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Are you busy? I found something, by the lake.

i'm on my way. where are you? by the dock?

Oh, hello, that was fast. :) Yes, the dock. The one with the rowboat without holes in it.

well a fetching commander messaged me. who am i to ignore his call?

i'll meet you there.

[ and he does. he comes out not too long after, dressed again in what the house has give him, which today is a pair of dark jean shorts with a rip at the thigh and a heather gray t-shirt. very original, but it's comfortable.

he starts down toward the lake, peering around the edge until he catches sight of downy pink hair. he smiles, though there's a hint of worry and confusion in his expression. ]

Commander. [ a little huff, hands already reaching for his arms to tug him in closer. ]

["Fetching" is up there with "handsome", and Koby’s still smiling when Quentin shows up. He's barefoot, wearing one of his bright, borderline-garish colorful shirt-and-overall ensembles, and he brightens considerably when he sees Quentin, hopping up from where he'd been sitting.]

Hi! [Cheerful, up on his toes into the embrace, clearly giddy with some secret. One hand comes up, smooths over the little knit furrow between Quentin's brows.] Are you okay?

[ koby lights up on his arrival and some of his worry eases, arms sweeping around him and dragging him close to his chest. he looks down into his face, the bright eyes behind glasses, the sun-kissed warmth of his face. they should really meet out by the lake more often.

he laughs at the way koby smooths away his worry lines. ] So long as you're doing well then I am well, Commander. You're in good spirits.

[ and he can't help it - he bows his head and presses a kiss against koby's temple. ]

[It’s probably because of what Tim had said – scratch that, it’s definitely because of what Tim had said – but Koby notes the smile, the easing of the faint concern on Quentin’s face, the way he tugs Koby closer, kisses his temple, sunwarmed and sweet-smelling. He also notes the way it settles warm in his chest, like swallowing something hot on a chilly day, spreading down to the tips of his toes.

Stupid Tim, saying stuff. At least Koby can blame the pink in his cheeks, at the tips of his ears on the sun, right?]

I’m well. Did I not say that? [Fretting, gently, much more gently than he would’ve in days past – it’s hard to be genuinely anxious or worried when Quentin’s laughing like that.] Everything’s fine. I’d call if something were wrong, but – nothing’s wrong.

[A laugh, a little incredulous, because theres always something wrong, something to worry about and yet...repeating:] Nothing’s wrong. I just – wanted to show you something I found. That you might like.

No, you didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I can see you’re in one piece and smiling thus no other man would need to suffer my wrath today.

[ he laughs a little, smoothing hair from koby’s face at the way he frets and fusses, pulling away to look around once again at the lake, the sun, then to koby. he’s glowing in the light, and though he knows the pink of his cheeks and ears isn’t from the sun, he doesn’t voice it. ]

Should I cover my eyes? Let you lead me to this thing you’ve found, or somewhere off into the wilderness? I would be at your beck and call, of course.

[The huffing laugh Koby gives in response has no real fire in it, even accompanied by an eyeroll, as he settles back flat on his feet and smooths both hands down the front of Quentin’s shirt.] No wrath necessary. All in one piece, here. [Shaking his head, hands lingering on Quentin’s chest, feeling the contours he’s memorized by now, the intoxicating heat that makes him tempted to abandon his discovery and find a sunny spot to spend the afternoon together instead.

Maybe later. One thumb traces over the shape of Quentin’s piercing, absently, and Koby amends that thought: definitely later.

Then, dropping his hands, Koby shakes his head again and turns back to the dock, to the (not at all seaworthy, but comfortable) rowboat tied up there.] We aren’t going into the wilderness, don’t be silly. You make it sound like I’m trying to spirit you away for nefarious purposes.

[Look at how innocent he is, nothing nefarious here~] We’re just going out on the lake.

[ the thumb grazing his piercing is a sign - something he's noticed koby does when they meet outside the confines of their room. it sends the smallest zing of heat up his spine - a promise for later, already. not that he minds, of course.

he gives koby's waist a soft squeeze, palms smoothing along his sides and steps back, laughing. ]

You made all of this very mysterious to begin with, thank you very much.

[ but seeing the boat, the water, he blinks. a boat without leaky boards and holes. he'd not noticed it there before, and yet here they are. something excited shows in the light of his eyes, burns behind the little grin. ]

Setting sail today are we? We mustn't be late.

[ he takes koby's hand, giving a gentle tug as he moves to the little dock. there's no hesitation whatsoever when he arrives, kicking off his shoes, releasing koby's hand and stepping down into the wobbly little thing. he stands in it like its tipping and tilting is as normal as solid ground beneath their feet. ]

I'd ask if you need a hand but something tells me you have sea legs on you. I've tasted them. [ a smirk. ]

Did I really? [Koby looks immensely pleased with himself, following along with Quentin, careful to skirt the patches of mud in his bare feet, until he's on the splintery wood of the deck. Here, he relaxes, away from solid land, close to the water, even if the water is just a modest-sized lake. The canvas bag he's taken to toting around is on the dock as well, and Koby scoops it up quickly, holding it to his chest.

Quentin's stepped down into the boat, and there's a moment where he's standing there, sailor stance, moving easily with the gentle rock and tilt of the water, and Koby can almost imagine him on the deck of a real ship, on the real sea. It makes his chest go tight, thinking about -- what that must have been like, seeing Quentin in his element. Seeing him at home.

But: that's the point of all this, right? Taking a breath, Koby nimbly steps down into the rowboat as well, reaching out to hold onto Quentin's arm as he does, making a face at him.] You're going to scandalize the fish and I'll never catch anything again. Sit down before you tip over. [No danger of that, but if he's not bossing Quentin around, what's he doing.]

The fish will be fine, thank you. I’ve swam in lakes and oceans bigger than this and without any clothes on at all. I think the sealife fared just fine thank you.

[ he laughs, helping koby down into the boat by way of his arm, looking around for the hitch to set them truly afloat. it’s nothing compared to the large vessels he’s used to, but he leans out and reaches easily for the rope, untying it and pushing a hand on the splintered wood of the dock to set them out to drift.

something about feeling the water move beneath them, feeling the way they rock even as he sits down, settles something restless in his gut. he’s missed it. more than a year away from the water and to be on a little paddle boat in a lake feels like breathing again. he takes up the oars, pulling them further out to the lake.

he grins, a little brighter, eyes lighting up. ]

Did you get this fixed? I didn’t think they had one that wouldn’t sink.

Have you? Recently? [Not that he's asking to be invited along on these skinny dipping explorations, but. But.

The slight rock of the boat on the mostly-still lake is nothing compared to the actual tip and reel of a ship on the high seas, but Koby's reaction is the same as Quentin’s -- a soft exhale, a relaxation, a release, like some fundamental part of his soul is satisfied. He holds the bag tight to his chest, hoping -- hoping this'll work. That it'll help, the way it had helped him, earlier that same day, alone out in the rowboat.

The question gets a pleased, proud smile -- a rare sight, considering how rarely Koby’s proud about anything he does.] I patched it. I used to maintain the lifeboats, back -- well. Back when I was at sea. Never know when you're suddenly going to be brave enough to escape, right?

[They're close to the middle of the lake already, the distance eaten up easily by Quentin’s practiced, strong pulls of the oars. Koby watches his arms for a moment, teeth finding his lower lip, chewing absently as he gazes shamelessly at the bunch and stretch of muscle and sinew. Then, blinking:] Here. Here's good. Do you trust me? [It seems out of nowhere, but Koby is -- deathly serious about it, all of a sudden.]

Daily. But of course you can patch ships. I think you’re capable of anything you set your mind to. I’m not so lucky.

[ he laughs a little, rowing them out to the middle of the lake with the intention to row them the whole way to the other side when koby stops them. he blinks, glancing over at the other curiously, brows raised.

at first he’s sure something is wrong, tilting his head a little, setting the oars so they don’t slide away from the little boat. he rubs his palms together, brow pinched when he peers back up at koby. ]

Of course I trust you. Why wouldn’t I? [ a beat, sweat stippling on his bow from the heat, he shifts to tug his shirt off, carefully tossing it in the bay behind him. ]

Is everything alright, Koby? You’ve been acting strange since I arrived.

[ a hint of nerves - an edge in his voice that usually isn’t there despite the easy way he smiles at him. ]

I've yet to see you try something and not succeed, Quentin, don't be silly. [It's said with immense fondness as Koby rummages through the bag, which has the usual shapes of books and pens and paper. He pauses entirely when Quentin pulls his shirt off, eyes widening a bit even though this has to be the hundredth he's seen this particular man shirtless. Then again, Koby also sees the sunrise every day and that never stops taking his breath away.

But then the words, the slight furrow in Quentin’s brow register, and Koby winces, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, face turning red.] I -- I really have been, haven't I. I'm sorry. [He sighs, shoving his glasses up into his hair and rubbing at his blushing face for a moment.] I'm not...good at doing things, for people. Nice things. I wish I were, but I haven't done them often enough to be nice instead of weird, so. So I'm sorry.

[Another sigh, then Koby tugs a pair of somewhat outdated, over-the-ear headphones out of his bag, borrowed (just borrowed, promise) from the library. They're meant to be used to listen to tapes, CDs, but they're able to be used with the phones as well. Koby knows, because he's made sure. He offers them, still blushing.] It's just -- something I found, I put it on my phone and you can hear best with these, but...

[But he thinks about Quentin clinging to him, that colorful, nightmarish night, about what he'd said the Regent had done -- "Blindfolded me so that I couldn’t see where we were, what we were doing" -- and the headphones aren't the same, but they're close, close enough, and Koby finishes, a little unsure:] But you can't hear anything else when they're on so I wanted to...make sure that was okay. That you were okay.

[Because that panic, that fear, that mindless horror -- Koby knows it'll come back, that it never really leaves. But he never wants it to be because he was thoughtless or careless. Ever.]

Koby, you do kind things for the people here without even blinking. I hardly think that's accurate, what you've said.

[ but he watches as koby brings out the little device, tilting his head at it before reaching to take them, turning them over in his hands this way and that. he's not seen them before, but koby seems to trust them and so does he. ]

They're for listening?

[ the fact that once they're on, he won't be able to hear anything else does do something - makes a little zing of uncertainty dance up his spine. a blindfold is one thing - he doesn't need his eyes to tell him where to go. but his ears? he has to be able to hear to visualize where he's going - to hear their destination and his hearing being dulled surprises him.

how had alonso not figured this out, when koby is here but months of knowing him and he anticipated the uncertainty. but koby has worked hard for whatever this is. planned, brought him here, handed him these things. so it must be safe. it must be. he sucks in a breath and shrugs his shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant. ]

Mm. Hold my hand during it. If we cannot be naked in bed together I suppose that will be the best alternative.

[ he grins a little, moving to put the headphones on the way they look to go on, and his hand falls to koby's knee, palm up.

the silence is almost immediately claustrophobic, his gut twisting uncertainly, but he continues to take easy, careful breaths. if koby takes his hand, he'll grip it a little tighter, eyes staying focused on koby's, his true north. ]

It’s different. It’s– [Because you’re special, because I care about you, because I can’t sleep if you aren’t with me, because I think about you all the time, because I think I might be in–

Words and thoughts both cut off, Koby gently settles the headphones more firmly in place, nestled against Quentin’s ears, surrounded by his tangled curls, which are carefully smoothed into place, coiling easily around Koby’s fingers. After a pause, he shifts one side slightly off one ear, breaking the surrounding, mildly claustrophobic sense of all sound being muffled, scooting closer so he’s kneeling in front of Quentin, smiling.]

There, better? I almost fell over the first time I used them – my sense of balance was completely thrown off. I read all about that, the inner ear and how it keeps us upright, which doesn’t really seem to account for sea legs, but maybe it doesn’t count for those. [Gentle, distracting prattle, a lifeline along with one callused hand slipping into Quentin’s, fingers lacing together and squeezing firmly. Koby can do the rest one-handed, plug the other end of the long, twining cord into his phone and swipe the screen like a professional. The phone had been an adjustment, but Koby’s a fast learner, as he’s shown again and again.

Nodding slightly, satisfied, he pauses with his thumb over the play button on the screen, over the files he’d downloaded from Saltburnt’s admittedly limited internet, the ones he’d carefully curated that morning. Some of the eager, hopeful excitement is back in Koby’s face as he squeezes Quentin’s hand and taps the button. The sound comes gradually, a soft, building sound, rhythmic and rumbling and achingly familiar – the sound of ocean waves.

With the headphones on, it’s everywhere, surrounding, coupled with the slight rock of the rowboat, the blue sky overhead, the sound of water building, cresting, falling onto sand, layered with the faint cries of seabirds, the sizzle of seafoam, the drip of waves pulling away across rock and tide pool. Some of the sounds Koby had found had music, piano or stringed instruments or something weird and melty-sounding called a synthesizer, but he likes this one best, because it’s just the ocean. Just the waves. Just the sound of home.]

See? [Barely above a whisper, wide-eyed and enraptured and gazing up at Quentin for his reaction, thumb stroking over his knuckles, again and again.] Isn’t that wonderful?

[ koby adjusts the headhones and even being able to hear a sliver of the true sound around him helps, relieves some of the pressure in his chest. how odd to be without sound, without surroundings, without his balance and certainty. but he trusts koby, of course, more than he trusts himself. koby all kind and sweet-faced, trying to act like being kind is foreign to him.

it’s one of the things he loves about him. one of many.

(he won’t think too hard about that - so absent minded and true that he hasn’t even realized he’s felt it that way).

but koby prattles on before the sound starts. he half expects music, like the club, but when it starts off a gentle hush turning into the trickle of waves and seaspray, the lazy lap of the ocean slapping against rocks and shore. a ship at dock, gulls occasionally crying in the distance, the wind rippling the water, the sun bright and warm, a calm and quiet that feels so much like home it’s easy to forget they’re on a little paddle boat far from it.

his expression warms, startled by every familiar sound, eyes turning to koby almost immediately, widening and baffled. ]

How…?

[ he doesn’t understand, his fingers flexing against koby’s, his face twisted in something like sorrow and longing and joy all in one. he listens for a long moment, air caught up in his throat before he speaks again. ]

I haven’t heard the sea in so long.

[ he can’t help but close his eyes against it, let his senses take over, tricking him and making it seem like he’s on some ship far, far away, in the crow’s nest. it’s muscle memory that pulls koby up to his lap, brings him close, lets him wrap his arms around him and feel him as part of it all. ]

It’s like home.

[There’s that brief pause, wherein every one of Koby’s vicious, anxious thoughts try to sink their teeth in, try to tear apart what he’s trying to do – stupid, pathetic, give a man who’s lost everything a ghost in a set of headphones, try to replace the sea with a recording and a rowboat, what were you thinking, you’ve made it worse, you’ve made him remember everything he’s lost. And he knows, he knows it isn’t the same, that the scent and the feel of the ocean – of their shared home – is gone and can’t be brought to this place.

But: Quentin sucking strawberry jam off his fingers, Quentin pillowing his head on Koby’s lap while he reads, Quentin smiling against Koby’s mouth when he kisses him. Somehow Quentin doesn’t see what’s missing, what’s lacking, all the fragmented holes in their current existence. Just the beautiful things. It makes Koby want to try harder, want to fight against the gilded bars of their beautiful, inescapable cage, want to bring in the sound of the sea and say this is for you, because I care, because I can, because you understand and know it’s enough.

And when Quentin looks at him, wide eyes and parted lips and hand curling tighter in the grasp of his fingers, all those hissing, snarling, hateful thoughts stop. Koby smiles back, absolutely beaming, reaching out to smooth Quentin’s hair back with his free hand. He could launch into an explanation of how the headphones work, but – that’s not important right now. Not when Quentin looks like that, aching and joyous all at once.

Instead he slips easily into Quentin’s lap, settling against him, warm and grounding and tucked under his chin, a physical presence to balance out the lack of sight or sound. This close, he can sort of hear the ocean sounds as well, trickling from the slightly-crooked headphones, undercut by the steady, beating pulse of Quentin’s heart in his chest. Koby tugs up their entangled hands, rests them over that unceasing thumpthumpthump, hair tickling Quentin’s chin.]

It is, yeah? It’s almost like being home.

[ it’s overwhelming, hearing the ocean and feeling like they’re drifting on the sea, lost together. koby is warm and solid against his chest, the scent of his shampoo and soap musky and soft, a smell as familiar to him as wax and wood and salt. he yearns for the sea in a way that makes his heart ache miserably, but the simple joy of feeling it all soothes the ache.

he presses his lips against his hair, breathing him in and laughing a little, throat thick with emotion. ]

It feels like home, yeah.

[ he listens on his own for a long moment, eyes closed and arms wrapped tightly around the slight frame in his lap. and then, after a beat: ]

Can we listen together? Or do I need these things to hear?

[ he takes the headphones off with one hand, the sound faint but present echoing in the quiet between them. there's a little noise out by the shore, some people sunbathing or chattering. but this far out he can feel nothing but the cool breeze and the gentle rock of the boat. ]

I want to hear it with you, even if you're just a marine. [ a smile against his hair, his voice soft, fingers petting his side where he holds him, gentle and nearly possessive. protective, even, wanting him close and calm, wanting koby to share the sea with him. ]

If not, we'll have to find a way. I want to feel the sun on my back, hear the waves and hold you here a little while longer. If you don't mind.

[ he huffs a little, emotional still. ] Thank you, Koby. For this gift.

[Koby would be content with this, with the rock of the water and the thump of Quentin’s heart, with the warmth of his broad, bare chest and the way he smells -- the way Koby's pillow smells, most mornings, to the point where the twice-weekly sheet changes are jarring, borderline upsetting. He has so many of Quentin’s shirts now, folded in a drawer so he can sleep in them, so he can breathe in the scent of sweat and soap and skin. Even on the occasional nights they don't spend together -- fewer and fewer as the weeks go on -- the feel of those shirts on Koby’s skin is usually enough to help him sleep, even if he wakes up reaching across the bed for Quentin.

And it's in that thought, in that space of time, that Koby has a shuddering, sobering realization: Tim was unequivocally, unquestionably right.

"You love him."

The question brings Koby back to earth, blinking and blushing and quickly nodding.] We -- yeah, we can. I know there are speakers for this phone thing, I can ask for one from the library. Ah, or borrow Tim’s headphones, they're smaller, but you can share them.

[For now, though, Koby tugs the cord of the headphones free, let's the sound of the waves emanate from the phone itself, albeit a bit more tinny, artificial-sounding. Koby tucks it into the front pocket of his overalls -- very handy -- then, on impulse, he straightens up, sitting taller in Quentin’s lap.

Both hands come up to nudge the headphones down to rest around Quentin’s neck, leaving his hair loose and lovely and soft for Koby to tangle his fingers in. He leans forward, kisses Quentin soft, fervent, with every bit of emotion that shuddering realization has swelling in his chest.] I wish it were more. [Against his mouth, forehead resting to his.] I'd bring the sea here, if I could. I'd do anything, for you.

No, no. I like this.

[ the phone with the speakers, the sound a little tinny but still sounding very much like the distant hiss of waves while sleeping in the belly of the boat. it's soothing, so much like his childhood, his whole life until now, and it rounds quentin's shoulders, smooths out worry lines in his face, lets him breathe a little easier. all this over a recording.

but he blinks up at koby, surprised by the way he straightens, at how close he sits, eyes lifting to meet the blue of koby's behind round glasses. his eyes flutter closed, the fingers in the tangles of his hair like the wind pushing through it on choppy seas. he sighs audibly this time, a pleasant smile pulling across his face before he looks up, eyes half-lidded. ]

It's everything.

[ he hums against the soft little kiss, letting his arms wrap a little tighter around koby's waist, reverent and adoring. he fits here against him, he always will, and something in his chest aches for the wanting of this moment to linger a little longer.

i'd bring the sea here, if i could. i'd do anything, for you.

he kisses koby again, so tender and soft, hands gentle as they come up to frame his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, admiring him and adoring him even as he pulls away from it, a little dazed, nudging their noses together. ]

I don't need the sea if you're here. It's why this gift is everything to me. What is a sailor without his harbor? Without his compass and his sails? Without his ropes and astrolabes and spyglasses?

Yeah? It's okay? [There are pages and pages of notes back in Koby's room, categorized by person and event and commonality, finding the threads of consistency throughout the various guests of this strange, strange house and trying to make sense of it. But, strangely, his notes on Quentin are very, very sparse -- not out of lack of observation, of course, but because Koby doesn't need to write them down. He knows the loosening in Quentin's shoulders when he's genuinely relaxed. He knows how Quentin's laugh rumbles out from deep in his chest, like a rolling, approaching storm. He knows what it feels like to be kissed by Quentin -- lazy and clumsy in the sunlit early mornings, deep and all-consuming and hungry when he's halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, slow and sweet and gentle, when there are words he wants to say all tangled up on his lovely tongue, like now.

He knows.

The ocean sounds, the rock of the boat, it all feels far away for a moment as Koby stays close, nuzzling his nose to Quentin's, the sun across his shoulders, in his hair. The words make him smile, gently perplexed.] Still a sailor? [Then the words actually register -- I don't need the sea if you're here -- and Koby's eyes widen a bit, something wild and hopeful and cautious in them.] What...what do you mean?

[I could have this exact same conversation with him, Tim had teased. He looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.]

[ the look on koby's face is enough to make his voice catch in his throat, make his lungs sting and burn with wanting, make his heart thud a little heavier in his chest. he's had flings, he's had flirtations, but nothing like this. nothing that started like a low, simmering fire that has since begun to roar. wherever they go after this, he wants it to be somewhere with koby. somewhere he can find him happily sailing on the see, watch him whoop and holler as the ships tear through the ocean.

he will always yearn for the sea. the smell of salt, the open air, the water lapping up in his face, the spray salty and sweet. but koby will go magnificent places. sail with the marine and chart every corner of the many seas, and the thought alone fills quentin's head with so much adventure and light he can forget there is solid ground waiting for him back in his own life.

he can weather it. koby's told him he can.

how can one person become so instrumental to survival?

the other man's expression is all wide eyes and cautious, and he doesn't have to be able to wonder if he's thinking to hear the cogs turning behind his skull. he doesn't know how to put it into words just yet, can't find what it is he wants to say but he kisses him again, cradling his face and letting it linger, letting the taste of koby stay on his lips and the warmth of him make him feel whole again.

he stays quiet, foreheads touching, noses bumping, breaths shared between them. ]

You're my true north. I don't know how it happened. I don't know when. I hope that's simply enough, but among the many there will always be you.

[There are some things, some moments in time that shift the entire universe on it’s axis, sear themselves into Koby’s ever-ticking, ever-thinking mind as important, pivotal – You’ll be one of the good ones, Luffy says, hand on his shoulder, smile bright in the darkness of Shell’s Town harbor. That uniform’s starting to fit you, Garp offers from behind his imposing desk, bemused and knowing. Like my friend…or whatever, Helmeppo mutters, embarrassed and loyal and unexpected.

You’re my true north, Quentin almost breathes, hands warm and callused and loving on Koby’s face, the taste of him still on Koby’s mouth.

The rowboat beneath them rocks somewhat dangerously as Koby’s breath catches, eyes bright and teary, as he surges forward and wraps both arms around Quentin’s neck, clings to him like an anchor in a storm. There’s an aching, all-consuming tenderness in his chest, as dizzying and intoxicating as the heat that floods him every time Quentin touches him, every time they kiss or snuggle together or tangle up between the sheets, and if he didn’t know Tim was right before, he does now. He does.

True north sounds a hell of a lot like something else, like a confession Koby knows they’re both too cautious to make, now. It sounds like something sturdy, the keel and hull of a ship, something to depend on, something to build on – not solid ground, because they’re both sailors, they both find much more peace on the sea, with the ever-changing waves and salt spray and high winds. True north sounds like I need you, sounds like I choose you, sounds like–]

It’s enough. [Soft, hoarse, pressed tearily against the side of Quentin’s neck, breathing in the way he smells, the way he feels.] It’s – everything. [Koby had never doubted that Quentin cared, that their entanglements had been wholehearted and genuine, and there had never been any sense of jealousy about other flings, other flirtations. Because it was his bed Quentin crawled into at the end of the night, his neck Quentin kissed first thing in the morning, his boat Quentin’s sitting in right now. True north means I’ll always know where you are, I’ll always find my way back to you and it’s more than Koby had ever let himself hope for, deep down, in the most secret part of him.

It’s hard to verbalize, hard to say it, so he resorts back to his dumb metaphor, laughing wetly even as he says it:] I told Tim it was like – having a crew. The way you and I are. Everyone means something, is important, is taken care of and watched out for, no matter how many there are, but the captain and first mate, it’s…different. [Sniffing, leaning back, smoothing Quentin’s hair away from his face again and not even bothering to hide how fond, how adoring his gaze is.] If I’m your true north, you’re my first mate. You know?

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un: koby | sometime after the event

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