What do you mean?

[ Quentin’s dreamy loving look fades slowly into something confused, for a split second, then incredulous. He’s tired.

Part of him knows, seen the signs, heard of them but it’s been put off. Like sleep. Something that can’t be denied forever. He shakes his head dismissively and rubs at his own face. ]

Look. I know you don’t approve but if you’re about to make something up to get me to back off, it’s not going to work.