[The gentle bundling over to the bed, the warmth and affection of Quentin scooping him up and curling close beside him, stroking his hair, his face, wrapping him in his presence -- it soothes the sharp edge of panic, the urge Koby has to cling on with all his might, like Quentin might be next. Because he might. Because all the research and all the studying and all the planning and learning and working hadn't done anything, in the end.
It's perhaps a bad sign that he isn't crying -- his eyes are glassy, wide, stricken with grief, but dry. He's in that place beyond tears, brought back bit by bit with the steady pulse of Quentin's heart beneath his palm, the stroke of Quentin's fingers through his hair. Koby breathes in, out, slow, feeling like something's broken, shattered in his chest, like there are shards jabbing at him when he inhales. It's a grief he hasn't felt before, not like this.]
...I didn't get to say goodbye. [It comes out soft, small, and Koby's breath hitches, eyes flicking upwards.] I -- last time I did, but this time I couldn't -- I didn't get to.
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It's perhaps a bad sign that he isn't crying -- his eyes are glassy, wide, stricken with grief, but dry. He's in that place beyond tears, brought back bit by bit with the steady pulse of Quentin's heart beneath his palm, the stroke of Quentin's fingers through his hair. Koby breathes in, out, slow, feeling like something's broken, shattered in his chest, like there are shards jabbing at him when he inhales. It's a grief he hasn't felt before, not like this.]
...I didn't get to say goodbye. [It comes out soft, small, and Koby's breath hitches, eyes flicking upwards.] I -- last time I did, but this time I couldn't -- I didn't get to.