[ He smiles wryly, not really knowing how to respond. As much as he’s pleased he will actually be a father, it’s not really something he’d asked for either. He can’t say that he didn’t want it; there is the thought that maybe kids would be nice sometime far in the future. That had always been something he imagined far far into the future though. And now... Now this is his new life and he can either accept it or let Fillory fall apart. ]
Not so interesting anymore, am I? [ It’s said like a joke, but of course it’s never a joke. ] Turns out orgies won’t ever be a thing for me again.
I’d ask you to attend some in my place, but I’m sure you’d probably get lost and start crying. Somehow end up in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.
[ Still interesting, Quentin thinks, but the other speaks again and he's left with downing his drink entirely. It's a good thing he did, too, otherwise he'd probably spit his drink out at how casually Eliot has not only called him out but got it (mostly) right. He has never been in an orgy, but-- ]
You act like I'm new to group sex.
[ That one threesome while they were all fucked up on emotion magic definitely counts. Even if it wrecked his relationship, which--
--well. He's not going to think about that. He's trying desperately not to be a depressing sadsack like usual. He keeps the tone light and holds his glass out, a silent 'refill, please.' ]
[ Eliot hums, pretty sure Q means the one threesome he’s managed to be in that he vehemently denied having wanted the next morning. He doesn’t know if Quentin remembers how close he came to essentially accusing him and Margo of taking advantage of him without his consent, but it hadn’t sat right with him then, and for Quentin to bring it up now like he’d wanted it all along only carves the hurt deeper.
Damnit. He thought he’d buried that feeling good and deep. But how could he forget the world’s cruelest joke? To finally have something he wanted, to feel wanted back, so desperately loved, to feel as if he could be healed and whole and maybe even happy, only to have it ripped away from him and to be treated as a villain for being...well. Him. Instead of Alice.
He’d even made excuses for Quentin to feel better. It was just the magic at work. It wasn’t something either of them had wanted. But it wasn’t enough. It’d still be pinned that Eliot and Margo had ruined Quentin’s life somehow. For, what, being part of it? For loving Quentin because he deserved it? For wanting a piece of that goodness because both of them knew what a beautiful existence Quentin was and wanting to let him know?
He pulls himself upright and makes Quentin another drink before letting himself speaking, using the time to reign back his emotions while thinking of how answer. When Eliot hands the goblet back, he feels much calmer, less betrayed. He polishes off his own drink and starts working on making another for himself before answering. ]
I don’t think it counts if you’re too far gone to choose wanting it.
[ Alright, fair, but Quentin's muddled frown has nothing to do with the fact that he's noticing anything's wrong. It's literally just his thinking face, peering pensively over the cup and inhaling sharply. ]
Honestly? Immediately after, I barely remembered a thing.
[ But he'd be lying if he said he didn't revisit it from time to time, usually when he doesn't want to. Not because the act in and of itself wasn't good--hell, he learned a lot--just because it immediately feeds into Alice being upset with him, and now...
Well. Alice isn't here anymore.
Quentin's muddled frown is a little frownier, less thoughtful before he pulls himself out of it and actually makes eye contact with Eliot. ]
Pieces were easier to fit into place when I wasn't monumentally hungover with emotions.
It means-- [ Oh, God, he's doing the thing where he can't quite grasp for the words and has to start over a few times. He tucks his hair behind his ear, gaze flicking downwards. ]
It means I remember most of it, yeah, uh--like... All of it. Mostly, uh, you? And how--uh, why, exactly?
Uh-- [ His throat's dry. It feels like his throats dry, but he's at least managed to shove it all out in word salad: ]
--I mean why ask I--do you remember?
I[ t's the least possible accusatory tone while still being accusatory. It's not defensive, either, Quentin just doesn't know how to handle being put on the spot about a threesome he definitely enjoyed but fucked his whole life up. ]
[ Eliot hums at that, eyes holding Quentin’s for a moment before dropping to the table. He picks up his drink and slides back into his seat. ]
Mm. Before I. Answer that there’s something I feel like I have to clear up first.
For as. Crazy, and I do mean crazy, and intense as that magic juice was, it’s really like. Close to. Mm... Nothing? Compared to the cocktail of usual suspects at any given Physical Kids’ party.
[ Eliot takes a nice, healthy drink from his cup to let that all sink in first before he continues. ]
So. We remember everything.
[ And it means they knew what they were doing too.
[ It makes sense. Quentin has gotten fucked up six ways to Sunday at physical kid parties, and Eliot and Margo practically live and breathe them while Quentin partakes occasionally. Shit, Eliot probably needs enough tranquilizers to down a baby elephant before he starts to feel a slight buzz.
But they've remembered all of it, and that means all of it, and Quentin's metaphorical hand flapping has dulled. ]
[ It's not unwelcome, but Quentin has a hard time processing that people like him normally, let alone sexually. A little flirting he's used to by now, hell, he's 90% sure Eliot's pinched his ass at least twice. ]
You're not exactly anything to sneeze at, either...
[ He is, however, taking one hell of a long drink. Mainly at that anxious comment. He wasn't bad, was he? No. That's not what Alice had said either, he's just being a little insecure. He's also definitely not fixing his gaze on the table, either, shoulders awkwardly high. It's not a defensive position, just nervous. ]
Yeah--sorry. [ He scoffs, mostly at himself, and takes another healthy swig. ] You're kind of the only guy I've ever slept with, so...
[ The trail off is met with another shrug, but hey, those shoulders have stopped. They're back to stooping, one slightly lower than the other naturally thanks to his favourite companion, his trusty messenger bag. ]
[ That's a lot of emotions right now, a lot of things bubbling on the surface and the nervous energy has gone, driven away by a flicker of grief and a hard line of a set jaw. ]
Yeah, well, 'thanks for the compliment even though it fucked up my relationship with Alice' doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?
[ 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.
[ He feels it, the floodgates, the torrent of emotion he's constantly battling. Alice is gone, and she's gone on the worst terms imaginable, and Quentin's not even that drunk but he wants to be, he wants Eliot's knack for swallowing a few pills and not worrying about a damn thing. He's envious. Quentin will never have that, and he wipes down at his face, groaning. Mostly at himself, but he'd be lying if it wasn't to keep it all in. ]
No--Eliot, wait.
[ It's weird, saying something you only knew about yourself a few seconds ago. Quentin, the quiet guy, the loner, the one perfectly content to be in the corner with a book. He looks at Eliot and it's pleading, eyes glassy. ]
[ He can’t help himself whenever Quentin uses that voice. It’s magnetic, built into Eliot in a way he can no longer detach. He looks, and it’s his downfall. He could never leave Quentin when he wants help. He can be cruel and horrid, but he isn’t a monster.
Still, it’s so impossibly hard to breathe. ]
Me either. [ It’s defeat, because that’s what it is. Quentin doesn’t really want him there. Just Alice. But in lieu of Alice being dead, this is the only alternative.
It’s sickening. He was to purge his stomach. ]
I’m not here at your convenience, Q. Fillory took me when no one else wanted me.
[ 'And you're a good king,' Quentin wants to say--he should say--but he finds himself breaking eye contact to fixate on his goblet, breathing out slowly, lips parted as he tries to simultaneously calm himself. ]
I know you aren't, Eliot. I really did come here just to check on you.
[ 'But now it's different, now I'm realizing how much I haven't processed, and it's going to come out of me like a torrent if I'm alone and I desperately don't want that.' ]
[ Eliot licks and chews his lips to buy himself some time from answering. He can’t be too plain about what he thinks, but... ]
I. Don’t know that it feels that way right now. [ The words are soft and unsure as they were earlier. This is territory he doesn’t like because it terrifies him, and everything Quentin has done in response has really only proved why he should be terrified of it. Even people you love can do horrible things to you when you give them trust. ]
If you need someone here, then I will stay. I could never leave you to suffer alone. But I’m not doing this because I think you really want me here.
[ Quentin weighs his words carefully, leaning back into the chair, and while he doesn't sigh his shoulders go through the motions, the high-low of someone who's trying to patch together a sentence.
Maybe he just came here and didn't realize it was entirely altruistic. He's never wanted to eat his words so quickly in his entire life. His voice is quiet, still trying to reign himself in and he, too, rises. ]
No--I, uh, should get back. The whole saving the world thing should be addressed.
No--I mean I might back at Brakebills, but this-- [ A vague flap of his hands before he's curling into himself again, picking up his bag. ] --uh, it's fine.
[ He's not sure if anything he says isn't just going to be tripping on himself more than usual. He's got a real good habit of making things worse at the moment. ]
[ It’s not fine. Actually, it’s especially never fine whenever Quentin actually says something is fine. That’s like believing a drug addict means it when he says it’s the last time. Taking a deep breath and sighing, Eliot realizes that, once again, he needs to be the bigger man in this.
He turns on his heel to face Quentin again and holds out his hand. ]
Quentin. Come here. [ Soft and gentle. He’s had to use this voice plenty of times in bed, but it’s definitely situations like this that taught him how to use it to begin with. ]
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Not so interesting anymore, am I? [ It’s said like a joke, but of course it’s never a joke. ] Turns out orgies won’t ever be a thing for me again.
I’d ask you to attend some in my place, but I’m sure you’d probably get lost and start crying. Somehow end up in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.
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You act like I'm new to group sex.
[ That one threesome while they were all fucked up on emotion magic definitely counts. Even if it wrecked his relationship, which--
--well. He's not going to think about that. He's trying desperately not to be a depressing sadsack like usual. He keeps the tone light and holds his glass out, a silent 'refill, please.' ]
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Damnit. He thought he’d buried that feeling good and deep. But how could he forget the world’s cruelest joke? To finally have something he wanted, to feel wanted back, so desperately loved, to feel as if he could be healed and whole and maybe even happy, only to have it ripped away from him and to be treated as a villain for being...well. Him. Instead of Alice.
He’d even made excuses for Quentin to feel better. It was just the magic at work. It wasn’t something either of them had wanted. But it wasn’t enough. It’d still be pinned that Eliot and Margo had ruined Quentin’s life somehow. For, what, being part of it? For loving Quentin because he deserved it? For wanting a piece of that goodness because both of them knew what a beautiful existence Quentin was and wanting to let him know?
He pulls himself upright and makes Quentin another drink before letting himself speaking, using the time to reign back his emotions while thinking of how answer. When Eliot hands the goblet back, he feels much calmer, less betrayed. He polishes off his own drink and starts working on making another for himself before answering. ]
I don’t think it counts if you’re too far gone to choose wanting it.
What do you even remember?
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Honestly? Immediately after, I barely remembered a thing.
[ But he'd be lying if he said he didn't revisit it from time to time, usually when he doesn't want to. Not because the act in and of itself wasn't good--hell, he learned a lot--just because it immediately feeds into Alice being upset with him, and now...
Well. Alice isn't here anymore.
Quentin's muddled frown is a little frownier, less thoughtful before he pulls himself out of it and actually makes eye contact with Eliot. ]
Pieces were easier to fit into place when I wasn't monumentally hungover with emotions.
[ And he's back to staring at his cup. ]
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But even then Quentin’s not really answering the question. ]
And that means... What exactly?
[ He’s smart, but he’s not a mind-reader. ]
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It means I remember most of it, yeah, uh--like... All of it. Mostly, uh, you? And how--uh, why, exactly?
[ Yup. He's flustered. ]
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Why?
[ His palms are flat to the table, his newly mixed drink forgotten. ]
Why what?
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--I mean why ask I--do you remember?
I[ t's the least possible accusatory tone while still being accusatory. It's not defensive, either, Quentin just doesn't know how to handle being put on the spot about a threesome he definitely enjoyed but fucked his whole life up. ]
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Mm. Before I. Answer that there’s something I feel like I have to clear up first.
For as. Crazy, and I do mean crazy, and intense as that magic juice was, it’s really like. Close to. Mm... Nothing? Compared to the cocktail of usual suspects at any given Physical Kids’ party.
[ Eliot takes a nice, healthy drink from his cup to let that all sink in first before he continues. ]
So. We remember everything.
[ And it means they knew what they were doing too.
Pleasedon’tbemadpleasedon’tbemadpleasedon’tbemadpleasedon’tbema— ]
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But they've remembered all of it, and that means all of it, and Quentin's metaphorical hand flapping has dulled. ]
Oh.
I... That makes...sense.
[ Give him a second. ]
So when you... we... you know. You remember that?
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Yeah, you were a little anxious, but I coaxed you along.
You can’t blame a guy like me for wondering what it’d feel like being topped by someone as hung as you are though, right?
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You're not exactly anything to sneeze at, either...
[ He is, however, taking one hell of a long drink. Mainly at that anxious comment. He wasn't bad, was he? No. That's not what Alice had said either, he's just being a little insecure. He's also definitely not fixing his gaze on the table, either, shoulders awkwardly high. It's not a defensive position, just nervous. ]
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Yes, but I already know that. I’m trying to invalidate your insecurity and stroke your ego a little bit.
You do know how to accept a compliment, right?
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[ The trail off is met with another shrug, but hey, those shoulders have stopped. They're back to stooping, one slightly lower than the other naturally thanks to his favourite companion, his trusty messenger bag. ]
Thanks.
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That’s. That’s not what you said before. [ His voice is low, soft and uncertain. ] About what happened.
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Yeah, well, 'thanks for the compliment even though it fucked up my relationship with Alice' doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?
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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.
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No--Eliot, wait.
[ It's weird, saying something you only knew about yourself a few seconds ago. Quentin, the quiet guy, the loner, the one perfectly content to be in the corner with a book. He looks at Eliot and it's pleading, eyes glassy. ]
I don't want to be alone.
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Still, it’s so impossibly hard to breathe. ]
Me either. [ It’s defeat, because that’s what it is. Quentin doesn’t really want him there. Just Alice. But in lieu of Alice being dead, this is the only alternative.
It’s sickening. He was to purge his stomach. ]
I’m not here at your convenience, Q. Fillory took me when no one else wanted me.
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I know you aren't, Eliot. I really did come here just to check on you.
[ 'But now it's different, now I'm realizing how much I haven't processed, and it's going to come out of me like a torrent if I'm alone and I desperately don't want that.' ]
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I. Don’t know that it feels that way right now. [ The words are soft and unsure as they were earlier. This is territory he doesn’t like because it terrifies him, and everything Quentin has done in response has really only proved why he should be terrified of it. Even people you love can do horrible things to you when you give them trust. ]
If you need someone here, then I will stay. I could never leave you to suffer alone. But I’m not doing this because I think you really want me here.
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Maybe he just came here and didn't realize it was entirely altruistic. He's never wanted to eat his words so quickly in his entire life. His voice is quiet, still trying to reign himself in and he, too, rises. ]
No--I, uh, should get back. The whole saving the world thing should be addressed.
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We’ve gone over this already. You’re not helping anyone by not sleeping.
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[ He's not sure if anything he says isn't just going to be tripping on himself more than usual. He's got a real good habit of making things worse at the moment. ]
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He turns on his heel to face Quentin again and holds out his hand. ]
Quentin. Come here. [ Soft and gentle. He’s had to use this voice plenty of times in bed, but it’s definitely situations like this that taught him how to use it to begin with. ]
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im gonna switch icon sets soon i swear
♥
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