You’re welcome. [koby finds he wants to slip into military stance, wants to square his shoulders and straighten his arms, wants to – impress, maybe. goodsir isn’t garp, isn’t even an officer, but there’s something about him also serving on a ship, him understanding implicitly the world of a ship, the way the ocean smelled and moved and sounded, the language of a home koby tries so, so hard not to miss.

goodsir says almost that exact thing, and the smile deepens, and koby grabs a clipboard off the table, flicking through the papers held there with practiced ease.] The feeling is completely mutual, Mr. Goodsir. There are a few of my crew here, as well as my [a beat, an instant of hesitation, then:] boyfriend, who’s a sailor as well. We all miss it, I think.

And it’s always nice to have something in common, when you’re getting to know someone. [the corniest line, but from koby it sounds nothing but earnest and sweet. he pulls a printed-out copy of his welcome brochure from the papers, offers it.] I’m also assuming that you prefer paper to the phones? I do too. It’s part of why I like the library so much, I think.

[at the compliment, koby’s ears turn a few shades darker than his hair.] Thank you. Um, you look very – nice as well. I can’t tell you’ve been ill at all.