(Listen, they are neither fucking nor dating and it's already bad. The joke is hardly a joke, they jumped over literally every stage and landed on DIVORCE. The bombastic side-eye intensifies at the mental comparison, because excuse her, she is not Phoebe, in case he hasn't noticed. Phoebe is Esme light, and Sophie is exactly on the opposite end of that scale. Sophie doesn't care about power — not a bone in her gives a fuck about Quentin's nor Nate's Omega-level bullshit, Phoenix capabilities, titles, or any of that shit. If anything, the fact she genuinely likes a man she met through a dumb videogame so much to the point shit goes down and she doesn't look up from her phone — personality and texting only.

Phoebe... Well. He said it himself. The funniest part of all this to her is that she truly prefers Quentin like this, over Krakoa. She actually had honest-to-God fun with him on that dance floor, their date-not-date, and at that arcade. The thing is that reaching that is pure hell, like she has to go through a nation-wide landmine of eggshells. Okay, fine, she does that to him too, she GUESSES. This is why they suck. God, they suck so much.

At least he sees it too. Dumpster fire and all that.

Thing is, Quentin, she is very well aware that she would probably enjoy it. She has heard more than he would want to know that she has. Her face has already reached the limit on how red it can go, and it is slowly creeping towards it again because... This is idiotic.

It's stupid. It's a very nice break from how much she wants to ghost, but listen.

It's dumb.

She hates she's considering it. Maybe fucking gives them something else to focus rather than whatever the FUCK they are.)

I'm not scared of shit, thank you very much. If anything, I'm concerned it's gonna make you even more insufferable after.

(Defense mechanism, blablablabla.)

If. If we do this. I'm not saying we are. I'm saying if. That's all it is, and we agree it can't make this shit worse.