You can use my phone to call the cops. [ Goosebumps from those fingertips. Quentin's eyes linger a little longer over the cloudy stretch of skin over Peter's knuckles, thumb skimming the abraded skin, less to gauge the damage now than to avoid making eye contact and accounting for the shiver. He can look up once he finds a serious tone. It sounds a little too much like his dad, but better than being flustered, probably. ]

Seriously, what were you thinking? Not about coming here. I'm glad you came here, but--I mean, you're not drunk, are you? [ Letting go, he backs away, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. It's dry, but it's a joke: ] Can you touch your finger to the nose? Say the alphabet inside-out.