[ There’s a sharp clench in his chest, and Eliot suddenly fills ill with existence. His gaze flicks away, burned. How stupid was he to think Quentin remembering could have changed anything? Of course it changed nothing. It was still a mistake to him, and it wasn’t anything that Quentin had ever wanted, and it was his fault for doing what he always does and taking what isn’t meant to be his. ]

I’m sorry. [ It’s small, mournful, but clear. ] I’m so sorry, Quentin.

[ He wants to drink a bottle of turpentine, but there’s just this fruity drink he thought would be enough. Of course it’s never enough.

Taking a hefty gulp, he sets the cup back on the table, clearing his throat as he rises to his feet. ]

I think maybe I should. Go check on Fen. Um.

Feel free to. Use any of the rooms. [ He gestures about them. ] This is your kingdom too.