[There are some things, some moments in time that shift the entire universe on it’s axis, sear themselves into Koby’s ever-ticking, ever-thinking mind as important, pivotal – You’ll be one of the good ones, Luffy says, hand on his shoulder, smile bright in the darkness of Shell’s Town harbor. That uniform’s starting to fit you, Garp offers from behind his imposing desk, bemused and knowing. Like my friend…or whatever, Helmeppo mutters, embarrassed and loyal and unexpected.
You’re my true north, Quentin almost breathes, hands warm and callused and loving on Koby’s face, the taste of him still on Koby’s mouth.
The rowboat beneath them rocks somewhat dangerously as Koby’s breath catches, eyes bright and teary, as he surges forward and wraps both arms around Quentin’s neck, clings to him like an anchor in a storm. There’s an aching, all-consuming tenderness in his chest, as dizzying and intoxicating as the heat that floods him every time Quentin touches him, every time they kiss or snuggle together or tangle up between the sheets, and if he didn’t know Tim was right before, he does now. He does.
True north sounds a hell of a lot like something else, like a confession Koby knows they’re both too cautious to make, now. It sounds like something sturdy, the keel and hull of a ship, something to depend on, something to build on – not solid ground, because they’re both sailors, they both find much more peace on the sea, with the ever-changing waves and salt spray and high winds. True north sounds like I need you, sounds like I choose you, sounds like–]
It’s enough. [Soft, hoarse, pressed tearily against the side of Quentin’s neck, breathing in the way he smells, the way he feels.] It’s – everything. [Koby had never doubted that Quentin cared, that their entanglements had been wholehearted and genuine, and there had never been any sense of jealousy about other flings, other flirtations. Because it was his bed Quentin crawled into at the end of the night, his neck Quentin kissed first thing in the morning, his boat Quentin’s sitting in right now. True north means I’ll always know where you are, I’ll always find my way back to you and it’s more than Koby had ever let himself hope for, deep down, in the most secret part of him.
It’s hard to verbalize, hard to say it, so he resorts back to his dumb metaphor, laughing wetly even as he says it:] I told Tim it was like – having a crew. The way you and I are. Everyone means something, is important, is taken care of and watched out for, no matter how many there are, but the captain and first mate, it’s…different. [Sniffing, leaning back, smoothing Quentin’s hair away from his face again and not even bothering to hide how fond, how adoring his gaze is.] If I’m your true north, you’re my first mate. You know?
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You’re my true north, Quentin almost breathes, hands warm and callused and loving on Koby’s face, the taste of him still on Koby’s mouth.
The rowboat beneath them rocks somewhat dangerously as Koby’s breath catches, eyes bright and teary, as he surges forward and wraps both arms around Quentin’s neck, clings to him like an anchor in a storm. There’s an aching, all-consuming tenderness in his chest, as dizzying and intoxicating as the heat that floods him every time Quentin touches him, every time they kiss or snuggle together or tangle up between the sheets, and if he didn’t know Tim was right before, he does now. He does.
True north sounds a hell of a lot like something else, like a confession Koby knows they’re both too cautious to make, now. It sounds like something sturdy, the keel and hull of a ship, something to depend on, something to build on – not solid ground, because they’re both sailors, they both find much more peace on the sea, with the ever-changing waves and salt spray and high winds. True north sounds like I need you, sounds like I choose you, sounds like–]
It’s enough. [Soft, hoarse, pressed tearily against the side of Quentin’s neck, breathing in the way he smells, the way he feels.] It’s – everything. [Koby had never doubted that Quentin cared, that their entanglements had been wholehearted and genuine, and there had never been any sense of jealousy about other flings, other flirtations. Because it was his bed Quentin crawled into at the end of the night, his neck Quentin kissed first thing in the morning, his boat Quentin’s sitting in right now. True north means I’ll always know where you are, I’ll always find my way back to you and it’s more than Koby had ever let himself hope for, deep down, in the most secret part of him.
It’s hard to verbalize, hard to say it, so he resorts back to his dumb metaphor, laughing wetly even as he says it:] I told Tim it was like – having a crew. The way you and I are. Everyone means something, is important, is taken care of and watched out for, no matter how many there are, but the captain and first mate, it’s…different. [Sniffing, leaning back, smoothing Quentin’s hair away from his face again and not even bothering to hide how fond, how adoring his gaze is.] If I’m your true north, you’re my first mate. You know?