longitudinal | inbox;

Hi. This is Tim.

From the baths.

I meant to get in touch with you earlier, but everything got crazy last night after we separated. Did you make it out alright?

so don't freak out if you see a big snail in the room. he's from back home. and he talks. we use them instead of these that we use to talk? anyway he's feeling a bit down from the trip through the library.

[It's late. It's between two and three in the morning, judging by the clocks on the walls and on the phones. And Koby knows he shouldn't, but he's almost sent this exact message a hundred times over the last several days. So, finally:]

Are you awake?

Can you start buttoning your shirt at breakfast, please? It's very distracting.

Are you going to Koby's tonight?

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

I had a dream about you last night. It was very...vivid.

Can I Stay with you for a while? I know I don't usually need to ask but I don't want to be alone right now. I'll pack light. If that's okay.

[Once the door is locked and the phones are turned off and Koby's cried and cried and made himself sick from crying and he's tucked up with his face in the crook of Quentin's neck and he can finally breathe easily again:] Hey. I gotta tell you something.

[A beat, playing with the ragged threads of Quentin’s sweatshirt collar.] I know you don't need it, but -- thank you. For staying with me all day. Even when I was a mess.

The library's closed.

[ she doubts very much quentin is well-versed in christmas, so she feels little apprehension in having a present delivered to his door by a helpful staff member, especially since it is not delivered on christmas. inexpertly wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, sealed with a green wax stamped with a bird in flight.

inside reveals a piece of embroidery; a ship on the sea, bubbles made of tiny pearls instead of thread, real shells and sand dollars at the bottom, small hunks of bleached coral, a tiny starfish, delicately and near invisibly attached to the embroidery with the thinnest silvery thread that catches the light when he shifts the piece to look at it. the scent of salt water like a ghost in the air, just the hint of it caught in the physical threads of magic.

a note at the bottom of the box reveals an incredibly delicate and old-fashioned cursive: ]

Darling Q,

I much prefer this to the infernal texting you have subjected me to.

I've only just discovered the concept of Christmas and while I do not think Christ will convert me, I enjoy the idea of gift giving. My hope is that you will be able to look at the waves and some of the ache for the sea will abate.

Ever fondly yours,
P

[Alia’s gift is wrapped somewhat clumsily in brown paper, likely taken from the kitchens, and taped excessively to ensure it’s secure. Inside, resting in sparkly, star-studded tissue paper:

A warm, anchor-patterned scarf.

A smooth-polished rock from the lake (yes, everyone gets a rock) with the gift-receiver’s initials carefully carved into it (with what? Don’t worry about it.)

A business card for Sol & Scroll, because if you aren’t patronizing it, you should be.

There’s also a note, scribbled on notebook paper stolen from Alina (sorry, babe):]

Quentin -

Son of the stars, anchor to lonesome souls: keep yourself warm, until the sun rises on us again. Keep yourself safe, though never doubt: my eye is always on you. I will keep you safe.

- Alia

Will you tell me something nice? That has nothing to do with anyone getting gored or spiraling out of control or wearing mourning black on Christmas. Do we have any of that?

[The library is still closed, but Koby's turned his room into gift-wrap central, no peeking boyfriends allowed, so that's where he texts from.]

How do they celebrate holidays where you're from? Or do they? I realized I never asked. Also papercut count: 5.

[ A package delivered to Quentin's doorstep, neatly and lovingly wrapped. Inside the box is a large hooded scarf with pockets, to keep him warm, and nestled inside it for safekeeping, a fragrance that smells as advertised, and so of course, reminded him of Quentin.

A second package is a tin with a variety of Christmas cookies, and a homemade card with a felt snowman on it. ]

Quentin,

I know you don't celebrate Christmas, but it wouldn't feel right leaving you off my list. You've been a better friend to me than I could have hoped for, ever since the night we met. A lot of things here feel so impermanent, but you're one of the few things I know I can count on. So thank you for being you, for being so patient with me, and for teaching me all you have. You've done more for me than you know.

Merry Christmas.

With love,
Tim

[Quentin’s gift, after much deliberation, is a touch different. There’s the nautical paper, the blue ribbon, the tissue and card and everything, and there’s a lushly knitted blue scarf folded in the box, the same color as the deepest pulses of Quentin’s magic. However, when the card is opened, it just says:]

For the cold days. Go to the back booth in the restaurant, where you made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe at the party. - K

[When Quentin follows directions, goes to said booth, there’s another box – this one with a (mildly tacky) glittering suit fit to his exact measurements, and another note:]

For the next party. Go to the balcony outside the game room, where I stopped being scared of who was watching us, because you made me forget everything but you. - K

[The balcony is snowy, icy, but there’s another box right by the wall Quentin had pressed Koby up against in the head of summer, this one containing a less-formal outfit - a sweater, patterned with ducks, and of course, a third note:]

So Abe doesn’t feel left out. Go to the place I told you I loved you, for the first time. -K

[The lake is frozen over, the rowboat overturned to keep from gathering snow, but beneath it, a fourth box, this one filled with charcoal and smooth paper, gathered into a leather-bound sketchbook.]

For your maps or your art or your list of places to go and things to see and movies to watch and books to read and anything you want. Go to the place where I first KNEW I loved you, where you made me come alive the first time you touched me. - K

[Koby’s room, of course – rarely used anymore, not since October, not since he’d come to stay with Quentin on that first terrible day and sort of…never left. They’ve split time since then, periodically spending the nights in the suite where the notes and papers and supplies live, but more often than not they’re in Quentin’s room. In fact, when he opens the door to the rarely-used bedroom, it’s completely cleaned up, papers and files gone, all Koby’s belongings having been packed up and put away, bit by bit over the last few weeks.

All that’s left, on the cleaned-off desk, is a slightly crooked, homemade bookmark, made from a map in Quentin’s handwriting and a dried pink flower – the first two things he’d ever given Koby, that first little scavenger hunt from all those months ago. And one last note:]

For as long as I can, for the rest of my life, I want my home to be where you are. And I want that to start officially, today.

My first mate, my siren, my sailor, my love. Come home to me.

-Koby

Luffy and Usopp are gone. They went home. I'm checking in on the crew, but then I'll be home and Will you be home? It's okay if you're not but if you are I'll Be there soon.

[He is absolutely not spiraling :)]

where are you

there's something wrong with me

I need help please

Dear Mr. Toma,

You will no doubt be surprised at receiving a letter from me as we have had few opportunities to exchange pleasantries, but it is with honourable motives that I intrude upon you. I do also hope that you will forgive my frankness in this matter.

It has been expressed to me by several people now that those bound in love here may have dalliances with others; indeed it is quite common. I believe personally that such relationships must be entered into with the blessing of the most beloved partner.

It is in that spirit that I humbly beseech your blessing to pursue Koby's affections.

I possess a rather humble station in life, and have naught to offer him but every kindness of which I can conceive. To you, I may only say that I consider myself a man of honest character and that I am happy to answer any inquiries you may have. I do hope that you are to look favourably upon my request, but naturally I shall respect your wishes on the matter.

With deepest respect and admiration,
Yours,
Harry D.S. Goodsir

hey im at the library can yuo come get me pleas

[it's the best he can type out with his vision blurry and his whole body aching. he's gotten the fire out, at least -- it hadn't spread too far. koby's focusing on the positives.]

un: t.laughlin

un: KINGOFTHEPIRATES

text, sometime post-party and pre-event ig

un: t.laughlin