Despite appearances, Quentin actually gets that. The formless anger towards people dying, even if they weren't necessarily your people. But knowing that people were dying because of some bullshit mystical events? He gets that.

"It's-- listen, I can wait. I mean, I don't want to, but I also don't want to wake up tomorrow and have to have someone tell me all over again. I really-" he takes a deep breath, shoulders hunching forward, "- I appreciate this? More than you probably know, because I'm not really the best at explaining myself. But... yesterday, I was with my friends and yeah, things did go how I planned it. And it was actually pretty much a shitshow, but. I'm still-- I keep expecting this to stop? That I'm going to blink or fall asleep and-- and I'll be back home."

And he looks away, the blinding whiteness of the snow making it easier to push down all the thoughts about you're never getting home, you're not good enough and the spiraling thoughts about this isn't real, before opening his mouth again.

"But if it's not too much trouble? I'd like to take you up in that offer. In a couple of days?"