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I'm glad you're safe.

Have you eaten? Breakfast is about to start. Let me bring you something while you tend to his sickbed.

I don't think so. I'm not hungry, though.

When did you eat last?

[ an empty stomach can be the death of a man on a ship taking a long journey. it's habit to want to see to basic needs like this. ]

[ when he thinks about the answer, he realizes Quentin's right... ]

At the party. Before we met.

Right then. I'll bring you breakfast once it's out. Can't wait to see their faces when I take platefuls and run - I think they believe it's very improper.

[ it's a little attempt to raise his spirits at least. ]

Edited (one day ill remember html) 2024-07-16 04:25 (UTC)

Thank you. Just don't get yourself in trouble, alright?

And what trouble would there be if I fill my plate and say I'm taking it to my room? They don't need to know my appetite isn't that of a thousand soldiers.

Should I bring something for your friend, in case he's awake?

I guess not. I must be on edge, given everything.

The hospital is feeding him. And he won't be in the mood to meet you, so let's hope he's still asleep.

Which is nothing against you. He just gets jealous sometimes.

Oh I see. A very particular friend then.

Let me bring you breakfast. If your friend is awake, I'll find someone else to visit and leave your food somewhere you can collect it. I'm very clever when I want to be.

While I await the great feast, talk to me. It's never any good to sit and stew alone when your heart is aching.

Much more significant than that. I'm sorry, I should have told you. It's hard to explain.

I don't want you to hide, though. If he's upset, I'll deal with him.

okay. about what?

And why would you need to tell me? Your bed partners are your business. The ones of the heart? Even more so. We had a lovely evening you and I. To me that is the most important part. Did you enjoy yourself? Then it was a good evening.

Tell me what it is you do, Tim Laughlin. You may laugh - as some have - but I’m a sailor. I suspect we’re from different places, you and I.

I did enjoy myself. I didn't mean to offend you. Where I come from, it's frowned upon to be sleeping with multiple people.

A sailor. Were you in a navy?

I was a staffer for a prominent senator. I quit and enlisted right before I woke up here.

Oh I'm not offended, sweet man. I mean only to say that if you want another hot bath together, my door is open. If you don't, then my door will be open then, too. I try my best to never meet strangers where I go.

The navy helped, yes. Royal Navy.

But tell me what is that? senator. I don't know that word. But enlisted? You were fighting?

I do.
But I shouldn't.
I have someone I'm devoted to, and last time I was with you, he got torn to shreds. Which isn't your fault. You were perfect. That's on me.
I don't know. Haven't slept much either. I'll have to think about it

A senator is someone who makes the laws. And I hadn't gotten around to fighting yet. I was due at training in a couple days, when I woke up here.

My door is open for more than just a romp sweet man. Take care of those who feed your heart first.

I'm glad you didn't go to the fronts, whatever those look like where you're from. You're too important to lose yourself to violence because of some senator's laws. Those men are called chancellors where I live. They serve the Regent.

Our worlds are so very different.

A romp is kind of an unpleasant way to put it. But then you call me that. It's confusing.

How do you know I'm so important?

Regent to a king? My country doesn't have kings. We have presidents, and the people get to decide who it is.

Is it? Well that's what it's called where I live, and it's not a bad thing at all. I think I'm not quite so good at this in writing - but I enjoyed spending time with you.

There's a softness to you. I've seen many places, met many people, but you don't often meet the ones that shine like you do. Soft, sweet. Just a gut feeling.

The Regent is our King, I suppose. President? What a funny name. The people get no say in the Regent's bidding in Solastra.

It just sounds so impersonal. Frivolous, you know? I usually take it a lot more seriously. But I don't regret it, I did enjoy my time with you.

I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing myself.

[ He has the impulse to defend himself from the soft allegations, as he would most surely have to do if this conversation were taking place at home. But it isn't a thinly-veiled accusation, a suggestion of a secret that has to be locked tight in polite company. It's a compliment. One that doesn't make sense to him, with the casualness of the rest of it. It feels good, though. ]

I'm sorry that you have to live like that. That's what the enlistment is for, though. Overthrowing dictators that don't listen to their people.

Oh the first thing you must do is stop apologizing. There is nothing to apologize for, unless of course you would like to apologize to this serving maid on my behalf. I suspect she'll have to restock of the food when I'm through.

[ there's a little time, the dots coming and going and then: ]

Dictators will undermine themselves in time. They're stupid - ah, sorry, I think I dropped - oh yes it's for an ailing friend I couldn't leave them -

[ whoops, did he just discover voice to text? maybe. by accident. ]

Quentin?

How do you turn this off? Oh, you are a shining -

[ whoops. someone shouldn't be juggling this new contraption and a buffet line. it takes him far too long to punch out letters and words. thankfully, he salvaged the food before he dropped it, mishandling plates and phones and other items. ]

These strange things are very complication - they must be their own form of dictator in this realm.

I didn't realize it could copy what we speak. It would be easier than hitting all these lettters. What room are you and your companion in? I'm bringing food, and you don't get to say otherwise, sweet man.

[ Insert room number i forgot ok ]

Thank you. It's very kind of you.

[ he's never been to the hospital on the grounds but it takes little time for him to navigate, carefully minding the over-filled plate he has covered with another, walking through the halls with the confidence and ease of a man who should be carrying a hot plate of food into a medical ward.

he's astounded, first, by all the noises - whirring machines and beeps, but he comes to the door of room where tim sits inside, looking quite different from their run-in at the baths. quentin is dressed a little more casually as well, stuck with what the house has provided him, but oddly enough? his hair is braided back along his skull in what some might call a french braid. he's a little bruised up, but he doesn't make note of it. instead, moving to set he food down on the bedside table like he owns the room the injured companion of tim laughlin rests in. he keeps his voice cown. ]

I don't know the names of some of these items, but I've been assured they're all delicious. [ eggs, toast, pastries, fruits... you name it. in fact, he swipes a little cinnamon roll and with little restraint, presses it to tim's lips softly. ]

And I insist you eat in my presence, else I will have to return every morning and make a fool of myself juggling eggs in the dining room. I think the maid took pity on me when I spilled the milk. Go on - eat.

[ It’s not the casual bedroom clothes that makes him blush when Quentin arrives, though they do make his tired eyes linger a second too long. It’s not knowing what’s underneath them, or the memories of last night, or the way he confidently saunters as if he does not know or care that it’s completely inappropriate. It’s the damn cinnamon roll, still warm and soft and slathered in sticky-sweet icing when Quentin presses it to his lips.

Wildly inappropriate.

He takes the miniature pastry from Quentin, their fingers brushing together as he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, licking the bit of frosting from his lip. ]

Okay, I’m eating. [ Putting it in his mouth. See? He’s a very good boy. He follows directions. ] We can talk in the hallway.

[ Head gesturing towards Hawk, thankfully still asleep. Let’s keep it that way. ]

[ all quentin knows is that he tried the little confection at the maid's insistence and he'd enjoyed it, so naturally he filled his plate with a handful for both of them, among other food items. he smiles, pleased, when tim takes the little pastry. he doesn't hesitate to grab another and pop it into his mouth. which means he's quietly talking around it for a few moments. ]

I see that you are eating - I had no idea that's what it looked like to eat. I so appreciate you informing me.

[ teasing again, and he shrugs, grabbing a napkin full of bread and cheese, walking out into the hallway with a glance back at hawk - all bruised and exhausted. only when they've left the quiet of hawk's room does he turn back to tim, pressing the little bundle of food to his chest. and then, as though it's nothing, he reaches to push the hair from tim's forehead with a familiarity he hasn't earned. ]

You don't have to eat all of it, but at least one.

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