Just how much of a sucker he was for Quentin asking him for anything was probably going to bite him in the ass eventually. Eliot settled again though before he'd even really gathered more than a passing thought of moving, reaching for Quentin's hand and holding it loosely in his.

"The one?" he asks. That could mean a lot of things. The one for Alice, the one for Julia, the one who figured out the mysteries of Filory - a million other things. "Which one?"