Yeah. [It comes out in a whisper, teary and grinning and giddy, one hand reaching to wipe away his tears, knowing he probably looks like a red-faced, crying mess, almost apologizing for it, but – but Quentin’s looking at him like nobody has, like even Koby at his messiest is beloved, and there’s no room for doubt in the face of that. The hissing, snarling, malevolent voice that lives in his mind is silent again, no sneaking tendrils of doubt in the way Koby feels when Quentin promises him as long as the future might last. There’s no fear about what if and what about and when he gets bored, when he leaves, what’ll be left?
There’s a lot about this place that Koby is cautious of, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the ground to fall out beneath him. But he’s somehow never doubted that Quentin cares about him, that his affection and tenderness was genuine. Because it’s been genuine from Koby since that very first day, because of the way everything went quiet, went calm and blissful and safe the first time Quentin touched him.
So he doesn’t curl away or try to poke holes in what Quentin says, doesn’t try to deflect the compliments, even if they make him blush deeper, squirm a little, hiding his bright red cheek against Quentin’s as the kisses trail up towards his ear. Koby shivers, inhales shakily, knowing he’s not as good at words, that he fumbles and stammers his way through anything serious. But Quentin’s voice, his warmth, sunkissed and adoring and the safest, safest Koby’s ever felt in his life – he wants to try, to say something.] I don’t – you’re so smart and you make me laugh and you find so much to be happy about, you’re always finding the sun, you’re always pointing me to it and. [He falters, laughs, squeezes his arms around Quentin’s neck, breathes him in through those dumb, incessant tears and he chokes out:] I don’t hate myself, when I’m with you. I don’t, and if I can – somehow be that for you, if I can keep being the place you go when you’re afraid, when you need that reminder that I – I love you, when you need to hide from the world for a little, then. Then I’ll be that as long as I can.
[Another sniff, and it’s probably good Quentin isn’t wearing a shirt because Koby would’ve cried a big wet patch into it by now, nuzzling his teary messy face closer and hiccuping out:] L-Loud and clear.
no subject
There’s a lot about this place that Koby is cautious of, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the ground to fall out beneath him. But he’s somehow never doubted that Quentin cares about him, that his affection and tenderness was genuine. Because it’s been genuine from Koby since that very first day, because of the way everything went quiet, went calm and blissful and safe the first time Quentin touched him.
So he doesn’t curl away or try to poke holes in what Quentin says, doesn’t try to deflect the compliments, even if they make him blush deeper, squirm a little, hiding his bright red cheek against Quentin’s as the kisses trail up towards his ear. Koby shivers, inhales shakily, knowing he’s not as good at words, that he fumbles and stammers his way through anything serious. But Quentin’s voice, his warmth, sunkissed and adoring and the safest, safest Koby’s ever felt in his life – he wants to try, to say something.] I don’t – you’re so smart and you make me laugh and you find so much to be happy about, you’re always finding the sun, you’re always pointing me to it and. [He falters, laughs, squeezes his arms around Quentin’s neck, breathes him in through those dumb, incessant tears and he chokes out:] I don’t hate myself, when I’m with you. I don’t, and if I can – somehow be that for you, if I can keep being the place you go when you’re afraid, when you need that reminder that I – I love you, when you need to hide from the world for a little, then. Then I’ll be that as long as I can.
[Another sniff, and it’s probably good Quentin isn’t wearing a shirt because Koby would’ve cried a big wet patch into it by now, nuzzling his teary messy face closer and hiccuping out:] L-Loud and clear.