[ It doesn't sound cheap--it adds more weight to it, if anything. Here is the most distinguished mess Quentin has met in his entire life--he loves it, he loves it so much--but he's giving advice. Maybe it's advice he wished he'd actually use. Who knows?
God, he needs to drink more. He shouldn't, but here he is, taking a big gulp instead of quietly sipping. It slides down his throat, warms his chest, and he sighs. ]
Ditto.
[ It sounds so stupid--Eliot is doing the Eliot version of pouring his soul out--and Quentin is just weakly mimicking it. It's enough for him to smile into his cup, though, grin light, like they're back in Brakebills. ]
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God, he needs to drink more. He shouldn't, but here he is, taking a big gulp instead of quietly sipping. It slides down his throat, warms his chest, and he sighs. ]
Ditto.
[ It sounds so stupid--Eliot is doing the Eliot version of pouring his soul out--and Quentin is just weakly mimicking it. It's enough for him to smile into his cup, though, grin light, like they're back in Brakebills. ]
You still haven't figured out champagne?