[The funny thing about drinking with someone is that the blurriness -- the softening of edges brought on by too-sweet wine, by the warmth of someone's company -- begins to bleed out, emanate, transfer between them. Tim's presence (yellow, bright, sunshiney) goes sweet, golden, thick and flowing like honey, when he's drunk. Koby doesn't try to resist or withstand the feel of it, swirling around his own thoughts and feelings. Rather, he leans it, gulps instead of sips, tips his chin up, into Tim's hand through his hair.]

You're good at that. Giving people hope. [A soft laugh, looking upwards, over the tops of his glasses, soft teary eyes.] You couldn't be more different in most other ways, but you and Luffy have that in common. You believe so hard that it's impossible to argue. Like arguing with the sun.

[Koby sniffs, plucks his fogged-up, tearspotted glasses off his nose and reaches across Tim to set them on the bedside table.] Maybe I'm one of his people, at home. He doesn't want anyone innocent put in danger by the conflict, just like me. Maybe we'll end up working together, in the end. [Settling back into his spot, swirling the last of his wine:] There's a lot of work to do at home, for both of us. You and me, I mean. I just can't leave without making sure the people I love are going to be safe.

[Grumbling:] I think some people were always evil. Alvida. Quentin's Regent. McCarthy.