Oh careful now, I'm the farthest sailor from sainthood, actually. You'll change your mind come morning.

[ but he's not ignorant to the cut of darkness washing over tim's soft features. he's an attractive man, of course, but something there beneath the glasses and flop of downy hair shifts and he doesn't like the look of it. quentin toma is far, far too good at finding things, and not knowing when it's better to keep them a mystery.

but tim takes his hand, as confused as he is, and that is delightful enough. he gives a tug, closing the space between them and wrapping his arms around tim's shoulders, tugging him close. there are no whispers, no little kisses, no wandering hands - just the strong flex of his arms and crushing their chests together, so that tim may see it's not just his own heart beating by itself. ]

As your friend, I strongly advise you take care of yourself. Life's rough on the seas, and you're in a storm just now. It'll pass - but it's a storm all the same.

[ he draws back just enough to meet tim's eyes, quentin's smile turning a little soft at the corners. ]

Finish your breakfast, yes?