[It's hard. It's hard and it hurts, but he has to read and reread the words. The urge is there to reach out with all this fraught, painful, wonderful power he has, but Shanks's teaching has been gentle, but firm: don't. Opening that door now could hurt worse, could cause something irrevocable. Already the residual input Koby's trying to sort through has him slipping, thinking it's July again, or winter in the village, or spring on Alvida's ship, or some combination thereof. He forgets, he remembers, he forgets again, he remembers, and so on and so forth.
But this, a tether: I love you too. Still true, still undoubtable. Koby can nearly hear it in his ears, in the throbbing ache along his spine.]
getting easier i'll see you soon you can help me take care of him
[And vice-versa, every fussy, affectionate, fretting habit put on hold: has Quentin eaten, has he slept, is he taking care of himself, is he alone. The habit's one that's extended to Shanks as well, and Koby wants, suddenly, fervently, to have them both right there, the only two who saw him in that awful, anguished state, more vulnerable and helpless and terrified than he's ever been. He wants to make it right, make it safe again, show these two self-sacrificing, devoted, achingly similar sailors he's okay because of them.]
no subject
[It's hard. It's hard and it hurts, but he has to read and reread the words. The urge is there to reach out with all this fraught, painful, wonderful power he has, but Shanks's teaching has been gentle, but firm: don't. Opening that door now could hurt worse, could cause something irrevocable. Already the residual input Koby's trying to sort through has him slipping, thinking it's July again, or winter in the village, or spring on Alvida's ship, or some combination thereof. He forgets, he remembers, he forgets again, he remembers, and so on and so forth.
But this, a tether: I love you too. Still true, still undoubtable. Koby can nearly hear it in his ears, in the throbbing ache along his spine.]
getting easier
i'll see you soon
you can help me take care of him
[And vice-versa, every fussy, affectionate, fretting habit put on hold: has Quentin eaten, has he slept, is he taking care of himself, is he alone. The habit's one that's extended to Shanks as well, and Koby wants, suddenly, fervently, to have them both right there, the only two who saw him in that awful, anguished state, more vulnerable and helpless and terrified than he's ever been. He wants to make it right, make it safe again, show these two self-sacrificing, devoted, achingly similar sailors he's okay because of them.]