"Yes. And there were pieces I - sort knew. But never got around to putting together with the rest of you? You're the only one of my mathematicians who ever made me sad I couldn't see it too."

He doesn't know that it's true until he hears himself say it, but there's a sweetness to the melancholy. He's been angry about that, bitter, resigned, but always for strategic, pragmatic reasons. This is just for the thing itself, and for him.

"And I feel a little bit like I maybe don't deserve you. But I'll probably get over that." He smiles, sleepy and cheeky, presses a kiss to Quentin's neck. While he's there, he whispers, "You still make me feel peaceful. More than ever."

The last gift he would ever have looked for, or imagined.