[ It's an impulse. Something left over from the Cottage in Fillory, he thinks--Quentin grabs an extra napkin and wordlessly slides it to Diarmuid, just in case he wants to wipe his face or compose himself. His eyes had looked pretty red, probably with emotion. Now that things have eased between them, Quentin's guilt is slow being eclipsed by his Dad instincts. Sure, Diarmuid's not a little kid, but he is significantly younger than him. ]

What about rabbits? Eliot and I were thinking that if something like this happens again and you need help, we want to be there for you. There's a way you can call us for help no matter what, but it means you'd get a pet. A magical one. You don't have to answer right away or anything, and I can explain more, but... no rush, okay? Let's just drink some tea.