[ quentin looks around the room while koby speaks, talking about the former captain and the duties he has to uphold. he sounds different now, measured and careful, not unlike the tone his father had when giving orders, laying out plans. the room though has all the trappings of the man he knew, even if changed. he still doesn't move much from where he entered, watching koby shake out of his coat.

it feels wrong to feel uncomfortable here - like he should be able to melt into the easy light of their days together. but it's true - they have spent more days apart now than they ever had together. a small part of quentin wonders if coming here, finding koby, will be a mistake.

but four years in war with alonso, with the vysokian empire, and a year in these lands - quentin knows he's not the man koby loved. not entirely. ]

You make an excellent captain. Your men respect you.

[ but koby reaches for his hands, laces their fingers, and his expression softens. koby all strong and broad and warm, and his own hands look filthy in comparison. his clothes have been washed and mended, some from this world, some from his own. simple pants, a simple tunic, a little traveling pouch with any small thing he could collect and call his own. around his neck there's a silver chain, tucked behind his shirt collar.

but how can he deny the way koby looks at him? the brightness and warmth that makes him want to weep for simply seeing it again. he shouldn't, but he leans down and kisses him again, soft and sweet. ]

I'm filthy, sorry. I just - [ a pause, his head ducking faintly, color rising into this cheeks, more defined now from a year of hunger ]

I don't know how I fit into all this. Into your life. This room, my own skin. I'm tired, sore, sunburned and bruised. Your world is no kinder than mine. But seeing you... I feel like I can breathe again. But I... I have seen so much. I don't know that I am who you loved then, even if I desperately wish to be as I still love you so very much.