[It'd be easy enough to chart things out, to tally up the mornings Koby's woken up with Quentin's tangled curly head pillowed over his heart, the constellations of marks left scattered over his thighs, up his neck, across his collarbone, an echo of the ones he's left on Quentin in return. He could try and quantify it, could turn it into data or notes or inventory, how many sweet mornings, how many heated nights, how many of those bright, warm smiles does it take to fall in love?

But it wouldn't translate. It wouldn't put into words the way everything in Koby is settled, calm, at peace, here in this boat, here with Quentin kissing him. It wouldn't make sense of how he'd found himself in the middle of this, the middle of them before he'd even recognized he'd begun. And for the first time, Koby doesn't want to try. He doesn't need to untangle the threads of who and how and why, to believe that every word Quentin says is true. And it's not going to fall out from beneath him, not going to crumble to pieces, not going to wash away with the tides. More than loving, he trusts Quentin, trusts that he isn't going to suddenly change or disappear or decide Koby isn't enough. Perhaps that's even more marvelous.

Now, though, Koby sniffs and tears up and is kissed all over, told he's the safe one, he's the trusted, beloved, sought-after one, and it makes him laugh, watery and amazed and giddy, pressing his forehead to Quentin's and nodding again and again.] Yes. Yes, I'll -- as long as you'll have me. As long as you want. [The unknowns loom, dangerous and fanged and burning, but Quentin is here, in his arms, and Koby can forget about the what-ifs, for a little while.] I love you. I love you. [Over and over, like he'll never get used to the words, laughing again and nuzzling their noses together.] Sorry, I -- nobody's ever said that to me before. Ever. My entire life.