.
“I’ll bring you to our table so you can get comfortable and eat, and then I’ll go mingle,” Eren said, guiding Quinn with a light but steady grip on his shoulders. “Everyone knows you’re Esme’s brother, so don’t let them use that to corner you in conversation if you’re not in the mood.”
Quinn blinked. It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but at least Eren had warned him. He hadn’t planned on talking much anyway. Still, he’d forgotten how sharp the undercurrents of celebrity events could be with the smiles that were never quite sincere, and compliments that doubled as interviews.
Eyes followed them as they crossed the room. Some were curious, and some were calculating, and he wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable.
Eren settledhim at a table near the stage that was large enough to fit half the Bigfoot team, and gave his shoulder a quick pat before melting into the glittering crowd.
Within moments, a server appeared, filling his flute with champagne that fizzed like gold and offering a silver tray of hors d'oeuvres. Quinn accepted one, murmuring a thank you as he tried to relax into the seat. The champagne was crisp, almost sweet, and the tiny bite of food was gone before he realized he’d eaten it.
He was instantly bored, but he focused on people-watching instead of making faces. Pulling out his phone here would feel wrong, like he would be breaking the illusion, so he had to find other ways to entertain himself.
The women’s dresses shimmered under the lights, and the men’s suits were tailored to perfection. The music floated through the air; soft jazz, gentle enough not to interrupt the murmur of conversation.
It was, he had to admit, beautiful. And at least by the end of the night, all this glamour would funnel into real money for a good cause. That mattered more than the small talk.
He hadn’t seen August Snow yet. That was… fine. Great, even. The man’s absence was a small mercy, though Quinn doubted it would last. The Bigfoot players would have to sit eventually, and he’d have nowhere to hide.
“Quinn!”
