[ Felipe is finding a more measured tone, but the sting of his irritation still lingers. When Quentin hears the questions, he nearly rolls his eyes--except for the gentle tap of Felipe's foot under the table. Peace offering. Nostrils flare, chest swells with a sigh, and one hand unlaces from his chest so that Quentin can gesture loosely. ]
My dad was a single parent. And he was like--like a manly man, no one in his family ever taught him to cook. If he was feeling really--domestic, he'd make spaghetti. Just--premade pasta and jarred sauce, nothing crazy. We pretty much lived off of grocery store meals.
[ The explanation is tetchy, terse, but Quentin softens by the word. Eventually, both hands come loose, reach across the table to fidget with the wine bottle. ] ...And. And I realized I liked guys when I had-- [ This comes unsteady, not because he doesn't want to explain. He just never has. The words aren't lined up yet in his head. ] --I had this wet dream about my best friend. I dunno. I must have been sixteen? Seventeen?
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My dad was a single parent. And he was like--like a manly man, no one in his family ever taught him to cook. If he was feeling really--domestic, he'd make spaghetti. Just--premade pasta and jarred sauce, nothing crazy. We pretty much lived off of grocery store meals.
[ The explanation is tetchy, terse, but Quentin softens by the word. Eventually, both hands come loose, reach across the table to fidget with the wine bottle. ] ...And. And I realized I liked guys when I had-- [ This comes unsteady, not because he doesn't want to explain. He just never has. The words aren't lined up yet in his head. ] --I had this wet dream about my best friend. I dunno. I must have been sixteen? Seventeen?