longitudinal | 𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

𝑖'𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢

please don't forget me and all the things we did
please don't be in love with someone else

[ 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. ]

Please be real. Please be here.

[ i'm so tired. ]

[There's murmuring, alarm, the shuffle back of a dozen pairs of boots, men who are frightened of that which they've never seen, they don't understand, even in this world of devil fruits and demons and monsters and gods. But Koby doesn't hesitate, doesn't flinch away, because he knows that bright, brilliant light Quentin contains, knows how it echoes in his words, how it laces through his kisses, how part of Koby could sense it like a softly glowing fire somewhere beneath the ribs of the man he loved. Loves -- still loves, even here, even now, years and worlds and miles apart, different and changed and transformed. Koby is taller and broader, muscular and strong in the way he'd been approaching back in Saltburnt, the potential there, even as he stayed the perfect size to snuggle up under Quentin's chin at night.

And there's an aching, endless grief at the core of him, the loss he carried like an anchor, everywhere he went, every day he woke up in an empty bed, remembering the warmth of someone beside him, someone he adored, someone he aches for with every breath. He knows Quentin is real, is there, is actually kneeling before him, looking up into his face, because he feels the echo of that same grief, that pain, laced through everything brilliant and wonderful and warm that he loves so, so much. He can feel the exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness, the shadowy monsters that haunt every corner of Quentin's mind, and there are tears in Koby's eyes as he lunges forward into that embrace, arms like iron around Quentin, hands clutching at the (smaller, leaner) shape of him, drawing in the smell of his hair, his skin with a shuddering, sobbing breath.]

It's me, I'm here, I'm right here, I'm here, Quentin, it's me... [He repeats it again and again, breath hitching at the blissful, ached-for feeling of having Quentin's arms around him again, the way his whole body seems to sing with relief at being close once more. Like he's been missing a part of himself, feeling it's absence like a wound, finally closed up, finally healed.

Behind him, Koby's conscious of Helmeppo barking order, ushering the crew away, no doubt to receive a very stern lecture about the classified nature of what they'd just witnessed. Five years scaling the ranks of the Marines, his connection to Luffy, to Shanks -- it's power Koby is very, very mindful about using, saving it for when he absolutely needs to. He's kept his tireless search for Quentin under careful classification, just in case -- it was a weakness of a very, very powerful Marine, and if they found Quentin, they might also find the Regent, and Koby wasn't about to tip him off about the search.

There's a touch on his shoulder, and Koby glances up sideways at his second-in-command, his knowing gaze, the compassion in his eyes. Helmeppo's been there all this time, seen the nightmares, the pits of despair that came periodically, even now, days when Koby was so caught up in the sunkissed remembrance of the manor that he could barely function. He knows. "I'll keep the bridge clear and call out a patrol to sweep the area. Hibari and Garp will want the update, and I'll let the Straw Hats know as well." A pause, a squeeze to Koby's shoulder, a silent completion -- We'll talk later.

Then he's gone, and Koby is alone on the deck with Quentin, stroking back his hair, turning to murmur against his ear:] It's all right, you're safe. I'm here, and you're safe. Are you hurt? Can you stand? We'll go to my cabin, where it's quieter, okay? [A slow, shaky breath in, Koby's hands finding Quentin's face, cradling it, seeking his bright, beautiful eyes.] I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not -- letting you out of my sight ever again, probably.

[ the deck becomes a thrum of disappearing feet and distant thudding of boots before silence falls on them. all he can hear is the lapping of water against the bow, koby's breathing, and the soft words of his second in command. koby ripples with a power he doesn't have a name for, but it doesn't matter with his arms around him. nothing matters but the way he can press his face against his neck and breathe him in. even here he smells of sunlight, sea salt, open air.

it's me koby says and he feels so weak and childish for the way he sobs against his shoulder, the way the tears come from relief and sorrow and joy all at once. he clutches at koby's broad back, the fabric of his uniform - a body he doesn't know as well as the one before, but has all the makings. but koby is saying his name and koby is there and warm and real and quentin's heart shatters in his chest. ]

I tried to find you.

[ desperate, watery, spoken into his throat like a man unable to find the surface of the water, gasping for air and panicking, slapping at the water to reach the sunbaked horizon. like he's just been tossed into the sea all over again, chewed up and spit out. it takes a little time for him to stop sobbing, to clear his thoughts enough to take in the words koby speaks, those callused hands on his cheeks drawing him up to the surface. ]

I'm fine.

[ he's not. he's aching and sore and tired - working for passage, working for housing, working and working and being paid so little but here he is. he found him. he found koby and he would do all of it over and over again just to come back to this ship and see him. a part of him wonders if he shouldn't be here, if koby has some other life, some other dream and quentin would be okay watching him, a sunbeam dancing across the waves. ]

Probably. [ a watery, weak laugh, his hands coming up to koby's and be damned anyone else his heart belongs to because he drags him in for a desperate kiss. it's a little fumbling, quentin's lips sun-chapped, but he wants nothing more than to be sure he's here. taste him and feel him and smell him - not some ghost of his dreams. ]

I can walk. I can... I'll go anywhere you want me to go.

[ what else could matter but this? koby could tell him to walk into flames, to sink to the bottom of the ocean, to run to the ends of the earth and he would do it just to be there with him for a moment longer.

quentin's eyes burn golden, the air around them turned to misty starlight. there are so many things he can see - drifting outlines of the paths koby could take. the world koby will fight to make. he doesn't want to see it - doesn't want to feel the ache of all of koby's possibilities and find he's not one of them.

the light in his eyes dies, the air stilling and going sunny and sea-kissed. ]

I've looked for you for so long.

[There’s that first shuddering sob, and Koby’s entire chest seizes up, aching with that (youthful, childish) desire to find exactly what has caused Quentin’s suffering and stop it somehow. He’s taller, broader, arms coming around the shivering, beloved, longed-for shape of the man kneeling on the deck, but deep down he’s still that wide-eyed boy outside the arena, seeing the wounds, the blood and trying to make them stop hurting.

Instinctively, he finds that spot, just shy of Quentin’s temple, presses his lips there and waits, waits for the storm of tears to come and go – about this, at least, Koby’s a little less judgemental nowadays. He used to hate his hair trigger tendency to cry, how his eyes would well up at the slightest provocation, happy or sad or angry or just overwhelmed, used to rail against that tendency in himself, but now…now it feels like a cleansing, like a baptism, like something holy to cling onto Quentin and close his eyes and feel his breath hitch and his eyes burn and his throat go tight. He’s cried so, so many tears over the last five years – these ones, at least, are joyous, relieved, triumphant.

But there’s darkness too, in the new shadows under Quentin’s teary eyes, the hollowness of his face, the way he’s trembling all over and radiating exhaustion. Koby is hale and hearty and well-fed in contrast, carefully-honed power contained in a form he was only just beginning to settle into, before they were torn apart. The difference staggers him, Quentin always larger than life in his memory, bright as the sun, strong as the sea. Koby thinks of the nightmares at Saltburnt, the stories Quentin would whisper into the hollow of his neck once awake, the horrors he’d endured, and he thinks – that’s where he was. That’s where he went, when we left. And there’s a taste like blood, like salt and iron and metal, and for a moment he hates himself for not finding Quentin sooner, for the years and years between them.

Oh, but then – but then there’s those hands on him, those eyes, that mouth pressed to his own, and Koby is taller and stronger and older, but he becomes that boy again, tangled in soft sheets, kissed and kissing and touched and touching and losing himself again and again in the glorious mystery of someone who loved him, against all odds, against all rules of this universe or any other. And he loses himself in that, like fog burned away by the sun, surging into Quentin’s lips on his own, fingers sliding into his hair, finding the loops of his curls, the silky thickness of each lock and kissing and kissing and kissing him.]

I know, I know you did, I know. [Koby keeps saying it, when he pulls away to breathe, when he half-sobs out a laugh, forehead pressed to Quentin’s, catching the glow of his eyes, of the power that thrums in his veins, spills from his fingertips – different, brighter, stronger, they’ve both gotten stronger. His hands are shaky, reaching up to trace the line of Quentin’s jaw, the shape of his mouth, the curve of his cheekbones, all seared into his mind, into his heart, but there, there at long last.] I did too, I – never stopped, I’ve been looking for you this whole time, I knew you wouldn’t stop s-so I didn’t either, I –

[A hitching, watery sound, more tears than joy, more joy than agony, all three at once, then Koby cradles Quentin’s face again and says what he’d said every night, every morning, every day a thousand times, on every beat of his heart, on every step he took, promise and vow and reminder:] I love you. I never stopped loving you. I need -- you to know that.

[ quentin knows nothing else but the feeling of koby's lips on his, the thread of fingers into his hair, the pounding of their hearts with chests pressed together. he can taste sea salt, tears, the sun, sweetness - all of it coming back to him like their first day in the arena, with battered bodies and tired souls that so happen to find one another.

and that's what it is now.

his arms wrap around koby's waist, pulling him in, wanting the nearness, uncaring who should see him close the distance, wanting to feel him real and warm and bright. he pulls away from the kiss on a gasp, foreheads and noses touching. ]

I don't know how - [ a breath, because he can feel the burn of tears trying to come on again. ] I don't know how I got here.

[ the tossing of the ocean, the angry screams of witches and wizards on the shores, the way alonso had tried so, so hard to hold onto him and the gold chain round his throat. (there's a mark - almost like a burn - around his throat where once, a high cuffed collar had been wrapped round his neck).

he kisses koby again and again, short things in bursts and wanting to commit the feel and taste of him right now. in case their time is limited. ]

I love you. Fuck, I love you - do you - [ a watery laugh of his own and his hands slide up to koby's face, keeping him close. ]

I never - I dreamt about you. I saw you in the corner of my eye, I felt you and I couldn't... I couldn't get to you. I reached for you - to see what horizon you would - but I couldn't -

[ a sigh, a shake of his head. ]

I love you, captain. Cadet. Commander. Mine, sweetest mine, and I will - you have all of me. All. Let me stay. Let me stay a little while, please. I've...

[ i've been alone so, so long is what he wants to say, his body so weary, his bones aching. his hands have little scars and new calluses, his skin flushed darker by the sun, his ribs and angles more defined, his hair dirty, his face smudged. ]

I know if you can't - it's... it's a ship. I know.

[ rules, regulations, order. especially here where things aren't quite as free unless you're on one of the pirate's ships. ]

I'll go when - when I have to but - just a little longer. That's all I need - just... just a little.

[The hands on his face – familiar, beloved, calluses he’d learned like his own within days, as familiar as the charts and maps he’s stared at for years now, trying to find where his world and Quentin’s might intersect, where the divide between would be thin enough to find one another again – are the focus, for now, but Koby can feel the wounds (mind, heart, soul, body) all over the man he adores, and it sparks up a ferocious, vengeful savagery he hadn’t quite possessed when they were at the manor. Heartbreak and loss do that to a person – he knows, he knows it runs like a thread of venom through his words as he shakes his head hard and replies:] It’s my ship. And you’re staying.

[Anything else is unthinkable, unacceptable. Koby hasn’t torn the seas apart for five years to let go of Quentin now that he’s here. The air around them snaps, crackles, and there’s a steely sheen to those wide, sweet eyes, a threat to anyone who might disagree. Koby just manages to rein it in on an exhale, on a squaring of his broader, stronger shoulders.] You’re staying. With me. [As long as you’ll have me, he might’ve said, in another world, in another life.

Here, though, it’s a proclamation, accompanied by a glance over his shoulder at Helmeppo, who approaches cautiously, not wanting to interrupt. There’s nobody Koby trusts more, but he still straightens, angles himself between the rest of the world and Quentin, even as the flare of energy around him abates, washes out like foam on the tide. Mindful, Helmeppo stops several paces away, just close enough to be heard when he speaks – ”The area’s secure, nobody unfamiliar lurking about. I got ahold of Garp, and he’s coming to assist in locking down the island as long as you’re here.” A quirked eyebrow, curious over the visor the blond Marine wears, glancing towards Quentin. ”We’ll continue the patrols, but…you should both get out of sight, Captain.”]

Mmm. [Koby nods, already distracted – locked down, secured, for now, until he can be sure there’s nothing else from Quentin’s world on the approach, no ship that’ll need sinking, no Regent asking for a knife in the ribs. It’s a more savage line of thought than he normally follows, but Quentin’s shoulders are trembling, his eyes haunted, and Koby wants to tear apart something. But for the moment he softens, smooths back the tousled, tangled hair, leans in to kiss Quentin once more, uncaring of the audience.]

Come to my cabin? It’s quiet, there’s a bathroom, you can rest safely there. I’ll be right with you the whole time. [Shifting back to sit on his heels, voluminous coat spreading around them, there’s a flicker of the smile belonging to the boy he’d been.] You found me, and now there’s no getting rid of me, sorry. Are you sure you can walk?

[ quentin can tell there's no arguing, that there's no rebuttal or question - he can stay, and he can stay with koby. there will be no more wandering, no more hurt, no more questions. he leans into the last offered kiss and hums, pulling away with watery eyes and a tired, but lopsided grin pulled across his mouth. ]

I am an expert at walking now.

[ he aches all over, sore and weary, but he pushes himself to his feet before koby, if only so that he can offer him a hand up like he would have so long ago. koby's taller, broader - filled out in a way he' begun to see but never saw through fruition. there's something to admire there among the fatigue, a stirring of warmth at the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his hands, the firm set of his jaw.

the determination and confidence behind his eyes. ]

Lead the way. Don't let go of my hand, hm?

[ as if the comfort is for koby, but he knows better. it's for him. to make sure koby is real still, warm and comfortably, fingers wrapped around his. and he can find the captain's cabin, knows already where it is just by thinking of it, a pulse of something powerful and strong fizzling around them.

he doesn't want to let him go - holds his fingers the whole way to the quarters, even wary to let them go here when the door shuts behind them, the room so very koby in all ways and yet foreign at the same time. he stills, unsure of where he can move once in the doorway, frozen like a stranger sneaking around someone else's house.

he's missed so much. ]

This is your ship?

[ it's just really started to sink in, his tired mind having said nothing but kobykobykobykoby for the better part of a year. now he's here. koby is here and real and everything missing about him. ]

Never. [Koby very nearly means it, too, already trying to think through the possible ways he can make sure he never has to physically let go of Quentin again. He could take a sabbatical, he could retire, he could cash in everything he’s done for the Marines over the years for a ship, a crew, for the freedom on the ocean waves that they used to talk about in the rowboat out on the lake. There’d been rumblings of promotions for years now, whispers of Admiral, and Koby’s thought about it, thought about the potential way he could help people, about the good he could do.

But he’d held back, not wanting to have to divide his attention any further – it was already torn between SWORD and the alliance with the Straw Hats and his search, always his search, always the conscious thought that this wasn’t right, that there was something missing, that his dream had changed a long time ago, between silky sheets in a strange, dangerous, wonderful place. If he was going to be an Admiral, he was going to do it with Quentin at his side, or not at all.

Now, though – now he’s back, he’s here, and Koby is suddenly conscious of the horrible fact that they’ve been separated longer than they were together. Even though he immediately falls into step with Quentin, slightly slower, used to him leading the way around the manor, trusting his gift without question, without hesitation. The cabin door closes and Koby steps away long enough to pull off the captain’s coat he wears out on deck, to kick off his shoes, looking a bit closer to his old self, albeit broader, more muscled, longer hair and sharper features.]

Temporarily – we relieved the acting captain of his duties when we arrived, and it’ll be a little while before we appoint a suitable replacement. [Koby’s not fully aware of the way his tone, his persona shifts slightly when he talks about his Marine duties, the weight of responsibility he carries like a mantle, like an anchor.] Most of the cadets are sensible enough, they’ve just been misguided by a selfish, greedy, power-hungry man.

[Stepping closer, reaching out both hands now for Quentin’s, Koby laces their fingers together, the commanding air fading away, replaced with the open, earnest sweetness he’d had so much of years before. It’s muted, less fiery, overlaid with a world-weariness that’ll never go away again, likely. The fact of Quentin here, here is brilliant and blazing and glorious, but there will always be those five years apart. Later, Koby will let himself be angry about that. Now, though, he smiles and looks up, adoration and bliss radiating from him like sunbeams.] They won’t say anything, Helmeppo's made sure of it. You’re safer here with me than anywhere in the world, I promise.

[ 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.

[The instinct is there to immediately shake his head, refuse the apology, insist it isn’t needed, isn’t necessary – but the words come out soft, hoarse, halting in a way that wrenches at Koby’s chest, speaks of exactly how much Quentin’s endured over the last few years. How many times has he been silenced, forced to submit, to swallow his own voice in order to survive, to escape, to claw his way through time and space to be here, weary and soft-voiced and so, so tired? Koby’s learned to hold his tongue as well, to allow every man on his crew to speak their piece, and it’s served him well – outspoken cadets become strong captains, strong leaders, and there are sworn allies in every corner of the world, willing to bend the rules for his sake.

And they’ll need to – Quentin’s survived in this world for some time, at least, not newly-arrived, and has perhaps promised work to one captain or another. Part of Koby’s mind is already clicking away, thinking of how to dissolve that agreement peacefully, how to pull enough strings to get Quentin both enlisted and stationed to this ship, this crew, paperwork and formalities providing as much security as an armored vessel would. If Quentin’s part of his crew, he’s safe. Koby’s asked for very, very little over the years, and given substantially – it’s time to cash in on all the favors he’s owed.

But that thought slips away at the last words, at the hollow heartbreak in Quentin’s voice, unthinkable, unbearable. Koby’s already shaking his head, stepping closer, reaching up – not as much, he’s taller now, still several inches shorter than the average man, but not the scrawny slip of anxiety and wide eyes he’d been at Saltburnt. His hands are rougher, palms crisscrossed with new calluses, new scars, new strength, but they’re impossibly gentle as they cradle Quentin’s face, tip his gaze upward.]

Listen to me. No matter what you’ve survived, no matter where you’ve been, you could never become someone I no longer love. Okay? [There’s an inescapable steel in Koby’s voice, but it’s balanced out by the stroke of his thumbs over Quentin’s sunburned cheeks, the way he has to stand on tiptoe, still, to press their foreheads together.] We just – need to relearn each other. Find out what we look like here, now. Together. How we fit. That’s okay. That’s wonderful.

[And here, at last, Koby’s voice breaks, falters, and there are tears welling up in his eyes, no longer hidden behind the owlish lenses, easy to see as they overflow, streak down his face, as he manages in a hoarse whisper:] I missed you. I worried – [That I’d never see you again, that I’d spend my whole life looking and looking, that I’d wake up every morning reaching for you and finding nothing, nobody there.] You’re here. You’re with me again and that’s the only thing that matters.

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