[It's kind of amazing, in a scary kind of way. The way Eliot pulls away, not with his body as much as all of the emotions draining away from his face- his mouth relaxes, the angry, frustrated lines between his eyes and around his lips smooth out and between one blink and the next, Eliot looks almost completely different.

Quentin frowns.

Eliot looks almost placid. Almost calm, with a casual arch of his eyebrow at Quentin and a roll of his shoulders, like they're talking about nothing more important than dinner or who's turn it is to do the dishes. (Quentin's, it's always Quentin's because Eliot cooks and it's only fair, but the argument still comes up).

Looking like he did back at Brakebills, too aloof and too above it all to care about what mere mortals thought and Quentin hasn't seen that look on Eliot's face in years. Maybe last time, was Eliot mentioning in a throw-away line that Margo had sold his newborn daughter to the fairies.

Or maybe it's the hazy image of Eliot laying on the mosaic, all smiles and warmth as Quentin kissed Arielle and there's a part of him that's always suspected that maybe Eliot hadn't been as okay with that as he said he was. That accepting Quentin's marriage had been just another way for Eliot

To give

Quentin

What Quentin thought

He needed.

Like now.]

You are. You're worth staying for, Eliot. I-- maybe I don't tell you that enough, or maybe I just suck at doing it? But you're worth staying for.