[ 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. ]
[ Quentin sighs, though there's no annoyance to it, just complete and utter deflation.
He can't say no to Eliot. He doesn't think he ever can--so, bag slung over his shoulder, he obeys and moves towards him, looking up and almost cowed. ]
[ It’s automatic, pulling Quentin into a hug, making sure he’s snug, neatly tucked under Eliot’s chin. When Quentin’s settled (voluntarily or not), Eliot sighs again, relief, as he presses a kiss to Quentin’s forehead. ]
Stop overthinking things, Q. You’ll only hurt yourself.
[ It's weird that he fits so well. He's always been conscious of his height--or lack of, as it were--but he fits just perfect under the other's chin. It's strangely comforting, and he all but sinks into the hug, carefully bringing hands up to reciprocate. ]
I can't turn my mind off.
[ He doesn't think any of them can, he hardly thinks he's the only one. He does hug justa little tighter, though. ]
[ His hand find’s Quentin’s hair and gently combs through it. It’s the slightest bit greasy in the way that Eliot knows Quentin really hasn’t paid any attention to himself in the last few days, and he sighs once more, this time with concern. ]
You can’t only use work as a distraction. Think of something else.
[ And preferably not of the substance abuse category, but Eliot loves drinking and drugs so he would definitely be the biggest hypocrite if he said that out loud.
...though he’s still a hypocrite probably for thinking Quentin shouldn’t. ]
What makes you happy?
And don’t say it's nothing. There’s always something. I’ve seen you smile. You aren’t without joy.
[ Eliot's company. That's a big one--Eliot's parties. He's never really a fan of big crowds but he thinks parties are okay, but Eliot's are actually fun. Eliot in general. The big one, though, that's easy. ]
Fillory.
[ Weird, how that's been tainted now, too. Now that he knows about Plover--and, hell, Quentin had worshipped the guy. He had no idea what a piece of shit he was. He's still leaning on Eliot as he shakes the bag at his side. ]
[ Quentin looks up at Eliot, craning his head back slightly, and when he looks at Eliot's face he winds up smiling. It's small but there, the corners of his lips lifting.
God, he's tired. ]
Yeah. I'm in Fillory.
[ And that's pretty fucking cool, all things considered. Even if there's the inevitable threat of doom looming over them. It's already struck, but it's still there, ever present. ]
And a King. I mean, I allready had a whole walking tour mapped out. Julia and I used to spend hours with a map planning it.
Mm. Sometimes I forget exactly how nerdy you are, but for whatever reason, it only seems to endear you more to me.
[ It’s said mostly to himself, but. It’s also a compliment. In that Eliot sort of way, anyway. ]
Maybe you can take me tomorrow. If you’ve time.
[ Everything flows differently here. A month could be a day, an hour, or even a second on Earth. It’s not set in stone, as he’s learned from Margo’s visits. Maybe The Beast is coming soon on Earth, but for Eliot, it could be years. Years where he might not see Quentin again. ]
But I really think you should sleep if you’re not going to drink with me. I doubt they’d like for me to send you back as one of the living dead.
[ Just being in Eliot's presence is strangely calming like this--Eliot's usually a shit stirrer, an agent of chaos, but now it's a little different. Eliot cares.
Quentin has never been more grateful, and he sighs, pressing his forehead into his friends' shoulder. ]
Yeah. Sleep--sleep sounds really good, actually.
[ Weird, he never noticed that Eliot's aftershave smells as nice as it does, even though the alcohol on his own breath is just a little overpowering right now.
damn. Captain morgan in bed sounds really good right now. ]
That sounds amazing. [ And he means it, too, leaning in just a little bit longer into Eliot's arms before leaning back and picking up a few of the bottles.
Damn, he did alright when he blindly grabbed shit to shove in his messenger bag. He tucks them in again, the soft clanking oddly soothing as glass gently bumps into glass as he packs a few up, and his gaze lingers on the goblets before deciding against it.
High King Eliot is going to have to drink Bombay Sapphire straight from the bottle like the rest of the peasants below him. Though, come to think of it, he swore he saw Eliot drinking straight from the bottle at a party a few times. Or maybe he was just drunk?
Once Quentin smooths down the flap he's suddenly aware of how heavy his feet feel, but he winds up moving back towards Eliot a little sluggishly. Yeah. A drink and then lights out really wouldn't hurt.
They reach the bedroom and Quentin feels both at ease and odd with the fact that he's in royal chambers of any sort. It's ridiculous, since he's a King himself, but it's probably just because he associates Fillory with Eliot now. He sets the bag down on Eliot's bed with a clink sound, sitting down next to it and fishing out a bottle of tequila. ]
[ He takes a deep breath and sighs as he sits down beside Quentin and lays back, arms wide. ]
The joys of being royalty. Sometimes you have to run errands. Other times you have to let other people do them for you because it might offend the wrong magical sort.
[ Then he hums. ]
It’s supposed to be a week, at most, but you never know when the weather will suddenly disagree with your mode of travel here.
I really need someone to figure out how the hell to make a car.
[ Quentin snorts at that, shoving his hair out of his face before motioning for the other to help himself to the bag, opening the bottle of tequila for himself and taking a healthy swig. He doesn't even wince, used to at least feeling a little numb.
Not as much as Eliot. That one-off comment about liver damage he made ages ago is probably true--he still might drink and party his way into an early grave, even as High King.
Hopefully not without Quentin. ]
Maybe stick to champagne for now, get that right first.
[ It's a teasing smile as he hands the bottle over to the taller man, a silent invitation to take a sip if he hasn't picked his own poison. ]
[ Eliot giggles as he rolls to his side and sloths his way party upright by grasping onto Quentin’s shoulder so he can reach the bottle. ]
To their credit, each vintage is reasonably more palatable than the last. [ He takes a swig, pauses to breathe, and takes another two before offering the bottle gently back. ]
That’s still better than anything I could have tried on my own.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
That’s. That’s not what you said before. [ His voice is low, soft and uncertain. ] About what happened.
no subject
Yeah, well, 'thanks for the compliment even though it fucked up my relationship with Alice' doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.' ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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 subject
We’ve gone over this already. You’re not helping anyone by not sleeping.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
He can't say no to Eliot. He doesn't think he ever can--so, bag slung over his shoulder, he obeys and moves towards him, looking up and almost cowed. ]
no subject
Stop overthinking things, Q. You’ll only hurt yourself.
no subject
I can't turn my mind off.
[ He doesn't think any of them can, he hardly thinks he's the only one. He does hug justa little tighter, though. ]
no subject
[ His hand find’s Quentin’s hair and gently combs through it. It’s the slightest bit greasy in the way that Eliot knows Quentin really hasn’t paid any attention to himself in the last few days, and he sighs once more, this time with concern. ]
You can’t only use work as a distraction. Think of something else.
[ And preferably not of the substance abuse category, but Eliot loves drinking and drugs so he would definitely be the biggest hypocrite if he said that out loud.
...though he’s still a hypocrite probably for thinking Quentin shouldn’t. ]
What makes you happy?
And don’t say it's nothing. There’s always something. I’ve seen you smile. You aren’t without joy.
no subject
Fillory.
[ Weird, how that's been tainted now, too. Now that he knows about Plover--and, hell, Quentin had worshipped the guy. He had no idea what a piece of shit he was. He's still leaning on Eliot as he shakes the bag at his side. ]
Always got a copy with me.
no subject
[ There’s a pause as his hand drops down to Quentin’s neck. ]
What do you want to do? What have you always wanted to do? If you could come here.
no subject
God, he's tired. ]
Yeah. I'm in Fillory.
[ And that's pretty fucking cool, all things considered. Even if there's the inevitable threat of doom looming over them. It's already struck, but it's still there, ever present. ]
And a King. I mean, I allready had a whole walking tour mapped out. Julia and I used to spend hours with a map planning it.
no subject
[ It’s said mostly to himself, but. It’s also a compliment. In that Eliot sort of way, anyway. ]
Maybe you can take me tomorrow. If you’ve time.
[ Everything flows differently here. A month could be a day, an hour, or even a second on Earth. It’s not set in stone, as he’s learned from Margo’s visits. Maybe The Beast is coming soon on Earth, but for Eliot, it could be years. Years where he might not see Quentin again. ]
But I really think you should sleep if you’re not going to drink with me. I doubt they’d like for me to send you back as one of the living dead.
no subject
Quentin has never been more grateful, and he sighs, pressing his forehead into his friends' shoulder. ]
Yeah. Sleep--sleep sounds really good, actually.
[ Weird, he never noticed that Eliot's aftershave smells as nice as it does, even though the alcohol on his own breath is just a little overpowering right now.
damn. Captain morgan in bed sounds really good right now. ]
no subject
As if sensing Q’s thoughts, he smiles faintly and replies: ]
We could bring a few bottles too. If you want. It’s not like they’ll get much use here otherwise.
[ ‘We’ meaning Eliot’s clearly assuming they’re crashing together like the often did on the couch. ]
no subject
Damn, he did alright when he blindly grabbed shit to shove in his messenger bag. He tucks them in again, the soft clanking oddly soothing as glass gently bumps into glass as he packs a few up, and his gaze lingers on the goblets before deciding against it.
High King Eliot is going to have to drink Bombay Sapphire straight from the bottle like the rest of the peasants below him. Though, come to think of it, he swore he saw Eliot drinking straight from the bottle at a party a few times. Or maybe he was just drunk?
Once Quentin smooths down the flap he's suddenly aware of how heavy his feet feel, but he winds up moving back towards Eliot a little sluggishly. Yeah. A drink and then lights out really wouldn't hurt.
They reach the bedroom and Quentin feels both at ease and odd with the fact that he's in royal chambers of any sort. It's ridiculous, since he's a King himself, but it's probably just because he associates Fillory with Eliot now. He sets the bag down on Eliot's bed with a clink sound, sitting down next to it and fishing out a bottle of tequila. ]
No Fen?
no subject
The joys of being royalty. Sometimes you have to run errands. Other times you have to let other people do them for you because it might offend the wrong magical sort.
[ Then he hums. ]
It’s supposed to be a week, at most, but you never know when the weather will suddenly disagree with your mode of travel here.
I really need someone to figure out how the hell to make a car.
no subject
Not as much as Eliot. That one-off comment about liver damage he made ages ago is probably true--he still might drink and party his way into an early grave, even as High King.
Hopefully not without Quentin. ]
Maybe stick to champagne for now, get that right first.
[ It's a teasing smile as he hands the bottle over to the taller man, a silent invitation to take a sip if he hasn't picked his own poison. ]
no subject
To their credit, each vintage is reasonably more palatable than the last. [ He takes a swig, pauses to breathe, and takes another two before offering the bottle gently back. ]
That’s still better than anything I could have tried on my own.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
im gonna switch icon sets soon i swear
♥
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)