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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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[longitudinal]

I'll carry you. Where - where are you hurt?

[ so i don't hurt you more than you already are. he reaches to gently tuck koby's hair from the wound on his forehead, sticky with blood. just enough to press his kiss to a clean temple. ]

Let me get you home, Captain. Love. Put your arms around my neck. [ maybe he can carry him so as not to touch what he's sure is an injured back. ]

[kobes]

Uhm. My head. [obviously -- the x-shaped wound slightly off-center, but there's also a knot at the back of his head where he'd struck it on the shelf, and one hand shakily reaches up, towards where it still sluggishly bleeds.] Hit it pretty hard. Burned my back. [a bit of a weak laugh.] It was on fire when I hit it. The thing.

Ah -- the window -- [he sweeps a hand out, points clumsily towards the shattered glass, littering the singed carpet.] Careful, your -- feet, don't step in it. [koby squeezes his eyes shut, waves his hand, vaguely.] Don't get hurt.

[longitudinal]

[ the whole room is a mess in a way that speaks of violence and power that quentin can't wrap his head around. he can't reconcile sweet tim with this destruction, confused even more with the idea that tim is back. it's a lot to process and so he buckles down, dipping to scoop his arms under koby's bottom and pick him up so he can lean into his front. ]

I'll be fine.

[ he murmurs it against koby's ear, soft and insistent as he begins to carry him back toward the door. ] Hold onto my neck, love. I'm here now. We'll have you cleaned up soon, then we can talk.

[kobes]

[the whole world is spinning in a way that makes koby's awareness go grey, fuzzy, and it takes a long, long moment for him to reach up, twine his arms around quentin's neck, the trembling rapidly intensifying as the adrenaline keeps fading away. for the first time, when quentin lifts him, koby feels the stabbing pain along his back, and he makes a small, bitten-off sound of pain -- tiny, hastily muffled. instinct; koby knows how to be in pain and not make it audible.

he's shuddering now, pressing his face into quentin's neck, steadying himself with the familiar scent of his skin. muffled, hazy:] Sorry. M'bleeding on you.

[longitudinal]

Shh, no more apologies alright. Just hold onto me, love.

[ he has to bite back the panic that wants to rise up into his throat. he has to find a way to seem cool and calm and collected, to batten down and get koby to safety first. a part of him wants to find tim, too. hold him and will whatever fury he has away but he doesn't understand what's going on.

all he knows is he has koby's blood dripping on his shirt, smeared on his arms and hands. that's all he needs to know. ]

I've got you. I'm sorry - it won't be long.

[ he shifts his hands under koby's bottom so he's not holding him around his back, leaving it untouched as much as he can as he starts to carry him from the library. he kisses koby's temple, eyes burning a little from the smoke in the room, from the fear that threatens to peek out.

he's careful as he carries his boyfriend back to their rooms, bringing him into their shared bathroom and so very, very carefully sitting him up on the counter. ]

Look at me, alright? Lets get the blood out of your eyes.

[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.]