[There'll always be something small and tearful and frightened in Koby -- sometimes it's closer to the surface, brimming easily in his wide eyes, prompted by some injustice, some wave of emotion. Sometimes he keeps it further down in his chest, locked behind layers and layers of pretending, of being untouched by violence for long enough that he can almost believe it can't hurt him anymore.
But around Louis it's right there, raw and vulnerable and laid out, showing just how achingly young Koby still is, how new to the world and all it's hurts, all it's injustices. He hasn't been the child in braids with an empty stomach and a scratchy uniform for years now, but he can feel that raw, aching need flaring to life like an old wound. Koby sniffs, tips his cheek into Louis's hand and meets his gaze with teary eyes, with the cautious, wild hope of someone who's never been cared for quite this way -- never been loved by a parent.]
I trust you. [That, at least, Koby can say immediately. Even though he knows it's not a promise Louis could keep -- not in a way that'll last as long as vampires live, not in a way stronger than the forces pulling them back towards whatever fate holds, if they ever leave Saltburnt. Someday, maybe, probably, there won't be a world where Louis can look after Koby, can keep him safe.
But that doesn't mean he doesn't trust him, believe him, doesn't lift his hand and curl his pinky hesitantly around Louis's, smaller hands, knuckles scarred from rough decks, from rougher memories, from ghosts that Koby carries in his skin and his soul. There's a flicker of a smile, something like love, something like faith, something unshakable and honest and true.] Okay. You -- I believe you. I do.
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But around Louis it's right there, raw and vulnerable and laid out, showing just how achingly young Koby still is, how new to the world and all it's hurts, all it's injustices. He hasn't been the child in braids with an empty stomach and a scratchy uniform for years now, but he can feel that raw, aching need flaring to life like an old wound. Koby sniffs, tips his cheek into Louis's hand and meets his gaze with teary eyes, with the cautious, wild hope of someone who's never been cared for quite this way -- never been loved by a parent.]
I trust you. [That, at least, Koby can say immediately. Even though he knows it's not a promise Louis could keep -- not in a way that'll last as long as vampires live, not in a way stronger than the forces pulling them back towards whatever fate holds, if they ever leave Saltburnt. Someday, maybe, probably, there won't be a world where Louis can look after Koby, can keep him safe.
But that doesn't mean he doesn't trust him, believe him, doesn't lift his hand and curl his pinky hesitantly around Louis's, smaller hands, knuckles scarred from rough decks, from rougher memories, from ghosts that Koby carries in his skin and his soul. There's a flicker of a smile, something like love, something like faith, something unshakable and honest and true.] Okay. You -- I believe you. I do.