"If you don't tell me, my imagination'll get me into knots. So- yeah, please. Unless he's like, planning to actively murder me, in which case I would honest rather not see it coming."
"I'll keep you read in, then. And I won't let him murder you."
Jedao thinks it is much, much more likely that Fives will blame himself somehow or other, but he also has no idea how disastrously this is going to go; but that much he can promise.
There's a relieved rush of air when Quentin says he has someone else he'll go to, that Jedao isn't taking his kindness and leaving him to deal with the detritus alone. He knows it can't be him, and maybe Quentin won't, but - Jedao chooses to believe him, that he will, that he can as much as he needs to.
He wants - to kiss Quentin on the forehead, maybe, some small but poignant affection; he thinks maybe that would be worse for both of them. He wants to tug one of his gloves off, squeeze Quentin's hand with his palm bare just once. He does the gesture without taking off the glove; simple pressure, connection, reluctance, none of the esoteric erotic weight it would have otherwise.
"I hope your friend half as good to you as you've been to me. And I hope you call me if - whenever it would be more pleasant than painful. Goodbye for now, Quentin-shei."
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He admits, face falling a little.
"If you don't tell me, my imagination'll get me into knots. So- yeah, please. Unless he's like, planning to actively murder me, in which case I would honest rather not see it coming."
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Jedao thinks it is much, much more likely that Fives will blame himself somehow or other, but he also has no idea how disastrously this is going to go; but that much he can promise.
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But it's time for Quentin to do some recovering, and that part has to be alone- or at least, Jedao-free.
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He wants - to kiss Quentin on the forehead, maybe, some small but poignant affection; he thinks maybe that would be worse for both of them. He wants to tug one of his gloves off, squeeze Quentin's hand with his palm bare just once. He does the gesture without taking off the glove; simple pressure, connection, reluctance, none of the esoteric erotic weight it would have otherwise.
"I hope your friend half as good to you as you've been to me. And I hope you call me if - whenever it would be more pleasant than painful. Goodbye for now, Quentin-shei."
And he heads for the door.