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quentin toma NOTES: sailor, navigator, loverboy, war-bringer. THREAT LEVEL LIKABILITY LEVEL SCANDAL LEVEL FASHION LEVEL WEALTH LEVEL

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[kobes]

[koby doesn’t make a sound the entire time, just loops his arms around quentin’s neck and stays very quiet and very still – which is probably even more unsettling, because normally koby never stops talking. but he’s silent now, not even drawing in a sharp breath when quentin sets him down, not doing anything but obligingly opening his eyes and sort of looking through his boyfriend for a long moment.

in the bathroom, it’s easier to see the state he’s in – the back of his shirt is burned away, the skin along his spine livid red, blistered, radiating heat. there’s blood soaking the back of his head, dripping down over the burns, blood streaming down over his face from the gashes on his forehead, splitting at the bridge of his nose and tracing crimson lines down to the corners of his silent, pressed-together lips. it’s in his eyes, in his mouth, and koby frowns a little when he remembers to breathe in and tastes it.

after a pause, he moves, jerky, stilted, pulling something out of his shirt pocket – his glasses. they’re unharmed, but splattered with blood, and koby frowns deeper at them, like he’s trying to puzzle out why. when he looks back up at quentin, there’s a horrible moment where he looks – lost. confused. unrecognizing.

then it registers, slowly, and he exhales, offers the glasses without a word.]