[ every muscle, every bone in his body aches with the listlessness of a man with no home. he doesn't belong here, doesn't have a real name or a place to land. he's been fortunate to gain a roof over his head as the months passed by way of offering labor, help, proving he can pull ropes and shine decks and repair sails. he's thinning out a little, ribs showing against rippling muscle and skin, but it doesn't matter. food in his belly means nothing if he can't find koby.
so the marine's boot on his back is nothing - makes quentin laugh a little, despair and fatigue at the root of it. it angers the marine further who presses a harder in with his heel. it makes him groan, uncomfortable as his chest is pressed hard into the deck, his arms wrenched behind him by another.
but something on the air pulses - the deck shifting below and panic rises up into the back of his throat. he thinks of the ship - thinks of alonso swallowing whole the magic he'd stolen, the way the earth under his feet absolutely rattled in fury. for a very, very brief moment - he's sure it's him. sure that he ended up here just as quentin did - alonso with the rage of all the magicians and tearing apart the seas to find him.
he closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose. it's enough he doesn't recognize the voice, the deep timbre of it, the words unclear in the noise of his mind. he'd been sure the uniforms of this place had been koby's. sure that the emblem he'd see on their shoulder matched the one koby would doodle across his skin with a callused fingertip.
but it's not. even when the corporal lifts his boot off his back, the marines releasing him, his arms fall to his sides and he stays bent and knelt on the deck, forehead pressed to the salt-slick wood, his fingers curling and digging nails against it.
he's so, so tired. his eyes closed, the thudding of boots all he hears as the marines back away, and he thinks of koby. the way he'd nuzzled into his neck that last night, the way they comfortably settled naked and loving in the heat of the blankets. his heart aches and he has no tears left for him until -
his name. his name, and quentin's eyes light up with gold, energy crackling around him as blue light bursts before his vision, the fingers in his hair so unfair because the voice isn't the same. the touch isn't the same. it's been so long and he's suddenly sick with the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, he's forgotten him. forgotten the spice-sweet smell of his skin, the soft downy hair tickling his chin, the plush and kissable lips, the eyes so full of determination.
but all the light in his eyes drags his head up, all the wispy lines of magic that only he could see before now tangible on the air - streams of glittering light, dozens of lines that all lead to the man kneeling before him. slowly, so slowly, he raises his head, blue light pouring from a single point in his chest, and all lines point to him.
koby.
koby with a stronger jawline, broader build, deeper voice, all the confidence he'd begun to see in the privacy of their rooms so, so long ago. quentin's eyes glitter gold but it's only the tears that make them shine, pouring down his cheeks again as he stares, awed.
they're both so different. they've both changed. who are they here on the deck of this ship but a man of power and a prisoner. he can't hear the murmurs of the sailors around them, the way they gasp and point at the shimmering light bursting around them, the way they almost look afraid of it. quentin doesn't care that he's showing the truth of his magic - something he'd never shown koby, either. but it hadn't been so keenly honed then, either. ]
Koby?
[ a whisper, because he's been here before in dreams. he leans his face against the palm and pushes up, barreling into him to wrap his arms around him, to bury his face against his neck and breathe him in. ]
no subject
so the marine's boot on his back is nothing - makes quentin laugh a little, despair and fatigue at the root of it. it angers the marine further who presses a harder in with his heel. it makes him groan, uncomfortable as his chest is pressed hard into the deck, his arms wrenched behind him by another.
but something on the air pulses - the deck shifting below and panic rises up into the back of his throat. he thinks of the ship - thinks of alonso swallowing whole the magic he'd stolen, the way the earth under his feet absolutely rattled in fury. for a very, very brief moment - he's sure it's him. sure that he ended up here just as quentin did - alonso with the rage of all the magicians and tearing apart the seas to find him.
he closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose. it's enough he doesn't recognize the voice, the deep timbre of it, the words unclear in the noise of his mind. he'd been sure the uniforms of this place had been koby's. sure that the emblem he'd see on their shoulder matched the one koby would doodle across his skin with a callused fingertip.
but it's not. even when the corporal lifts his boot off his back, the marines releasing him, his arms fall to his sides and he stays bent and knelt on the deck, forehead pressed to the salt-slick wood, his fingers curling and digging nails against it.
he's so, so tired. his eyes closed, the thudding of boots all he hears as the marines back away, and he thinks of koby. the way he'd nuzzled into his neck that last night, the way they comfortably settled naked and loving in the heat of the blankets. his heart aches and he has no tears left for him until -
his name. his name, and quentin's eyes light up with gold, energy crackling around him as blue light bursts before his vision, the fingers in his hair so unfair because the voice isn't the same. the touch isn't the same. it's been so long and he's suddenly sick with the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, he's forgotten him. forgotten the spice-sweet smell of his skin, the soft downy hair tickling his chin, the plush and kissable lips, the eyes so full of determination.
but all the light in his eyes drags his head up, all the wispy lines of magic that only he could see before now tangible on the air - streams of glittering light, dozens of lines that all lead to the man kneeling before him. slowly, so slowly, he raises his head, blue light pouring from a single point in his chest, and all lines point to him.
koby.
koby with a stronger jawline, broader build, deeper voice, all the confidence he'd begun to see in the privacy of their rooms so, so long ago. quentin's eyes glitter gold but it's only the tears that make them shine, pouring down his cheeks again as he stares, awed.
they're both so different. they've both changed. who are they here on the deck of this ship but a man of power and a prisoner. he can't hear the murmurs of the sailors around them, the way they gasp and point at the shimmering light bursting around them, the way they almost look afraid of it. quentin doesn't care that he's showing the truth of his magic - something he'd never shown koby, either. but it hadn't been so keenly honed then, either. ]
Koby?
[ a whisper, because he's been here before in dreams. he leans his face against the palm and pushes up, barreling into him to wrap his arms around him, to bury his face against his neck and breathe him in. ]
Please be real. Please be here.
[ i'm so tired. ]