[ you don't know until you try, he wants to say. but he can see the conflict between the tears and the protest. they're words of denial, but there's that silent hope there that always lingers, in anyone who wishes and wants even the impossible to be true.
isn't that the heart of quentin coldwater, after all? that deep, boundless hope, even in the darkest of dark, that there has to be a good somewhere to believe in.
eliot's chest aches a bit, wanting to draw quentin in to comfort him but knowing he'd drawn the line himself that makes quentin try to hide away the sorrow as quickly as it had taken him. there's still time, though. maybe. for something less intimate, more chaste and within the invisible walls erected around them.
reaching forward casually as is his way, eliot offers his hand, to help quentin to his feet. ]
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isn't that the heart of quentin coldwater, after all? that deep, boundless hope, even in the darkest of dark, that there has to be a good somewhere to believe in.
eliot's chest aches a bit, wanting to draw quentin in to comfort him but knowing he'd drawn the line himself that makes quentin try to hide away the sorrow as quickly as it had taken him. there's still time, though. maybe. for something less intimate, more chaste and within the invisible walls erected around them.
reaching forward casually as is his way, eliot offers his hand, to help quentin to his feet. ]
With all my heart, Quentin.