Tucked into a secluded corner, closer to the darkened windows and golden street lights than the bustling counter, Quentin Coldwater assessed his company over the lip of a steaming mug. His fingers savored the warmth after braving the frigid air sans gloves. Lilly was much more prepared for the cold and slipped her gloves off dainty fingers as Quentin watched in envy.

With a bit of bitterness, he thought she looked much more worthy of an Ivy League school than he ever would. Lilly Cole was the picture of poise and studiousness. Whereas he looked more akin to a tenured professor who may have something stronger than coffee in his cup. She was pretty. A sort of pretty that Quentin would never picture himself sitting across the table from without a clipboard and a psych evaluation between them.

Quentin had long since deemed his friendship with Julia a fluke, born of childhood naivety and carried on the back of obligation. Had they met as the people they were now, opposites, strangers in every way that counted, he couldn't imagine them being anything more than cordial colleagues.

The only thing they ever had in common was Fillory. Now, Julia was determined to erase that part of her life from the records. He wondered if she realized that by casting aside Fillory, she'd be doing the same to him.

This was why, as Quentin took stock of Lilly's attributes-- nails manicured to perfection, hair a tousled halo of loose spirals even after the blustery walk from Mr. Partridge's. A sweet, sloped nose and charming amber eyes -- he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out his connection to her. They were as different as two could be, yet the manuscript was addressed to them both. Two strangers' names scrawled on the same sticky note and attached to a mysterious envelope.

Lilly, with a handful of napkins and a discerning eye, wiped at the table until it was clean within an inch of its life. Quentin placed his mug on the seat beside him, leaning forward as she set the near-bursting manila envelope in the center of the table. Her fingers lingered in the air, itching to throw caution to the wind and flip through its pages.

However, Lilly was not an impulsive character. She studied and analyzed, planned, and meticulously executed. A whim was just that, a thought, a desire. Rarely did she act against her better judgment. It was a point of both pride and consternation. It would be so much easier to be careless, she decided.

The scent of fresh coffee grounds enveloped her like a warm blanket on a winter's night. It was a sensation that Lilly found both comforting and invigorating. She was no stranger to a cup or two on the job, a crutch, she would admit, but a crutch she would quite happily lean on.

"If this is real, we can't risk handling it any more than we already did. I'll need the proper tools to authenticate it. Though I'm not convinced this is more than a good imitation." Laid flat, the papers were about three inches thick and quite daunting. Lilly knew she should be taking it straight to the office with no diversions, but this wasn't an ordinary case, was it?

"How long will it take to authenticate?"

"It depends. Could be a day or a week." Lilly tilted her hand from side to side and shrugged.

"How often do you get fakes?"

"All the time. I get calls almost daily asking me to look at a diary they found in a thrift shop that they think might be the next Diary of Anne Frank or a scandalous royal affair from the 18oos. Most of the time it's just a piece of junk. When we get a call from a collector like Mr. Partridge, we tend to take it more seriously."

"So there's a chance it's real?" Quentin dipped his chin, seeming to scan her for an answer.

"Sure there is. Experienced collectors like him usually know the signs of a fake." Lilly huffed and propped both elbows on the table. Her eyes narrowed on the pile of perplexing papers. "This is all a bit too cloak and dagger for my liking. It makes sense that he gave it to me, but, not to be rude, I don't understand why he also gave it to you."

"Well, it's not like we can ask him." Quentin shook his head with a sigh. "I wrote my admissions essay on Fillory. Maybe he knew I would like it?"

"That's not the kind of thing you give someone as a welcome gift to Yale."

"The message boards —" Quentin's cheeks grew rosy. "Uh, they-- never mind, it's stupid."

"No, go on." Lilly nodded, circling her wrist to coax him to continue. "Anything might help."

"Well, lots of fans have come up with theories, uh, about the books and Christopher Plover's disappearance." Quentin leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his voice as if sharing a closely guarded secret. "Theories that he might've written another book before he disappeared."

"It's not impossible." She sat back in her seat and took a lingering sip of coffee. "Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and Geoffrey Chaucer all had works in progress when they died. It wouldn't be a stretch to think Plover had one, too."

"Exactly!" Quentin almost jumped from his seat with glee. Lilly felt his joy like a rush of hot air, and she was grinning along with him.

"The question stands-- why you? Why us?" She gestured between them and took a sip from her coffee.

"Maybe there's an answer in the manuscript itself?"

"I can't bring you into the museum with me after hours, so we'll have to wait till tomorrow to take a closer look. Here -" Lilly reached into her purse and dug around for a moment. With a flourish, she produced a crisp white business card and flipped it over to scribble on its back with a pastel blue pen. "This is my cell and office extension."

Quentin took the card and looked it over, rubbing his thumb across its surface. It was a good sort of business card with thick textured cardstock and raised script. His brows rose to his hairline when he saw the name of her employer. Museum was a gross understatement.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Paper Conservation Department.

"The Met? How'd you land that?" Quentin was gawking now and had to fight to keep his mouth pressed shut.

"I won't lie. There might've been a bit of nepotism involved." Her nose scrunched, and she pressed her thumb and pointer finger together. "My mum works with them on occasion. I suspect it helped me land the job." Lilly shrugged, her voice carrying an undercurrent of bitterness. It wasn't until after she'd accepted the job that her mother revealed she'd put in a good word with the department for her. The argument of the century had thus ensued.

"What about you?" Lilly's voice brightened. "Why grad school?" She took another sip of her coffee and watched him shrug.

"I don't know. I guess it just seems like the logical thing to do." His whole body seemed to deflate at this, a melancholy disposition eclipsing the joy of the previous conversation.

"Logical? What a romantic notion." Lilly chuckled, raising her brows in amusement.

"Well, being romantic hasn't helped very much so far." Quentin rested his chin in the palm of his hand, dejected.

"Maybe not yet, but do you think you'll be happy in a life based purely on what's practical?" She gave him a knowing look. Quentin voiced his answer in silence. "Me neither. So, I propose we follow wherever this manuscript leads, logic be damned." Lilly leaned towards him conspiratorially, a gleam of childlike mischief in her deep espresso eyes. She held out a hand between them for him to shake.

He studied her for a moment, her hopeful grin that promised an adventure should he accept her pact. Quentin thought he was looking into the face of a questing creature that somehow made its way to the mortal realm from Fillory. Quentin, like Jane Chatwin, stood before the chance of a lifetime. Quentin took her hand in his.

"Alright, let's do it." Her smile crinkled the edges of her eyes. Lilly's hands were soft and uncalloused, but he noticed the few scattered lines of healing paper cuts across her fingertips. His hands were dry and shaking from his poorly managed anxiety. The bundle of nerves in his chest had picked up from socializing with someone other than Julia and the cup of caffeinated coffee he consumed. He disentangled his hand from Lilly's.

"I don't mean to be rude, but, uh, how do I know you'll keep your word? You could just keep the manuscript for yourself." Lilly looked up and frowned. Quentin stiffened before her, sure he'd made a fatal error. "I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean--"

"No-- You're right." She shook her head and raised a hand to calm his visible panic. "You have no guarantee that I'll follow through on my promise. Just like I have no way of knowing you won't go back on yours." Her gaze then landed on the thick envelope between them. "So, we're just going to have to trust each other."

"Okay."

"I get into the office at eight. I can take a look at it then." Lilly watched as Quentin's lips pursed. He focused on a spot on the table, his forehead creasing. When he looked up at her he seemed confused.

"I'm surprised you are so interested in this." Quentin scrutinized her face, trying to get a read on her, "Julia is always yelling at me to leave this all behind and move on with my life, and no offense, but you don't seem the type to get nerdy about a kids' book." His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily corrected himself. "I mean that as a compliment - I swear."

"You're talking to the girl who hid under the bleachers during free periods to read and had a Mr. Darcy poster on her wall instead of Edward Cullen."

"Really? Which one?" He raised his brows in disbelief.

"Matthew Macfadyen." She said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "You aren't the only nerd at this table, Quentin. Fillory and Further was a big part of my childhood, and maybe they were meant for kids, but they're still classics. If you throw the things you love away because you're getting older, it takes all the magic out of life. Just because Julia is moving away from Fillory doesn't mean you have to follow." Her tone sobered towards the end, her brows furrowing as she tried to convey the importance of her words. Quentin held her gaze for longer than he had all day. He bit his lip and sat back in his chair.

Lilly wondered if Quentin had any other friends or if he'd tethered himself to Julia and let her carry him through life. She decided she liked Quentin. He was sweet and passionate about his interests. Maybe he struggled to express himself, but he had so much to offer. Lilly turned her gaze to the street, now darkened by night. Quentin sipped his coffee, and they fell into a comfortable silence. She didn't feel the weight of it like she might with others.

People passed in a slow trickling stream, sometimes leaving the street empty with only a few lit shops and lights illuminating. Lilly scanned the scene with idle interest, resting on nothing in particular. A woman and her dog passed by. The dog halted right in front of the window, its head cocked towards something across the street.

Its owner paused, tugging at the leash, only to have the dog erupt in a storm of yapping and jerking toward the street. The woman struggled to hold it back, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Slowly, she managed to pull it along, ignoring its protests, and disappeared from the window as they hurried along their way.

Lilly studied the shadows where the dog had been intent on charging. Just beyond the circle of light from a street lamp, shadows shifted. A mass too large to be a rat or any other city-dwelling creature. Lilly straightened, and the back of her neck prickled in a warning. She looked over at Quentin.

"Did you see that?" She asked. Quentin jumped a bit as she spoke. His mind must've been somewhere else.

"See what?" He craned his neck to see where she was pointing. Lilly looked back across the street to the darkened edge. There was nothing but stationary shadows. Her eyes must've been playing tricks on her.

"I thought--" She blinked a few times, and her forehead crinkled. "Nevermind." Lilly lifted her wrist to glance at the time. It was almost ten o'clock.

"We should probably get going." Quentin eyed her watch with a frown. "I don't want to keep you." His eyes set on his empty coffee mug as he shifted. Lilly reached across the table to place her hand on his wrist.

"This has been fun, Quentin." She grinned, nodding in hopes of assuring him that she wasn't checking the time because she wanted to get away from him. Lilly hoped that wasn't something he often experienced. Quentin's gaze snapped up to hers. He seemed surprised.

"I, uh, me too." He looked like he'd almost choked trying to get the words out faster than his brain could process. "I mean, I had fun, too." Lilly squeezed his arm and then gently picked up the thick envelope that brought them together. She slid it into her bag and stood. Quentin fumbled with his cup and hers to deliver them back to the counter. Lilly waited for him to return before leading them into the brisk night air.

"Tomorrow, eight o'clock. The address is on my card. Call me if you have any questions." She reminded him, then pressed the palm of her hand to the space just above her heart. "Swear on my life. We have shared custody of this manuscript." Quentin nodded and mirrored her gesture with his hand above his heart.

"I'll see you then." Quentin stood stiff for a moment, then raised his hand in an awkward wave.

"Goodnight, Quentin." Lilly waved back, letting out a small laugh as Quentin tried to turn away and tripped over his own feet. He recovered and waved again before turning the corner in the opposite direction. Lilly grinned to herself and made her way toward the nearest subway entrance.

Note

Lilly and Quentin are the cutest besties and they will have much more cute moments in this version. So as I'm rewatching this show and writing the characters I'm realizing just how Autism coded Quentin is. Like idk how I didn't see it before but he for sure has some form of autism. Now I am neurodivergent but not on the spectrum so if the way I represent Quentin is off or disrespectful in any way please let me know! If anyone reading this is on the spectrum what are the things you wish they did with Quentin's character that you think would be good to incorporate? There will 100% be Queliot in this fic as it is the OTP of the whole show.