[Even this, this comfort, this sweetness, is laced with fear now -- because even if Koby struggled and strained to stay awake all night, even if he sat by their door wide awake and ready to fight anyone who came their way, the house wouldn't allow it. He'd be sound asleep and dreamless if anything came for Quentin, and that thought is like ice in his veins, even here in the warmth of their bed. It's evident in the way he presses forward, strokes his thumb over the line of collarbone and shoulder and neck, re-memorizing every inch of this man.]

They have to be behind it. [Soft, steely.] The Balfours have to know this is happening, how much pain and suffering and...destruction this game is causing. It has to be on purpose. [Koby's too tired to be truly savage about it, but the injustice of it rankles, has him squeezing his teary eyes shut for a moment, before exhaling slowly.] I just -- can't figure out why.

[Then, there, the nuzzle of Quentin's lips to his nose, his cheeks, and Koby sighs, melting against him, comforted now in spite of everything.] I love you too. I hate -- so much about this, about being here right now, but. Not you. Never you. [Even the agony, the grief of the last several days has been worth it, for Quentin. Anything would be worth it, for him.]