𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

[longitudinal]

𝑖'𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢

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

Comments

[longitudinal]

[ 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. ]

[kobes]

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.

[longitudinal]

[ 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.

[kobes]

[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.