Admittedly, Eliot was hoping to get a little more out of Quentin than a quiet dismissal. Some more playful banter, maybe, or some of that time-honoured Quentin-Brand flirting. That would have been fun, but it doesn't deter him any. No, not when things are still at a weird place and Eliot is still desperately trying to pretend like things aren't incredibly fucking dire.

Dire in his need to confirm a hundred or more things with Quentin, dire in his need to put his hands all over him, and dire in his need just to know that he wasn't going to vanish like a wraith in the night. Eliot swears, honestly swears, that he might burn this place to the ground if that were to happen.

"That's the one," he confirms easily. He picks up the pace just a bit, eager to go ahead and introduce it to Quentin. If it seems like Quentin is getting a little dragged then that's just an unfortunate side effect. "It's better inside. Little less 'ticky-tacky'."

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky, and all the same. That sort of shit.

"Somewhat, anyway."