[ Okay screw it, Quentin has learned the fine art of hugging without enough skin contact to set anything off. It's not a bear hug though, it's a careful hug. Arms around her over fabric, his head momentarily bowing into her hair, just breathing. Margo exists. He can't find it in him to say 'she should go home' because right then he's going to let himself be a needy mess. His emotions are strong but the one he's feeling the most right now is something that would make her cringe as much as the rest: deep genuine love.

He doesn't cling though. He knows how she is. Quentin hugs her briefly and then lets go; he felt her in his arms, he knows she's real and not a fiction. When he got very, very drunk that first night, he kept convincing himself he heard them. It hasn't been the healthiest few days. ]

No and ... yes. Something like that happened before, another world called Zerzura. Everyone had new memories of a life that wasn't theirs, but it was ... apparently a lot fucking better. It was ideal lives, not psycho Hunger Games-esque lives.

[ Now that he's greeted her, Quentin goes to get her a cup of coffee, eager to please, eager to help now that he's no longer alone. ]

I think the only answer is that the gods are doing it.