Noah shook it off, running a hand through his messy hair. Quinn watched the strands fall into place with a bounce, and something stirred within. Like a feral animal, he wanted to reach out and explore him, but that was the champagne talking.
‘Yes, heartbreak is a funny thing,’ Noah said. ‘Use that as a strength, if you can.’
Despite the settling haze, like fog over mountains, Quinn wondered who broke Noah’s heart. Who would even want to do such a thing? Why would anyone lose him when they had him? He couldn’t bear to think of Noah being hurt, of carrying something internal, something that rotted him from the inside. Quinn’s own heartbreak had dragged him across hot coals, then threw him into the fire, then stuck knives into him, all while giving him an elixir of life, so he had no choice but to experience it all.
Heartbreak, to Quinn, felt like torture.
‘Is Dougie still in the picture?’
‘No. Is yours?’
Noah said nothing. Quinn winced, sure he’d gone too far.
‘I want to go out in the snow.’ Noah put his phone away, but not before Quinn saw a text message on his screen. He wondered who Noah talked to, and he realised he wanted to see more of Noah, experience his life, understand him better.
‘It’s too cold,’ Quinn protested.
‘Come on. Just to feel it.’
‘No.’
‘We’ve got to go out anyway, to go back home,’ Noah said. ‘Or did you forget where you live?’
‘I’m notthatdrunk,’ Quinn said.
‘I can’t sit on this any longer.’
‘Not comfortable enough?’
Noah lifted from his pink seat. ‘You try it!’
‘Come on, it’s not that bad.’
‘I implore you to sit on it for a few hours and then come talk to me.’ Noah laughed. ‘Everything goes numb.’
‘Everything?’
Noah met his dangerous gaze. ‘Everything.’
His breath hitched.
Quinn put his empty glass to the side, his hands fumbling and knocking the empty bottle across his desk, and skipped to the chair. He sat on it, and as he did so it creaked before snapping, crashing the short distance to the floor.
They both burst into raucous laughter, hunched over as tears rolled down their drunken faces, merry on the interview, on winter spirit, and on the cheap champagne.
Quinn was glad there were no tenants upstairs, otherwise they’d complain at the racket the two young men were causing.
‘Come on. I think it’s time to call it a night,’ Noah said. ‘You can clear that up in the morning.’
‘Oh, yeah, sure,’ Quinn said, as if this was the craziest suggestion anyone ever made. ‘I can’t leave it like this. Let me clear away the mess.’
‘Hey, the booksellers got to do what the booksellers got to do.’ His words slurred, making Quinn giggle.
They were outside now, their exit a blur to Quinn, who felt a lot more intoxicated than he’d thought, certain that he had cleaned the shop only a moment ago. He struggled to slot the key into the lock, and considered leaving the shop unlocked for the night, when Noah spoke.
‘It’s a gorgeous night.’
Quinn turned, stumbling, to see golden light twinkling from every shop window. The centrepiece Christmas tree stood tall and proud, its branches dusted with white. The castle windows were a warm yellow, and that familiar silence stretched around them. Only this silence was no longer vacant, but full of life.
