[The nerves are still there -- home isn't something Koby knows, for reasons that parallel Quentin's own. The ocean is changeable, shifting, and the last time he was on a ship for an extended period of time, it wasn't anything close to home. The Marines had -- been close, closer than Koby had ever thought he'd get to have. He could've been happy, he knows, in that world.

But Quentin walks in and the warmth, the love in his voice, his face, his eyes is -- unmatched, unparalleled, beyond happy. Koby's grinning too wide to worry, to fidget nervously or bite at his nails, because he's being swept up in the giddy rush of those kisses, or Quentin's hands cradling his face. He laughs, soft, presses closer, up on his toes for each and every one, anxiety ebbing away like the tide.]

It's -- okay? [One small concession to fretfulness, to wanting to make doubly sure, that wild, aching, throbbing want that's at the very core of who Koby is, heartfelt and earnest and honest and tender, still, after all this, tender and pleading -- tell me you want me to stay, tell me you want me, please, please.] I want it to be okay, even though -- I mean, I've been here for a couple months already, but. It's okay for this to be -- ours? Here?