[ Diamuid's paranoia has stopped, Quentin thinks, watching the other go into a slightly pensive state. He's glad, and his shoulders round out a little more, expelling the tension he had no idea was there.

Diarmuid still forgives him. After all this, just easy-peasy, 'hey, pal, you tried to kill me but I hope you're not suffering because of little old me,' but what Quentin's really astounded by is that there's no hint of the kid playing the martyr. He really, truly believes it. Diarmuid, Quentin realizes, is exactly who he used to think he was. He wasn't--he was selfish, self-centered, arrogant and smug and thought just because he was sad for no reason the world owed him--but the kid in front of him? That's the real deal.

Fuck, that makes it hurt even worse. Quentin pours the tea. ]

When I broke something around the house when I was little, my dad used to say 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed.' That's kind of the vibe I'm getting with this.

[ There's an almost smile on his face, though. ]

I know you've got people looking after you, but if you need anything, anything at all, let me know, okay? Even if it's just homework help.