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Summary
It wasn’t like that anymore. He and Eliot weren’t-- they didn’t. Because Quentin was with Alice. And being with Alice, the way they were now-- it made sense, for Quentin. Or, it had made sense, when there was the Monster, and Quentin hadn’t thought there was a possibility with Eliot, even if-- even when they got him back.
In a weird way, it had made even more sense once Eliot came back (thank God thank God thank God) and revealed that, guess what, he did want Quentin after all. Because Quentin always wanted too much from the people and things he loved, from Alice to Eliot to Fillory; how many times did he have to learn that lesson? And after-- after-- everything, fuck-- these last six months. Maybe it was time to accept what Eliot had always known, even if he’d forgotten a little, understandably, after being trapped alone inside a monster for so long: that no one would choose to sign up for fifty years of tending to the gaping black hole inside Quentin.
And then came that night, last month.
Series
- Part 2 of Nights and Mornings