[Koby wishes he didn’t. He wishes he had Tim’s faith, that it’ll turn out okay – he’ll either find some way to bring everyone he loves with him wherever he goes next, or at least he’ll be able to remember them all, have that to comfort him. Wally’s lighthouse metaphor, a tether, a bond that can’t be broken. But he’s a doubter by nature, burned enough times that hope is always tempered with dread, fear. He wakes up every morning and reaches out – physically, mentally, psychically – to make sure the sparks of those he loves are still there, still with him, and he dreads the day he’ll wake up and find another missing. Left behind, again.

Still, it’s easier to believe in a good outcome with Tim’s arm around his shoulders, radiating warmth, even in the midst of his own grief. Koby sniffs, wipes at his eyes, sloshes wine onto his shoulder in the process.]

I don’t think I could ever hate them – not Luffy, at least. Not the others, if I – remember them. [Another sigh, dropping his head onto Tim’s shoulder again.] But I’m just one person. I can’t stop a war that’s been going on for centuries all by myself. Even if I don’t believe it’s right anymore.

It’s easier to be black and white. [A touch wryly.] That all pirates are bad, that all Marines are good. It’s harder, finding people who are in-between.