One of the things El wrestled with the most since Quentin's death was the overwhelming guilt. He never could shake the feeling that if it weren't for him? His friend would still be alive. Rationally, he knew deep down it wasn't his fault. The blame rested solely on Nameless' shoulders, but that niggling of guilt still existed all the same. It didn't exactly help that Charlton seemed keenly aware of every emotion Eliot experienced.
The Monster aside? El hadn't ever hosted such a rude houseguest before, as far as leaving well enough alone went. It was much harder to ignore things when you had someone constantly providing commentary on every topic.
He was grateful for Charlton's rare display of silence though, and even more grateful he was getting this moment at all. Quentin was alive. It didn't really matter how or that this entire situation should have been impossible. He just wanted a few minutes to bask before facing the reality that came far too soon as Q stepped back and smiled up at him.
Opening his mouth to say something, whatever it was, fell wayside, while Quentin began to ramble about Narnia and pocket dimensions. As he went on and on, El couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. God, he'd missed Q's incessant monologues. It was the little things like that, even ones that had more often than not caused a roll of his eyes, that he'd missed the most. Those daily mundane things that were taken for granted and weren't fully appreciated until they weren't there anymore.
He heard every word, soaking it all in while simultaneously trying to get over the shock of seeing him alive. The latter would probably take him some time, but Eliot always learned how to adapt. Never one to be short on words himself, this speechless state was brand-new territory for him. So, he latched onto one thing and ran with it.
"It's a fuckton, Q. Manhattan but not. Narnia but not. Somewhere not connected to the Neitherlands. And who the fuck named this place? Goodland? Really? You would wind up somewhere called Goodland."
This time when Quentin touched him, he didn't tense near as much. Instead, he breathed out a sigh of relief and covered the other man's hand with his own. "Alright, Pinocchio. It's real," pausing for just a minute as he still struggled to wrap his head around everything, he managed to smile again. "You're real... and you've really been here this whole time?"