On The Matter of Names

Quinn felt stupid.

Okay, well, that wasn’t the best word. Ridiculous, maybe? No, out of his depth. That sounded more fitting.

Not that anyone would be able to tell.

From an outsider’s perspective, all he was doing was staring at slowly heating water. What could be daunting about that?

The pot, for one, was daunting.

Lately, he’d been using it more. When he’d been by himself, he hadn’t thought much about what he ate. He’d set some traps, catch himself a few hares, a fish here and there, and roast them over the campfire. Sure, the meat was hard and tasteless, but if it kept his stomach full and body moving, what did it matter?

Quinn’s eyes flickered from the fire to the kid on the other side of the small alcove, crouched by his sleeping bag, drawing on the hard ground with his rock. Another spark of irritation at himself ignited. He could have gotten some chalk instead, for god’s sake. Maybe paper, too, if he’d managed to strike a deal with a merchant. Anything that’d be more worthwhile than a bunch of sticks and leaves the kid managed to gather on their trek.

But, no. Instead, Quinn got tea.

As the annoyance kept building, Quinn tore his eyes away and took a deep breath. He was overreacting. Logically, he knew he couldn’t buy everything, and logically, he knew why he chose tea. It was the same reason why he’d decided to use the pot more often. Why he’d started looking for spices, why he’d search for tastier vegetables, why he’d take greater care in choosing and preparing the meat. The same reason why they'd stop to rest more, why they'd linger at pretty sights, and why he’d sleep less, unable to keep the paranoia at bay.

Before, he didn’t care as much. Not for the taste, not for the views, not for the danger. He still didn’t. But before, his thoughts would trickle through without purchase, light and dismissing, serving only as an aid to survival. Now, instead of trickling, they surged, stumbling over each other, rushing towards a new gravitational centre. It was bizarre, in a way, how easily his mind was flooded with whispers of protect and provide when never before had anything of the like as much as grazed the surface. It was bizarre, but that wasn’t the right word for it, either.

It was something much closer to fear, and something he feared finding the right word for.

The kid (Quinn still didn’t have a name for him; it’d been weeks, and he still hadn’t given him one. Something about naming and attachment and the right word he didn’t want to find) clicked on the stone with his rock, a note of finality to the sound, before he leaned back, head cocked, to examine his work. From this angle, Quinn had no idea what the boy had tried to do. To be fair, even from a better angle Quinn could never tell. Not that the kid ever asked. Small joys.

The water had begun bubbling.

Quinn cleared his throat. “Hey,” he called. When the kid glanced up, Quinn beckoned him over. “C’mere for a sec.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and padded over to where Quinn was sitting cross-legged by the campfire in the middle of their shelter. Even from this position, the boy was barely taller than Quinn, although, from the way he acted, he had to be at least six. Quinn didn’t know much about children, but the aspect ratio didn’t seem right. Stunted growth wouldn’t be a surprise, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Everything he’d learn about this kid did.

“I’m doing something new,” Quinn said, trying to chase away the murky thoughts. He pulled a smile that he hoped was inviting. “You’re probably tired from all that water, yeah?”

He got a non-committal hum in response as the kid glanced to the boiling pot, his face scrunching up. Quinn laughed, “I promise it’s more than just hot water, c’mon, have some faith in me.” He reached over to his backpack, fishing out the small bag of tea. “Here, look at this.”

The boy took it. At first, he only stared at the shredded leaves, a mix of greens and yellows, before he brought it up and smelled them. Delight glinted in his wide eyes, and, without giving Quinn a chance to react, he grabbed a pinch and shoved it into his mouth.

Quinn choked on air, reaching out, “Wait, no, you’re not supposed to—” He cut himself off as the kid flinched back at his panicked voice, freezing. The sudden fear twisting his face, shoulders taut, made Quinn wince, and he dropped his hand. “Sor—Sorry, I didn’t mean— It’s alright,” he forced out a chuckle. “You just shouldn’t eat it is all, it’s not gonna taste good.”

Not that Quinn knew that. He’d never tried eating tea. Maybe the kid was onto something.

Christ, of all the things to second guess on.

The boy stared at him, unblinking, before he started flicking his tongue to spit the leaves out. He wiped at his mouth with a sleeve to get the excess off, gaze flickering to the ground. Maybe Quinn shouldn’t have said anything. What harm would it have caused? It’d probably been bitter but besides that…

Or, well, the kid could have choked. Or gotten encouraged to put other, more dangerous things into his mouth. Or lost trust in Quinn to stop him from doing something stupid. Or—

Quinn really, really had to slow down.

It was just tea.

He cleared his throat. “Right, well, uh, if you could give that back, I’ll show you what you’re supposed to do,” he said, and the kid complied. The belief in those shiny eyes of his made Quinn waver. He didn’t want for it to be misplaced. God, he did everything he could for it not to be, and yet, it made him waver.

With a steadying breath, Quinn set the bag next to him and pulled out two cups from his mess kit. In any other world, it would have been enough, but Quinn continued rummaging through his backpack until he found the patches of fresh linen, some string, and the jar of wild honeycombs. His neck still stung, despite smoking the bees, but tea was bitter for children, and honey was expensive. 

…Once again, he felt silly.

No, it also had health benefits. Vitamins, or… something. It was good. It was healthy. And he needed healthy.

It wasn’t just for the bitterness. That’d be stupid.

“So, uh…” Quinn found himself staring at the arrangement of items. For some reason, it was difficult to focus. “You can— It really depends what you wanna do, I guess, or, well, how you wanna do it, but if you don’t wanna bother with the leaves, you can take a bit of this—” He got a piece of the linen, made a small well with it, and sprinkled in a couple of pinches of the tea. “—and tie it up. That way it doesn’t— you get it."

Why he was narrating, he couldn’t tell. It was such a simple process, and he was making it sound like it wasn’t. Maybe he wanted to fill the silence. Maybe it’d make him more confident. Maybe, maybe, or maybe he was overthinking everything again and none of it mattered. 

Maybe he should just make the damn tea.

But a weight leaned on his leg, and Quinn held his breath, casting a discreet glance to the side. The kid had climbed on top to get closer, transfixed on the clumsy tea-making process, but looked up once Quinn froze. Quinn, on the other hand, didn’t dare to as much as exhale, as if the tiniest of shifts would scare the boy away. It reminded Quinn of dealing with a wild rabbit when he was a child, hoping it’d forgo his instincts and give Quinn a chance, and maybe if he didn’t move or talk or breathe, the rabbit would come.

The kid wasn’t a rabbit. He was staring at Quinn, confused, his eyes shooting from him to the cups. Curious. Impatient.

Or, maybe, he hoped the boy would find it interesting.

Quinn licked his dried lips and pulled an unstable smile at him. “And, um, you just put it in,” he said, flopping the linen bag of tea into a cup. He didn’t bother making another bundle for the other. “Now comes the hot water part.”

With the kid so close, it was difficult for Quinn to use both of his arms. He had half a mind to wind one of them around the boy but quickly decided against it. It wasn’t often the kid let Quinn into his personal space, so the last thing Quinn wanted to do was spook him away. He’d never forgive himself for it. The kid wasn’t a rabbit, but that didn’t mean some of the same principles didn’t apply. Small steps, follow his lead.

Quinn didn’t need both of his arms, anyway.

Taking extra care, he poured the water into the cups. A soft yellow sprouted from the leaves, filling the space between them with a savoury aroma. Jasmine, apparently. Quinn had never had jasmine. The merchant had assured him it’d go down well, though. Who was he to doubt a tea merchant?

“And now we wait for a bit,” Quinn said as he put the pot to the side. The kid inclined towards the cups, humming, and Quinn chuckled. “Smells nice, right?”

The kid gave a tentative nod, making Quinn smile. So far, so good. He reached out to get the jar. He hadn’t yet cut the honeycomb into pieces, only taken off some of the wax, but once he got to it, he could sense the kid’s eyes on him. Or, more specifically, the honey, as he stared at the combs with raw fascination, eyes blown. An idea struck Quinn and he turned to the boy, jar in hand.

“You wanna try?” he asked, already searching around for a spoon. “It’s very sweet, like some of the candy you had. Remember that?”

The kid lit up and, without a warning, clambered into Quinn’s lap, reaching up for the honey. Quinn yelped in surprise, leaning back on instinct, but managed to snatch the jar out of the way.

“Whoa, okay, slow down,” he laughed. His heart was in his throat, giddiness tingling along his skin, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face despite the nerves. When the kid made no move to get off and only looked up at Quinn, face pulled into a petulant frown, Quinn breathed another chuckle. “I get it, I get it, hold on, it’ll get all messy if you just take it like that.”

Though still displeased, the boy settled back, eyes glued to the jar. This time, Quinn had no choice but to reach around him for the spoon he’d dropped, but, to his relief, the kid didn’t react. He scooped up a smaller piece of the comb, one dripping with thick honey, and presented it to him. Immediately, the kid chomped down on it.

For a split second, Quinn’s pulse spiked as he remembered he hadn’t checked it for bees, such a stupid and basic thing, but the kid chewed on the comb without any complaint, expression melting into a wonderous one. Before Quinn knew it, he was already reaching for seconds.

“Alright, but just one more,” Quinn said, giving him another piece.

It’d been a nightmare to get as much as he did, and it’d be a shame if it was gone in one sitting. Despite that, self-satisfaction bloomed at the thought that he’d done something right, gotten something the kid actually enjoyed, and it took more willpower than he’d like to admit to put the jar out of reach when the kid grasped for thirds.

“Don’t be greedy now,” Quinn chastised him lightheartedly. “Save some for later, yeah?”

The kid sat back down with a huff, crossing his arms, and Quinn almost cooed. He was still not trying to put distance between them, and Quinn’s heart swelled at that. That was a good sign. A great one, even. So great that, after only a moment’s hesitation, he couldn’t help but reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair, if only for a quick second. Besides scrunching up his face, the kid didn’t seem off-put. If anything, Quinn could have sworn he swayed his head towards him, his expression losing that peeved quality and shifting into something more… Well.

Quinn wasn’t good at finding the right word for a lot of things these days.

If Quinn were a braver man, maybe he’d follow this fickle string. Maybe he’d embrace him, pull him in, and hold him close. So that he’d never have to doubt. So that Quinn could quell this heaviness in his chest, suffocating, this longing for a connection he’d never allowed himself to consider, not with his past, not with his future.

But Quinn wasn’t a brave man, so, instead, he only swallowed, and reached for the cups.

“This’ll make it taste better,” he murmured, his voice gravelly, as he fished out the make-shift tea bag and plopped in a piece of honeycomb. He scratched at his cheek. “Or, well, I hope.”

After waiting for a few moments more in awkward silence, Quinn stirred the tea around. He blew on it and held it out to the kid.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Small hands wrapped around the top of it. He stared at the swirling liquid for a beat before bringing it up and taking a tiny sip. Humming, he licked his lips and took another, shifting into a more comfortable position, a breath away from leaning against Quinn.

It was so simple, the way he reacted. One sip after another. As if it was nothing more than just… 

It was just tea.

Of course it was, and Quinn felt sillier than before for all his worries.

Quinn had never cared for tea. Not for the taste, not for the smell, not for the warmth. He didn’t care for it now, either, but there was something different about the way it rested on his tongue, the way it filled his lungs, the way it spread along his skin. He didn’t care for the honey either, and yet, he found himself stirring in a piece, a tiny one, and tasting the beeswax texture, so reminiscent of a time he couldn’t place, he didn’t want to place.

There were many things Quinn didn’t care for. And more things he didn’t have a name for. Never needed to.

Still didn’t.

Eventually, it would catch up with him. And eventually, he’d have to let it.

Now didn’t need to be eventually. Now, the kid didn’t need to have a name. Maybe not ever, maybe not yet, and Quinn couldn’t be bothered to figure out which one was it.

He glanced up at Quinn, tilting his head like one of those cats Quinn would spot on windowsills. Just as quiet and eyes just as piercing.

Was he really six?

Quinn smiled at him. He started combing through the kid’s hair before he’d realized it, but the way the boy stared at him didn’t make him want to stop. So he didn’t.

“You like the tea, sunshine?”

He wouldn’t realize it until much later, but the matter of names had never held much weight to begin with.