[ I get the feeling you don't get to choose very often. It cuts deep, exposing a raw nerve within him that he'd rather keep hidden. He tries, keeping his focus on his egg and the plate of food in his lap, but he's never been a good liar, and so it's written on his face. It's uncomfortable because it's true, not just of his unsatisfying history of hookups until now, but his whole life for the last few months. Told that Hawk made his choice without so much as a conversation, brought here against his will, the choice he'd made to run off and enlist taken away from him. Things have been happening to him, and all he can do is react.
Last night, he chose this, and he's grateful that the choice is still his to make, lovers or friends or something in between. Everything is too overwhelming to know for sure right now, but Quentin is so inhumanly patient that he doesn't feel any pressure to. ]
Thank you, Quentin. You're a saint, honestly.
[ Tim raises an eyebrow up at him, but complies, wiping his hand on his pants before taking Quentin's, letting him pull him to his feet. ]
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Last night, he chose this, and he's grateful that the choice is still his to make, lovers or friends or something in between. Everything is too overwhelming to know for sure right now, but Quentin is so inhumanly patient that he doesn't feel any pressure to. ]
Thank you, Quentin. You're a saint, honestly.
[ Tim raises an eyebrow up at him, but complies, wiping his hand on his pants before taking Quentin's, letting him pull him to his feet. ]