[ If this is death, Eliot isn't really sure it's what he expected. He definitely never thought he'd run into his One True Love or whatever Quentin is to him.
But Quentin feels real. There's all the familiar warmth that Eliot associates with him, the way Quentin fits against him so neatly and the way he hugs like if he lets go then one of them might float away. And maybe one of them will. Is it a trick? Is it death? Or is it a dream induced by not sleeping and ingesting too many meth muffins?
And why, really, would he see all this now? He'd put Quentin's memory to rest. He'd gotten it all off his chest and he thought he was doing a reasonable job of moving on. Rather than feel elated to see Quentin - dream or ghost or whatever he is - Eliot suddenly feels guilty. ]
Hey.
[ He's not sure what else to say. All his grand scenarios with smooth talking are out the window in the face of questionable reality. Instead of saying anything else, Eliot decides to return the embrace, pressing one hand to the back of Quentin's neck while the other circles his waist. ]
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But Quentin feels real. There's all the familiar warmth that Eliot associates with him, the way Quentin fits against him so neatly and the way he hugs like if he lets go then one of them might float away. And maybe one of them will. Is it a trick? Is it death? Or is it a dream induced by not sleeping and ingesting too many meth muffins?
And why, really, would he see all this now? He'd put Quentin's memory to rest. He'd gotten it all off his chest and he thought he was doing a reasonable job of moving on. Rather than feel elated to see Quentin - dream or ghost or whatever he is - Eliot suddenly feels guilty. ]
Hey.
[ He's not sure what else to say. All his grand scenarios with smooth talking are out the window in the face of questionable reality. Instead of saying anything else, Eliot decides to return the embrace, pressing one hand to the back of Quentin's neck while the other circles his waist. ]