( at first, the sheer lack of context has Ben frowning down at his mobile, completely confused. it's been about a week and a half since that horrendous night, though with the way the weeks move here lately, it feels as though it's only been a few days.
but that isn't what Ben thinks of — he, brilliantly, stands here thinking, why is Quentin texting me from his bath?
and then
realizes
Quentin
pardon Ben's lack of chill — because fuck texting, he's calling you now, Q. )
—Quentin? Jesus Christ, you're—? Are you—?
( let him try this that all again. take a breath. ) How the hell are you?
text → voice
but that isn't what Ben thinks of — he, brilliantly, stands here thinking, why is Quentin texting me from his bath?
and then
realizes
Quentin
pardon Ben's lack of chill — because fuck texting, he's calling you now, Q. )
—Quentin? Jesus Christ, you're—? Are you—?
( let him try this that all again. take a breath. ) How the hell are you?