It’s different. It’s– [Because you’re special, because I care about you, because I can’t sleep if you aren’t with me, because I think about you all the time, because I think I might be in–
Words and thoughts both cut off, Koby gently settles the headphones more firmly in place, nestled against Quentin’s ears, surrounded by his tangled curls, which are carefully smoothed into place, coiling easily around Koby’s fingers. After a pause, he shifts one side slightly off one ear, breaking the surrounding, mildly claustrophobic sense of all sound being muffled, scooting closer so he’s kneeling in front of Quentin, smiling.]
There, better? I almost fell over the first time I used them – my sense of balance was completely thrown off. I read all about that, the inner ear and how it keeps us upright, which doesn’t really seem to account for sea legs, but maybe it doesn’t count for those. [Gentle, distracting prattle, a lifeline along with one callused hand slipping into Quentin’s, fingers lacing together and squeezing firmly. Koby can do the rest one-handed, plug the other end of the long, twining cord into his phone and swipe the screen like a professional. The phone had been an adjustment, but Koby’s a fast learner, as he’s shown again and again.
Nodding slightly, satisfied, he pauses with his thumb over the play button on the screen, over the files he’d downloaded from Saltburnt’s admittedly limited internet, the ones he’d carefully curated that morning. Some of the eager, hopeful excitement is back in Koby’s face as he squeezes Quentin’s hand and taps the button. The sound comes gradually, a soft, building sound, rhythmic and rumbling and achingly familiar – the sound of ocean waves.
With the headphones on, it’s everywhere, surrounding, coupled with the slight rock of the rowboat, the blue sky overhead, the sound of water building, cresting, falling onto sand, layered with the faint cries of seabirds, the sizzle of seafoam, the drip of waves pulling away across rock and tide pool. Some of the sounds Koby had found had music, piano or stringed instruments or something weird and melty-sounding called a synthesizer, but he likes this one best, because it’s just the ocean. Just the waves. Just the sound of home.]
See? [Barely above a whisper, wide-eyed and enraptured and gazing up at Quentin for his reaction, thumb stroking over his knuckles, again and again.] Isn’t that wonderful?
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Words and thoughts both cut off, Koby gently settles the headphones more firmly in place, nestled against Quentin’s ears, surrounded by his tangled curls, which are carefully smoothed into place, coiling easily around Koby’s fingers. After a pause, he shifts one side slightly off one ear, breaking the surrounding, mildly claustrophobic sense of all sound being muffled, scooting closer so he’s kneeling in front of Quentin, smiling.]
There, better? I almost fell over the first time I used them – my sense of balance was completely thrown off. I read all about that, the inner ear and how it keeps us upright, which doesn’t really seem to account for sea legs, but maybe it doesn’t count for those. [Gentle, distracting prattle, a lifeline along with one callused hand slipping into Quentin’s, fingers lacing together and squeezing firmly. Koby can do the rest one-handed, plug the other end of the long, twining cord into his phone and swipe the screen like a professional. The phone had been an adjustment, but Koby’s a fast learner, as he’s shown again and again.
Nodding slightly, satisfied, he pauses with his thumb over the play button on the screen, over the files he’d downloaded from Saltburnt’s admittedly limited internet, the ones he’d carefully curated that morning. Some of the eager, hopeful excitement is back in Koby’s face as he squeezes Quentin’s hand and taps the button. The sound comes gradually, a soft, building sound, rhythmic and rumbling and achingly familiar – the sound of ocean waves.
With the headphones on, it’s everywhere, surrounding, coupled with the slight rock of the rowboat, the blue sky overhead, the sound of water building, cresting, falling onto sand, layered with the faint cries of seabirds, the sizzle of seafoam, the drip of waves pulling away across rock and tide pool. Some of the sounds Koby had found had music, piano or stringed instruments or something weird and melty-sounding called a synthesizer, but he likes this one best, because it’s just the ocean. Just the waves. Just the sound of home.]
See? [Barely above a whisper, wide-eyed and enraptured and gazing up at Quentin for his reaction, thumb stroking over his knuckles, again and again.] Isn’t that wonderful?