Just the every port thing. The rest of it is completely true 😊
That’s how it’s always been for me.
[ they both know damn good and well Tim’s only ever been serious about one person, but that's not the point. ]
I felt bad just texting with Quentin, when I was with Hawk. For a minute, I thought that was why he was leaving. “Room for other people” isn’t done, where we’re from.
[Have a scowl, Tim, and a meaningful look at one of the nearby decorative pillows.]
I know it isn't. We're from very different times.
Did you really? Is that what he said?
If what you're saying Quentin feels is true -- and I'm not saying it is, so stop smiling -- then him enjoying himself with other people isn't going to change that. Because it hasn't, yet.
People are complex enough to feel multiple ways about multiple people I think.
No, he didn’t, but his explanation didn’t make any sense, so i thought it was something I’d done. It wasn’t. I was just scared.
Won’t it? You can have all the love in the world in your heart, but only so much time and energy. If it were me, I’d want to give my partner all of it.
Of course it wasn't anything you did. It's something he has to sort out in his own head. You didn't do anything wrong.
[Meet him in the pit, Hawk, etc etc.]
Well, I know for a fact that you have plenty of energy, Tim. But if that's what you want, that's fine too. I'm still figuring out what I want, but I think
I think it's more like a crew. There's a captain, of course, and a first mate and that relationship is special, but it doesn't make the rest of the crew less part of it. If that makes sense?
That's not completely true. I said some things I shouldn't have.
I understand what you're saying. I don't know if it's a perfect metaphor (what am I, a lieutenant?) but I get it.
Just let me know if you start to feel differently, okay? Quentin's charming and handsome and all of that, but you're my best friend here. I don't want to do anything that would hurt you.
[ Koby, please. Who else would be—he's been hiding out here for the last two weeks, be serious. Tim smiles warmly at him, and then, after a moment of fishing around in his lap for his bookmark, gets up to join the other two on the bed, carefully scooching in on Koby’s other side. ]
Yes, obviously. [ Speaking softly and ruffling Koby’s hair. On second thought, Tim puts an arm around him, pulling him in for a half-hug, as much as he can do without jostling sleeping beauty. ] You think I would stay involved in... [ a vague gesture. whatever this is. ] otherwise? You know I take it seriously. I’m not saying you don’t, just that if you weren’t that important to me, I wouldn’t let you watch while I blow your boyfriend.
[Sniffing, rubbing at his eyes – irrepressible crybaby, even now, even after everything – Koby laughs softly and leans into the arm around him, to Tim fluffing up his hair, even as he makes a bit of a face at it.] Sorry, I just – nobody’s ever said that to me before, so. It’s new. It’s all a bit new, that’s all.
I know you take it seriously. [Gently, resting his chin at Tim’s shoulder and looking up over the purple rims of his glasses.] I know. And – thank you. For trusting me. Both of us. Whatever.
[Then, as the word sinks in, Koby turns absolutely crimson again and elbows Tim in the ribs, hissing:] He is not my boyfriend, stop that.
[ It's hard to believe, just from knowing Koby, and his kind heart, generous nature, his curiosity. But, knowing his story, it makes sense. He maintains the tact not to press it, because there are much more fun things to press instead. ]
Hey, no fighting. He'll wake up and know you've been bad.
[It's -- nice, not to be pressed, actually. It helps Koby feel more able to elbow Tim again, looking deeply outraged and offended (really, totally) and definitely not hiding a smile.]
I'll tell him you started it. And you'll be in trouble.
[ More painful than bodily harm? Losing your spot in your book. Tim nabs Koby's book and holds it away with his much longer arms, a real troublemaker, a real ruffian. ]
[Koby gasps, reaching for the book in vain, eyes wide.]
Stop that! I'll lose my spot and I want to see if Abraham Lincoln has a nice night at this theater he's going to. [...is he kidding. He genuinely might not know that Abraham Lincoln dies. Spoilers.
Then, leaning across Tim and grabbing for the book:] I think I do know. Based on evidence. Give me that.
[ He should not laugh. He was a great man who changed the world and his death was a tragedy, not to mention, Quentin asleep mere inches from them, and yet, he laughs. ]
He doesn't. Does this one say anything about how he might have been queer?
[There's more scowling and more attempts to lunge and grab the book without disturbing Quentin snuggled comfortably beside him, somehow.]
What do you mean he doesn't? And no, not yet. Maybe that comes after the theat--
[And then he breaks off in a sudden squeaking gasp, squirming away from Tim and clamping one hand over his own mouth to stifle a giggle. Muffled:] Do not. And yes you do, don't lie.
[ Quentin, it seems, can sleep like a rock, with all the shifting and squirming being done to dodge tickles or elbows, and good for him, because the ruckus is escalating, Tim swooping over to grab Koby’s forearms and pin them down. ]
Quit jabbing. Lincoln dies. John Wilkes Booth shoots him in the theater. Sorry.
[Koby is stronger than he looks, yes, but not that strong -- Tim can pin him fairly easily, because he's trying not to thrash too much and wake up Quentin. His only defense is to flop onto his back and try to wiggle free -- though that stops immediately when Tim drops this news.]
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I know it's overwhelming. And probably unusual, for you sailors.
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[Putting down his phone for a moment, crossing his arms and scowling over at Tim. In a stage whisper:] What's your point?
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[ Barely above just mouthing it. ]
Just that you move around a lot. "Someone in every port," you know.
Do you want me to back off? I didn't realize I'd be interrupting a honeymoon.
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That's for sailors and pirates and privateers. Marines aren't supposed to have any of that. Bad for the image.
You aren't interrupting anything, stop that.
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But I mean it, Koby. If you want it to be serious, I can figure something else out, it's a big house.
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You ARE.
When Quentin wakes up I'm throwing this pillow at you.
Do you think "serious" means "no room for anyone else"?
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That’s how it’s always been for me.
[ they both know damn good and well Tim’s only ever been serious about one person, but that's not the point. ]
I felt bad just texting with Quentin, when I was with Hawk. For a minute, I thought that was why he was leaving. “Room for other people” isn’t done, where we’re from.
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I know it isn't. We're from very different times.
Did you really? Is that what he said?
If what you're saying Quentin feels is true -- and I'm not saying it is, so stop smiling -- then him enjoying himself with other people isn't going to change that. Because it hasn't, yet.
People are complex enough to feel multiple ways about multiple people I think.
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Won’t it? You can have all the love in the world in your heart, but only so much time and energy. If it were me, I’d want to give my partner all of it.
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[Meet him in the pit, Hawk, etc etc.]
Well, I know for a fact that you have plenty of energy, Tim.
But if that's what you want, that's fine too. I'm still figuring out what I want, but I think
I think it's more like a crew. There's a captain, of course, and a first mate and that relationship is special, but it doesn't make the rest of the crew less part of it. If that makes sense?
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I understand what you're saying. I don't know if it's a perfect metaphor (what am I, a lieutenant?) but I get it.
Just let me know if you start to feel differently, okay? Quentin's charming and handsome and all of that, but you're my best friend here. I don't want to do anything that would hurt you.
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Lieutenant works. Don't tell Quentin, he'll start calling you Lieutenant Sweets or something.
I'm your best friend? Really? [Yes the rest of it is important, but this is the part that has Koby looking up, eyes immediately welling up.]
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Yes, obviously. [ Speaking softly and ruffling Koby’s hair. On second thought, Tim puts an arm around him, pulling him in for a half-hug, as much as he can do without jostling sleeping beauty. ] You think I would stay involved in... [ a vague gesture. whatever this is. ] otherwise? You know I take it seriously. I’m not saying you don’t, just that if you weren’t that important to me, I wouldn’t let you watch while I blow your boyfriend.
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I know you take it seriously. [Gently, resting his chin at Tim’s shoulder and looking up over the purple rims of his glasses.] I know. And – thank you. For trusting me. Both of us. Whatever.
[Then, as the word sinks in, Koby turns absolutely crimson again and elbows Tim in the ribs, hissing:] He is not my boyfriend, stop that.
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Hey, no fighting. He'll wake up and know you've been bad.
[ With a snort. ]
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I'll tell him you started it. And you'll be in trouble.
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[ More painful than bodily harm? Losing your spot in your book. Tim nabs Koby's book and holds it away with his much longer arms, a real troublemaker, a real ruffian. ]
Maybe I want to be. You don't know.
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Stop that! I'll lose my spot and I want to see if Abraham Lincoln has a nice night at this theater he's going to. [...is he kidding. He genuinely might not know that Abraham Lincoln dies. Spoilers.
Then, leaning across Tim and grabbing for the book:] I think I do know. Based on evidence. Give me that.
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He doesn't. Does this one say anything about how he might have been queer?
[ Are Koby's rib's ticklish? Let's fine out. ]
I don't know what evidence you're talking about.
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What do you mean he doesn't? And no, not yet. Maybe that comes after the theat--
[And then he breaks off in a sudden squeaking gasp, squirming away from Tim and clamping one hand over his own mouth to stifle a giggle. Muffled:] Do not. And yes you do, don't lie.
[Very ticklish, sounds like.]
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[ Not to spoil it. But better that he knows now than start crying about it later. The tickling does not stop, but he drops the book on the floor. ]
You think because I've been hanging around a couple weeks you know everything? You don't.
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[In between giggling, as Koby tries to squirm away from the tickling and also not jostle Quentin, face the same shade as his hair.]
I know enough! I'm very observant! [Jabbing his own pointy little elbows into Tim's ribs now.]
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Quit jabbing. Lincoln dies. John Wilkes Booth shoots him in the theater. Sorry.
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He what?! Are you sure?!
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[ It doesn’t require a history degree (which he does have, by the way) to know what happened to Lincoln, that’s grade school stuff, Koby. ]
I’m surprised it didn’t say so on the book jacket.
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