[Somewhere beneath the exhaustion and fear and grief, Koby has a sharp blaze of pride in Quentin, in his ferocity, in his bold defense of Paul's sister, a girl who -- may be guilty, yes, but it didn't matter, at it's heart. The cards had been on the table, laid out for all to see, and they'd known it. Quentin hadn't voted to turn the tide one way or another, he'd done it to throw Alia a rope, to tell her I see you, I'm not afraid of you, you aren't alone.

Koby knows exactly what that feels like. How it changes everything. How there is before that warmth, that light and after. It's why he hadn't changed his vote, because Nami had needed that, in front of everyone, someone to stand beside her.

But he's scared. He's so scared it's metallic in his mouth, a sharp tang like blood, sickeningly familiar. It's the fear of what could happen next, the unknown, never knowing where the blow was coming from, where the mace would swing next. The fear of waiting. And it's the fear that it'll wrench this, wrench him away, somehow.]

I thought -- somehow it'd be easier. Enacting justice. That I'd just know who was guilty, like that, and it wouldn't cause any pain or. [A huff, a shake of his head, snuggling closer to Quentin's side, memorizing the way he feels, smells, even though he doesn't plan to be far from him in the coming days. If he goes to the library, Quentin's coming with him. If he remembers how to be hungry, they'll go eat together. Until this is over and -- well. They'll see when it's over.

Looking up, Koby offers a weary, wobbly smile.] You aren't a mess. You're wonderful. You're wonderful and I love you.